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peakyblindersxx · 4 years ago

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ice blue - tommy shelby x reader

a/n: hi lovelies! i literally just finished typing this and i’ve gotten so many notes on my preview of it that i literally couldn’t wait to give this to you guys. i really really hope you like it :) lmk if there’s anything in specific you guys want me to write, otherwise the next thing i’m working on is gonna be with john (i’ve already started it and this one is fucking hOt a bitch is sweating). as always message me literally about anything or if you want me to start a taglist

love, abi xxx

prompt: you’re back home in Birmingham and you need a job. Tommy Shelby offers you one.

warnings: nsfw!! smut, light choking, power kink oops

You stepped out of the car, cold air coming up to brush against your ankles as you shivered in the brisk English evening, wrapping your black wool coat tightly around you. You were once again new to Birmingham, having grown up there, but at the age of 9, you were sent to a boarding school in London after your parents were killed in a house fire. You had gone on to college, but had to drop out because you simply couldn’t make ends meet. Now, at the age of 21, you were back home, looking for a job, and as soon as you arrived, the first person to call was your best schoolmate, Ada Shelby. Ada was spunky, fearless, and didn’t take no for an answer, which was one of the reasons the two of you got on so well. She had insisted on taking you out to her family’s bar, despite your pleas that you were exhausted. Fuck it, you had thought to yourself. If you were going to go out, you were going to look good doing it. So, you slipped on your best set of red silk lingerie and your shortest black lace dress which dipped low to accentuate your breasts and applied a dark red lipstick as well as eyeliner. Underneath, you slid on a pair of sheer black tights and slipped on black kitten heels. You slipped on a pair of dangly silver earrings, admiring yourself in the mirror before you had slid your silver cigarette case and lighter into a black clutch, shrugged on your coat, and made your way out the door.

There, Ada had been waiting in the back of a Model T, looking gorgeous in a dark purple silk dress. She had greeted you with open arms and a huge smile, chattering on about how beautiful you looked and how much she had missed you. The two of you had managed to stay in contact throughout the years, writing letters about the current events, so you knew all about her baby, and pressed her with many questions about how she was doing. Now, here you were, in front of a bar, the muffled drunken shouts and laughter seeping through the brick walls.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Ada grinned at you, nudging you with her shoulder. “Come on, let’s go in, and don’t worry about paying. This is my family’s bar,” she said, leading you towards the wooden doors.

“Fuck, Ada, your family owns this whole thing?” You marveled at the exterior of the building as Ada practically dragged you towards the double doors.

“Yeah, it’s all that and everything,” Ada waved her hand dismissively as she reached for the door handle. “Let’s get to the damn bar already, I need a fucking drink.” She pulled the doors open and the noise washed over you, the smell of alcohol permeating the air. The bar was dimly lit, with leather upholstery and plenty of drunk Englishmen. Bottles of spirits adorned an entire wall behind the bar in the rear. The noise swirled around you as Ada pushed her way through the crowd, determined to reach her destination. Finally, you reached the bar, and almost immediately a bartender appeared. You had known the Shelby’s were powerful, but Ada had never really talked about her family’s business. They must have been fucking loaded; the way people parted for Ada, you couldn’t even imagine the way they must have bowed for her brothers. You had never really interacted with them, but you assumed that was going to change. All you really knew about them was from the rumors, which were gruesome and plentiful.

“Give me two whiskeys,” Ada said to the bartender, who slid the glasses her way. “Thanks, Harry,” Ada yelled, handing you a glass and pulling you towards the rear of the bar, opening a door and ushering you in. As soon as you entered the room, the entire atmosphere shifted. This room was much quieter; you could even hear jazz music over the chatter. Smoke clouded the air, and you downed your drink to quiet your nerves, as you had realized that these were some of the most powerful people in the city that surrounded you. A maid appeared to take you and Ada’s jackets, and as you slipped off your coat, a wave of insecurity hit you. Ada was making small talk with an unfamiliar woman next to you, and you tapped her shoulder, telling her you were heading to the bar as she nodded, shouting after you, “When you come back, get me another whiskey!”

You laughed, turning and making your way to the bar, sliding into a stool upholstered with crushed red velvet. You motioned the bartender over, and as you waited, you took out a cigarette and lit it. The bartender set your whiskey in front of you, and as soon as you had picked it up, Ada had you by the arm and was tugging you to a booth, your whiskey and cigarette still in hand, your clutch tucked under your arm. In the booth sat three men, each of varying ages and all adorned in formal wear and newsboy caps, complete with glistening pocket-watch chains.

“Shove over,” Ada said, pulling you into the booth next to one of the brothers. “Y/N, these are my daft brain brothers, Arthur, Tommy, and John.” The oldest, sporting various scars across his face did little but grunt and touch his hat, getting up to exit the booth, and the youngest had already started bickering across the table with Ada, something about who was the biggest idiot. The middle brother, however, was fucking gorgeous. You already knew you were screwed. He had long doe eyelashes, framing ice blue eyes, and his jawline was neatly defined. His cologne alone was doing things to you. Get it together, you thought to yourself, downing the whiskey in your glass. The motion caught his attention and you felt his gaze on you, piercing your soul and sending goosebumps down your spine. He put his cigarette to his mouth and took a drag, and you couldn’t help but draw your eyes to the way his lips parted.

“You like Irish whiskey?” His smooth voice shook you to the core. You looked at him in shock for a second before quickly collecting yourself.

“I’ve always drank it, my whole family does,” you responded, your gaze lifting to meet his. He leaned back, eyes drinking you in. You chewed your lip, pressing your thighs together in an effort to quench the ache that had begun to form.

“Tommy!” A voice rang from across the room. The brother, who you assumed now was named Tommy, stood. “Excuse me for a minute,” Tommy said, stepping aside to converse with a woman you recognized as Ada’s aunt. The woman seemed angry, but then, from what you remembered, she always had. After a few minutes, she left and Tommy slid back into the booth, exhaling and shooting his whiskey. Ada and the youngest brother, who you had learned was John had both moseyed off, so it was just you and Tommy in the booth, in the corner of the room. Tommy took a drag of his cigarette and sighed.

“Ada told me you need a job,” he said, eyes lingering on you.

“I do,” you admitted, “but I don’t want you to feel obliged or anything. I can manage-”

“I need a new assistant,” Tommy cut you off, but you honestly didn’t mind. Something about the way he did it managed not to rub you the wrong way. “It’s mostly paperwork, but I’d pay you well. 40 shillings a week.” Tommy took the last drag of his cigarette, putting it out while still holding you in his gaze.

“I can do that,” you managed to blurt out. God knows what you were getting yourself into, getting hired by a man that not only had a notorious reputation but was making you trip over your own words. Something about the way he looked at you, though, made you say yes. You already couldn’t resist him. God damn it, you thought to yourself.

Across from you, Tommy pulled his jacket on. “Monday, 8 am. My office.” He slipped a piece of paper to you with an address scrawled on it, standing and leaving. As quickly as you had become intoxicated by him, he had left. The whole night, throughout all of Ada’s chatter, on the way home, in the bath, in bed, he never left the back of your mind. You wanted to be his, as much as you tried to fight the thought for not only your sake but Ada’s. You knew it was impossible, that he would want you like this, so you reserved yourself to daydreaming. His hands on your hips, his mouth on yours: you craved it, unsatisfied by your own touch even after multiple rounds. You couldn’t escape him.

***

You awoke nervous, stomach doing cartwheels. You hadn’t seen Tommy since Saturday at the bar when you had met, and the anticipation of seeing him and having to hold yourself together and not beg him to bend you over the nearest piece of furniture was almost overwhelming. You decided on a simple black blouse and a tight black skirt with black tights and heels. You pulled your fitted wool coat over your shoulders and stepped out into the cool British morning, horses clopping past as your heels clacked over the bricks, making your way past children playing and yelling. The wind whipped past your cheeks, staining them a rosy pink as you pulled open the heavy wooden door of the office building. The warm air surrounded you, and above the conversations between the workers seated and standing around desks, you could faintly hear Ada arguing with someone in a back room somewhere. The office consisted of wood furniture and a couple of separated rooms, you assumed, for Ada’s brothers, the heads of the company. The fireplace in the corner provided a much needed reprieve from the wind outside, and you slipped your coat off, hanging it on the coat rack. One of the doors read “The office of Thomas Shelby” in gold lettering, and you knocked lightly, not wanting to appear late on your first day.

“Come in,” Tommy’s voice echoed from inside the room and you opened the door, closing it slowly behind you. Tommy was seated at a dark leather chair behind a desk, taking a drag from a cigarette whilst reading from a newspaper spread out in front of him. He looked up at you, clad in a dark grey vest which hugged his chest deliciously with a white collared dress shirt and black tie underneath. Gold chains sat firmly on his biceps, ice blue eyes boring through your clothes and making your cheeks flush. He sat like a king on his throne, and it was tantalizing.

“Good morning, Mr. Shelby,” you spoke quietly but firmly, eyes trailing up to meet his. He cracked a small smirk when your gaze met his, and it felt like he could see right through your shirt and your black lace bra. It must be your imagination, you thought, that he could be undressing you with his eyes like that. Surely you were delusional.

“You decided to take me up on my offer, I see,” Tommy said, leaning back and crossing his arms across his chest in a way that made you want to test his self control. “You know how to type, I assume?” His eyes flickered over your figure, lingering on the curve of your hips, making you feel like this wasn’t a regular business transaction. What you wouldn’t give to be one of the whores he visits in the middle of the night… You quickly gathered yourself together and responded.

“Yes,” you spoke. “I’ve worked as a secretary before.” Tommy nodded, standing and making his way around the front of his desk to lean on it, narrowing the space between the two of you significantly. “I’m not your normal businessman, you see,” he said, leaning back against the desk. “I keep odd hours, so if I asked you to stay late, would that be a problem?”

“No sir,” you replied, unable to rip your eyes off of the curve of Tommy’s lips and how they looked puffing at a cigarette.

“Good girl.” Your mouth dropped open slightly at his shameless assertiveness, a blush spreading across your cheeks. You couldn’t believe his forwardness, you thought, but you weren’t going to lie, it was fucking hot. Tommy grinned at you, turning his back to grab a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from the barcart in the corner of the room. He made his way back to his seat and placed the whiskey as well as the glasses on his desk, filling each and gesturing for you to sit with his hand. You sunk into the chair, legs crossed tightly in an attempt to relieve your throbbing core. You were absolutely fucked, you thought. Tommy opened a drawer, rifling through some papers before producing a contract typed in black ink.

“Cheers,” he offered you a glass of whiskey in one hand and a pen in the other. You accepted both, quickly rifling through the contract and scribbling your signature on the last page. Once you signed, your eyes flickered up to meet Tommy’s and he grinned, boyishly handsome yet devious.

“To new beginnings,” he said, offering his glass to clink against yours. You downed the whiskey in one gulp as Tommy looked on, blue eyes drinking you in.

“Nervous, darling?” he drawled, puffing at his cigarette. You suddenly felt a rush of confidence you hadn’t before. You could play this game too, and if you were, you were going to do it well.

“No,” you shook your head, a shy smile playing at your lips. “Just want to get to the point, is all.”

Tommy chuckled. “A woman after my own heart, aye?” With every glance he gave you, you became more emboldened. Yet, the man was still your boss, and you were in no place to proposition him, so you had to play coy.

“If that’s what you’d like, Mr. Shelby,” you said, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you reached for your cigarette case, taking one out and lighting it, exhaling a small cloud of smoke. Tommy refilled his glass, taking a swig as he stood and made his way to a cabinet, retrieving a stack of papers. He made his way back to his seat, placing the pile in front of you.

“I need these transaction records typed up by Friday, end of the day. Can you do that?”

You nodded, pink-stained lips puffing at the butt of your cigarette. “Is that all, Mr. Shelby?”

Tommy’s eyes flickered towards your mouth, and he took another drink. “For now, yes. I’ll have John show you to your desk, yeah?”

“Yes, Mr. Shelby,” you responded politely, putting out your cigarette. You could feel Tommy’s eyes on you as you left the room. As soon as you closed the office door behind you, you almost let out a sigh of relief. You hadn’t realized how tightly you’d been pressing your legs together, and they almost felt shaky. You didn’t know how you were going to get through another day of this, let alone the rest of the week. Fuck me, you thought to yourself.

***

The rest of the weekdays flew by, as you kept yourself busy with not only the work Tommy had given you but also managing his appointments and relaying his messages to his two brothers and other various family members. You got on with everyone in the office relatively well, most likely at Ada’s enforcement. She could be very assertive, but that was normal, considering she was the only girl with 4 brothers.

Your contact with Tommy, though often, was all business. He would spend hours at his desk, frowning down at various papers and logs with his whiskey and a cigarette, long after the others had gone home. He would always send you home though, telling you to get some rest. Though he was assertive, you found him to be surprisingly sweet. He didn’t hold doors for you or anything like that, but you didn’t expect that; you knew your place in the company. However, he never kept you late if you looked exhausted and would do small things, like let Ada interrupt your work with whatever news or gossip she had, and never said a thing, just smiled. However, Ada’s chatter had gotten the better of you and it was already Friday.

Around 8pm, after most of the office had left for the day, you finally typed up the last transaction log, sighing with relief and slumping back in your chair for a brief moment before straightening up and smoothing out your plum-colored pencil skirt and white blouse. You flipped open your contact mirror, making sure your pinned-up hair looked acceptable before putting out your cigarette, gathering the pile of papers and log, and knocked on Tommy’s door.

“Come in, Y/N,” Tommy’s voice came through the door and you shivered, already nervous not only to be alone with him but also about the quality of your work. You pulled the door open, closing it behind you and walking up to Tommy’s desk, where he sat in a light grey three-piece suit reading through a folder. A pair of gold spectacles sat neatly on his face, and a cigarette hung loosely from his lips, making your mind wander.

“I have the papers you wanted typed up in the log, Mr. Shelby,” you spoke, clutching the book so tightly in your hand that you had to tell yourself to loosen your grip. “Is there somewhere you’d like me to put them?”

Tommy gestured with his right hand towards the desk, his eyes still trained on the files. “Set them on the desk, and stay.” You complied, standing in front of his desk, and Tommy closed the folder, placing it into a drawer and locking it, taking off his glasses and setting them down on his oak desk. He reached for the work you had completed, flipping through it and letting out a small grunt of approval. “Very good.”

A blush crept across your cheeks. “Thank you, Mr. Shelby,” you responded, trying to focus your mind on something other than the way he would look on top of you.

Tommy set the work aside, eyes now firmly trained on you. “Tell me something, Y/N,” he said, taking a draw from the cigarette in his mouth. “Have you ever been fucked?”

Your mouth dropped open in shock. “Mr. Shelby, I-”

Tommy chuckled, shooting his whiskey and refilling his glass from the bottle on his desk, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not asking if you’re a virgin. I’m asking you if you’ve ever been fucked, properly.”

Your face was a rose pink, and it wasn’t just from the embarrassment. “I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Shelby-”

“I think you do.” Tommy smirked at you, ice blue eyes tracing your figure. The heat between the two of you was practically unbearable, and you had to remind yourself to keep breathing.

“No, not really,” you whispered, thighs clenched together as your eyes met Tommy’s.

Tommy smiled, almost deviously. “I didn’t think so,” he said, taking another drag and putting the cigarette out as he stood, coming around his desk and leaning back against it, eyes still fixed on you. “Do you want to be?”

You almost couldn’t believe the words you were hearing. Yet, Tommy was here, in front of you, asking if you wanted to be fucked by him. “Yes.” The answer almost fell out of your mouth, and your knees felt weak. Tommy wasted no time in closing the distance between the two of you, pressing you up against the nearest wall as his lips met yours. The feeling of his body against yours was better than you had imagined, and as his hips met yours, you let out a soft moan into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Tommy growled, picking you up by your legs and placing you on his desk, sweeping all the papers off with a sweep of his arm. A glass crashed onto the ground but he didn’t care, tugging his shirt over his shoulders while you removed yours. He pulled you against him roughly as he reconnected his lips with yours, his cock pressed up against your damp underwear. He stopped kissing you to let you pull off your skirt, discarding it somewhere on the floor, leaving you in your black garters and underwear.

“Look at you,” Tommy groaned, palming his cock through his trousers as he stared at your touseled hair and swollen lips and the way you were breathing hard. “All fucking riled up for me already, and I haven’t even gotten you naked yet, aye?”

“Mr. Shelby, please sir,” you whined, eyes widening as you realized what you had just said. Tommy’s eyes, however, darkened as he stepped inches away from you.

“Is that how you want it, huh?” Tommy breathed down your neck and you shivered, his hand gently wrapping around your throat. “You want to be fucked on the boss’s desk?” He reached his other hand down to cup your cunt. You squirmed in protest, pushing yourself against his hand as he chuckled darkly.

“You going to be a good girl for me?” Tommy cajoled, pressing his palm against your clit. You moaned, nodding vigorously as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. He pulled your panties down, ripping your garters off and slipped a finger inside of you, making you cry out in response and clench around his fingers. He quickly joined that finger with another, pumping them in and out of you.

“Oh fuck,” you cried as you felt your release approaching. “Oh God, I’m gonna cum..”

“Cum for me then, pretty girl. Make a mess for me, yeah?” Tommy growled into your ear as you came all over his fingers. Tommy chuckled as you caught your breath, bringing his fingers to his mouth.

“God, you’re sweet,” he murmured, his eyes blown out with lust. Your breath hitched at his words and you kissed him, tasting yourself on his tongue. He pushed your back against the desk, unbuckling his pants and pulling out his cock before running the tip of it against your wet core.

“Please..” You squirmed against him in an attempt to get him to comply.

Tommy smirked. “What is it you want, huh?” You moaned in response, hips rocking up. Tommy’s hand made his way to your neck, holding it firmly yet not hard enough to bruise. “I wanna hear you say it, sweetheart. Maybe then I’ll give it to you.”

“Sir, please,” you cried out, hips still undulating. “I want your cock inside me.”

Tommy’s eyes dilated and he pushed himself inside of you, snapping his hips against yours at an unbelievable pace. Your eyes rolled back into your head and you were seeing stars, but you wanted everything he was willing to give you. He hadn’t even claimed you, yet you were already his. Your moans echoed throughout the office as he fucked you faster, your hands gripping at the desk, then scratching at his back. He didn’t seem to care about the marks, as he buried his face in your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin. You felt yourself coming close to the edge once again, and you tipped your head back, crying out as Tommy fucked you through your second, third, and fourth orgasm. He had you over the desk, up against the wall, even on the chair, and you didn’t care. You wanted it just as badly as he did. Finally, Tommy had you on your back on the couch, hand around your neck as he fucked you. Your eyes flickered up to meet his as you gasped.

“Please come in me, sir,” you gasped as Tommy grunted, setting an unrelenting pace.

“You’re mine,” he growled as he fucked into you. “Every inch. If I catch anyone here even looking at you, I swear to God, I’ll fucking kill them. You belong to me now, yeah?” He panted.

“I’m all yours,” you moaned at the thought.

“Mine,” he groaned, his cock twitching before he released inside of you, cum dripping down the backs of your thighs. It felt dirty, but you didn’t care. Tommy Shelby could make a mess of you in front of the entire World’s Fair and you wouldn’t protest.

After a moment of delirious silence, Tommy stood, lighting a cigarette and offering one to you. You took it graciously as he sat next to you, leaning back into the crushed velvet.

“So,” he said, blue eyes looking into yours, “I ripped your garters.” He reached into his discarded pants’ pocket, pulling out a 10 pound note from a huge stack and offering it to you.

“So you can buy new ones,” he spoke, taking a drag from his cigarette.

You accepted it, taking a drag from your cigarette. “So, would this make me a whore now?”

Tommy chuckled. “We’re all whores, Y/N. We just sell different parts.” He took a puff from his cigarette, exhaling softly. “But now, you’re with me. You’re going to have to get used to nicer things, yeah?” His eyes traced your figure before coming back to yours, smiling softly.

“If you say so, Mr. Shelby,” you smiled shyly before putting your cigarette out in the ashtray on the table and retrieving your discarded clothing from around the room, putting it on one piece at a time. You could feel Tommy’s eyes on you as he drank from his glass, and you liked it. Before you could start to make your way to the door, Tommy quickly pressed you up against his desk in a passionate kiss.

He broke the kiss, smirking slightly. “I’ll call you tomorrow, yeah?”

You looked up at him inquisitively. “But I haven’t even given you my number.”

Tommy grinned. “Don’t worry, darling, I’ll get it,” he said, eyes drifting after your figure as you headed for the door. Before you left, you looked up into his ice blue eyes. “Goodnight, Mr. Shelby,” you smiled.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Tommy responded. You closed the door behind you, taking a deep breath after you left his office, already craving his touch on you again.

Tommy Shelby was going to be the goddamn death of you.

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby smut #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders smut #john shelby smut

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kiddolm · 4 years ago

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Priority Herbert West X Reader

Summary: After so much neglect from a certain sciency boyfriend, can you do it anymore?

Warnings: AFAB, slight cursing, slight hint of NSFW

Word Count: 2,099

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He's down in the basement. Again. Like always. Somehow he's managed to spend more time in that dungeon than usual, and it's killing you.

