#i like keeping it simple :] if it was overly complicated i would never draw it lol

[risingsunresistance]

my son. the power of creation

[starsandsugars]

Burning Desire

PAIRINGS: shiv roy/f!reader

SUMMARY: you had hoped that working on a work assignment with shiv might make her open up to you. Instead it lead to you 'opening up' in an entirely different way. (NSFW • MINORS DNI)

TAGS: coworkers hooking up, degredation, praise, office crushes, cheating (if you squint)

NOTES: hi guys :) this is my first fic I'm posting on tumblr and my first piece of smut so please be nice and I hope y'all like it!

-

Your heart hammered in your chest as you felt Shiv's hand press firmer against your mouth, forcing you to keep quiet even as she continued to pump her fingers into you at that ruthless pace. Each stroke of her fingertips hit that perfect spot inside you, drawing out animalistic sounds that were just barely concealed by her. Every little touch made you feel electric, every inch of your body practically vibrating from the pleasure.

As your head tilted back and knocked back against the door, you thank whatever God there was for putting you in this situation.

You had seen Shioban Roy countless times around the Waystar offices, normally in some meeting or getting into an argument with her siblings that half the staff had to witness.

You knew very little about her initially other than what was public knowledge. You had no reason to pay her any mind, but you always felt your eyes drawn to her anyway.

At first you reasoned it was because of the effortless way she commanded the room or the fact that, as Gerri's second in command, she was kind of your bosses boss but as your curiosity began to change shape it became harder and harder to deny.

You couldn't tear your eyes away from her if she walked by your desk, the simple twirl of her hips enough to take your breath away. When she leaned over her desk to talk to you, you just about lost your ability to think clearly. And the one time you saw her kiss her husband in the lobby it filled you with a feeling you refuse to admit even to yourself.

It was ridiculous, and beyond irresponsible.

For one, she was your boss. If that wasn't enough she was married - to the head of news at the company that you work for no less!

You did your best to convince yourself that it was just an office crush. She was a beautiful woman with a touch of power that turned you on more than you wanted to admit. That was surely all it was.

Or it least, that was all it had been, until you got assigned to work on an agreement that Shiv, as President of Operations was hwading. t really wasn't an overly complicated assignment, which is why Gerri handed it over to you, and you expected to be done with it in a couple of days.

As it turns out, that was far from the case. The other company refused to sign, and what could have been a couple meetings turned into long days and nights cooped up in Shiv's office hunched over paperwork.

Your silly crush hadn't gotten away, and had gotten even harder to manage. Now you were close enough to smell her expensive perfume, close enough to hear the edge her voice took when she was telling you to do something.

You tried to push it down, smother it, but the flame only grew brighter with each day you spent together.

Finally, after a million emails and a formally worded threat of litigation, the smaller tech company signed the contract and became a part of the growing monolith that was Waystar Royco.

You had never seen Shiv happier, practically beaming as she went immediately to gloat to her father. You took your things and disappeared back to your own office, expecting that would be the end of your Shiv Roy saga.

You were a little sad to see it end, but you're sure your vibrator will thank you for a break now that you won't have to constantly be so close to her so you prepare yourself to just move on.

You should have known things with her could never be that simple.

Just as you began to catch up with your other work you've been neglecting to help her she pops her head into your office.

"Come out with me to celebrate our win." She says without so much as a 'hello', "Drinks on me."

It wasn't a request so much as a command, but you found yourself agreeing anyway.

With that she turned on her heels, leaving you with a fluttering feeling in your stomach.

You were distracted the rest of the day wondering what she was up to. Did she really just want to celebrate? What was her game here? You knew the Roys well enough to know they never did anything without an agenda.

By the time she came to get you from your office at the end of the day you were all but convinced she was going to fire you. You went with her anyway, heart thumping in your chest as the two of you sat quietly in her private car.

She had her driver take you two to a high end bar that seemed to be pretending to be a dive bar. It was busy, with warm bodies and loud music everywhere. It could almost pass for a normal bar if it weren't for the suits all around and the fact that one of their drinks rang up for twice as much as your hourly wage.

She (thankfully) bought you your drink and turned to gave you fully once you had both settled into a leather booth.

It started off perfectly innocently, talking about you success with the deal and your future at Waystar. Your anxiety began to melt as you realized she really wasn't firing you. In fact, she seemed like she genuinely wanted to talk to you.

You talked your way through another 2 drinks each, both of you slowly opening up to each other. You told her about how much Gerri gets on your case and she tells you about her open relationship with Tom.

She drops it into the conversation casually but the way she blinks her eyes gives her away. She knows exactly what she's doing.

"I mean, I don't control what he does. Why would I let him control me?" She leans a little closer, and the finger tracing the rim of her drink turned into a heavy hand on your thigh.

Her voice lowers as she continues, sending shivers down your spine.

"I sleep with whoever I want. Whenever I want."

Your voice choked up a little as you responded, voice sticking in your throat from the sheer shock of it all.

"Yeah, me too." You manage, drawing a laugh from the redhead.

"Oh yeah?" She teases, eyes twinkling as she whispers into your ear.

"Why don't you come show me?"

Before you can even begin to think better of it her ingers splayed are across your back and she's guiding you to the back of the bar.

She opens a door knowingly and you realize she had planned this. If she had to have an angle, you were glad it was this one.

Once the two of you were inside she pressed you back against the door. The cold metal pulled a shiver from you, but the second her lips were on yours it's like every other sensation melted away. She kissed you like she wanted to consume you and you would be more than happy to let her.

As if reading your thoughts she bit your lip, pulling a little yelp out of her. She grinned and moved her lips against your neck as her hands slid up under your dress. You preened under her touch, breathy moans escaping you despite yourself.

It took only a moment for your panties to be tugged down your legs but she paused before actually touching you. You tired rolling your hips but all she did was brush your clit all too softly.

"Shiv, please." You begged, tapping into the want for submission she so clearly had in her normal life. The tendency clearly extends to sex because as soon as you give her what she wants she finally pushed her fingers into you.

She was clearly skilled with her fingers and she worked you up in no time. You moaned loudly, and she gripped your chin to warn you.

"Be. Quiet."

When you couldn't comply she shoved her hand over your mouth, gripping your cheeks to keep it in place. When you whimpered enough to be heard through her attempted gag she crowded you further against the wall.

"Shut up."

She spoke into your ear, equal parts threat and promise.

"Unless you want us to get caught. Maybe you'd like that. Maybe you want everyone to see what you let me do to you in this bathroom."

She strikes just the right spot inside of you and your thighs begin to quake, fingers clutching desperately to her shoulders. You know you should try to maintain some level of basic self respect but when she looks at you with those hungry eyes you just can't find it in yourself to care.

"God you're such a slut." She says, sounding pleasantly surprised. The words send sparks down your spine and you feel yourself tumble over the edge.

Your mind is hazy and your legs shake so badly she has to use her thigh to prop you up.

Once you had calmed down enough to do something that resembled normal breathing she let you go, smiling like she's just won some kind of contest.

"Good girl. I knew you had it in you." She says, and it's a struggle not to let the praise go straight to your head.

She starts to check her reflection in the mirror over the sink as you stay against the door, trying to make your brain work properly again.

Eventually you come to your senses enough to straighten up and try to appear half as nonchalant as she is.

You approach her, leaning against the sink as you watch her fix her hair.

"You're not going to let me return the favor?" You ask with a tone od faux innocence, trying to talk as if it were about a business deal instead of the most mind blowing orgasm of your life.

"Oh trust me, you're going to." She grins at you in the mirror. "But we're not doing this again in the bathroom. We're going back to my apartment."

She strides right out of the bathroom, knowing you were going to follow her without you having to say a word.

She's not wrong, and you chase after her before you even have the time to realize your panties are still discarded on the bathroom floor.

[noctiilio]

On the ninth hour of the ninth day of the ninth month, I ask you but one simple question. What do you think of Cirno?