Astonishingly, you managed to get close enough to make the twink your boyfriend in the first place. Back then, he wasn't this closed off. He actually tried to put in an effort into the relationship. But now, here you were, missing the brief kisses he'd give you on the cheek while he momentarily came upstairs. When he'd take small breaks to come to eat, and you would have conversations about something other than his reagent. When he'd finally come upstairs to take the shortest nap ever but would latch on to you like he'd lose you if he let go. Where did all of that go?

You shuffle down the stairs into his makeshift laboratory, fumbling with the hem of your sweater. Was it normal to be nervous to ask your boyfriend a simple question? Probably not, but here you are shaking like you just got off a rollercoaster, merely to ask him if he wanted to go out to eat with you and Dan.

"H-hey, Herbie,"

"-don't call me that."

"Alrighty," you whisper under your breath. Here we go. "Do you want to go out to eat with Dan and me? It might be good to get a little break, and a breath of fresh air might be good for you."

"It's outlandish how you still come down here to ask me these futile questions. I thought you would've learned by now that I don't have time for such useless activities," Herbert mutters.

You deflate, not knowing whether to keep pushing or to let it go.

"Ok," you sigh; he's right. You have learned, and you're tired of it. You're through with the emotional abuse he's been giving. Day after day, you somehow got the motivation to keep going back down, and every single time you got rejected. You're moving out until he figures out what he wants.

Charging back up the stairs, you rush into your shared bedroom and throw a jet-black suitcase on the bed. While you shove God knows what into your bag, you take a look around your room. Before you had moved in, it had been dull, with one or two human anatomy posters hanging up on the wall and a mini-fridge for his reagent. Now it has a bit more life thanks to you. Or now, I guess you should say had.

Dan comes into the room behind you with a puzzled look on his face. He looks around the room and at the clothes and decor that's thrown into your suitcase.

"Uhm, (Y/N), we're just going out to eat."

"I'm moving out. At least for a little bit. Just until Herbert figures out if he wants me in his life or not," you huff, throwing clothes recklessly into your bag.

"Woah, Woah, Woah," Dan objected, pushing past you to stop you from packing. "What happened down there?"

You let out a sigh of defeat and slump down on the edge of your bed, putting your head into your hands.

"I've tried Dan. I have, but Herbert doesn't care about me anymore. He- He's lost feelings or something! We haven't had a real conversation in a week, and- and I can't keep putting in any effort if he's not putting in any in return."

Dan sits down next to you and puts an arm around your shoulder in the hope to slightly relax you. He's always had a unique talent for that when you'd either get freaked out from work or another one of Herbert's experiments.

"I'm sorry you feel like that (Y/N). Really. He's an idiot for not appreciating you. Hell! If Meg weren't in my life, I'd probably be after you. Not- not in a weird way," he says, stuttering through the last part, making you laugh.

"It's not on you, Dan, and thank you. I'm still leaving for a while," you say, looking down at the floor. "I think I just need to be away from here for a while, ya' know?"

"Yeah, I get it. Listen, I'll help you pack and- wait. Where are you staying?"

"I was planning on just staying at a motel for a while."

"(Y/N), come on. You won't be able to live like that!"

"It's just until I figure things out with Herbert. Besides, I can't keep living like this either."

"Alright, that's fair. What all are you taking," Dan asks, standing up and begins to fold the clothes you sloppily threw in your suitcase.

。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°

Herbert wanders up the stairs and into his -or better yet, your- bedroom. Except it doesn't look like it belongs to you anymore. Quite a few of your things are missing, and your keys and purse are gone. It's almost like you never had even lived there in the first place.

He sleepily stumbles into the kitchen, looking for you. His eyes dart around the room to find your bright smile that would usually light up the room. He spots Dan instead.

"Where's (Y/N)," he groans, pouring himself a glass of coffee like it wasn't already 8 P.M.

"Why do you care?" Dan scoffs. An obvious annoyance is radiating off of him.

Dan's sudden outburst catches Herbert off guard. What's that supposed to mean? Suddenly Herbert isn't so tired anymore, and it's not just because of the coffee he seemed to inhale.

"None of her stuff is in the room. She didn't tell me she was going anywhere besides out to eat with you," Herbert says, furrowing his brows together to try and recall if you said anything else earlier.

"She moved out," dan responds bluntly with irritation sketched into his face.

"What do you mean?"

"For someone always boasting about being smarter than everyone else, you sure are acting like a dumbass right now." Dan couldn't lie; it was nice having the upper hand with Herbert. But this time didn't seem so fun. The paranoia that was evident on Herbert's features was concerning.

"Where is she?"

"She told me no to tell you."

"When?"

"She left about three hours ago. Herbert, will you-"

"Why?"

That's Herbert's last question. It's filled with an emotion Dan can't put his finger on. Herbert doesn't show much emotion, so when he does, it's alarming. More alarming than his inhuman lack of emotion.

''I'm gonna let you figure that one out," Dan replies dryly, continuing his homework and trying his best to not give in to Herbert's pleas.

As much as Herbert hated to admit that he needed anything other than science, he came to a quick conclusion in his head that he needs you. One of the classic 'You don't realize what you have until it's gone' situations.

"Dan," Herbert pleaded, dragging out the 'A' in his name, "I need to know where she is."

"What are you going to say to her? You don't even know why she's upset," Dan exclaims.

"You could tell me why."

"And why should I do that?"

"Because we're friends, Dan! Do you want to lose (Y/N)?"

"I won't lose her. I treat her like she's important to me."

"Is- is that why she's upset," he pauses, contemplating Dan's words for a moment. "Does she not think she's important to me?"

"Think about it. When was the last time you actually took a break from your work and just spent time alone? When was the last time you've given (Y/N) your attention?"

"My work is one of my top priorities! She knows that, Dan. She knew it when we first got into a relationship. That can't be it!"

"Can't it? She knows that your work is a priority, but she wants you to treat her like she's at least one of your priorities. Good God, man."

For the first time in his life, Herbert was at a complete loss for words. The silence was almost foreign.

"Where is she, Dan?"

。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°

You've been staying at this dingy Motel 8 for the past week, and while it wasn't the greatest thing ever, it was better than having to put up with being constantly rejected by your boyfriend. It's time to go back and face your problems, though.

While running away was nice for a little while, the constant state of wondering whether Herbert still wanted you or not was trying.

Sure his work is a priority, but so are you. If he can't see that, then it's his loss. Well, that's what you want to say. Honestly, you don't want to lose him. He can be cold at times, but when he's not, you feel on cloud 9. It's cliche to say you've never loved anyone like you love Herbert, but it's true. When he gives you his attention, you swear you're the only person alive. He's very passionate when it comes to love. Even if things did have to end, he always holds a special place in your heart. Every memory of him will be constant in your mind, even the bad ones. You just hoped he still loves you all the same.

Pulling up to the house gives you a tense feeling, and you haven't even gotten out of your car. You feel the drama before it even has the chance to happen.

With shaky hands, you knock at the door. The worst outcomes fill your head, one being that Herbert gave up on what you both had and ends things without another word.

All of those thoughts evaporate when the door is flung open, and you get the wind knocked out of you by Herbert, who comes out and practically tackles you. His arms wrap around your lower waist, and his head nuzzles into the side of your hair, taking in your scent.

You stand still, unable to comprehend that your once very emotionless boyfriend is showing endearment. It feels so unfamiliar.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into the side of your neck, in between the small kisses he's been peppering all over you.

You're stunned. What happened to your Herbert? Who is this?!

He takes a step back and looks at you; his eyes are glazed over with a pleading haze. "Don't leave."

He looks pitiful.

Part of you wonders what changed. Did Dan talk to him? Did he come to this realization by himself? Whatever happened that changed his mind, did it even matter?

"You have to promise me, Herbert, that you'll start to treat me better. I can't keep being the only one putting any effort in," you whisper. Your voice starts to shake, and you know if you speak any louder, it'll break.

He can only nod his head as he pulls you back into the comfort of his arms. You lift your head and place a passionate kiss on his lips as he grabs your waist tight enough to leave bruises. Without breaking the kiss, he drags you back into the house, towards his room. The sounds that the both of you make are ungodly.

Who knows if Dan just saw the mess of two people stumbling around his house.

Things get heated as clothes start to disappear from both of your bodies. His hands wander over every inch of skin that he missed while you were gone. He zones in, leaving marks on your neck to reclaim you as his. As things escalate, he slowly but surely makes you understand that you're the most significant thing in his life; his sole purpose of the night is to pleasure you.

In the morning, you're stuck together, unable to tell where you start, and Herbert ends. You wake up first admiring him. It was nice just being able to stare at him for the first time in ages. You trace imaginary circles over his chest and breathe in his scent. It feels like home.

As soon Herbert wakes up, he pecks you on the nose and moves some hair out of your face muttering a few 'I love yous' as he gets up and gets dressed to start back on his work.

You're aware this kind of affection isn't something you should be getting used to, but you can't help it. When Herbert treats you like that, you wish it'd last forever. Secretly, he does too.

Later, when Dan asks what had happened between the two of you, Herbert denies everything, too worried about his pride. Once he was down in the basement, though, you fill Dan in on everything assuring him it's all back to normal. And it really is. Your Herbert is back.

✧○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○✧

Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism is always welcome.

#herbert west #herbert west x reader #reanimator #slasher imagines #slasher x reader

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woeisme-iamwoe · 4 years ago

Text

an absolutely massive Haikyuu!! fic rec pt. 1

I went through my entire ao3 history because I’m insane, AND here’s my favorites. (There’s not a lot of aus because I’m not a huge fan of them, and there’s no sad endings. I’m a hopeless romantic leave me alone. There is angst though! Lots)

Beginning with SakuAtsu (I’m a hoe for Atsumu):

Hide and seek, by badreputation (10k. E. canonverse)

It sure is a good thing Atsumu doesn't have a latex allergy

It’s just a fleeting infatuation. As long as he pushes through it he’ll manage. So what if nowadays there isn’t a night where he doesn’t dream of Sakusa pinning him down on his own bed, in the shower or make Atsumu go down on his knees in the hallway? Those are just pesky details.

Some Memories, We May Keep, by mika60 (31k. T. canonverse)

This is canon, fight me on it.

The missing panels, the missing games, the missing moments.

The them we never saw.

*Now complete! :)*

every action has an equal and opposite reaction, by akanemnida (10k. T. canonverse)

Miya Atsumu gets a modeling contract with Calvin Klein, which sets Kiyoomi's heart in motion.

(Or: Sakusa Kiyoomi realizes that the rules governing the universe are absolute rubbish at explaining matters of the heart.)

Ass-fingering as a prelude to relations of the emotional kind: a case study, by neverwere (2k. E. canonverse)

Fucking hilarious, the imagery is absolutely hilarious.

"Marry me, he thinks, as he comes around Sakusa's fingers and all over himself.

This. This is exactly why you don't let strangers or very attractive teammates finger you out of the blue.

Everyone knows that the ass is the shortest way to the heart."

When it comes to sex, Atsumu has rules. Guidelines! SOPs! He swears they work, they've always worked.

Until they don't.

parallax error: angle of inclination, by min_mintobe (10k. T. canonverse)

But now there's the one person Atsumu'd promised himself never to touch. His eyes leave Atsumu breathless with guilt at seventeen, and he spends the next six years safe in the satisfaction of making things right.

Feelings, of the physical kind, and one kiss.

ft. competitive spirit, childishness, and late night conversations.

Atsumu POV.

autumn ends, but we remain, by wolfsbvne (5k. T. canonverse)

Author says in their ending notes that they're not an ‘author’, but methinks they should write more and pursue that career path because this was wonderful.

atsumu stares at his ceiling at 2am. he stares until he can make out designs in his popcorn ceiling. a cat there, an onigiri here, and then something that suspiciously looks like a mop of hair, triangle eyebrows, and oh those two bumps are moles right above what atsumu just mapped out as an eye.

(or, atsumu is in kind of in love. sakusa is maybe in like.)

I left a taste in your mouth, by emso (26k. E. bodyguard au)

Because obviously

Sakusa fixes him with a vague expression of something like distaste. There's a scathing edge to his tone when he speaks. "Contrary to what you seem to believe, not everyone who meets you is instantly dying to get into your pants, Miya."

"Lucky I don't really care right now what 'everyone' wants to do, then." Atsumu swivels his mug around on the tabletop a few times, and then brings it to his mouth to drain the last few dregs of his latte. Over the rim of his mug, he adds casually, "Just you."

Whoa hey Bodyguard Omi, I think Spoiled Rich Kid Tsumu might possibly have a teensy crush on you.

How do you know you're in love?, by spiritscript (12k. T. canonverse)

Pure art

“So, how did you know you were in love? How did it feel?” Atsumu felt nervous asking this, a slight wiggling in the pit of his stomach, unable to look at the man beside him who rolled his shoulders in an attempt to reset his posture. “I mean, you didn’t resonate with what I said, so, what is love to you Omi-kun?”

Atsumu thinks he must be in love with Hinata Shouyou and so asks the best person he knows to help him understand his feelings

san'yo expressway, 6:17 pm, by yamabota (13k. T. canonverse)

Of violent forethoughts, and handheld car vacuums.

Atsumu tilts his head to watch a slice of orange light bend over the impassive planes of Sakusa’s face. He is absolutely, ruthlessly beautiful. It makes Atsumu want to punch something—put his foot through the windshield—scream, maybe.

Kiss him again, maybe.

They have 344 kilometers to figure this one out.

Different Kinds of Dysfunctional, by DeathBelle (Series, 5 works. T-E. Canonverse)

Honestly, I think this one is kind of famous amongst Sakuatsu readers but I can’t not include it. If I recall correctly, this is the fic that got me into Sakuastu, so thanks, DeathBelle. The characters are portrayed really well (i.e. Sakusa is disgusted and confused, and Atsumu is a little shit). You’ve got a good balance between conversations and descriptive thoughts and all-in-all it’s just a really good read.

Atsumu said into the heavy silence, “You can’t say you’ve never thought about it.”

"Thought about what?" said Sakusa.

Atsumu smiled to himself, smug. "You know."

"No, I don't."

"You know. Of course you’ve thought about it. There’s no reason to be ashamed, Omi-kun. I’m a real catch.”

Sakusa was appalled. "You're disgusting."

"You flatter me. I'm not judging you. I can't lie and say I haven't thought about it, too."

Sakusa shifted, slowly, to peer over his shoulder. He wasn’t scowling, but his expression was unreadable. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Atsumu wasn't joking, and he was about to get more than he bargained for.

i'll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands), by liliapocalypse (7k words. T. canonverse):

Oh, god. This one was so cute. Super fluffy. Loved the metaphors and symbolism. Sometimes you just can’t say things out loud.

When a bad injury shocks the whole V. League, Sakusa finds himself paired with Atsumu for more rigorous assisted stretches before every training. Atsumu then finds himself writing random letters on Sakusa’s skin to soothe the spiker, forcing Sakusa to reevaluate how his touch aversion became an irresistible yearning for more, and how the boy with the annoying hair somehow brought that hunger to life.

Or, the fic where Atsumu mindlessly writes a confession on Sakusa’s back when he thought Sakusa wasn't paying attention. Sakusa always did.

mortality is found is the flesh of your sins, by novrik (10k. M. canonverse)

This is literally my favorite fic of all time. Not just of Sakuatsu, not even of the Haikyuu fandom. Ever. Favorite fic ever. Listen, I’m an atheist, but this fic took me on a religious experience that I haven't come down from yet. The symbolism had me actually shivering, and I had to put my phone down quite a few times. Just, oh wow, just read it. I’d like to share my favorite line; ‘And if Sakusa is Eve, if he takes a bite, what then? Perhaps, he is a little afraid of the knowledge he will gain’. My god, author, if you ever see this, this is not only a plea for you to continue writing, but also an offer of marriage. Your hand, author?

dickhead one, sakusa kiyoomi. dickhead two, miya atsumu. neither understand how to communicate.

Pray tell, why are you drawn to him?

Are you drawn to him in the way he looks beautiful even when crying?

When his eyes are red, shiny tears streaking down, lips quivering, is he beautiful?

sakuatsu domesticity simulator, by pseudoanalytics (75 words. T. canonverse)

75 words because it's actually a digital art simulator. An interactive fic! How frickin’ cool is that? The art is so beautiful and I love the plotline and ugh, just everything. Please read, or watch, or click around, yes. Good.

Update: artist created another interactive fic and of course it is wonderful. SunaOsa this time! https://newttxt.itch.io/cheesecake honestly just check out @newttxt their work is amazing and I love everything they do.

a vaguely interactive mixture of fic, art, and html, where you too can experience the inherent romance of a big fat jerk and a too-blunt jerk attempting intimacy

***

(this is the result of letting the sakuatsu brainworms really get to you...)

Pas De Deux, by hatsuna (19k words. T. Ballet/college au)

There's just something about prim, proper ballet Sakusa and human-benign-tumor Atsumu that makes my heart burst. Seriously gorgeous writing style, loved every second. By the same author who wrote ‘liminal spaces’ (which is also just perfect) so that should give you a good idea of the style.

The mystery athlete gives Kiyoomi a once over in the mirror. “Yer pretty tall,” he observes. The twang of an accent rasps low in his throat. His brazen eyes drift to Kiyoomi’s legs, and something like exhilaration glints gold in his gaze. “Good quads, too. Ya ever played volleyball?”

Ah. So it’s volleyball.

“I’m a dancer. Ballet and contemporary, mostly.”

the affective presence of our black and white reruns, by kozumess (19k. E. canonverse)

Beautiful, classic misunderstandings, my heart actually physically ached at that one scene (you’ll know the scene when you come to it). Kiyoomi is so refreshingly relaxed(? Is that the right word to use? We all know Omi never truly relaxes).

but the want, it's always there, constant like the static playing on every television channel, present even when the station disconnects.

cut the conversation, just open your mouth, by meeksoo (E. 16k. canonverse)

Absolutely filthy...BUT WITH FEELINGS! Completely nails the Sakuatsu dynamic, and protective ‘Tsumu? Love it.

Sakusa opens the door. He always does.

They’re teammates first, barely even friends. But they hook up on the regular and it works. It’s simple, easy. But then a fan gets too close, Sakusa reacts, and Atsumu is swept up in how quickly things can get complicated.

As Atsumu palms himself over his briefs, still feeling off, he realizes it’s because he still wants it. Him. Sakusa. Even after already having him earlier.

He should probably feel self-conscious, mildly ashamed even, that he’s panting ‘Omi Omi’ into the dark beneath the steady thrum of the AC unit when Sakusa’s right down the hall, probably good for it if Atsumu ended up back at his door. Instead, he lays there, writhing and sweaty, alone in his hotel room bed thinking about Sakusa and touching himself.

Afterward, as cum begins to cool on his chest, Atsumu really can’t help but face the fact that things may be getting complicated.

the hands that beckon me to come, by Ellieb3an (4k. E. canonverse)

So hot, what the fuck!

The toss, the run, the spike-serve at the end of it all—Sakusa sees it happen in perfect clarity as if time has slowed and his vision narrows to the center where just Miya exists, all powerful muscle and extraordinary skill and that air of confidence.

Sakusa isn’t one of the best receivers in the league for no reason, so his body moves on muscle memory, forearms absorbing the sting of the hit. It’s not enough. But his eyes are still on Miya—on the way his shorts ride up his muscular thighs as he lands, on the bead of sweat dripping down his forehead, on the clench of his fist thrust into the air—when the ball ricochets out of bounds.

***

Atsumu stays late at practices to work on his new third serve, even when his frustration with it starts throwing off the rest of his game. Sakusa notices and starts hanging back to secretly watch him from the gym doors. He’s fascinated with Atsumu's determination... and more than a little turned on by it, too.

you're the flame i use (when it gets dark), by starkartifices (55k. M. canonverse. Ongoing)

Everything is the same except the Sakusas are super rich.

“Oh, if you want dear, you could bring a plus one. Though, I doubt you have a partner yet.”

“I do actually.”

“What was that, dear?”

"I do have a partner, I mean."

alt title: crazy rich sakusas

the inherent romance of classical conditioning (or; the fine art of emotional recognition), by pseudoanalytics (13k. E. canonverse)

Ah, yes. A Pavloved sex life. A Pavloved LOVE life??

It's stupid. Atsumu isn't a romantic, no matter how many times he's imagined laying Sakusa out and finally really touching him.

So there's no explanation for why Atsumu is constantly stuck thinking about brushing his fingertips against the meat of Sakusa's palms or the prominent tendons in his freaky wrists.

There's no explanation for why doing dishes sets off a warm burn in his ribcage, or why when he smells disinfectant he inhales like he's walking past a bakery.

Yer doin' this to me, he thinks furiously, as Sakusa derails his thoughts with kisses that come more and more frequently now. Yer conditionin' me, and I can't stop it.

flutterbird (a collection of sakuatsu oneshots), by wordstruck (5 works. T-E. canonverse)

Works 1-3, I think follow a linear story, whereas the last two don't.

All sakuatsu works are just the angstiest, most miscommunication filled pieces of absolute gold and this one is no exception. Wow. These men are assholes and they bring out the worst in each other, but I’ll be damned if they’re not soulmates.

Collection of SakuAtsu fics. Several fics are loosely set in the same storyverse. Not necessarily directly connected and can all be read as standalones.