ACTUALLY i have been participating in my friend Cappu's one cirno fanart a day through september collab (cleverly named Cirntember!) so i'll post mine on the 14th since it's scheduled for that day!!! you should def check that out if you can i've also been on a shared aggie.io canvas -v-/ BUT YEAH LEMME AT IT -sound of me comically cracking my knuckles and the impact reverbs through the solar system- ok ok ok cirno cirno cirno my beloved. back to my critically acclaimed essays with free character psychanalysis up to level 60 and the free expansion fanart. ok so. She's a charming character and i understand why she's so popular. Ppl again push too far into certain tropes with her but considering the touhou fandom at large its a given :') Cirno is SOMETHING ALRIGHT. She's just a kid with too much hubris for someone her size who's hellbent on flexing on people twice more powerful than she is. And you know what? I love that. genuinely.

Fairies are just all around fun characters in the touhou series and I love what ZUN made with them, from the three fairies of light to clownpiece, they're just all very enjoyable. But cirno? Cirno is the crown jewel of this bundle of joy. She's the premium experience.

My favorite instance of Cirno is 12.8: great fairy wars. Its just delightful. None of the decisions taken by either of the fairies make sense and that's what i love abt them all. Like she isn't stupid in the literal sense of the word, her thought process is just incomprehensible because that's the fairy experience for you. She'll take overly convoluted directions that are just unnecessarily complicated for absolutely zero reason and only a fairy would understand and her attention span is VERY short, she's in the moment you guys, she's really in the moment and i love that for her. She's got no forethought and she'll jump into trouble head first and NEVER see it coming. She just never learns and keeps charging there's no stopping that sassy lost child. My favorite example to illustrate that is when she tried to sell water flavored popsicles. Y. Yeah. It's that nonsensical, almost cartoony sense of goofiness that keeps me coming back for more every day. Seriously if i had to pick only ONE touhou character that reads like an animated toon, hands down it's cirno. (clownpiece is a close second, dare i say.... she's on thin iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice.)

I also love the direction that she's not your typical winter-themed ice fairy. She's that sweet feeling of getting shaved ice in the middle of a hot midsummer day personified. And i LOVE that for her. Summer is THE extrovert of the four seasons its commonly accepted this way in media, summer is the noise complaint season by excellence so it fits.

I love that when she's a playable character (like in hidden star in four seasons) she ends up accidentally helping the other protags just because she wants to flex on the WORLD, not because she wants to solve the incident. Like she doesn't know what she's doing for gensokyo she just does it bc she wants to prove something for herself. And thats so funny to me. Like, what Okina was doing? Through one ear and out the other, she just wants to win she's not here to hear you monologue, she'll put herself in airplane mode until you're done she just wants to prove her own strength as recklessly as possible. And this is the exact reason why i hope we get to see her more as a playable protag in mainline games she's just hysterical to me.

Thank you and happy belated cirno day i'll be back with a fully illustrated on the 14th, so while we wait here's my doodle on the shared aggie.io canvas!

(fun fact: i draw her w triangular eyebrows to match the shape of her wings -v-)

[zulivaris]

Art Block tips that helped me

 I’ve recently experienced art block after 3 or so months of overcoming my last one. Thankfully this block only lasted a few days thanks to some things I’ve observed and noted down from the previous time. So I’m sharing these few tips in hopes that it might help someone get unstuck :D!

First and foremost if you’re tired, sad or anxious don’t be surprised that you can’t make art, go and take care of yourself by treating yourself with kindness and patience, the sketchbooks and canvases will wait for you :)

The tips are under here:

Separate art studies from the creative time:  When you do art studies you’re there to focus on specific things, learn and understand how things work so you can apply them later in your art. Studies take a lot of energy and focus and are the opposite of the creative "flow” of making your own pieces. If you combine the two the results are either unfocused studies or stiff drawings. When you sit down at your desk ask yourself “Do I want to learn something new or do I want to create something of my own?”

When you have an idea don’t be afraid of being messy: Let’s say you want to make a picture of several cats kolo dancing in the moonlight. How do you go about doing this? Well since you came up with the idea you already have a vague image in your mind, sketch it out with simple shapes, stick figures, circle and spheres etc Don’t worry about cat anatomy, or the dancer’s moves, sketch out the essence of it. This method removes the need to be perfect or accurate. 