#haikyuu!!#sakuatsu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fic rec #sakusa kiyoomi #atsumu miya

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luvspence · 4 years ago

Text

darling, you’re the one i want

spencer reid x reader

{im not quite sure this is how a song fic works but this is basically stolen from paper rings by taylor swift, i’m using the lyrics as like prompt one liner things?????? idk bare with me}

- 1,3,4 are mainly fluff but 2 is a lot of fighting and bickering

——-

i want to drive away with you

“do you ever feel”

you took a pause in the middle of your thought, spencer spun around in his chair to face you

“indeed, i do feel”

“shut up i’m thinking” you said as you laughed and slapped him on the arm

“do you ever feel like, trapped? like boxed in almost”

he chewed on the end of his pen

“i guess? elaborate”

“well, i love my life. i have no regrets. but sometimes i feel like just running into the streets and screaming and keep running and never stopping? just fleeing in a sense”

“yeah, i get that. sort of an intrusive liberating type thought”

“exactly” you said tapping your finger to yourself head, a few seconds of silence passed before you spoke again

“i want to drive away with you”

spencer looked at you in confusion

“you’re all i need, seriously. i love everything in our lives right now i do, but i could go without all of it, besides you”

he rolled his chair up next to your and caught your hand in his

“i’d get up right now, keys in the ignition, and i’d drive into nowhere with you y/n. you’re it for me”

——

i want your complications too

you chased spencer up the stair way

“spencer!”

he turned around

“listen to me would you? every time i open my mouth it seems that you turn off your ears”

“i’m all ears y/l/n” he said, giving you more attitude than necessary, but you were having a hard time getting through to him

“that was unbelievably stupid! you could’ve gotten yourself killed! spencer this isn’t the first time, let alone the second, let alone the 7th time you’ve put yourself in harms way! this is so dumb spencer you understand this shit but you still are reckless! and don’t give me that crap about calculated risks”

you were fuming at him

“so what i’m alive, so is our victim what more do you want?”

“why are you turning this on me? i don’t want shit from you spencer! it’s not what i want! it’s your life! my god i shouldn’t have to justify to my colleague, god to my friend why i care about them being alive!”

“well i am alive. so i don’t know why you’re so bothered y/n it’s like your my mother or something” he said as he continued walking up the stair case

“no, you don’t get to do that. you don’t get to put your life on the line and then treat me like i’m the irrational one. painting me as the villain when i only just care about you”

“why do you care so much?”

“because i’m your friend?! because i love you?!”

he ignored you and resumed walking up the stairs

“you know what spencer? it’s because i love you. it’s because i love you so much that it affects my sleep. so much that i always make you coffee when you come in. so much that no matter what i’m doing, where i’m doing or who i’m doing it with, you’re always on my mind. the problem is spencer, not that i love you, that i’m IN love with you. and even at that you can’t seem to let me in. so i don’t know what the fuck to do anymore”

a tear fell down your cheek as you slammed the door and left

spencer standing dead in his tracks on the stair case. honestly wanting to vomit

you spent the rest of your day scream crying. so many emotions that you couldn’t quite process anything

you were laying on your couch, radio head on your phone, dried tears on your cheeks when your heard the doorbell ring

you go and open it

spencer

“hi”

“hi?”

you stood in your doorway, looking at each other with swollen eyes

silence, 2 seemingly frozen bodies

until spencer opened his mouth

“look, i’m sorry.”

“yeah me too”

you were sick of him, sick of how he couldn’t communicate, of how blind he could be. but something about his face was so so good. you were about to shut the door in frustration before spencer started to speak again

“and with what you said, about the love thing...”

he took a big gulp

“i do too. i love you too. i mean i’m in love with you too”

what. the. fuck.

between the shock and the upset you were feeling, there was little part of your heart that warmed when he said those words. you opened your mouth to speak but spencer cut you off

“and i just wanted to say that because i uh i owe you the truth always. regardless. but anyway, i don’t think we should pursue that though”

you stood in your doorway in shock

you didn’t know if you wanted to fight him, cry, or vomit

probably all of the above

you were blank, nothing came to your mouth. you tried to speak, tried to scream , but the only thing that came out was

“what?”

“i’m no good for you, you deserve someone who can be perfect for you. you deserve that truly. and i can’t be that. so i’m sorry but that’s just how it is. i just want you to be happy. you don’t deserve a guy that you have to yell at in stairways, that makes you cry until your eyes swell shut, a guy that cant reconcile his emotions for crap or can’t communicate or anything that i am. so im sorry, but i think this is what’s best for you.” he stuck his hands in his pants

“so bye i guess”

you were paralyzed, a surplus of information hitting you all at once. you couldn’t quite process it but you knew you couldn’t just let him walk away

“you’re idiotic” you shouted as he was about to get on the elevator

“i’m what now?”

“idiotic. no ones buying the ‘i’m not a nice guy’ crap”

“it’s not crap, it’s true. i’m no good for you”

“oh please spencer you’re acting like this is your villian orgin story. first off, who do you think you even are? i’m an adult i don’t need a white man who doesn’t know how to brush his hair to tell me whats ‘good for me’”

“i’m just looking out for you”

“okay, thanks, but i’m a big girl spencer i know how to take care of myself. and even so i don’t even think thats what this is about. you know what i think? i think that you’re too scared to admit that you don’t feel the same way. which is fine by the way, but if you’re to scared to face the reality of whatever your feeling and youre covering it by turning it on me? by saying that ‘i’m too good for you’ thats fucked up and thats that spencer.”

you caught your breath and continued

“because spencer i know you’re pulling all this shit about not being good for me but is that even true? spencer reid we’re perfect for eachother. in every way. and if you’re blind to that than whatever, but i don’t want you to lie to try and tiptoe around my feelings”

“ever since you walked into the bau y/n ive loved you. every word you’ve ever said to me get played on repeat in my head. i love you i would want nearly nothing but to be with you y/n. i love you that much. that’s why i’m trying to our myself above what i want and above whatever so that you can be the happiest you can be. it’s just that i don’t want to hurt you. you don’t deserve that. i never want you to hurt ever. and i can only prevent that by taking myself out of the picture”

“spencer, when i said i love you. it means all of you. i want every side to spencer reid. i want your complications too. it’s all worth it spencer because you’re the one for me”

you two stood there for a couple minutes. it was the longest and shortest time of your life. spencer eventually took a deep sigh and stepped in a step closer to you, looking down at your face

red from the crying, left eye swollen shut, giving him a weak smile

“you’re the one for me”

——

i want your dreary mondays

“thursday”

“no?! the worst day of the week is monday obviously”

“monday is underrated in my opinion”

you were conversing with spencer while walking through the park after dinner

“monday is the worst, it’s so hard after the two perfect days of rest to return the mundane process of life”

“sure”

“so thursday? story behind that?”

“hey have you seen spence?” you asked around the office, only getting head shakes

it was the monday after a long weekend, and spencer has had a less than ideal day

just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, spilt hot coffee on his pants, forgot his satchel at hole

you searched around for him, when you realized

when spencer was overwhelmed or stressed or sad or anything like that, he retreated to the basement file room

no one ever went down there, and there was a closet with a couch in it that was good for taking mid day breaks

you ran down the stairs, opening the door to the closet and sure enough spencer was there

“hey”

“hi”

he wiped his hand across his face, presumably for a tear

“what’s up spence?”

you said scooting next to him on the closet couch

“having a monday”

“i’m sorry to hear that, what’s going on”

“well besides the coffee incident and satchel problem...” he began to rant about how his day was going less than ideal. when he stopped abruptly

“hey, you don’t need to listen to this”

“i dont have to, but i want to”

“are you sure? i’d hate to bore you with my bad day”

“come on spence, i want your dreary mondays something you gotta recognize, is that you’re such an incredible person, that your bad days are better than most people’s best.”

“yeah, perspective right. my worst days are someone’s best”

“yeah, but don’t ever feel invalidated abt your bad days, you always deserve to feel upset, and i’ll always be here to listen to it”

“god i love you”

—-

wrap your arms around me baby boy

spencer wasn’t a touchy person

germaphobe habits

but something about you, he was magnetic to you

no matter what it was, on the jet, in the office, while in line at the grocery store, anywhere and everywhere he always had you in a hug

coming up behind you while you were cooking, wrapping his arms around the back of your neck while you were working

he adored you, and you adored him

after a case, the team decided to hit the local bar, nearing the end of the night, they started to play slower stuff

slower jazzier beats, the dj came on and said

“okay you couples! get up there”

a few couples hand gone up, you were tugging on spencer’s arm to accompany you up there

“well if you don’t go you know morgan will”

derek raised an eyebrow at him, and before you knew it he was dragging you on stage.

poor spencer didn’t know how to dance correctly, he was standing so far from you. hands in each other’s hands like middle schoolers

“jeez spence, wrap your arms around me”

you grabbed his hands, positioning them on your waist, you wrapped your arms around his neck, and leaned into his chest

swaying back and forth, as the sinatra echoed the other the bar and the click of garcias camera could be heard

and in that moment, nothing felt better or more right, than dancing in spencer reids arms

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluffy #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer x y/n #mgg #mgg fic #mgg x fem!reader #fem reader #sr #criminal minds fluffy #criminal minds fic #matthew gray gubler #mgg fluff

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pixelfun20 · 4 years ago

Text

Flower Fields, Ch 1

Summary: Season 7 of Hermitcraft has begun, and their newest and youngest member, Tubbo, is more than ready to prove himself in the eyes of his friends. New memories are made and friendships are forged, but old ghosts from the past still linger, and Tubbo will soon discover that fate has a way of letting things come full circle.

Notes: This an fic idea I legitimately came up with yesterday, based off of @give-grian-rights ‘s Watcher!Tubbo and Watcher!Tommy AU (I hope you don’t mind! I just loved this idea). I wrote this a single evening, let it sit for the night, and decided to publish it today. I hope you guys like it! Just to note, I haven’t finalized a title (or plot, besides some major points) yet, so if y’all have any ideas, let me know!

Chapter 1:

I'm not yours, and you're not mine

But we can sit and pass the time

For a moment, he floated in darkness.

Then in the next, he was falling through the air.

He didn’t fall far, thankfully, and his impact was cushioned by another body right underneath him.

Tubbo groaned, blinking against the bright rays of the sun as he tried to adjust from the darkness that had just encompassed him. He shifted, feeling rough cloth underneath him, and realized he was lying on someone.

“Oh! Sorry!” He exclaimed, swiftly moving off the other. He looked down as he saw a man with dark brown hair, a beard, and a leather jacket sit up, rolling his shoulders with a wince. “I think I spawned right on top of you, xB.”

xBCrafted just chuckled, pulling himself up to his feet. Tubbo followed him, cracking his back as he went, and looked around, trying to discern where he was.

Ah, man. It seemed like they had spawned on a small, sandy island, that was, worst of all, completely devoid of trees. Already it was crowding with the arrival of the other Hermits, with a few more pairs repeating the same situation as he and xB, spawning one on top of the other in the enclosed space. In the distance, he could see a large mooshroom island looming above the waves, but besides that there was nothing in sight.

“Looks like we’ll be going for a swim today!” xB chirped as Iskall spawned a foot or so away from them, landing face-first in the sand. “X wasn’t lying when he said we’d have a tricky time starting the Season.”

“And here I was hoping to stay dry,” Tubbo sighed as Iskall shot up, spluttering sand in the air. The two of them laughed at his sorry state.

“Very funny, you two,” the elder man grumbled. Iskall85, or Iskall as he was commonly known, looked considerably older than the two friends, perhaps in his early thirties. He had semi-long, scraggly brown hair and a cybernetic eye, as well as a green sweatshirt and brown vest.

“Oho, is that Scar?” xB exclaimed. Tubbo followed his gaze, and sure enough, a man in a purple bathrobe and dyed-white hair had just spawned, half in the water. Ah, GoodTimesWithScar was an odd one, alright, he thought with a laugh.

“What did he do?” Tubbo giggled. Scar turned towards them, seeming to hear his comment, and put his hands on his hips.

“I’m sorry, Tubbo,” he announced semi-solemnly. “The wizard life has chosen me.”

Iskall nearly cackled at that, throwing his head back, and xB and Tubbo joined him. Trust Scar to find new and creative ways to start the season! Tubbo made a mental note to drop by in a few weeks and see where this new bit got him.

“Looking good, Scar!” Stress said, coming up behind him. The shortest of the Hermits, she wore a pink jacket and kept her straight brown hair short and to the chin. “How’re you doing, Tub?”

“Great!” Tubbo chirped back. “Excited to start the Season right.”

“Let me know if you need anything, love,” she added, clapping her hands together. “That goes for all of you! I’d chat for longer, but Mumbo and I have some plans we need to discuss. See you all in a bit!” And with that she was gone, hopping over to the other side of the island. Scar went right on her heels, jogging over to Cubfan135 (a balding man in a lab coat around Iskall’s age), who was standing next to Mumbo Jumbo.

Tubbo scanned over the rapidly growing group of people, grinning once he caught sight of a flash of black-striped yellow armor in the crowd.

“Hey! X!” He called out, waving. A man fully covered in armor, painted to resemble a bee, looked over to them. Through his vizor, Tubbo could see the corners of his brown eyes crinkle in the tell-tale sign of a smile, and he approached the trio. “Love the outfit!”

“Thank you, Tubbo,” XisumaVoid replied, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m quite liking your new design, too.”

Tubbo fought back a blush, looking down at himself. Like the elder man, he’d changed up his usual outfit to celebrate the newest mob addition to Season 6, the bees. He’d changed into a yellow jacket with black stripes on the sleeves over a gray shirt, as well as black pants with a yellow stripe down the sides.

“Alrighty, I’ll be leaving you two to your father-son bonding,” Iskall cut in, waving a hand as he walked off. “I’m going to go catch up with Keralis.”

“Oh, will you stop with that!” Xisuma said good-naturedly as Tubbo really did his best not to blush. xB laughed again. Iskall just whistled, walking over to where Keralis, a man in his late thirties in a blue shirt and jeans, had just spawned. The server’s admin turned back to Tubbo. “Sorry about that. You know how he can be.”

Tubbo just shook his head a bit, trying to suppress a smile. Ah, it’d been far too long since the Hermits had all been in one place like this. He’d missed the action of it all.

He, Xisuma, and xB chatted together for a few minutes as everyone spawned in and caught their bearings. It seemed everyone had big plans for the Season. While he and Xisuma had gone with a bee theme, xB was apparently planning to really Hermit out the season, far away from spawn. Scar was certainly embracing the wizard part of himself, and rumor had it BDubs and Doc were going to be neighbors, which was a recipe for disaster and, more importantly, funny stories.

“Okay, everyone!” It was Keralis’ shout that drew the twenty-some players out of their respective conversations. Almost unconsciously, they’d formed an oval around the perimeter of their tiny spawn island. “Intro time! Let’s go, X!”

“What? Why me?” Xisuma protested, but Keralis just laughed and took his place back in the circle.

“C’mon, admin,” Tubbo teased him with an elbow to the side. Xisuma sighed, rolling his shoulders, then stepped out into the center of the island.

“Alright everyone. Welcome to Hermitcraft Season 7! Go!” He clapped his hands together and dashed back towards the shore, the circle immediately breaking up as the Hermits split into their groups and dove into the ocean. Tubbo laughed as he waved goodbye to xB, who took off in a different direction as he went to follow X.

The water was nice and lukewarm, and soon enough Tubbo was backstroking over the ocean. He looked up at the bright blue sky, and smiled.

~~~~~~~~~

They spent most of the first day collecting supplies.

As it turned out, both FalseSymmetry, Hypnotizd, and ZombieCleo had decided to go in the same direction as he and Xisuma, so they ended up gathering their first bits of wood and stone together. Then there was some issue with the server that caused Xisuma to have to dive deep into the server code, in the open, at midnight, so their first night went without much sleep and with a lot of mob fighting instead.

“Well,” Cleo said the next morning, twirling her axe as Tubbo set to cooking some meat for breakfast. “That could have gone better.”

“I think the first night went just fine, thank you very much,” False shot back, sharpening her newly-minted stone sword. “I’m going to be honest, though, I’m not used to going out at night without an elytra. Or armor. Or a decent sword.”

“Hey, but did you see how many mobs I killed?” Tubbo put in, pulling out some pork chops and tossing one to Cleo. “I’m a god, I tell you.”

“Yes,” Xisuma replied. He was still sitting on one of the beds they’d made, and was double checking some of the code. “God of giving me heart attacks.”

“Not my fault you messed up part of the code! I saved your life!”

“I’d suggest you remember who bandaged that arrow wound, kid.”

Tubbo’s hand flew to his shoulder, where his jacket was torn slightly, and he blushed. “I’m not a kid!”

Everyone turned and gave him a flat look, and Tubbo blushed harder, looking down. It was no secret that he was, by far, the youngest person on the server. Most players were in their late twenties, like False and Impulse, to their late thirties, like Scar and Doc. Even the youngest before he’d arrived had been Mumbo and xB, at 24 and 19 respectively. At just barely 16, Tubbo was, well, a child compared to them.

Loathe as he was to admit it. It had been hard enough in the beginning, when he’d arrived unexpectedly at the beginning of Season 6. No one had been expecting any new players to join that Season, much less a mentally scarred 14-year-old, and he’d ended up being coddled for the first six months or so. Heck, he’d lived with Xisuma until he’d grown so tired of it he’d had to run off and make his own base without asking him, because the answer would have been no.

He was perfectly capable of living on his own! It was just… well, Tubbo knew he wasn’t as good as the others. He couldn’t make the huge, rolling complexes or over complicated redstone machines that did everything for you like the other hermits did. Of course, it made sense; he had a lot less experience and was still learning these things. But it didn’t help the fact that the others, well, they didn’t look down on him, per se, but they were always a little too willing to help, a little too protective.

“Sure,” Cleo was drawling teasingly, drawing him out of his thoughts. Tubbo snorted and looked down at his breakfast with a shake of his head, starting to eat.

“Oh, let him be,” Hypno put in, grabbing some food for himself. “I remember being that age. Young and ready to take on the world. At least he doesn't have any creaky old bones. I’m already feeling my back in the mornings.”

“Alrighty then!” Xisuma announced after a moment of silence, rising from his bed and closing the admin screens. “Looks like all the post-spawn bugs have been taken care of. I’m ready to head out for the day.”

“I guess this is where we all say goodbye, then,” False replied, twirling her sword. “I have the best idea for my base this season, but I gotta go north from here.”

“Tubbo and I are heading east.”

“West for me,” Cleo put in.

Hypno just shrugged. “I figured I’d wander for a bit before settling down.”

“No planning?” Tubbo asked, then grinned, glad for the change of subject. “I like your style, Hypno.”

The bandana-ed man inclined his head at him with a smile. He wasn’t a new player to the server, not at all, but from what Tubbo knew he hadn’t been around for a few years. Prior to the last few days as they’d prepared to jump Seasons, he’d hardly even heard of the man before, and thus didn’t know him too well.

Xisuma clapped Tubbo’s shoulder, eyes crinkling from that helmet-obscured smile of his.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

Tubbo whooped. “Bees, here we come!”

~~~~~~~~~

Perfect.

That was the only way Tubbo could describe the place he’d come across. He sat in the branches of one of the tallest trees in the area, looking out to where the forest he’d been traversing ended and the plains biome, scattered with flowers in small patches around, with gentle hills rolling even further in the distance.

It was an idyllic location, and perfect for his plans for the Season.

Another day had passed, marking it Day 3 of Season 7. After that first somewhat disastrous night, he and Xisuma had separated from their initial group and travelled to find a base together. Xisuma had decided, for some reason, that he was going to build his base in the middle of the jungle, so they had set up camp there for the night. Come dawn, however, Tubbo was ready to go and scout for a place of his own, and with a promise to check in with Xisuma every day or so, he’d set off that morning.

It was early afternoon, now, and honestly, Tubbo was pleased with how quickly he’d found his spot. It was only a half-day’s journey, while walking, from Xisuma, so once he’d gotten elytra he’d be able to visit whenever he wanted. Besides that, news had it that Keralis and Beef were only a little ways out, which would be fun since Tubbo didn’t know them too well.

Humming quietly, Tubbo reached into his inventory and took out the only belonging he’d taken with him from Season 6－a medium-sized notebook, filled with sketches and notes on what he wanted to build and how to do it. Last Season he hadn’t been ambitious enough; Tubbo had started late thanks to living with Xisuma and then had focused on just having a base of his own that by the end of the season it had looked puny compared to the many buildings his friends/guardians had made.

He wasn’t making that mistake again. Tubbo had grand plans for this Season’s megabase, and he was going to make sure it blew everyone else out of the water.

Okay, maybe that was an over exaggeration. But Tommy had always said to aim high.

His heart twisted a bit, as it always did when he thought of his old friends. Back then, he’d known people his own age, and Wilbur and Techno had rarely held back against him when they’d interacted with him, whether through words or PvP.

He wondered how they were doing; it’d been almost two years since he’d last seen or heard from them. He wondered if they’d moved on.

He wondered if they knew he was still alive.

Tubbo shook his head, chasing the depressing thoughts out of his mind. He’d found himself thinking of his old friends less and less over the last year and half, as he’d settled into life in Hermitcraft and begun to heal from what had happened to him. Not to say he didn’t miss them, that he wasn’t missing something in his life, but, well. Even though he thought of them every once in a while, the numerous letters he’d written to Tommy, unable to be sent, had been left behind with Season 6, in a way of really starting anew.

Doc had explained it best. Life moved on, and sometimes it was best to just hold onto the old memories and work on making new ones.

He’d taken that advice to heart. Tubbo flipped open his notebook to one of the middle pages, holding it out and comparing his sketch to the open plains before him.

Yes. This biome would do quite nicely.

Season 7 was going to be something great.

#tubbo #tubbo_#xisuma #xisumavoid #xbcrafted #iskall85 #hermitcraft #hermitcraft season 7 #watcher tubbo #watcher au #fanfiction #fanfic #hermitcraft fanfic #Hermit!Tubbo AU #I have no self control #And no idea how long I'll roll with this #but I"m quite liking it so far

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voidandradiance · 4 years ago

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spirit never dies | 5.6k

"the legends tell stories of a goddess by that name,“ the priest admits quietly. “but those are old, old stories, too fantastic to be entirely true. they do speak of how to find her, though.”

jordan leans forward eagerly. “how? how can i find her, where has she been?”

the priest holds up a hand to ward off his questions. “i can’t tell you what i don’t know. all the stories say is that there is a man who lives in the clouds, and that he is the only one who can restore the goddess. some of the legends seem to indicate that it might be the captain, but i can’t say that for certain.”

"the captain?“ jordan asks, because that has always been his title, and yet it is a fairly common one. still, though.

"an ancient hero, who lived during the dawn of the gods’ reign. he was the most powerful warrior ever known to recorded histories. alongside the first champions, he helped bind the primordial darkness and seal it away,” the priest replies, gesturing grandly. “the priest of that time didn’t keep extensive records, but the captain was important enough to write of.”

"and i have to go find him?“ jordan adds. “i have to go find an ancient warrior who lives in the clouds, who may or may not actually exist?”

the priest shrugs. “if you want to find ianite, then yes.”

jordan goes.

he saddles a horse and follows what the priest has told him; he crosses the desert until he reaches the sea, and rows out toward two separate chains of islands until he reaches the place he has been told to go. it’s a wooded, untouched island, with nothing built and nothing dug.

but if he squints, there is a faint shape in the clouds, far off in the distant heights. of course. the captain lives in the clouds.

he builds his scaffolding up into the sky.

there is a small stone courtyard in the thick clouds, hidden by mist and distance. it is lit by strange metal lanterns, low walls standing around the sides. there is a pale archway in the center of the aged stone brick, intricately carved. a massive oak tree curls in one corner, apples hanging from its branches, a clear spring of water burbling between its roots, pale flowers blooming in the little grass left. opposite, there is a firepit, bright and crackling, warm and endlessly burning. one of the back corners holds only a chest and a few necessities, a worktable set up and filled with small tools.

in the last, a man kneels in front of a small shrine.

jordan freezes.

the captain gently places down an unlit candle onto the tiny altar, the space kept so carefully, so neatly. he places down the candle, then stands, then turns.

he is not a tall man, not any taller than jordan himself, but that does not make the way he braces himself against his trident any less intimidating. jordan’s never even seen a weapon like that, not here, and yet the captain leans on it with a familiar ease. he wears a faded red coat, and simple clothes, and a strange sense of power hums in the air around him.

"well?“ the captain asks. "come on. i’m sure you have questions.”

jordan steps forward numbly. the hairs rise on the back of his neck as soon as he sets foot on the stone bricks, though he can’t tell why. the captain smiles at him so knowingly, and rests the trident against the archway as they both step forward.

"you’re looking for ianite,“ the captain guesses, and he nods. "good. i’m glad. it’s terribly lonely, being a follower without a god, isn’t it?”

jordan nods again. “do you know where she is? the priest said you might.”

the captain looks at him for a long few seconds, and then sets his jaw. “i am the only person in the realm who knows where she is. even her brothers don’t know, and they put us here.”

"here?“ jordan asks. "how could they not remember? is she here?”

there’s a pause, and then the captain turns away and steps over to the chest, withdrawing two simply made cups that he fills with hot water from the cauldron beside the fire. he sets them on the corner of his workbench, and adds a couple of small bags, and-

tea. jordan is looking for a lost goddess, and the one man who can help him is making tea.

"this is going to be a very long explanation,“ the captain says, before jordan can do more than open his mouth. "no, ianite is not here, but this is the only way to get to where she is. yes, she is real, and yes, she is alive. no, she was not imprisoned with ill intent, not this time. yes, there is good reason for why i am the only one who properly remembers her. yes, i will take you to her, as soon as you have actually been told what’s going on here, alright?”

jordan blinks. “alright.”

the captain looks back at him, and nods at the ground. “i haven’t got anywhere else to offer you a seat,” he warns, handing over one cup. it smells warm, familiar, like apple and lavender. of course; what else is there in this place?

they sit on the cold brick, and the captain takes a deep breath, wrapping his hands around the still-steeping tea. he has such a strange look in his eyes when he looks at jordan, odd and unreadable.

"i think that the first thing you need to know is that i was her first champion, at the dawn of the gods’ reign,“ the captain announces. "i have walked the void, and i have served her in every realm i’ve known, but in this one i was her first and only true follower. my friends, my brothers, were the same for the other two gods. you have a set of siblings just like them, even if you haven’t realized it yet.”

tom and tucker and sonja are good friends, yes, of course. he wouldn’t go so far as to call them his siblings, though. still, the captain looks so melancholy that jordan doesn’t say a word.

"prior to the gods, there were the light and the darkness,“ the captain continues, forging ahead. "they were the primordial divinities, above and before the gods. and they were constantly warring. as the gods came into their power, with us as their champions, the darkness and light each tried to garner our favor. we all fought for the light, but the darkness was powerful, more powerful than we fully understood. they possessed almost all of us, at one point or another, including all of the gods. including ianite.”

jordan’s heart is in his throat. “and?”

the captain sips his tea. “tell me what you know about ianite, kid. i’m sure you can figure things out.”

"she- we are balance,“ jordan replies hesitantly, and gets an approving nod at the correction. "balance, justice, fairness. and- and the end is the only dimension without a god, so that’s probably hers, isn’t it? she’s the goddess of balance and the end. and i’m being called to her.”

"and the sea, and prophecy,“ the captain adds. "do you dream of other worlds that don’t make sense? of futures that may or may not come?”

jordan leans back a little. “how’d you know that?”

the captain taps the side of his head. “it comes with being her champion. i have done the same thing for centuries, now. we are balance between order and chaos, and justice and fairness in the mortal realm. we are attuned to the seas and to the end. we dream of possibilities. yes, all of that is true. but do you know what else it is that our lady holds a balance between?”

"light and dark,“ jordan guesses. it’s the only thing that makes sense. pieces are falling into place, and he much doesn’t like the way that they’re landing. "but if she got possessed by the darkness, wouldn’t that have broken her balance?”

his stomach drops as the captain points at him. “exactly. the end is also the void. the darkness had an easy way in, and we had no good way to heal her. the only way was to surround her with equal light, and to let them gradually… balance. when we defeated the darkness, there was still a shard of their power controlling her. there was no choice. mianite and dianite built this place together, and the light locked away all other memory of her so that no one could come to interfere. i have been left to guard the way to her ever since. i cannot leave until she is healed.”

jordan stares at him. “and how long will that take?” he asks weakly.

"four thousand years, by my count,“ the captain replies. "or, by an easier estimate of time, until her next champion comes to seek her. and that, kid, would be you.”

"oh,“ he says softly.

the captain smiles. "yeah. it’s a lot, but you’ll adapt well. i’d like to think that i did. have you done anything in her name?”

jordan shakes his head slowly. “not yet, not really. not like tom and tucker have. should i have?”

"you’ve only just found that she was real, so i can’t blame you for not,“ the captain reassures him. "her temple is in the end, but she ought to have one in the overworld as well. we’ll have you light a candle and speak to her, just to formalize the bond, and then we will go to see her.”

so they do. the captain takes a dried twig from the tree that mianite had planted and lights it in the fire that dianite had set, and kneels before the small shrine to light the shortest candles in a practiced motion. the last, newly reshaped from wax four thousand years old, remains unlit.

"there is no one way to pray to her,“ the captain tells him quietly. "you can build her grand temples or worship her in secret. all that she needs is your belief. there was a creed, written by one of her few other followers, and it’s a good one. void and radiance at once, he said. we are the healer, the warrior, whatever nature asks. there is no one right path.”

"you’re sure?“ jordan asks. he has not prayed to anything in his life, except for the sea’s better nature. he barely knows what he’s doing.

the captain smiles, and stands, holding out the crude lighter. "i am absolutely sure of it. come on, kid. i’ll start the portal.”

he takes the slowly burning stick, and lights the last candle. it smells like lilac as the faded wax begins to melt, the scent somehow familiar as he kneels before it. unlike his visits to the temples, this time he doesn’t feel like he’s intruding. it feels right.

words fail, so he just bundles as much emotion as he can into the only thing he knows to say. “lady ianite,” he murmurs, and hopes that she can sense his hope and worry and excitement. what can he possibly say to a lost goddess? only the honest truth. “i’m so glad to know you’re out there. i can’t wait to meet you.”

the captain activates something in the archway, and leads him through with a knowing smile. they step into the end, no obsidian towers in sight, only pale stone and dark void. there are what look like ships hanging frozen in the air above them, still and abandoned. there is strange rubble around them, purple pillars and pale brick, and jordan stares around the place with wide eyes.

and yet the captain doesn’t even blink. no, he closes his eyes and holds out his arms, tilting his chin to face a nonexistent sun. magic shimmers over his skin, softly shining, welcoming. when he reopens his eyes, they are faintly ringed in lavender light. he smiles.

"where are we?“ jordan asks, and his voice echoes around the fallen towers. "what is this place?”

"an old end city,“ the captain informs him casually, leading the way to the edge of the island. "and on the island below us, the place where ianite is waiting.”

he pauses. “below us? how are we meant to get down there? i don’t have any water.” which is his own fault, yes, but he still doesn’t see any way down.

the captain turns to look at him, smiling his strange, sad smile. there is something knowing in his eyes, something pleased and worried at the same time. “it’s a leap of faith, jordan,” he says. it’s the first time he’s used his name. “you’ll get used to it.”

"will i?“ jordan asks. the thought of falling makes his stomach turn.

"for her? yes,” the captain replies. “yes, you will. you have enchantments, the fall won’t hurt. it hardly ever does. there’s a platform just below the drop.”

jordan stares off the ledge. it seems like an endless fall. if there is a platform, it is too dark to see. the void stretches wide and empty below, singing softly, an eerie few notes that set a chill in his bones. it would be a mad, blind thing to do. “straight down?”

"straight down,“ the captain agrees, and sits casually on the edge. "it’s a lot, i know. i had more time before i had to make my first blind leap. i do recommend avoiding a running start, though. makes the landings a bit harder.”

jordan nods. there is something pulling him forward, downward, something deep in his chest that tugs and tightens as he draws nearer to where ianite waits. it calls him, familiar, something that he can almost reach. and yet- “your first?”

the captain shrugs. “my first. that’s a part of it, for us. mianite and dianite, they have had a hundred champions, and they can find a hundred more. chaos and order are not hard to find. but balance, our true balance? she cares for us. all champions must trust in their gods, but we can trust her. we will leap, and she will make sure we land.”

oh. oh.

mianite would probably do it for tucker, if it came down to it in crisis. dianite probably wouldn’t do the same for tom. and yet, here sits the captain, loyal and true after thousands of years. how many leaps of faith has he made? how many landings has ianite caught him with? how strong must the pull in his chest be, begging him to make the jump and race to find her?

"straight down,“ jordan repeats, more to himself than anyone else. the certainty is building in his chest, doubling back on itself and pulling him forward. it calls him, a call that fills his lungs and winds through his veins, wrapping around his bones and weaving through his ribs. it is a call that he has heard all of his life, something he has only hardly realized was a call at all, and now it is louder and clearer than it has ever been. it is a question, and he finally knows where to find the answer.

the captain smiles. "straight down.”

jordan inhales, exhales. he curls his hands into fists until his nails bite into his palms, and forces his legs to move. there will be a landing. he has to trust that there will be a landing. he has to believe it.

and he makes the leap of faith.

there is cold, cold nothing around him. the fall is short, yet an eternity, and fear claws at the back of his throat. he refuses to let it choke him. he closes his eyes and hopes, trusts, and then suddenly his boots hit stone in a flare of protective magic.

the captain lands beside him a moment later, grinning, almost proud. relieved, maybe. “it gets easier after the first time,” he says easily, and gestures up the path to the massive monument ahead of them. it is sheer, dark stone, a seamless face of some strange material. “this way.”

jordan follows him, heart still pounding in his chest. he aches with fear and hope alike. he can feel the half-known call in his chest, and it makes his steps fall a little faster. the captain feels it too, it seems, if the endlessly patient man is this hurried.

they stop in front of the thing, and the captain sighs. “put your hand over the carving,” he says, nodding at the only flaw in the surface of the stone. it feels more like a strange metal when he touches it, but he steps up to place his palm over the designs. on the opposite side, the captain does the same.

nothing happens, until the captain takes a deep breath.

"my lady,“ he calls softly, his voice fond and gentle, almost sing-song. "i’ve brought your paradox. it’s time.”

and then symbols along the edges flare to life, and the carving under his hand warms and burns, and the entire thing starts trembling. slowly, as dust falls, a glowing seam splits the middle of the seamless face, and the two pieces of the doors slide open.

inside, strange things hang from the walls, and metal lanterns cast an odd glow around the massive room. an elaborate fountain burbles away in the back of the room, water flowing beneath the violet glass underfoot. dark stone, gilded with gold, lines the pale staircase that leads up to a sealed platform not much larger than the one the captain has spent millennia guarding.

jordan feels the call pulling him forward, warm and welcoming and persistent, and he is not alone in that. the captain all but jogs up the quartz stairs, and he follows. once again, there are matched carvings. once again, they place their hands over the top. enchantment runes shine bright, brighter, and then suddenly the wall has opened.

there is a woman sitting there, a goddess, wisps of sparkling power just now vanishing into her skin. she sits still and unmoving, though her hair floats of its own accord as if it were underwater. thin golden chains hold her wrists tethered to the armrests of the chair. they look to be impossibly delicate, and yet remain.

the captain steps forward. “my lady.”

ianite opens her eyes, shining violet with power, and smiles. her teeth are a little too long, a little too sharp; she is the goddess of the end, of the dragon. of course she has fangs. “my captain.”

the captain blinks back tears. “i’m sorry, milady. i’m so sorry.”

"captain,“ ianite says quietly, her voice heavy with some soft meaning that jordan doesn’t recognize. "you saved me.”

and those are the words that make the tears slip down the captain’s cheeks. “you saw the other realms.”

"i got glimpses. the light and dark are universal constants; they see all. yes, i saw the other realms. i couldn’t interfere, but i watched. and here i had thought that the isles were overwhelming,“ she agrees with a broken laugh. "they shouldn’t have been. each world looks so small from-”

”-way up high,“ the captain finishes, and they say the words in unison. “i’ve heard.”

ianite smiles faintly, and holds out her hand. “i should be the one to apologise to you, captain. i’m sorry.”

"it wasn’t your fault,“ the captain insists, though he moves closer. she places a hand on his cheek, and he leans into her touch, magic singing between them. she wipes away his tears with a gentle brush of her thumb, nevermind her own.

she cares for us.

"i failed you,” ianite says. “i should have fought harder. i should have been better. i wasn’t, and i am sorry.”

"i failed you,“ the captain insists. "i should have figured everything out sooner, i should have found another way to help you, i should have-”

ianite shakes her head. “you did all that you could, captain, and you did the right thing. there was no other way. i do mean it when i say that you saved me. thank you. and, if you need to hear it, i forgive you.”

something silent passes between them, agonized and relieved. the captain drops to one knee, and the goddess runs a hand through his messy curls as far as she can, leaning forward to press a kiss to the top of his head. he says something too quiet to hear.

"mianite is allowed two,“ she murmurs in reply, comforting and quiet. "dianite has furia. i ought to be allowed my captain. i’m certainly not going to cast you aside after all you’ve done for me. you bargained four millennium just to remember my name.”

the captain very obviously tries to stifle his sob. it doesn’t work as nearly well as he hopes. she cares about us, and yet he seems stunned to not be cast aside. there is something here that does not make sense in the slightest.

and then ianite looks up, and beckons to jordan, and it clicks.

the captain was her first champion. jordan is her next. mianite has both tucker and sonja at once, yet the captain had thought that jordan would take his place entirely, somehow. as if jordan, young and inexperienced and idealistic, could ever compare to the captain. the thought itself is laughable.

he steps forward at the goddess’s wave, and she smiles, even as she tries to assure her first champion that he is still wanted and needed. “my boy,” she says warmly, reaching out as best she can with the thin chains still linked to her wrists. “i am so glad to finally meet you.”

"my lady,“ he manages to reply, more than a little overwhelmed. her smile only widens, amused but not mocking.

the captain looks up, tears wiped away, and follows his gaze. "go on, then,” he says. “you’re the only one who can do it. it’s time.”

jordan reaches out to touch the chain, magic humming and burning around it, strong and elegant at once. he means to lift it, to look closer, to find any lock or catch. they are forged from something much stronger than gold, of course, but a better look wouldn’t hurt.

instead, as soon as his fingers brush against the metal, the chain shatters into nothing. he startles. ianite smiles. the captain lifts the other chain, and holds it out to him. that, too, vanishes at his touch.

and the captain makes a wounded noise, pressing a hand over his chest.

"are you alright?“ ianite asks, worried, her hand on his shoulder.

"my tether to the portal,” the captain replies, looking stunned, slowly beginning to grin. “it snapped. i was bound to guard it until you were freed. and now i’m not.”

the goddess smiles, and stands, and helps pull the captain to his feet. “i do believe we’ve met the terms, then, captain. time to see how the world has carried on without us, i suppose.”

the captain shakes his head. “not very well. not the seas, and not the end. and i don’t think dianite is doing well, either.”

she laughs, this lost goddess with violet eyes and floating hair and broken cuffs on her wrists. “then i suppose we get to go and pick up after my brothers yet again,” she says, and sets a hand on jordan’s shoulder. she has not let go of the captain. “you’ll have to fill us in on what you can, my champion.”

"uh,“ jordan replies, which is a great thing to say when asked to do something relatively simple. "i’ll do my best.”

ianite turns her smile to him, and his chest aches with some strange relief, the call no longer pulling so desperately. the cry is now a quiet song, humming soft and warm in the space between his heart and lungs. “that is all i can ask, my boy,” she says, and squeezes his shoulder. “that’s all i can ask.”

thus begins the strangest conversation of his life.

they sit on the steps, halfway down, leaning against the gilded stone. ianite keeps a hand on the captain’s shoulder, and the captain leans into her without even seeming to realize it. jordan watches them, perfectly balanced, perfectly synchronized. their bond is strong, so strong.

but he talks. he talks about the way he arrived, and the other gods, and the other champions. he talks about dianite, and the problems his followers have caused, and about mianite, and the help the others have given him. they ask, and he answers, and sometimes the captain sighs or swears. he’s seen so many worlds, there are bound to be things that overlap.

he runs out of things to say, eventually, but they nod along with what he tells them. the conversation shifts and flows, turning toward all the things that must be done, all the broken things that must be fixed and the lost things that must be found. the realm was once far more than it is now, it seems, far wider and richer than any of the rest of them had thought. ianite promises that she will repair some old relic of the captain’s, and he grins so widely.

eventually, finally, ianite stands. “i will take us to the portal,” she says, and wraps her arms around their shoulders. “hold on.”

it is the same sudden, swooping feeling as an ender pearl, a rush of magic and movement. the world is gone, and then it is back, and they stand just before the pale archway. they step through the dark portal, ianite smiling and the captain laughing, and into bright daylight.

the goddess tilts her face up towards the sun, but shades her eyes. “i forgot just how bright it was,” she comments softly, bittersweetly.

"i’d offer you my sunglasses, but i’m not the one who had them last,“ the captain replies, and she rolls her eyes. he’s doing something at his workbench, shoving something in a bag before shedding his crimson coat and shoving that in too. there is some strange, silvery cloak that he wears beneath it, and he turns to her with quiet hope in his eyes. "could you-”

magic shimmers and flares, and ianite grins. “done,” she says, and waves. “go on, captain. we’ll meet you below.”

the captain checks his bag and chest again, and tightens his grip on his trident, and grins. “absolutely,” he says, and then leaps off of the edge. he doesn’t fall; he glides, soars. his cloak swings open into something that can send him in sweeping circles around the platform, racing through the clouds and whooping in delight. the weariness seems to have fallen from his shoulders, left behind with the shattered chains and empty chamber, left to fall from him and sink into the ocean below.

the captain grins at them, and swoops down into lazy circles. ianite shakes her head fondly.

jordan watches, and doubts. not her, never her, but his place with her. “my lady,” he says hesitantly, and the title feels so right. “am i- should i even-”

"my boy,“ ianite says, glancing down at him. "you are needed, if that’s what you’re worried about. the captain is capable and clever and loyal, yes, but he is not the balance that this world needs. you are. he is my true, needed champion, but so are you. i swear it.”

he sighs, and nods. it feels hollow.

"you’ll understand soon,“ ianite promises, and sits down at the edge of the platform. after a moment, jordan sits down beside her. "look. everything seems so small from way up high. what do you see?”

jordan blinks, and glances down. “some trees. sand. the ocean.”