Ok after the messy sketch then what? Well now that you have sketched out the essence of your idea (and hopefully had fun doing so) now you go on to look for references! You put the creative process on pause and you can do a few brief studies if you need to: anatomy, color schemes, values, poses. Pick out a few of your favorites but don't obsess over them, they are a guide, a tool.

You know much more than you think. You’ve probably been drawing for a few years now. You’ve probably done some studies and drawn more than one type of subject. Then you have already internalized some of that information. I used to be obsessed with capturing the minute detail of the subject, and not be able to draw ANYTHING without reference. Instead of a useful tool, references became another obstacle to my creativity. That’s perfectionism my friend, and that’s no good. Here is an exercise a good friend of mine offered: Draw a few characters, animals and objects from imagination. Make sure that the subjects have no personal value to you (no ocs for example) so that if you make a mistake you won’t feel bad about it. Make the process relaxed and comfortable, pour a nice cup of joe, listen to your favorite music ... You will notice that you do indeed know how to draw some things without reference, and it’ll help with your confidence. 

The more you do studies the more you understand This seems evident but the more you understand your subject the freer you can be and the easier it’ll be to draw it from imagination in the future. If you really struggle with something to the point of frustration (as in you can’t get it right even with reference) It means you have to study it. Have a study list, for example: hands, perspective, color theory etc. And one of those days you want to study pick something from the list, and look for videos on youtube or useful sites like line of action etc. Only study one thing at the time. You can go from studying hands to studying arms since they’re more immediately connected, but you can’t study hands and then jump to learning perspective right after. Trust me you can learn perfectly fine with the resources online, and I’m sure you’re clever enough to do it :D

Mistakes don’t mean you “suck”  I’ve noticed that the two most common causes for art block are perfectionism and lack of self-confidence.  The two can often go in tandem which is worse :’D But let me remind you of something, you can fix your piece along the whole process. Use erasers, lasso tools, liquify , select, paint it all over etc If something looks off to you then you also know deep inside how to fix it. Useful ways to see what clunks: flip canvas horizontally (helps with placement, proportions), turn the image to grayscale (helps to check values and where your eye tends to look), look at your image in thumbnail size and ask yourself if it’s clear, see the pose’s silhouette and ask yourself if you can tell what the character is doing etc. Don’t fret, everything can always be fixed :)

Perfectionism, sometimes it stops you before you begin Perfectionism causes you to overwork a piece, it makes you draw less, it makes art stressful, it brings insecurity. Let’s remove it with a simple exercise. It can be combined with the “draw things from imagination” once you’ve drawn something you like: dont do line art, don’t shade it, keep it as simple and crude as possible and then...post it. Yes, post it. You’re not at your best? You’re only human, this will help you embrace that very human side of you. You make mistakes. So what? The more mistakes you make the more you know what you need to study and the better at art you become. Mistakes are there to show us what we need to learn. See them as another tool and not a sign of failure.

Make the process as enjoyable as possible: You like art. You love drawing. Never forget this. Otherwise why are you drawing if you don’t enjoy it? It’s easy to fall prey to the mentality of those relatable memes that “art= suffering” or “I can’t even draw the other eye”. No no no my friends, these messages are fueling your insecurities instead of overcoming them. Let me tell you what, art is fun. It is. Art is fun, because I decided to make it fun again. And you should decide on that too. Personally I adore lineart but my hand-eye coordination is lacking to do it digitally, so....I just skipped it. Yes. I skipped it. I do the sketch, I clean it up a bit and then jump onto color which I adore. It allowed me to draw more and more freely. When I draw I listen to music, make strokes with the rhythm, I take breaks often and I drink my favorite iced teas. If you don’t like coloring do it in grayscale, if you love lineart then do that etc It doesn’t mean you won’t learn your weak points in the future with studies and practice, but you won’t let your weaknesses prevent you from drawing at all. No no, you won’t let them. You draw because you want to, despite of them.

Don’t wait for inspiration, provoke it  Inspiration is not a divine and capricious muse. You make inspiration. It’s easy just collect all the things you like, music, artists, objects, characters, animals, patterns, plants etc Make boards on pinterest or similar sites, combine things you like. You like suits? You like birds? You can draw a bird in a suit, or a bird-inspired suit design, there is frankly a lot of ideas that can spring up from little things like these.