"the captain would say an island and the sea,“ ianite replies. "he is very good at balance on a grand scale. he knows the struggle between light and dark, and how to mediate it. he sees the older, deeper things that must be balanced, and he takes it seriously. but there are other forces that must be balanced, ones that you are more suited to. the captain tends to balance my brothers by helping both of them in equal measure. you balance them by aiding the one closer to true balance, yet not siding with either. order and chaos weigh on a different set of scales, but both are necessary. do you understand?”

he thinks he might. “one for the grand scale, one for the details,” he says, and she nods approvingly. “because then we balance each other out.”

"yes,“ ianite agrees, and then pauses, sombering. "and also because the captain deserves to rest.”

jordan thinks about the four thousand years the older champion had stood guard, and finds that he can’t argue. the captain has done so much for their lady; it makes sense that she would want to take some of the weight off of his shoulders. jordan just has to be ready to take his share of it.

they teleport down just as the captain lands, and ianite offers to teleport jordan home. he hesitates, because he really doesn’t want to lose another horse, and the captain shrugs. “we could always go the long way.”

"i haven’t ridden in four millennia,“ ianite laughs. "alright. we’ll go the long way.”

the long way means crossing the desert in flight, the captain launching himself into the air from the ocean shore, ianite calmly floating along beside him. as soon as they reach the open savannah, she calls two horses to her, and the three of them ride the rest of the way together. it is a very thinly veiled excuse for both to distance themselves from the platform, but jordan isn’t about to say a word. he’s spent most of his life sailing; he understands the need to travel, more than most.

they approach the last hill, and ianite suddenly sits up. “race you to the ridge,” she tells them, and then takes off. the captain blinks, then grins, and follows. jordan urges his own horse onwards, and wonders what on earth has caught her attention.

there’s a ship in the harbor. that would probably be it.

"the pirates are a little early,“ the captain mutters, and ianite smiles knowingly. she can sense something that he can’t, or else has something planned. she doesn’t say anything, though, even as they start down the hill and eventually dismount. the path to the stables is uneven and unfinished, but neither of them complain. neither of them even say a word, not until they are just outside the walls, and the two figures in the distance both freeze. the captain freezes as well.

one of the figures is tom, of course, but the other is wearing a long blue coat and a truly outrageous feathered hat. they both pause in what they’re doing when they catch sight of them, and yet the stranger, the pirate, shoves his obnoxious hat back and stares.

and then he steps forward, and calls out, "jordan?”

and the captain swears. “tom?” he asks softly, dropping the reins, and then repeats louder, “tom!”

the pirate takes off running, shouting almost incoherently, and the captain does the same. “sparklez, you fucking idiot,” the pirate calls out, which doesn’t make any sense, because he slams into the captain and stumbles in an attempt to stay at least mostly upright, and isn’t paying even the slightest bit of attention to jordan. the two men are clinging to each other, and talking over one another, a jumbled mess of four thousand years and i would have stayed too and i couldn’t have asked that and you wouldn’t have needed to.

jordan stares.

"i’m not getting any deader,“ the pirate laughs, and clings tighter. "karl may have moved in with his boyfriend, mate, but i just stuck around. had a good feeling about heading this way, i guess.”

"sure, captain zombie boy,“ the captain teases, like his face isn’t pressed into the pirate’s shoulder and the pirate isn’t clinging to him desperately.

the pirate scoffs. "that’s all you, cap. i just wander around. you set your course.”

the captain just shakes his head. “must be fun,” he says. “haven’t got much of a course set right now.”

"they’ve got things in hand here,“ the other agrees. he sounds like tom when he speaks, yes, but older. more experienced. more exhausted. "it’s fun, yeah, but not alone. unless you feel like coming with.”

the captain steps back to look at him. “are you kidding?” he asks incredulously. “four thousand years, tom. of course i feel like coming with. but-”

"captain,“ ianite calls out, and he turns back to her, worry clear. she just smiles, and pulls something small and red from her pocket. he catches it easily, and looks back up at her after a few very long heartbeats. "you’ve waited long enough on my account, and you know where to find me. if you want to go, go.”

he stares at her, and grins slowly. he unfolds the red sunglasses with a practiced flick, and sets them in place with very careful intent. “if you insist, my lady.”

"go,“ she says, fondly exasperated, and the captain turns away laughing.

he is my true, needed champion, but so are you.

right.

#mianite #my. my fic.#nerf house cmere i made last centurion jordan

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years ago

Text

Survey #462

i am way too tired to mentally flip through lyrics to put here, rip

Who in your family has been married the longest? (and how long?) I have zero idea. When did you last travel alone? Where were you going? The last time I visited Sara in Illinois. Do you take your shoes off when you come inside? Yes. What was the first color you ever dyed your hair? I think I got purple highlights? What was the first social media site you ever used? MySpace. Do you have any exes you really regret dating? One. Of all your friends & family, who has the most nicely-decorated home? Sara's house is lovely. Have you ever been catcalled? No. Are you allergic to any dogs? I might be. Have you ever touched a plant and had hives shoot up your arm? No. Do you think dragonflies are cool? Absolutely! What’s your favorite thing to draw? Meerkats!! Did you toss your hat in the air at graduation? Not high. I wanted to keep it. Do you like fudge? I CAN FUCKING DESTROY SOME FUDGE. Are you an affectionate person? Very. Name something you have to do today: Girt and I are hangin', making fun of bad Netflix anime and going to Buffalo Wild Wings. :^) Would you ever write to a death row inmate? No. People don't get on death row for no reason. I ain't got shit to say to them. Do you reckon online friendships are real? No fucking shit. Most of my most genuine friendships began online. Do you like Slipknot? Yep. Can we talk about how fuckin BADASS Corey's new mask is btw?????????? What do you think of Gorillaz? I like "Feel Good Inc." and one other song I can't remember the name of. Bow ties on guys, dorky or adorable? BOTH!!!!! :') What is the cutest Halloween costume for a baby to wear? GUYS I recently saw a picture of a little baby dressed up as a Little Oogie Boogie and it made my ovaries cry. Which of your friends is the tallest? Which of them is the shortest? Jesus, Girt is a giant. I don't know about my shortest... If you could re-paint your bedroom, what color would you choose? Pastel pink. :') What has been the best night of your life so far? Why? Probably something sexual so let's keep it on the down low lmfaooo Would you ever even think about taking part in a wet t-shirt contest? Uh, no. Even if I WAS confident in my body. Is you hair color the same as it was when you were a baby? No. It was dirty blonde. Have you ever been in trouble for being too loud? Ha, yeah, at school with friends. Not big trouble or anything, we were just hushed. Did you ever attend a wedding that was a complete disaster? No. What is something that you were surprised you were able to do? Hm. What is the most bullshit-sounding true fact that you know? Male cats have spiked penises lkasdjfal;kje;kjwr it's something to do with preventing other tomcats from mating with her. What Oreo flavor is your favorite? Gimme that Double Stuffed, friend. Sour gummy worms or plain gummy worms? SOUR. Ever been in a talent show? How many times? What did you do? Nope. Ever try out for the talent show and not make it? Did you cry? Nope. What’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever cried about? Y'all when I was a very little kid, during my older sister's b-day party, I sobbed because I couldn't pin the tail properly on the donkey lmaoooo How do you feel about the use of nuclear weapons? Absolutely fucking barbaric. What song has the most meaning to you? "Life Won't Wait" by Ozzy Osbourne. What is your favourite dinosaur? Spinosaurus!!!! :') Have you ever made bread? No. Has anything ever fallen asleep on you? Pets, a baby I was watching after, and Jason. Ever been dominated in a game you were/are really good at? yep alskdjfla;jwej Have you ever decided to set fire to something out of anger? No. Would you rather be a house pet or a wild animal? Wild animal, I guess? Have you ever listened to a group of chanting monks? I haven't. If you had to get a portrait tattoo, who would it be of? Probably of Teddy. I've still yet to decide on the total design of his tribute tat I'm getting. Do you like the smell of men’s colognes better than woman’s perfumes? I think so, yeah. How mad would you be if someone copied your original work (story, poem)? I'd be pretty fuckin pissed. Have you ever blown something up in science class? Ha, no. Have you ever gotten a serious wound from shaving? Not serious, no. Have you invented anything, only to find out it actually exists? I feel like I have? Ever realize you never truly LOVED your first love? Absolutely not. I loved him. Would you want a Bachelor/Bachelorette party before you get married? Sure, sounds fun. Do you prefer pads, tampons or something else? As of very recently, I returned to using pads. I used tampons for most of my maturity, but I got annoyed with them for TMI reasons and resorted back to pads, even though I don't like them either. Have you ever dated a model? No. What is your ultimate goal in life? To die happy with my life and what I (hopefully) accomplished. What colour are the socks you’re wearing today? I’m not wearing any. Who was the last person you sent a Facebook message to and what did you say? Girt. It was something regarding how I once considered doing the suicide mission at BWW where you eat a select number of their hottest wings, but I didn't wanna die via chicken. :^) Are you tall, short or average? Would you change this? I'm average in height. I wouldn't change it, nah. Especially now that Girt and I are together the ridiculous height difference is hilarious but also cute lmao. Have you ever worked in a store while someone shoplifted there? Like, while I was there? No. Have you ever had casual sex? Nahhhh. What’s your favourite flavour of frosting? Chocolate. @_@ When you think of your childhood, are the memories mostly happy or sad? Mostly happy, I guess. What is it like being you? Is it enjoyable? It's very boring with few sources of joy. What are your thoughts on the cause of homosexuality? I would *assume* it's a genetic mutation. Reason being, having a romantic partnership without the ability to reproduce defies the motives of science. There is nothing, absolutely NOTHING, wrong with said (and hypothetical) genetic mutation, though. Mutations are just another part of science. They occur naturally. What subjects did you find most interesting in school? Least? Most interesting: literature/English (especially reading like, old mythology and epics and stuff like that), LOTS of branches of science (but primarily genetics), art, and I looooved my four semesters of German. Least: ANY and ALL math, history, economics, social studies... that kind of stuff. Which do you enjoy more–hot or cold beverages? Cold, for sure. What were some of your favorite bands from childhood? Green Day was one. Would you be more afraid of drowning or being buried alive? Buried alive, for sure. It would be much, much slower. Should you really be doing something more productive right now? Well, I SHOULD be sleeping. Today's going to be a long day, because when Girt comes over, he has a tendency to not leave until like fuckin midnight or later alksdjfl;waje Have you ever lived out of your car? No. Does your family own more than two houses? HUNNY we r poor. A relative just committed a very serious crime, do you turn them in? It depends on the exact crime, but odds are, yes. If you're endangering others, byyyyeeee. You’re in the woods, alone, at night…are you honestly not afraid? Bitch I'm terrified. I have zero survival skills. You are on life support, what would you want a loved one to do about it? For the love of god, please kill me. Your child has only a while to live, do you still enroll them in school? That would be up to them. Also, define "a while." How would you feel if you met your idol and they ended up being rude? WELP I have a tattoo in his honor so that would suck ass lmao According to the tale, was Eve wrong for eating and sharing the apple? "God was wrong for even setting up an apple tree and making up rules in the first place." <<<< There ya go. And the punishment was fucking ludicrously extreme. Are you working on any goals? Yes. I'm currently going to the gym regularly to try and better my physical health and then find a job. I know that being connected sounds odd, but trust me: I can barely carry out very simple tasks just because I have absolutely ZERO stamina to do almost anything. I need energy and endurance. I'm also working towards developing some self-love. Which parent named you? I wanna say my mom. Are you currently frustrated with someone? I mean, myself. Aforementioned self-love is hard. I'm just annoyed my head is so reluctant to accept that I'm not a piece of shit for a million reasons. Why have most of your past relationships ended? They all ended for different reasons, really. Are you having any online conversations, currently? I'm not. What’s on your mind? I'm just tired and going back to bed real soon. Have you ever had an argument with a teacher? No.

#survey #surveys #random questions

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peakyblindersxx · 4 years ago

Text

Ice Blue - Tommy Shelby

hi friends! the following is a preview for

my first one shot w/Tommy! it’s

gonna be pretty long because i’m

a horny fuck, sorry not sorry

rating: explicit, nsfw (the preview hints at it)

****

“Fuck, Ada, your family owns this whole thing?” You marveled at the exterior of the building as Ada practically dragged you towards the double doors.

“You like Irish whiskey?” His smooth voice shook you to the core. You looked at him in shock for a second before quickly collecting yourself.

“Ada told me you need a job,” he said, eyes lingering on you.

“I do,” you admitted, “but I don’t want you to feel obliged or anything. I can manage-”

****

i hoped u guys liked it!! like & reblog if u did

the rest is coming soon!!

abi xxx

#tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders

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thanksjro · 5 years ago

Text

Spotlight: Hoist - This One’s About the Guy I Keep Mistaking for Hound.

It’s time to focus on the straight man. Not, like, straight as in hetero. Don’t get it twisted, Hoist is queer by default just like every Cybertronian in IDW, not that that’s been established in-canon just yet. No, Hoist is the straight man because he’s the grounding line in this issue.

Hoist, as established during Spotlight: Trailcutter, is off the Lost Light currently on a mission. At this exact moment, he’s running from something.

Well, it was nice knowing you, Hoist!

No, he manages to escape Tarn’s grasp by doing some sweet grappling hook drifting using his tow line, and books it for the crashed shuttle that all his fellow mission-goers are hiding out in. Missionaries, if you will. Looks like Swerve left right after Trailcutter hung up on him, so it’s probably for the best that he didn’t get that forcefield around his voice box. Can’t imagine it working at that long a range. Sunstreaker’s here, along with his pet, Bob. Sunstreaker’s feeling a little salty right now, probably because he’s supposed to be the handsome one, and instead he’s got some sort of face thing going on in this issue.

Yeah, nobody looks quite right in Spotlight: Hoist. Then again, maybe I just don’t get Cybertronian beauty standards.

On that note, let’s take a real quick look at our interior artist for this issue, Agustin Padilla. Padilla doesn’t have a ton of work within the Transformers franchise, but he’s worked on some iconic pieces- specifically, MTMTE #16, The Gloaming.

Yeah, THAT one. We’ll get more into his work when we hit that issue, I promise.

Back to the story at hand: Hoist puts on the cloaking device for the ship, hiding them from Tarn, then gripes to Swerve about the scanner scope being a huge friggin’ liar, because it said that there wasn’t a gotdang thing out there, because there clearly is. Swerve is less than thrilled by the prospect of having Tarn in the general vicinity, to the point that he forgets how to talk for a solid .5 seconds. Swerve’s seen the DJD in action, and it’s not pretty.

They’ve got six hours before the cloaking shields drain the power, then it’s goodbye Safetytown, hello Murderville. So, what better way to spend their final hours than by sniping at one another over things like fault and who’s gotten the shortest end of the stick here?

Looks like Perceptor has a pretty strong lead on all the other guys, seeing as his legs have become one with the ship. Hoist’s busy trying to get in touch with the Lost Light, though no one’s picking up. Gee, wonder why.

Swerve is really in a needling mood, as he asks Sunstreaker where his apology is, seeing as he was the one piloting the ship when they crashed. Sunstreaker blows a gasket for a second over the fact that all he seems to do these days is apologize. Hoist manages to calm the situation and change the topic pretty smoothly, as he fiddles around with the internals of the shuttle to try and get the Lost Light’s attention.

Good at multitasking, Hoist is.

We get the backstory on Bob, who Sunstreaker found after Metroplex woke up and decimated the local Insecticon population on Cybertron, almost certainly upsetting the balance of the ecosystem and traumatizing poor Bob. Yes, even our dog stand-ins have trauma in MTMTE. Sunstreaker, in true pet-owner fashion, baby-talks Bob, saying that he’ll bite that big, nasty Tarn if he gets near them, won’t he? Oh yes he will! Yes he will! What a good boy, yes you are!

Swerve isn’t so optimistic.

Well, that’s certainly a sentence I just read with my own two eyes. Really hoping this is a bit of hyperbole, because I’d hate to think just what sort of life Swerve’s led that resulted in him watching a guy triple his size give himself an enema.

Sunstreaker, who knows that Swerve is kind of a massive baby, isn’t terribly impressed with how scared the DJD made Swerve, accidentally strokes the guy’s ego for a moment.

Swerve, completely on the defensive now, lists off the five things he’s afraid of. Hoist butts in to point out the implausibility of Swerve’s fears.

Smash cut to four hours later, and Swerve hasn’t slowed down a bit, having talked to the point that he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it anymore. Sunstreaker’s about had it with this marathon bashing he’s receiving, and suggests that Swerve pick on Hoist for a change. Swerve declines, saying that there just isn’t enough material to work with, because Hoist is boring.

Fun fact, this is his character quote for his introductory paragraph on the Wiki article. He had so little characterization up to this point, this is what they went with. Such is the fate of many of the Transformers who didn’t enter the original 80s cartoon until the second season. Roberts decided to run with it and take the rare opportunity to NOT give someone mental illness so severe and unchecked it’s simultaneously sad and hilarious. Hoist is probably the only dude in the entirety of the IDW run to just be a regular person.

After Swerve confirms that he does in fact know his colors, we blow past another hour, to find Hoist hard at work cutting Perceptor off of the ceiling/floor- Hoist, like most everyone on the Lost Light, is a doctor- as Sunstreaker and Swerve discuss previous scrapes they’ve gotten through. Apparently Sunstreaker fell off a bridge forever ago that was named after a biblical reference, because it doesn’t matter how little you believe in a higher power, you CANNOT escape the pull of the 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐀𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜.

Swerve asks Hoist if he has anything to contribute to the discussion, and while Hoist does have experience in near-death situations, he’d really rather not talk about it. Swerve respects his privacy.

Well, he tries.

Hoist indulges our little red and white idiot, because it’ll get everyone the Swerve-equivalent of peace and quiet, and begins his tale.

Long story short, it looks like another hotshot pilot had the same idea as Hoist’s, and things got a little crashy-explodey-everyone’s-deady. Hoist was the only survivor, and had to walk his sorry butt back to civilization. Then the exhaustion set in, and he was forced to sit there, fully convinced that he would die alone in the middle of nowhere.

Once he’s finished with his story, Hoist makes the horrific discovery that Swerve’s been bleeding to death over the last five hours, and failed to mention it.

No, Sunstreaker, he’s honestly just like that all the time.

Swerve’s spark casing has ruptured, which I can only imagine is somewhat similar to having a hole poked in your heart. A problem, to put it lightly. Sunstreaker and Hoist decide that, to keep Swerve from biting it, they’ll take the fight to the DJD, in an attempt to get some sort of transport back to the Lost Light and all the tasty medical equipment on board.

Man, it really is unfortunate that Rung’s still not got a head at this point in the timeline, because Swerve is like a jelly donut filled with self-loathing. God just took a jumbo-sized bakery syringe and jammed it right in there.

Hoist and Sunstreaker ignore Swerve’s protests/pained screaming, and gear up for a fight with what they can find. Hoist manages to make two working crossbows and a butt-ton of arrows, not to mention a couple bowie knives in about five minutes, and they head out to kick some tushie.

The lads split up, keeping in touch via communicators, and Sunstreaker manages to get found by Tarn. He gets his ass kicked, because of course he does- the DJD aren’t famous for their macramé and pies, they’re famous for super-murder and being horny for the Decepticause. As Sunstreaker has the realization that he’s leaving his beloved Bob behind, Hoist finds him. Sunstreaker’s in quite the pickle, because he’s had his chest blown in, and Tarn’s been replaced by Shockwave, Megatron, Sixshot, and Overlord.

This just gets better and better doesn’t it?

Then this happens:

Welp.

Swerve’s theory may hold some water, but we can’t worry about that right now, because Hoist is going to try and fight this bastard. Good luck with that, Hoist.

Yeah, that went about as well as it could have.

Hoist is about to get stomped like a bug, when the Con-biner suddenly phases out of existence. Weird.

Hoist runs back to the shuttle, I guess just leaving Sunstreaker in the middle of that clearing, even though he literally is a tow truck. He returns to find that Swerve’s passed out from blood loss, but Perceptor’s still awake, which is good, because there’s some grade-A bullshit going on on this planet, and we need the smart guy to info-dump for the sake of the plot.

Man, this is such a cool plot device, and I’m so mad it never comes up again after this Spotlight.

So, Tarn and all the big bads that Hoist ran into weren’t real, but projections of his and his team’s worst fears. It was feeding off of Swerve, but now that he’s down for the count, it’ll probably go for either Hoist or Perceptor next.

Then there’s what feels like an earthquake, one so powerful it finally removes Perceptor from the ceiling, letting what’s left of his body fall. Hoist runs outside to see just what the hell’s happening now, only to find Metroplex outside and closing in.

The phobia shields work on sub-sentient creatures too? Good lord, this thing just never stops, does it?

Thinking quickly, Hoist scoops up Swerve and the upper half of Perceptor and bolts for the edge of the cliff their ship is sitting next to. He must have been training for the Robot Olympics or something, because he makes the leap by a large margin, even when weighed down by two limp bodies.

Then he punches Perceptor in the face, knocking him out cold.

Then he commits an act of animal abuse as he knocks Bob out with his tow hook.

Our hero, folks! Let’s give him a hand!

As Metroplex fades out of existence, Hoist remembers that he is not immune to trauma, as he’s forced to sit there, completely alone, until help arrives.

No wonder he got that massive Rodimus Star. What a trooper.

Thus ends Spotlight: Hoist, as well as the Spotlight series as a whole.

So, Swerve may not have much of a read on Hoist, but I figure I can try and take a stab at it. Hoist is… helpful. The entire issue, he’s the one who never stops doing things. If he’s not trying to repair the shuttle, he’s cutting Perceptor out of the floor, or he’s patrolling the perimeter, or trying to defuse the tension between his crewmates, or building weaponry, or punching people in the face for the greater good.

The folks he’s surrounded with for his Spotlight accent the characteristics he lacks- he’s not insanely smart like Perceptor, or strikingly handsome like Sunstreaker is intended to be, or capable of holding a conversation like Swerve. He blends into the background, always has and always will, both within canon and as a character.

He’s just a guy. He’s the guy, a jack of all trades, master of none. And that’s okay.

#transformers #jro #mtmte #spotlight #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing #overthinking about robots

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throwing-roses-into-the-abyss · 4 years ago

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Fic wrap-up

It’s been a shitty year for everyone, myself included. 2020′s really done a number on me, and my mental health is currently at the lowest it’s been in years. BUT I’m working on it, and I figure part of that is being proud of what I did do, the things I did make, despite it all.

So this year, I somehow wrote (and posted) 10 fics, with a total of 21,507 words. The longest fic I wrote was 6K, the shortest just 827 words. I know in the grand scheme of things that isn’t much, but considering, you know, everything, I’m still happy with that.

And I think y’all were happy with it too. Several of these fics got 1000+ hits! Considering for me usually anything over 200 hits is a success, that’s amazing.

I did learn this year that I am terrible at tagging, and at knowing what my stories are actually about. I think I probably write more hurt/comfort and found family trope than I realize. Also the usual domestic suspects like cooking/eating and sleeping together, I write those way more than I realize. If someone sees other recurring themes in these, let me know? I’d be really curious to hear what other people think these stories are really about.

Thank you all so much for reading, and leaving kudos and comments! I still get an email almost every single day that someone left kudos, and it makes me a little bit happier every day.

So just to share them once more, here they all are, sorted by fandom:

Dan & Phil:

mating calls 5 times Dan loved Phil’s subtle attempts at flirting through animal facts, and one time he didn’t. 1354 words, teen and up audiences Tags: 5+1 fic, getting together, 2009 fic, fluff, mentions of family members, animal facts, gay animals, bad flirting through animal facts, making animal sounds, gratuitous abuse of artistic freedom when it comes to available technology, by which I mean I have no idea when phones got email just bear with me okay

House Hunters Kath and Nigel go down to London to help Phil and Dan find a house to buy 827 words, gen Tags: moving, POV Outsider, headaches & migraines, bugs & insects Just You, And Him You first realize your feelings may have changed when you look at him pouring coffee, eyes bleary and curly hair flopping around chaotically as if he’s had a restless night again. Or, the one in which there is a lot of pining. 921 words, gen Tags: POV Second Person, pining, yearning, food, getting together, oh my god they were roommates

and they were roombas Dan knows that, as a manmade inanimate object, he should not be capable of talking or of feeling anything, let alone love. Not that it matters, because there’s no way Phil feels the same about him anyway. Dan is content to live his life cleaning floors and occasionally bumping into Phil, without ever doing anything about his feelings. That is, until one fateful day they get stuck under a table together…It’s a race for survival and love as time starts running out. Will they live happily ever after or will their love fade as quickly as their batteries? 2027 words, gen Tags: crack, roombas, swearing, there’s a cat, I don’t....I don’t know what else to put here, the word war chat made me do it, I don’t know what this is either

Star Trek: Picard:

on this fresh morning in the broken world Guinan has heard a lot of rumours about Picard’s latest adventures and the crew of La Sirena. She never quite believed them, knowing fully well how rumours tend to be exaggerated. Then Picard shows up to ask her to join the ship for a while, and Guinan realizes she’s never done learning after all. 3033 words, gen Tags: guinan meets the sirena crew, canon divergent, holosquad, introspective, trauma, spoilers for picard, no I mean it there are spoilers here, do NOT read if you’re not up to speed on picard

HIStory 3: Trapped:

Jack Tries To Become A Normal Member Of Society After everything’s settled down and Jack has taken his time to relax and enjoy this newfound life with Zhao Zi, he decides it’s time to find a normal job. After all these years as a mercenary and working with the mafia and Interpol, how hard can it be, right? 3271 words, gen Tags: shenanigans, comedy, some (threats of) violence, sex mentions, swearing, blood, menial labour, annoying customers, unrealistic scenarios, found family trope, quite possibly the single most self indulgent fic I’ve ever written

how two hands touch Okay, maybe Tang Yi does sleep better when Shaofei is there. He’ll never actually admit that though.(a 5+1 fic) 2414 words, teen and up audiences Tags: fluff, domestic fluff, food, banter about food, cooking, some angst and sadness but I promise everything will be ok, shaofei does go into the hospital again sorry about that, I figured he’s used to it, set from mid-canon to post-canon, not beta read My Engineer:

Duen Holmes and the Case of the Missing Cupcake While at the volunteer camp, Cupcake goes missing. Duen decides this is the perfect opportunity to try out some sleuthing.Or, the one in which Duen plays Sherlock Holmes, and finds out some very interesting things indeed. 6495 words, teen and up audiences Tags: cupcake the lizard, camp trip, fluff, crack, so just like a regular episode really, canon compliant up to episode 12, spoilers up to episode 12

Unrooted King has some thoughts on Ram's tattoos. 988 words, gen Tags: tattoos, introspective Unspoken Ram has some thoughts on King and his plants. 1531 words, gen Tags: introspection, plants

#long post #fic #I wrote a thing!#or really I wrote a bunch of things #I am proud of these #some more than others but still #I see these kinds of wrap up posts float around on my dash every year #and figured you know what? I'll join the fun and spam everyone some more #I got a whole bunch of new followers in the last months #so this is really just blatant self promo #I don't think I'll get anything written the rest of this year #since I've been in a massive writer's block these last months #the last fic I posted was in september #ah well #it is what it is #am I bummed out about this? yes #do I also just kind of accept it and just wait for this writers block to be over? also yes #I'm kinda busy just trying to survive from day to day #my brain isn't working well at all #it's taking a lot of energy not to throw myself in front of a train #but I *have* been drawing and painting #and reading books! actual books!!#I've barely read through most of this year which is v v weird for me #I usually read a LOT #I have entire months this year without reading anything #or maybe just like one book #but that has been picking up again lately #especially since I got an ebook app on my phone #that's helped a lot #in fact I'm gonna go finish another book after finishing this post

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stitchwitchsapprentice · 4 years ago

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The Curse Breaker

"And if you are accepted to Knights, what would you like to study?"

Julian looked around the table at the panel of teachers and tried to speak with as much gravitas as a fifteen year old could. "I'd like to study this history of the Sixth Migration, perhaps look at what became of the people in the Frist system..."

One of the teachers coughed. She was the shortest of the teachers on the panel. She pushed out her already puffy lips in a frown that made her look like an enormous bug had bitten her. Combined with eyebrows bushy enough to go to war on her forehead, it made her brown eyes and her already small nose look even smaller. "And why do you believe it is important to study the other systems?" she said. "when we have had no contact with them in over five hundred years?"

"That doesn't mean we never will have contact with them again. And at the rate that we've been developing technology, it's possible that we'll be making this contact within my lifetime." He tried to keep his voice even, as if they hadn't already read this in the three essays he'd been required to write for his application to Knights.

The olive skinned woman sitting across from puffy-lips was just a hair taller, but looked completely opposite, with a potato-like nose too big for her angled face and perfectly plucked eyebrows that angled over large blue eyes, one of which was always looking to the far left, no matter what the other did. Julian tried not to look at her face when she said, "But the 'Sixth Migration,' as you call it, was nothing more than a group of thieves trying to escape to the far reaches of the Zennis Galaxy. What interest would there be in such a... civilization?" She spoke the last word as if biting into a lemon.

Julian patiently tried to explain his interest in the subject, but without being able to explain his true draw to the Frist system--that his mother had, in fact, been born there--the rest of the interview went round in circles, and when the ten minutes had ended, he trudged home, not even bothering to use his natural wind magic to get there faster.

"Hey! How'd it go?" Julian's mother greeted him as soon as he stepped in the door. She was a spritely woman with skin so pale it shown like the white sand at a beach. Her eyes were a pale, oyster-pearl pink, and her hair, which feel nearly to her waist was thick, like seaweed, and deep green color, with white highlights. Most people assumed that she dyed her hair, and guessed that her strange colored eyes were due to some magical accident. Only Julian and his parents knew the real truth--that they were their natural colors, which they had been all her life.

Julian's mother was a pixie--a group of people who had once been magically changed on the far off planet of Iyuth. Not only did had their appearance changed, but they had powerful magical connections to the wind and the sea. They were also incredibly clever, perhaps too clever for their own good. For centuries ago, the gods had cursed the pixies, to only be able to use their magic in the service of others, and to agree to any request put upon them, lest it endanger someone's life.

It had been her curse that had allowed Julian's mother to transport herself to the Tristan solar system, at the sarcastic request of a rather foolish man. In Tristan, there were no races other than humans--not organic ones anyway. Though his mother's curse still plagued her, here she would not be captured or pressed in to service by those who recognized her as a pixie. Julian had inherited her knack for weather magic, and though unlike his mother, he could use it for his own purposes, he still felt compelled to agree to any request put to him by another person. The Iyuthan pixies, his mother included, told stories about a person who would be able to one day break the curse, and Julian wanted nothing more than to find the person so he could be normal... that, and go to Knights Academy.

Julian sat at the kitchen table, loosening first his black tie, and then the top button of his red-orange shirt. He had secretly hoped that wearing school colors might give him a leg up in the interview. "Not good."

His mother sat across from him. "At least you made it to the interview stage."

"The first interview. Even if, by some miracle, I get past this, there's still a test, and a second interview." There was a reason students referred to the Knights Academy application process as the Trials.

Julian's mom laid a hand on his. "Don't give up." She stood up again. "I was thinking about making cookies. I don't know if you're interested in helping me with that." His mother's curse had made unusual request forms commonplace in Julian's home. He agreed to help his mother--of his own accord--and by the time Julian's father arrived home, the whole house was filled with the scintillating scent of cinnamon.

For the next week, Julian let the Knights interview slip from his mind and merely enjoyed his summer holiday from school. But when the letter arrived from Knights that said his progress through the application process had ended, the joy of the season vanished as quickly as someone transporting to another planet. The real annoyance was how the letter adumbrated that he didn't have the focus and resilience to study at Knights. But maybe, if he applied again, after he had graduated from high school, when he had a better understanding of scientific study, he might succeed.

Julian tossed the letter to the floor. Resilience. They didn't think he had enough stick-with-it-ness to prove why studying the Sixth Migration was important. What was he supposed to have told them? That he wanted to study a planet they didn't believe to be inhabited? Or races only he knew existed? He looked up at his wall, where he had taped maps of each planet in the Tristan system. He dreamed of one day adding a map of his mother's planet to it, but that seemed impossible now.

His eye fell on the map of Laraly, the desert planet circling Tristan A. It was the First Migration--the one to Laraly that helped people figure out that different planets had different magical atmospheres. It was why some abilities were more common in different places. And why non-human races existed on his mother's planet, but not in Tristan. Laraly was a hostile planet. Like during the Sixth Migration, the people who had first gone there had done so to escape. And despite the lack of water and vegetation, they had stayed. Resiliance. If he was going to prove it anywhere, it was Laraly.

Julian had not planet hopped often. It was common in the Tristan system, but not usually for people with wind magic. He had practiced some, but only knew he could do it because his mom had done it once before. They key, he had read, was to focus on the cynosure--an image of focus that grounded you in the place you were traveling to. It had to be specific to that location, or you risked going to the wrong place. That's why cities and landmarks often created specific images to assist travelers. Julian only knew of one on Laraly, however. It was along the Living River--a big sign near the campsite had a picture of a tree painted on it. The roots of the tree ran like the river itself, and the branches divided the land, directing visitors to the hills in the west, the desert in the north, and the grassland in the south. Julian concentrated on the sign--on the sign painted blue, which stood on the north side of the river. On the south stood another in purple. He imagined himself in front of the sign, directed himself in front of it.

Transportation magic was usually painless--the world around you rippled, as if in a heat wave, and then reappeared anew. It did, of course, have effects on the body. It tended to make people dizzy, though it only lasted for a minute or two. But Julian did not have a natural gift for transportation magic. He had a natural gift for wind magic. For Julian transporting to another place felt like being lifted up by a tornado. He could feel himself hurling through space as wind whipped around his shirt and txs hair. He kept his eyes shut tight, not that he could see much anyway. And then, his feet hit the ground with such an impact that he lost his balance and dropped to his knees. He felt for a moment like he might throw up, but as a wet breeze hit his face, his head cleared and he realized he was at the campsite, in front of the sign, the bank of the river only a few feet in front of him.

The campsite was empty, but for one other person. When Julian saw her, he thought for a moment that she was Puffy Lips, from his interview... if Puffy Lips had shaved off all her hair. They met Julian's gaze and snorted. "First time transporting, huh?"

"Something like that." He stayed on the ground for a moment longer, just to be sure he was not about to vomit, and then stood and dusted himself off. Looking around the empty site, he realized his mistake. What had he planned to do, exactly? Wander off into the desert for three days like some figure in a Calistian fairytale? Expect one of the magic lords to save his life? And then tell Knights Academy that's why they should accept him? Julian knew he should go home before his parents realized he was gone, but he didn't think he was ready for that windstorm-transport again. Worse, he wasn't sure if he had a true cynosure for his home. Sure, it was his, but what was unique about it?

Julian knelt at the edge of the river and splashed water onto his face. When had he been here last? About five years ago, with his parents. His mom liked to tour around the Tristan System. She liked learning about the planets that she hadn't grown up on, the history that was so old her people had forgotten it. Julian wasn't interested in history back then. He had wanted to float down the river. The Living River hadn't earned its name only from the life it gave to the surrounding area, but from the incredible rapids that it had. Somewhere down river was their launch point. But he didn't know how far the boathouse was from the river, or when the next group would be arriving. His father had agreed to take Julian on the river while his mother visited the alhambra.

"Alhambra." Julian looked upriver. The Alhambra had once been a palace in the hills, where the king could protect himself from invasions. Now it was a museum about the area. And it was open every day of the week. Surely they would have a way to contact his parents.

Julian set out west, toward the hills. When he reached their base, he saw a stone path cutting through the sparse purple vegetation. Though he knew the leaves here were of a lavender color, rather than the pale green of his home planet, it was still weird to see. Julian guessed the walk took about an hour, but the path was cut in a switchback that made the climb an easy one. Soon, he saw the reddish-brown turrets of the alhambra before him. Near the door, several laniferous animals munched on the lavender grass. They were fluffier than the sheep on his own planet--so much so that even their heads resembled cotton balls. For a moment, he amused himself with the idea that they should be purple from the grass. But, he supposed, the sheep back home weren't green. They barely noticed him as he walked past and into the door. Clearly, they were used to visitors.

The inside of the alhambra was just as beautiful as the outside--reddish clay brick with intricate geometric carvings. Scenic tapestries hung in several places, likely made from the wool of the same type of sheep he had seen outside. The tapestries were old, but the wooden counter was new. The woman standing behind it was so short that only her head peeked above. Julian secretly wondered if was using a stepstool. "Can I help you?" She asked. Eyes half-closed, she seemed to be staring off to the side. He turned to look in the same direction, but saw nothing but the sign for the restrooms, also surely a new addition to the building.

"Can I help you?" she asked again. This was followed by a loud pop, and Julian realized she was chewing gum.

"No one's here?"

"It's a weekday," she drawled in her monotone, "and the season's nearly over. Do you want to visit the museum or not?"

"Um..." Julian approached the counter. "Actually, I was hoping to contact Whitefall."

"Whitefall?"

"Yeah, um... it's..."

"It's not on this planet."

"Yeah, I know." Julian scratched his head, feeling a little like the sheep outside. "I... kinda came here by accident. I was... hoping to get in touch with my parents."

She rolled her eyes. "New transportation mage, doesn't know what he's doing."

"Something like that."

She sighed. "You got a com number for your house?" Julian gave it to her. She punched the number into the computer on her desk. "What's your name?"

"Julian. Julian Daye."

"To... Mr. and Mrs. Daye... from the Laraly Alhambra..." the clerk spoke as she typed, "your son, Julian... has accidentally transported himself... to the Living River area of Laraly." She looked him up and down. "He is safe and unharmed."

Julian scratched his head again.

With a flourish, the clerk hit the send key. "It's gonna take at least ten minutes for the message to reach Whitefall."

"Thanks." Julian edged away to the bench near the bathrooms.

"The museum is free," she said in a tired voice, "unless you want a tour." She flicked her hand to a group of three-foot tall bullet-shaped robots in the corner with coin slots.

"Thanks again." Julian bypassed the bench and headed into the next room. He wandered around for some time, until a photograph of a shield caught his eye. The plaque on the wall next to it said The Curse Breaker. Julian read on. It was an old story about the creation of the Dagger Islands. According to the story, the islands had once bridged the northern and southern continents of Laraly. But long ago, a monster had threatened the people who lived on the bridge. It created for itself a giant cave of ice, and whenever someone fought it, it turned them into ice also, until a great hero rose up who bore that shield, which the monster's ice could not penetrate. The hero used the shield to melt the ice cave, creating an ocean of water, which buried the monster beneath it. But this did not kill the monster, which cries out from the depths. And this is how the bridge became the islands and how the Wailer's Ocean got its name. The shield had once belonged to the museum, but was stolen not long after.

Normally, Julian would have passed up the story as an old myth, but as he stared at the picture, he recognized something etched into it. It was a symbol that had equally been etched into his own brain after his attempts to apply to a school with the same symbol. It was the symbol of Knight--the Calistian god of fire. And while it was difficult to tell from the picture, the item looked like it might be made of Calistian metal. Julian knew from stories his mother told that items of the magic lords existed. They were rare, and they were powerful. A page from an old book was framed on the other side with a picture of the temple to the Mithra, the god whom the people of the Dagger Islands were known to worship. It was a longshot, but it was possible that the person who had stolen it had returned it to the temple. Perhaps this curse breaker could fix his own curse.

Julian peaked through the doorway from the museum to the lobby and waited until the bored worker had turned her attention to the computer and dashed out the door. The sheep outside barely noticed him, except for one, which gave him an angry, "maah" before moving on to find another patch of purple scrub to eat.

"What?" Julian asked it, as if it had accused him of something, "It's not like I'll get another chance later." He found the sun and roughly determined which direction was east. To get the Dagger Islands, he didn't need to transport. Since he was on Laraly, he could fly there. That was easy enough. Julian summoned a wind and allowed it lift him into the air just as he heard the door of the alhambra open. As he let the wind carry him south and east over the Astra Hills, he faintly heard the groan of the museum worker. He wanted to call to her that he would be back soon, but he didn't think she would hear him.

He swept over the Opal Channel until it widened into the Wailer's Ocean. It was dusk when he spotted the temple of Mithra--a tower on a hill bearing an insignia with an open eye and two dragons. He decided it was good thing that he had flown. Walking up the hill would have been a pain in the ass.

Julian's wind brought him to the bottom window. Whether or not people still worshiped at the temple, he knew it was a lighthouse, which meant someone lived here, and he guessed they were upstairs, turning on the light. Nevertheless, he hovered at the edge of the window, trying to keep out of sight of anyone who might be in there. But the room was empty. A round rug was on the ground, and the main piece of furniture were a bookshelf, and across from it, a large plush chair, with a metal box on one side and an iron pot on the other. He looked for the shield, but couldn't get a good angle from outside the window, so he climbed in, letting his wind go on its way.

The room was warmer than he expected, considering the window didn't even have a shock shield to keep the weather out... or intruders. Or at the very least, it wasn't turned on. But whoever lived there probably thought it unlikely that someone would try to break into a lighthouse.

The heat seemed to be coming from the metal box on the other side of the chair. Julian approached it, curious, making sure not stub his toe on the iron pot, only to realize the pot was not next to the chair, but next to the bookcase. He looked to the window, and tried to judge the angle of its view into the circular room. It must have been that the room looked smaller from outside.

He stepped up to the heating box and examined it. It was a tam block, which people hadn't used since his grandparents had been his age. "Wow!" He breathed and stood up to look for the shield, only to find a sword a breath away from his neck.

"Seem to be in search of the wrong god, don't we?" a woman's voice spoke from the staircase. As she stepped into the light, never moving the point of the sword, Julian saw that she was young and slender, not even as old as his mother, with a long black braid down her back, and a gold tiara. Her right arm, which hung at her side, seemed to be made of metal, though it was unlike any prosthetic he had ever seen.

Julian put his hands into the air. "Please don't hurt me! I just came looking for the Curse Breaker!"

The woman paused, and then lowered the sword. "You are out of your depth aren't you." She looked toward the staircase and said, "Really, Pot? You thought a little boy was a threat?" In answer, the iron pot came walking out of the staircase on three legs.

"It's a robot?" Julian said amazed. He'd never seen an iron robot before. And there was no evidence of where the joints connected to the body.

"It's a pot," the woman answered. The pot turned a circle on its legs, and the woman brushed it lovingly with a foot. "Yes, you're my friend too, Pot. But you're not some dead piece of... computer equipment." She turned her attention once again to Julian. "So what brings a half-pixie all the way to Laraly?"

Julian opened his mouth to respond, and then paused. "How do you know I'm half-pixie?"