When a project stops being enjoyable either pause it for now or move on to the next thing. Pieces aren’t precious. They’re not “the one time I got x right” they are one of many. This advice goes mainly to hobbyists who can afford the luxury of passing to a new project. I have a WIP of a character who is overly complicated (I enjoy a challenge from time to time) sitting for half a month. I sometimes come back to it and add something... but as soon as it starts to create discomfort and insecurity instead of enjoyment I move onto something else. In the meantime I created 3 or 4 new pieces. If I had waited on finishing that piece I would have been severely creatively and physically exhausted. The art comes from you, not inspiration. The more art you make the better you become.

That’s about it :D I know it’s long but I prefer to be thorough and cover all the possibilities. If you have read of this: Thank you so much I hope this helps you at least a bit, if it helps only 1 other person I’d still be very happy. Have a nice one, and kick art block’s butt!

[strawbabysimp]

Assumptions || Insecure!Usopp x Reader

Genre: Angst

Category: Insecure!Usopp x GN!Reader

Warning(s): Body Insecurities, Misunderstandings, Relationship Insecurities

Request(s): "Usopp with a female reader who likes to flirt with everyone on the ship because she wants everyone to feel good about themselves but at the end of the day she loves Usopp the most"

A/N: It's a bit shorter than I would have liked but I don't think I could do Usopp's complicated character justice in any form other than a series~ I might pick up the idea later on either this platform or possibly AO3<3

"It smells good!"

Your voice draws Usopp's attention away from his drawing, hand coming up to place the pencil behind his ear and away from his sketch of the ocean skyline. He could hear the smile in your voice as you talked to the cook behind the kitchen door.

The sniper let a small grin of his own grace his full lips at the thought of you, a part of him eager to see you walk out of the kitchen and meet his eyes with that same fondness that seeped into your voice just now. As the minutes went by, the upturn of his lips slowly morphed into a more neutral expression, turning away from the smell of today's lunch and the sound of pans clanging together as you and Sanji's conversation continued on.

By the time you came out, his drawing was finished and the smell of spices and meats filled the surrounding air, mixing with the saltiness of the sea breeze as his body pulled more of the pleasant scent into his lungs. His stomach growled loudly and his eyes widened as laughter sounded from beside him, black eyes coming up to meet your humored expression.

"Lunch is ready," you smirked, "it sounds like you need it."

"Hey!" The sniper reprimanded you. "The Great Captain Usopp needs his fuel to go on saving the lives of millions! That brings me back to the time I went off into the Great Desert of Death with nothing but dried meat and-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'll make sure Luffy doesn't take too much off your plate this time, Great Captain Usopp!" You saluted him with a smile before running off to help set the table.

As you made your way ahead of Usopp, the wind changed direction, ruffling your clothes with the slight breeze. The signs of food were no longer taking over his senses, a new smell mingling and overpowering it. As he inhaled he could practically taste the way the cigarette smoke soaked into your clothes from how long you spent alongside Sanji, Usopp's stomach rumbling tauntingly at the thought. A deep ache settled in the sniper's chest, feelings far more bitter than the slow-poisoning tobacco the other man found pleasure in.

~~~

"I know you have nice hands Luffy but please keep them out of other's food," you remarked as you stabbed at your Captain's greedy fingers with a fork, trapping it against the table as you thanked whatever God out there responsible that Franky didn't see, avoiding a lecture from the Cola-fanatic.

Luffy whined when you moved the utensil away from his flesh and back to your meal nonchalantly. You looked up at Sanji with an affectionate smile.

"Go get our Captain some more meat, lover boy."

"With pleasure."

The blond strutted away and you let a deep fondness for your crew show on your features. You were lucky to have found such extraordinary Nakama.

You turned to face Usopp, teeth showing as your lips lifted into a grin. His cheeks were stuffed with food, his fingers gripping the fork as he side-eyed an impatient Luffy. You couldn't resist the opportunity to grab hold of his other hand, interlacing your fingers as you waited for him to look at you.

The eye contact never came though.

Usopp shot up, fingers digging painfully into his palm as he struggled to remove himself from his seat for a moment. His crewmates startled faces turned to him as he backed away from his meal. He stumbled in his haste to get out, eyes darting around the room before muttering some excuse about having to use the restroom.

"What's all that about," Sanji's questioned as he placed some more meat upon Luffy's plate.

"I'm not sure," you spoke.

~

"Nice hands."

Such a simple compliment. One he had never received.

Usopp was aware of how his hands had hardened over time, building and playing from a young age causing his fingers to be riddled with small scars and other imperfections. He trailed one of his digits along a particularly uneven patch of skin, grimacing as he became overly aware of the calluses donning it.

He supposed Luffy had gone through the same if his unpredictable and adventurous personality was anything to go by. So then why did he receive such kind words? Maybe it was the way that Usopp went about doing things that had made his hands so grotesque.

The small marks swelled in his mind's eyes, taking up any room for positive thought. With a sigh, he shut his eyes, finding solitude in his skewed view of the world, accepting his fate of being inherently lesser. The sniper allowed himself to take in a deep breath, washing his hands thoroughly - albeit a bit roughly - before returning to the room.

You looked up from your empty plate as Usopp rejoined the group, giving a small smile before noticing his downturned eyes. The mood had soured slightly from his outburst but the others continued on, feigning casualty so as not to alienate him further.

The words echoed in his mind but no one seemed to care, thoughts unvoiced yet meant to be heard. The sniper continued to suffer in silence while waiting for someone to notice his inner turmoil.

[detectivedamian]

Following Damian getting friendzoned by Jon, Jon realizing he’s in love with Damian, Jon trying to court Damian, and Jon figuring out Damian’s in love with him, too; Jon becomes emboldened by the knowledge that it’s him, that Damian loves him.

He writes him a note in class and passes it to him. It’s all rather simple: Will you go out with me? -Jon

Damian is confused at the note, because that sounds like a date? Oh, Jon must want him to pass the note to somebody. Ouch, but he’ll do it to keep his cover. And then he looks up and sees a pretty girl with long eyelashes, and of course he thinks yeah, that’s Jon’s type and passes the note to her. The girl takes the note, and is very confused, looking back at Jon. And now Jon is miming “no” to her, shaking his head, body combusting with pure red. Damian watches Jon bury his head in his hands and wonders what he missed. Damian has to go to lunch ahead of him because Jon spends the first five minutes explaining that the note was not meant for her, please, oh god, don’t misunderstand.

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

They’re flying home in one of the patented Bat-Planes with their fathers after a long, arduous mission that Damian didn’t want to call for help to close, but the mystery led Batman and Superman to them anyway. They’re in the back, snarking at each other, the way they always do, and Damian smiles. It’s everything in Jon not to kiss him, then. They’re silent for a moment, Damian drawing up a report on his pad, Jon watching the way the lights reflect on that perfect skin, on his long eyelashes, the emerald green of his eyes. Jon reaches over, slowly, to take Damian’s resting hand at the armrest, and he squeezes it. The words are on his lips: Damian, can I kiss you? Damian... I love you. Damian blinks at him and takes the hand away, instead patting his back. “You’re flushed,” Damian notes, “Is it possible for a Kryptonian to get motion sick?”

“Well sure,” Clark says from the front two seats with Bruce, before Jon can scream, “...usually it takes more than a smooth plane ride like this, though!” Bruce offers some antacids and ondansetron, because bats are always prepared for anything, and Damian is already standing and lifting one of the plane’s many compartments up to retrieve medication Jon does not need to sooth an infliction Jon does not suffer from. Damian returns a moment later, hiding concern under inconvenienced irritation. Jon’s eye twitches as he takes the bottle and mumbles a very insincere “thanks”.