The woman sheathed her sword. "You're not the only one here from another planet."

"That is more than I care to explain right now." She crossed her arms over her chest. "So why are you looking for me?"

"I'm not looking for you. I'm looking for..."

"The Curse Breaker. That's me. What, surprised I'm a woman?"

"I... I thought it was the shield."

"Oh." The woman crossed the room to the chair and sat down. The pot followed her and settled down next to her, lowering its bottom to the ground like a dog might lay down at its owner's feet. She glanced into it. "Thanks, Pot." Then, she extracted a small stool from the pot and set it in front of her. "Have a seat," she said to Julian.

"Has that... always been..." Julian gave up asking questions and sat on the stool in front of her.

"The shield is the tool that helps the Curse Breaker," the woman explained, "the wielder shares its home until the next person comes along." She spread out her arms, gesturing to the room.

"Did it really create the Wailer's Ocean?"

She laughed. "An great exaggeration. It broke a curse of ice. It didn't create the ocean. I suppose you want your pixie curse lifted."

Julian nodded. "And for my mom."

"Well, let's see what I can do for you first."

"That's it? You're not even going to... ask me for payment or something?"

"Well, let's see if I can do it first..." Again, she reached into the pot. and this time, extracted the shield. It was smaller than Julian had expected, not much more than a foot tall, but his jaw dropped nonetheless.

She must have noticed because chuckled when she saw his face. "Pot is very helpful. We back on Thuo, and... I guess they decided to stick around." As if in response, the pot tilted on one of its legs until it touched her, like a cat rubbing its head against someone. She laughed and patted the pot. "Yeah, I love you too."

She hefted the shield onto her lap and held it so it faced Julian. For a moment, he felt like he should prepare himself for a bright light or something else to come out of it. Then he noticed the symbol on the shield shifting. In the photograph in the mueseum, it had been the symbol of Knight, but as he watched it, the etching changed to the symbol of other magic lords--first that of Orick, lord of irony, and then that of Reed, lord of wind.

"I can break the curse..."

"you can?"

"...but it would take your magic too."

Julian's heart sank. He imagined not being able to travel on the wind again.

"It would only take away the affinity you have now," she said truthfully, "anyone can learn magic. You could get it back with study and practice."

But Julian didn't want to study and practice. He supposed the committee at Knights had been right. He didn't have the resilience. Julian shook his head. "I can't. It's too much a part of me."

A cold wind blasted through the room, though this didn't come from the window, but from the direction of the staircase. A moment later, someone was hauling Julian to his feet by his ear.

"Ow!"

"See? I told you I could find him."

Julian looked at the two people who stood on either side of him and realized it was his parents.

"The lady at the alhambra said you'd run off," his mother said, "I wasn't worried."

The Curse Breaker laughed as she returned the shield to the pot, which hadn't so much as twitched at the sudden appearance of Julian's parents. "Be thankful your family cares so much about you," she told him.

"Now, do you want to tell me what you're doing all the way out on Laraly?" Julian's mom asked.

"Not really?"

"Then I guess we'll go home." She nodded to the Curse Breaker, and then came that terrible sensation of the wind speeding around them, of losing his breath, and Julian and his parents were home again. On the tail end of the wind, he thought he heard the Curse Breaker's voice telling him to keep looking, but he could have imagined it.

"Julian, could you do me a favor?" His mother said sweetly as he regained his balance and gasped for breath. "Could you please not go transporting yourself anywhere for the next month?"

Julian felt it more than heard it, a small snap in his spine, like he was a doll that someone had straightened. With that request, she locked down his magic.

Julian sighed. "Obligations."

#Original Fiction #52 Weeks of Writing

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dreadnought-dear-captain · 5 years ago

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Happy (Slightly Belated) Birthday, Baghdad Waltz!

*CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR BAGHDAD WALTZ UP TO CHAPTER 37*

I know these are stressful times right now, but I wanted to post a little something for BW’s third birthday on 3/13/2020 (and I’m a little late because I had a lot to say). THREE!! I cannot believe it. Truly, I cannot, but here we are. I know there are still a few stragglers hanging around from when I first started posting this story (extra hearts to you all), so many people who have come and gone and sometimes return again, and so many new people joining this crazy journey all the time.

You are all so great, and you make it possible for me to keep writing this. I probably would have quit a long time ago without your support, because this shit has been quite hard to sustain sometimes. I know I am very bad at keeping up with comments and things, and I’m so sorry. I am terrible with social media, too. People IRL will say the same thing about me. I am super old school and still talk on the phone with my friends. I KNOW.

(Heyyyy Bayside High)

I’ve prepared a couple of things for BW’s birthday. First, a few statistics I thought I’d whip up. Then a few questions and answers about BW, both from myself and from my beloved beta, @pitchforkcentral86. And I’m still trucking away diligently at chapter 38! I just have a few scenes to go.

-- BW Statistics --

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

Words to date: 526,011

Chapters to date: 37

Shortest chapter: 3,821 words (Prologue)

Longest chapter: 31,395 words (Chapter 33)

Number of words per chapter: 12,530 (median), 14,257 (average) (note: the median is probably a better measure, since this is such an abnormal distribution - see below for the changes in chapter length over time)

Estimated total work to date: 2,890-3,120 hours (approx 18-20 hours/week). This includes writing, rewriting, editing, research, conversations with beta, outlining, and a small portion of the brainstorming. This is a conservative estimate and only includes a fraction of the ambient thinking I do about this story. And God, I do so much processing when I sleep! Perhaps I will be a BW “expert” -- estimated at around 10,000 hours I guess? -- by the time I am done with the story and all my revisions hahahahaaaaaa D:

Money spent to date (estimated): $600-700. This includes books on various subject matter and writing craft, video access to therapy education resources, and other educational materials. This does not include the incalculable sum in lost productivity from thinking about BW when I’m supposed to be doing other things!

Most of you probably don’t know this, but @pitchforkcentral86 is not just a beta reader. She is my partner in crime with BW. She knows my characters as well as I do, sometimes better. She helps me troubleshoot scenes, she tells me when my writing sucks, when my I’m not being true to my characters, when I’m not being real enough (sometimes when I’m being TOO real). She gives me porn inspiration and listens to me bitch and calls my bullshit and makes this story what it is. I really mean it - this story would not be nearly as good without her, and you can see how much better it gets once she starts to get involved around chapter 17.

So I decided I would answer some silly little questions about BW. Just my own personal opinions about stuff! And asked @pitchforkcentral86 to contribute as well. See below.

What are my favorite scenes in BW and why?

In no particular order:

The 9/11 memory (Chapter 26): When Steve is in therapy with Hope remembering when Bucky returns from Ground Zero. This was one of the first times I experimented with writing in a sort of stream-of-consciousness way (though certainly not the last!). I have done several tweaks to it since the original version, texturing it more. It’s so rich in detail, visceral detail, little details about their relationship, pieces of Bucky’s past, clues about his alcoholism, the way he handles stress, his difficulties letting Steve in, the love Steve has for him, Bucky’s need to be loved and cared for and his aversion for it, it’s so, so rich. Gah. I love it. (GUH and @buckydunpun’s ART - just murder me. Thanks.)

The Thor “breakup” scene (Chapter 28): This is the moment I think that many people realized Bucky is not a reliable narrator. Maybe they suspected it before, but this is when it’s very obviously apparent. His entire interpretation of his relationship with Thor is thrown into question. He built a rich fantasy about what they were, holding hands in the grass, all this bullshit, and he could actually say they were boyfriends, which makes complete sense because there were never any stakes. It was always surface. There was never any intimacy except as veteran/soldier friends who had sex, which is about as deep as Bucky can go anyway without getting utterly terrified.

This is in such stark contrast to Steve, where there is actual intimacy, ongoing demand for more intimacy, and this relationship feels VERY real to Bucky, and it’s very frightening to him. And that’s why he runs from the term “boyfriend” with Steve. It’s all so real. It’s easy to engage with a fake boyfriend. But still, he didn’t deliberately realize he was doing this, so it was devastating to find out the truth of his own self-deception. And to hear that he’s not the kind of guy you settle with, he’s the guy you fuck… wow. But how can you really hate Thor? (I’m sure some of you can but…) He’s a nice guy. Even Bucky knows it. So he’s run from something good and real (Steve) to something good but false (Thor) and then he gets rejected from both. It’s horrible and so self-defeating and so quintessentially Bucky. I love it.

A Close Second (Spent Brass fic): This whole side fic came together like a glorious dream. I love everything about it. It’s such a wonderful look into their relationship, into their dynamics, into their individual personalities, their idiosyncrasies, so much push-pull between them. Whispers of things that have happened to Bucky in the past, a lack of understanding from Steve, a desire to know, so much affection. Some good sex. I love this SB. But I love all the Spent Brass fics. They are so close to my heart.

Honorable mention: Bucky’s masturbation scene during his bender (Chapter 32). I had an absolute BLAST writing this. Thanks to @pitchforkcentral86 for proposing that Bucky’s core sexual/romantic desire is just to be kissed. Dayum. It all unfolded from there.

Who is the character I think about the most? Bucky. I think because he’s got the most complex history and the most complicated psychology. He’s actually fairly rule-bound in terms of how he operates, but he’s got a lot of back story that explains how he became the way he is, and I spend a lot of time considering what happened to him and how he developed his self-image, his coping strategies, and his ideas about others and the world. I think a lot about his relationship with his parents. I think a LOT about bby Jamie. It’s not because Steve is not important or any less complex. But Bucky’s childhood experiences have shaped him in very specific ways, and I want to make sure that I represent them very thoughtfully.

Who is my favorite character to write? Bucky. His voice and thought processes come to me more easily than Steve’s. Perhaps in part because of my personal penchant for the word “fuck.” I love writing his perspective, his preferences, his interpretations of situations. I love imagining the way he imagines the world.

Who is my favorite supporting character? Winnie. I know she’s a very polarizing character, but I have so much affection for her. I think she’s a badass. She joined the military as a female officer back in the 1970s, which is incredible and rough. She kept her maiden name. This is a Southern conservative woman, an Air Force brat, raised by very conservative Southern people in a very conservative Pentecostal church, but she has always had an irrepressible rebellious, feminist badass streak in her even before she knew what feminism was. She might not even define herself as a feminist now. She has always done the best she can under very difficult circumstances, and she loves her kids, even though she sometimes sucks quite badly at mothering them. I love her for her imperfections.

Favorite topic to research this year: I’ve been really enjoying researching emotionally focused couples therapy, which was developed by Sue Johnson, EdD. I’ve been watching therapy videos of couples going through this and having a wonderful time imaging Bucky and Steve going through something similar with Claire. I don’t think Claire is the strictest adherent to EFT, but I think she’s informed by it. It’s tough, because I’m very used to cognitive behavioral type therapies, so this one has been different to think about writing. I’ve also been really getting into reading about childhood sexual abuse and its effects on boys and men. It’s greatly helped my conceptualization of Bucky and Bucky and Steve’s relationship. I mean, it’s a grim topic, but there have been some fascinating threads in terms of understanding one’s self perception of sexual orientation, etc. and thinking about how Bucky would consider and contextualize his experiences.

Am I more of a Steve or a Bucky? Hmm. I don’t strongly relate to either, but I think if I had to choose, I’m a bit more of a Steve. I’m pretty expressive of my affection and positive emotions, and I’ll complain about daily life things enough. However, when it comes to major life events that really bother me, I tend to err on the side of not processing them and turning my feelings into headaches and other physical afflictions. In other words, I’m a suppressor of major emotions and events. It’s FINE. I’m FINE. Nothing to see here. But I am definitely not as tidy as Steve, nor as smart, and definitely not as buff or hot. So that’s where most of our similarities end lol. I do eat a lot of tofu though.

Who would I want to hang out with for a day? I initially thought Rikki, but like @pitchforkcentral86, think she’s actually too cool and smart for me, and I would probably just make an ass out of myself. I think probably Elektra. I know, this is a left field answer, but it’s one day! To do whatever with anyone! I want to choose someone who’s going to make it worth my while. So many of the characters are either too busy, too rigid, too anxious, too conventional, etc. I would want to run around NYC with Elektra for the day and have drinks with her and Matt afterwards at some weird-ass underground bar. My more infield answer would probably be Hank. I want him to tell me gay stories about gay things. I want to see his apartment. I want to drink coffee with him. I want him to tell me about what the AIDS crisis was like for him. I want to hear about his relationship with Howard. I want all the shit that Bucky takes for granted every day. He can be my fairy godmother any day.

Who would I want to be friends with? Probably Sharon. She’s one of the most reliable, loyal, and level-headed people in this world. She’s smart, she’s flexible, she rolls with things pretty well but also doesn’t take a ton of bullshit. She also has a good sense of humor about things. I feel like she’s someone I could call with my Zack Morris phone and talk with for hours about all sorts of things. We could also split a bottle of wine and talk some real shit.

Wait - Why not Bucky or Steve? I don’t think these two are entirely likable, to be honest. They’re good humans, they mean well, but I don’t think they’re very well equipped in the friendship department. I care about them very deeply (I hope that’s clear), but I don’t know if I’d want to be particularly close to either of them at this point in their lives. They’re both lacking in the skill and perspective to be good friends and partners, which is a major reason why they are in therapy.

Who would I want to be my therapist - Hope, Bruce, Scott, or Claire? Claire. Given how much I suck at talking about the things that are really deeply bothering me, I think I would need an emotionally focused therapist who is going to dig in there and really get me to focus on all the emotions I’m trying to shove away. I would probably try to over-intellectualize everything and deflect, and I don’t think she’d let me get away with that.

Okay, on to @pitchforkcentral86~~~~~

What are my favorite scenes in BW and why?

Oh boy. Well, this is a difficult question to answer since it feels like every chapter becomes a new favorite simply due to sheer amount of time spent planning and composing and revising and whining and complaining. And also my memory sucks. BUT, with that said, I think I would like to mention three scenes specifically:

1) Bucky on deployment, cleaning a Humvee (Chapter 7), Steve standing nearby. This scene conveyed the tension of deployment and between Steve and Bucky so well, and, perhaps more importantly, built my respect towards Bucky as a competent, caring NCO (to that effect, the small scene in which we see Bucky the NCO on film telling all the little grunts to eat so they can become big and strong is another favorite).

2) Beautiful Boy (Spent Brass), Steve’s memory from childhood with Sarah at the park, naming animals. I really don’t have a good reason other than that scene was so clear to me in my mind and was especially tender.

3) Steve sleeping with Sharon in DC (Chapter 33). Honestly, it was just a great scene, and we had a really good time planning it out.

I can include many more, and certainly the ones Dread mentioned are favorites too, but I have to stop or this will just be a squeee fest.

Who is my favorite supporting character?

Hank. His particular brand of honesty is extremely appealing to me, and I think Bucky secretly, or not so secretly, loves him too. And also Quill, just for shits and giggles because he is reliably there as an ice breaker, that lovable Mountain-Dew-drinking goof.

Favorite topic to research this year:

Well, I don’t do the research myself, but I spend many, many m-a-n-y hours listening to and conversing with Dread about all the things he’s delved into for this fic. So I guess maybe I’ll turn this question into favorite topic to discuss/conceptualize. In that respect, Bucky’s and Jack’s relationship has been by far the most intriguing, grueling, fascinating and difficult aspect of this fic to conceptualize – those were some of the best talks in the process. [Dreadnought edit: You will see much more of this in future chapters, folks!] And for a fun answer, planning out sex scenes is hilarious.

Am I more of a Steve or Bucky?

Bucky, no doubt. Sometimes it feels like Dread has climbed into my brain, found a horrible nugget of truth about me, and then put it into words coming out of Bucky’s mouth. Those moments are both wonderful and terrible in equal measure.

Who would I want to hang out with for a day?

For a whole day? Can it maybe be a coffee or, like, a quick lunch? I honestly don’t know… Neither Steve nor Bucky will be very good company, I think. Not in their current versions, anyways. Rikki is hella cool but she intimidates me, so, not her. Um.. Huh. Nope, don’t have an answer.

Who would I want to be friends with?

Probably Hank, again. He has a really good attitude. I’m starting to feel like not picking Steve/Bucky is selfish because it’s like “oh, they have too many issues and it won’t be fun”. But it’s also true! Friendship is reciprocal, and I really don’t think that’s where they’re at. (But I would have totally been dying to be friends with Steve in his bookshop days).

Who would I want to be my therapist - Hope, Bruce, Scott, or Claire?

Hope or Claire. Both are no-nonsense competent therapists. But I think maybe Hope will be too put-together for me. So, yeah, probably Claire.

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

Okay, everyone. Back to the grind. I’ll update as soon as I can! Remember to wash your hands with the fastidiousness of BW Steve Rogers. (And also remember to sing the “happy birthday fucking everyone” song, which should actually be sung TWICE or resentfully enough that it lasts 20 seconds.)

#baghdad waltz #happy birthday #fucking everyone #I love you

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heartau · 5 years ago

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Oooh you went to Neocity right? I’d love to hear descriptions of the boys in the words of a writer 🥰

omg this sounds fun !!! ok before i start this i just wanna say this is from what i personally saw when i saw them live. i was relatively close to the stage, enough to make eye contact and to be waved at, so i’ll do my best!!

taeyong: seeing him in real life was a little surreal because he looks exactly how he does in pictures and videos which is already jarring because he’s already really beautiful through those. he has really big, expressive eyes and the warmest smile; every time he would look at the audience he’d have this small smile that looked like pride. it was really really heartwarming to see. he has such a calming, relaxed and cute aura durings ments but once he started to perform... whew! his head also really big, honestly a lot of their heads were really big in real life which is adorable idjdjddk, but yeah!! i made eye contact with him a number of times and you would think his gaze would be intimidating but it really really wasnt! the only word i can describe the feeling i got from him is motherly :(

johnny: first and foremost, i do not believe that he’s 6’1... that man is gigantic. his proportions are so good, his leg to chest ratio is so... [chef’s kiss]. what you see of him in videos is truly what he is in real life, he’s so goofy and funny and lively and he always encouraged other members to do their thing as well. he’s honestly so hilarious too which makes me sad because it makes me feel like we’d get along really well if i knew him personally ... man i just wanna be his bff. but yeah he’s really tall, like towering over the other members tall; even taller than jungwoo, who was surprisingly tall as well. maybe it’s just me because i’m really short. he also has a small face in real life, but at the same time his features are so expressive that you dont even realize it haha. but yeah he’s just a happy, talented, gentle giant.

jungwoo: if i could describe jungwoo in one word it would be cherub-like. he literally has the softest features ever and he moves so gracefully, he literally glowed on stage and it was kinda shocking really. he was also really tall omg, like i was expecting it anyways since i knew that he’s around 6ft, but like... he’s REALLY tall. he has the SOFTEST, most honey-like voice but he speaks with so much confidence, it’s so so so cute and made me so happy. he also has really fluffy hair, like even from my seat i could see how soft and light his hair was; every movement he made that night just made his hair whip around really easily, like even if it was bleached you really couldn’t tell because his hair didn’t look fried at all. all in all jungwoo was truly angel-like and very graceful.

taeil: oh man taeil is beautiful on screen and through pictures already but in person he glows 100x more. he has really, really pretty skin that made him shine under the spotlight and his jawline is REALLY sharp omg. he’s also really short (which i was expecting... probably still taller than me though) and has a big head hehe. he’s also one of the members that had a really calming, nurturing energy, during the ments he would literally have heart eyes full of pride when he’d look at the audience, it was really really heartwarming. a GOOD butt. also his vocals are so, so, sooo good and very stable - there was one point (i think it was back 2 u(?) i can’t remember anything from that night other than my videos) where he used his headvoice for the highnote and not falsetto and it floored me - i’m a classically trained vocalist so you bet i freaked out in the audience. but yeah, taeil is just really calming and nurturing and REALLY funny too :(

yuta: yuta honestly shocked me because although i knew that he’s baby from interviews and other clips, i was still somehow intimidated by him, but when i saw them live he really stomped on my intimidation. he literally has the most fresh, most positive, most genuinely kind energy i’ve literally ever felt :( he had the biggest smile throughout the night, every time i’d look at him he’d just be grinning from ear to ear. “healing smile” doesn’t even come close to describing how GOOD his smile is in real life. he’s also short, something i really wasn’t expecting, like a good 2nd or 3rd shortest - really really REALLY funny too and a REALLY good dancer, i got some of his freestyle dance on camera and every time i watch it, i’m floored bc he hits every beat on the spot. i made eye contact with him at one point and i remember feeling just so happy and at peace, like... he’s not intimidating at all... he’s just a happy boy :(

mark: ohh mark... i see mark as a childhood friend so when he came out on stage i literally felt tears spring in my eyes. i live in vancouver and saw them in vancouver so i feel like that kinda intensified it a bit more as well. he is SOOOOOO undeniably funny its crazy, throughout the night i’d just be laughing at things he’d say (that were intended to be humourous ofc). his head also really big omg it was kinda jarring, and taller than i expected. his stage presence is so good, everytime they’d perform my eyes would sometimes land on him, literally SO good. honestly, when i walked into that venue i was expecting him to cry which i feared for because when someone cries, then i cry, but he didn’t!! although after the concert ended, when they were saying their goodbyes, they left mark alone to say his own goodbyes and when he was doing so, his voice kinda cracked before he did this bow and his eyes were a little glossy and i got SO SCARED because i didn’t wanna cry rkdndkdndk but yeah :( im proud of mark and you can tell that he holds pride in what he does as well!

donghyuck: MAN... donghyuck literally has the most beautiful skin i’ve ever seen. i know i’ve said this before but he glows, like he literally glows, fullsun is an appropriate nickname for him. he emitted nothing else but cute, happy, mischeviohs energy during ments but once he started performing his vibe changed so drastically it was crazy - especially during wake up and baby don’t like it. there was one part during baby don’t like it when he pressed his forehead against taeil’s and when i tell you how much i lost it because i wasn’t expecting it... oh man. i also see donghyuck as a best friend; i was born a week before he was and our natal charts are exactly the same save for our moons, so seeing him rip it up on stage was so so soo good it made me so proud :( i made eye contact with him somewhere during summer 127?? I WAS SO HAPPY AFTER like it was refreshing omg i sound so silly but im telling the truth iddndkjd he’s also shockingly tall as well, around mark’s height, maybe even taller, and REALLY long legs. like a good 90% of his body was made of leg didjdjdjd but yeah donghyuck is just... he’s really the sun and he was meant to perform.

doyoung: i will start this off by saying; i left that venue as a doyoungzen. doyoung... whew... he also shocked me because through videos and pictures i was NEVER intimidated by him at all, i honestly genuinely always just saw him as cute baby but man oh man. you know when you just KNOW that someone’s rich by the way they hold themselves? that’s doyoung... he’s really regal-like and holds himself really gracefully, like a strict prince type. he intimidated me SO much that night (in the best way possible... sexy intimidation... dont worry) like his energy was just so... intense. i made eye contact with him a number of times and when i tell you how SMALL i felt just from meeting his eyes... my goodness. he has really broad shoulders and a tiny waist, also really tall, small-ish head. his features are REALLY sharp like it’s crazy, i really have no other way to explain it. he also has really pretty hands, nimble-looking fingers. he was really adorable during ments and at one point kept hopping which was so CUTE but even then... man. his energy is just really intense. i ended up making him one of my ults after i left the venue.

jaehyun: deep inhale... so. jaehyun. honestly its kinda silly because i can remember so many details from the other members but i feel like once it comes to jaehyun i’m at a loss of words because of how in SHOCK i was to see him up close bc as you all know he’s my ultimate bias, it was my three years with him a few weeks ago. but gosh... jaehyun... i really can’t see the whole “cold prince” image they give him bc he’s so chill and relaxed? ok wow a few memories are coming to mind now; he has a really big head, which i was expecting because i’ve seen people talk about how big his head is but yeah it’s big but it’s CUTE he’s just a little bobblehead :( i made so much eye contact with him that night too and god like. i got some of those moments on camera and you can see through the videos how i’d just FREEZE every time we jefkenfkd he’s just... really chill, really relaxed, let the other members do their thing, but at the same time really silly and had this aura of confidence which was really nice. a lil shorter than i expected omg but his skin was reeallllyyyy nice and he’s very pale irl omg. he waved at me and my friend at the end of the show and i also got it on video and like... every time i watch it its just so surreal cuz like ... 😭 LIKE WHAT NOW how am i supposed to live the rest of my life now knowing i reached my peak at neocity like .... bruh

all in all these boys are just so talented and have the best stage presence ever, and they’re super SUPER interactive with the fans. beingin the crowd during touch and replay was just so... nice :( it was truly one of the happiest moments in my life and i hope that they come back soon !!! i also hope that the next time i see them, winwin is part of 127 again as well :( and lastly, i also hope that whoever is reading this sees them in the future as well bc u deserve it!!!

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tarithenurse · 5 years ago

Text

Girl Power Challenge

Pairing: Thor x fem!reader Content: Heavy on the tropes (haters to lovers, denial); mission; cursing; sass; humour; degrading comments; mentions of drinking; pure, filthy smut with dom/sub-inclinations. A/N: My one-shot contribution to @captain-kelli ‘s 500 challenge, based on a dialog prompt (bold) and a sprinkling of Thor. I hope it’s alright ;) Huge thanks to my lovely friend maladaptive-ninja-returns for betaing this one.

Stronger

No vocabulary contained the swear words you needed so desperately at that moment. A few interesting options had already passed your lips as you worked through the crumbling building, using your skill to move aside blocks of concrete as though they were tumbleweed to get to survivors. One by one, you had tunneled towards the poor victims, shaping the earth and debris to prevent any collapses, and you had actually been thrilled when you sensed the vibrations of Iron Man landing to take a dirty, shaking body from your arms.

Despair diffused into hope while you worked side by side with the Avengers.

Then the oaf showed up, tossing slabs off concrete out of the way without any consideration to the balance of the ruins.

It happened fast, almost too fast for the movement to register through your feet into your legs. Lunging forward, you managed to grab the kid you had been working towards with one hand while maintaining a thin, wobbly pillar (once the corner of the building) beneath yourself while the rest fell away. Dust and embers billowed. Your heart hammered in the throat. The rumble managed to drown out the kid’s frightened scream. Out of the raging darkness, Stark appeared just in time to grab the poor child as the dirty fingers started to slip through the strained grip – then they were gone and you could focus on your own predicament. Tired and pissed off, you would have a hard time shaping the concrete according to your will (earth would have been preferable due to the malleability).

Then the air crackled, making the little hairs stand on end. Or maybe it was simply the anger simmering from the anticipation of what was to come: a big, strong, blond oaf in a red cloak propelling himself upwards and past you yet somehow still managing to snare an arm around your waist and swish you away.

No language in the universe held the curses you needed. It might have been a hint for Thor if he had noticed how the remainder of the building crushed into itself, becoming no more than dust. He didn’t. He was too busy looking smug, a beaming smile aimed towards you even before he landed with a tooth rattling jolt.

“Fear not, fair lady,” he rumbled with more pride than you could stand, “nothing shall harm you now.”

No restraint could contain the cold words slithering off your lips. “Who asked you to intervene?”

“I…beg you pardon?” Oh, the confusion in those electric-blue eyes was perfect.

“You think you have to rescue me?!” Forcibly wriggling out of his arms, it was wonderful to have steady ground beneath your feet. “You think I can’t take care of myself?!”

He was not off the hook yet, oh no. Not once did the Asgardian God of Thunder get a proper word in as defense while you chewed him out. The only reason you eventually stopped was because Stark came over, dragging you away with the promise of a spa treatment and a party – who in their right mind would say no to that?

… …

The party had been a small celebration with those involved in the day’s heroing: dinner at a local diner followed by drinks at a bar that Stark rented for the evening, but despite the “free” drinks and cute bartenders the Avengers eventually went back to the Tower, dragging you along with them. Were you supposed to have said no? Maybe. But of course you didn’t.

Staying away from Thor, you still managed to have a great time and had no issues ignoring the sulking glances the blond brute sent you from across the room. Drink in hand, you allowed yourself to be sweettalked into some fun and games by Natasha.

…

Who knew that superheroes amuse themselves by something as simple as “Truth or Dare”? To be honest, so far it has been hilarious (especially when Sam tried to minimize the damage he’d done to his reputation after a truth-question).

“Dare,” Thor proclaims with confidence as he stares down the redhead next to you.

A smile curls Natasha’s lips and if you had been on the receiving end then you would be scared. Thor, of course, is not.

“Kiss the person you’ve known the longest and the one you’ve known the shortest.”

There’s a beat of silence where Thor’s eyes flicker in your direction, but the tension is averted by Stark practically throwing himself at the Asgardian in anticipation of what’s to come. Two people don’t participate in the ruckus cheering filling the room: Natasha, who is leering at you…and you, who leans comfortably into the plush pillows, a leg dangling over the other to allow the foot to wiggle along to the beat of the music. Think murder, you tell yourself before meeting her gaze. Steady. Unwavering.

“So…” Your face is a perfect mask of calm innocence. “What’s the punishment when he fails?” Not if.

Although the words have been quiet, they manage to silence the room. Already, people are getting ideas as Thor recover from the first part of the Dare, his mind now also struggling with the suggestion that he, the Mighty Prince Thor of Asgard, should possibly fail.

“Oh! I know!” It might be Bruce piping up for once…or Stark if he has returned from his private heaven. “Thor’ll have to leave Mjølnir behind for research when he returns to Asgard.”

A collective “oooh” rushes through the group, undoubtedly fueled further by the blond idiot’s reaction. Perfect. He’s struggling to keep composure, nerves thrumming through his body - only finding an outlet through the punishing grasp that is threatening to tear off the armrest of the chair, and the curling of toes inside the big boots. But you? A tiny smirk tickles the corner of your mouth as you wait for the inevitable.

“Well, what a-are we waiting for?” Thor smiles falter when you do nothing but sip from the drink. “Surely, you cannot truly detest me…”

Oh, no? The slowest of looks from under your lashes tells him otherwise. Whether he has understood what he did wrong or not, it’s evident he realizes what is at stake at this moment while you have the perfect opportunity to teach him a lesson for making a situation worse by running in like a driverless bulldozer.

“What’s this?” you drawl playfully, “need me to…save…you?”

Electricity sparkles in his eyes and you know the words hit the right spot, but then he blinks and it is gone, leaving behind a man in the place of a god. “Yes. Please…save me.”

You know the others must be confused, unsure of what to make of the untamed rivalry between the two of you. Frankly, the scene has taken a turn you didn’t expect either. It’s just that…backing down isn’t an option anymore. Pushing away the knowledge of their presence, you focus on Thor and your nails.

“Funny thing, knowin’ someone wants to be rescued. Really enables a certain drive, y’know? A need to do it right and not endanger other people by rushing in like a bumbling oaf…dontcha agree?”

“Uhm…”

“Soooo…the plan’s to save you…or Mjølnir…by kissing you?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve seen rocks I’d rather kiss.”

Somewhere, in the world you’ve chosen to ignore for the moment, there are shouts and jeering. Right in front of you is a tall, muscly god with arms crossed as he towers above you. Glaring. Finally letting go of the confusion as your last insult chips away the patience he has cultivated. He doesn’t budge when you stand, chest brushing against his wiry lower arms, and the temptation to stand on the couch becomes nearly overwhelming.

“I’m no rock,” he growls, “unlike your heart.” There’s a gasp from somewhere behind the Asgardian (it distinctly sounds like the word “burn”), quickly followed by shushing. “Though…mayhaps your cold façade serves to keep yourself protected from feeling any love?”

“Nice try…but no.” The last dredges of your drink flows easily over your tongue. Time for a refill. “Now, excuse me.”

Thor allows you to pass and get all the way to the bar counter where you deposit the empty glass before he calls out to you. “I did not take you for a coward, lady [Y/N].”

“I’m not.”

“Yet you dare not share a kiss.”

You’ve frozen to the spot, back still turned to the group and hand on the fridge. I can say no…I can say no…I can…not. Nope. Not gonna chicken out. Slowly turning, it’s all too evident that everyone is holding their breath in anticipation. Some are praying for a chance to study the bloody hammer while others just want some ammunition to pester either Thor or maybe you with for at least the rest of the night.

“Now that’s a low blow, mister.” He is in trouble and the way you walk back to face him shows it. “Let’s see what you got, then.”

He delivers.

A hand cradling your neck, and arm around your waist pulling you flush up against him. There’s a brief second where your entire vision is filled by the electricity crackling in his blue eyes before his lips are upon you. Surprisingly gentle, they slot onto your mouth with ease and you’re done for. The combination of his beard prickling your upper lip and chin is the perfect contrast to the molten heat parting your lips with a sweep of his tongue to deepen the kiss. You forget to breathe, forget to hold your eyes open and your legs steady. Instead you lean into his embrace and allow your instincts to engage in a dance you hadn’t intended to perform but don’t want out of.

You are breathless when he pulls away, hands supporting you until you have got your bearings again. Want.

“See?” By some sort of miracle, your voice isn’t reduced to a gasp. “Rocks could do better.”

Thankfully, the scientific part of the group are complaining loudly enough about the missed opportunity to move the attention from you and eventually the game continues for a few rounds. It gives you time - time where you keep pulling your gaze away from the blond god repeatedly. Sometimes, you imagine feeling the electric fire of his eyes scalding your skin, each time making you check to find him studying you unabashedly.

…

By the time the party ends, you’ve been offered to sleep over rather than make your way home. Tony has already staggered off to his room, leaving Natasha in charge of finding a bed for you a few floors below the lounge and instruct you on the little stash of spare clothes hidden behind a panel in the wall.

“Most are gonna sleep in t’morrow, so don’t worry ‘bout getting up early,” she yawns. Just before the door closes behind her, she adds, “Oh, and if you hear snoring it’s just Thor…his room’s across from this.”

I didn’t hear that.

Snooping around the room and en suite bathroom entertains you for a while and even yields rather luxurious results – the hottest shower you have ever indulged in as well as overly fluffy towels and a dark blue, silk nightshirt that reaches the middle of your thighs. The place is fit for a princess. A highly modern one, but royalty, nonetheless. Even a Prince of Asgard.

Just the thought makes a delicate sweat break out on your skin. Logic and lust battles within you, painting pictures in your mind of a strong body displayed naked before you, muscles moving like sand beneath the tan skin and a stone-grip on your thighs.

I’d be weak if I give in, you pout as you toss and turn in the enormous bed…and regret it if I don’t. Caught between a rock and a hard place there’s no rest to be found while the fire burns within. The problem is not the risk of love or hurt feelings but rather to become “just another of those girls”. The kind of chicks that sigh while waiting for Mr. Right to find them; the type of female who needs a provider and protector for whatever reason. None of those are you. Strong and independent, no one is above you. Sure, you got morals (the wish to help people and not hurt them intentionally is there), but all your life you’ve followed your dreams and aspirations, ensuring you got what you wanted.

“Why not this time?”

The darkness doesn’t answer the whisper, but perhaps that is a reply in its own right.

Yeah…I want him. I’ll have him. Slipping from under the duvet, bare feet listen to the information carried like a mumble through the concrete to guide you out of the room and across the hall where a sliver of light cuts below the door. You can feel his footsteps pacing back and forth. Is he waiting? Considering his own options?

A deep breath finds its way into your lungs in an attempt to steady your nerves. Rather than knocking, you open the door resolutely, finding the god at the far end of the room in all his naked glory including a semi-hard cock. The once-over becomes a twice-over as the door closes behind you.

“Might wanna lock when walking ‘round in your birthday suit.”

The specimen of a man doesn’t seem bothered by the intrusion or nudity but minimizes the distance between the two of you with all but a yard. “My own door was of little concern,” he rumbles, “while yours became an insurmountable obstacle from which I’ve retreated numerous times…afraid my sins were irredeemable.”

Oh really? “I…could forgive you, I guess…”

“Tell me how!” The tall man literally drops to his knees before you, large hands reaching for your hips but not daring to touch. “Your wish is my command, m’lady.”

It’s a rush to be in charge of Thor, not just due to his natural alpha-vibes or his royal title but rather because he doesn’t begrudgingly follow your instruction as you order him to get up and turn to display himself. He moves with a slow purpose, flexing his limbs lazily as you carve the sight into a memory that time never will erode. Sandy skin glistens in the dimmed light while shadows shimmy across the mountains and valleys of his muscles.

“Undress me.”

There’s not a lot of clothing to remove. Nonetheless, he extends each part of the task to the infinite, making sure not to touch your skin as each button of the silk shirt is popped to allow the cool fabric to slide off your shoulders and pool at your feet. Once more, he kneels. Calloused fingers reaching for the hem of your panties.

“Wait.” His hands stop mere millimeters away. “Before you remove them, feel free to touch me as you wish.”

Even without direct eye contact, you can sense the flicker of lightning playing in the blue of his irises – a convenient explanation to why every hair on your body stands on end when you still don’t want to admit it’s pure excitement.

His first touches are featherlight strokes up and down your thighs, curving to the back where the large palms fit so well under the ass. Fingertips tug at the thin fabric of your undies, pulling them partially below the hips so only your mound remains hidden, baring sensitive skin for Thor to lavish with subtle kisses. The first tremors dance deep within you, early warnings of an earthquake only he can set off.

The grip is much stronger, needier, when his hands frame your waist to pull you flush against his chest. Nose in navel, deep breaths inhale your scent. The smile of his lips can be felt against your abdomen, growing wider as he cups one of the breasts where his fingers stroke the peak and tweak the hardening pebble to make you gasp.

“M’lady,” he murmurs against your hip, tongue tracing the shift in your flesh to where the bundled undies hinder further advances, “please allow me…?”

“Alright.”

Barely have the words left your lips before you feel the fabric slip down, reluctantly letting go where they have soaked up the wetness between your legs already. He knows. A deep sigh escapes him, immediately followed by kisses claiming the path towards your sex.

A few inches and his lips will be on your clit.

One inch.

“Enough.” The words are more ragged than sharp as intended, but Thor accepts the command. “Get on the bed.”

You follow him closely as he scoots backwards until his head rests on the pillow. Damn. Every tensed muscle you touch could be carved from sun-heated marble. Shivers erupt from where you hands glide over his skin – all running towards the proudly erect cock which in itself is a godly masterpiece that twitches in anticipation as you straddle his thighs.

It’s so obvious, the craving in those electric eyes devouring you whole, the tremble caused by self-restraint. Waiting for the order, huh? Reaching for his hands, allowing fingers to entwine as you lean down to nibble at his throat. Sensitive nipples sweep over his chest. Each stuttering breath escaping Thor tickles your ear as your lips find their way towards his until the connection finally is made and he can steal your breath away, drinking it straight from your mouth. Hips roll, his or yours – it barely matters – but you won’t let go and allow his hands to roam. Not yet at least. Tearing away, a smile plays on your lips at the whine he utters at the lack of contact.

“So eager,” you purr, “for this?”

Not once do your eyes stray from him. Your own hands are much smaller, doing little to imitate what Thor might be able to do if he was the one to cup your breasts before a hand slides to the apex of your thighs to splay the folds and spread the glistening wetness there. Blatantly taunting him, moaning and rocking against your own touch as you expertly swirl the clit. Beneath you, the man groans and you do the same when you tweak the nipples, one after the other as the hand works. There’s a distinct sound of fabric ripping when a few of your digits enter the core.

“Please. Goddess,” the desperate man gasps, “please.”

Rolling the pelvis (and shuffling slightly forward on the knees) you drag your sobbing cunt along Thor’s shaft, the tip teasing the entrance enough for him to pout as you repeat the maneuver. So tempting. All it would take is a little lift and then a slow, breathtaking slide to bring his cock inside. To feel the width and length press ever right spot as the walls of your cunt would stretch and quiver to accommodate him.

“Show me how to treat a goddess, then.”

The mask of meek desperation crumbles in seconds, revealing a predatorial greed gleaming like sharp crystals. Rather than grab your hips and guide you until you are impaled on his cock, however, he surges up to embrace you tightly. A demanding mouth captures your lips, stealing your senses by the flexing sweeps of a tongue matched by bites. When Thor’s hands begin to roam, you find yourself unable to do anything but hold on to him, nails digging into the muscly back, as your body grinds against him with a will of its own.

You’re vaguely aware of the room turning around you and the firm softness of a mattress against your back, but nothing truly stands clear until the nibbling kisses and licks travel down your body. Clavicle and shoulders, breasts where each hypersensitive nipple is treated heavenly before Thor proceeds across the expanse of your stomach.

He uses every part of his body to tease you: his voice sends vibrations into your very soul, the press of him is deliciously insistent between your legs, his reddish beard a devilish contrast to the sweetness of his lips, and his hands…oh god…his hands are everywhere. Pinching, massaging, stroking.

“O-ah!” The sound slips out of you in whimper.

Thor is paying full attention to your clit, licking broad stripes all along the folds before spelling out the alphab- wait. Each flick of his tongue does trace a letter around the tight bundle of nerves, but they aren’t random instead spelling out your name before a broad lick starts it all over until your toes curl and legs shake from the approaching orgasm and your moans have changed to keening cries for more.

In a flurry, the strong man sits back, hauling you along to ensure your legs are clenching his flanks firmly and his cock breaching the entrance to your core. Strong hands under your ass is holding you steady, allowing you to look down upon his face where your juices glisten in the beard.

“A word from your…lips is a law…in my…life,” he gasps just as eager as you.

“Give me ev’rything.”

The muscles shiver under the Asgardian’s skin from holding back as he impales you slowly. Your back arches. Your walls flutter and squeeze in a pulsating rhythm, soon matched by Thor’s thrusts and pulls at your hips the moment he shifts the hold on you. Deep, dragged out movements hitting all the right spots within and outside of your core.

No metaphor covers the sensation as you cum, riding Thor’s cock as you sit in his lap. Maybe an earthquake, a landslide that sends you flying into a void containing nothing but the two of you, his arms holding you while your body relents control in favour of unbridled euphoria. And just as it feels as though the orgasm wanes, the man’s thrusts stutter and a tingle of electricity runs through your core bringing you to a new peak together with Thor.

Breath by shuddering breath, you descend from the high wrapped in each others’ arms while foreheads rest against each other. Eventually you reach between your bodies, holding in his cum as he slips out and lies you down on the bed.

“Don’t leave, [Y/N],” he asks from the place beside you.

How could I? “Just let me freshen up.”

…

Cleaned up and watered, you’re back in Thor’s bed, allowing him to tug you closer.

“My lady…if this be the punishment for my wrongs then I may have to interfere more often…”

Hmmm…potential. “I’m imaginative,” you laugh, “so stay sharp.”

“As you wish, my queen.”

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