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

They have to go undercover for a mission, infiltrate this fancy little gala where their target will be attending with some blueprints to a world-ending machine-- Jon isn’t paying super close attention to the overly-complicated details but it sounds like a death ray of some sort. Very James Bond. Damian draws up a backstory and passes Jon the papers and a costume, some patchy plaid suit and glasses that are wider and thicker than what he usually wears, blond wig, too. He looks like a total dork. By the time Jon has figured out how to get this wig to look like normal human hair, he steps into the main room at their Fortress of Attitude and finds his heart is stopping.

Damian stands at the center in a dress, bright lime green with ruffles, small black mary-janes with white pantihoes, and it doesn’t even stop there. He’s got a blond wig on, too, and it’s big and wavy, and those curls frame his face and oh god he’s wearing this ruby red lipgloss. His eyelashes are coated in mascara and there’s green eyeshadow on his lids and Jon can feel his knees wobbling as Damian bats his eyelashes at him. Jon coughs and crosses the way as Damian slips on elbow-length white gloves, then gingerly sets a hand at his upper arm and squeezes. “So,” he says with a blush, “I guess we’re a couple of betrothed lovebirds for the night?”

Damian scowls and slaps the hand away. “No! Didn’t you read the mission biops? We’re brother and sister, genius! Nobody would buy an engagement at our age. This is Europe, Jon, not the Persian Gulf.”

Because of course. Of course that’s how Damian set them up. Damian is manufacturing their fake IDs and passports as he’s crossing his arms. The night is going to be long, and awkward, because he knows very well that the interest between himself and Damian is not that of a familial bond, and people are going to notice them staring lovingly at each other, right? “You really think people are going to buy that you and I are brother and sister?”

“Of course,” Damian glares at him. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“No reason,” Jon rolls his eyes.

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

On another mission, the’re headed to Hawaii. They can go as themselves this time, of course, because the Wayne Foundation has a headquarters there, and it wouldn’t be suspicious if Damian Wayne just brought his friend along to a tourist hotspot. Damian assures him: “We’ll be right on the beach, a prime stakeout location if we’re going to spot Miss Spumoni in the open.” Jon nods along, but he’s staring at Damian again, thinking about having a romantic walk on the beach with him, sharing a coconut together, kissing him in front of the sunset...

“Our hotel is roughly a quarter of a mile away from the Wayne Foundation HQ stationed in Honolulu.” Jon’s face goes red-- a hotel.

“Are we sharing a room?”

Damian scoffs at him. “Of course. We never know when we could get ambushed. Separating while we sleep is one surefire way to find ourselves at a disadvantage.” A hotel room! Together! Sharing breakfast alone together! One bed! Cuddling! A soft first kiss in the glow of the sunrise! If Damian notices Jon melting on the spot, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

When they get to the hotel room, there are two beds. Because that’s what they’ve done every time before. Jon wants to die. Damian is puzzled by the way Jon buries his face in his hands and stews to himself silently.

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

It’s later on this trip, after the mission is over and Spumoni is behind bars. Damian relents and tells Jon they have the hotel for a few more days-- may as well enjoy the rest of Hawaii.

They go surfing together. Jon falls off his board and Damian laughs at him.

They do actually share a coconut together, having lunch at a shack on the beach in the summer heat.

Damian falls asleep in the sun and wakes up buried in sand. He screams at Jon who is at this point at the other end of the beach, grabbing a popsicle. He hears Damian’s angry screeching. The vendor is confused about why this kid suddenly just starts breaking into side-splitting laughter.

Damian refuses to go into the water, and Jon, renewed in all of this sun he’s soaking up, lifts Damian easily over his shoulder and drags him to the water as Damian is screaming and hitting at his back.

There’s one night where there’s a luau, and Jon convinces Damian to hula dance with him. There’s even a slow song, and as Damian pauses in his loose dancing with Jon, he looks around to find couples holding each other close and dancing together. He’s a little jealous, not that he’ll show it. Jon’s probably jealous, too, he figures, for different reasons. Jon would probably love to be holding a pretty dainty girl in his arms, slow dancing (while he stands at the sidelines and watches his best friend fall in love). Jon is just a friend, after all, and it still hurts. He grows tense, and straightens his back as he brings his walls back up. But then Jon’s hand is on his shoulder, and as he turns his head to look up, Jon is pulling him into his chest, smiling at him, just like he did at the engagement party that one time. “There are cameras here,” Damian mutters.

“Your dad’s a playboy, I think his son could handle a scandal or two.”

And to his surprise, Jon rests their foreheads together and closes his eyes, wrapping both hands together at his lower back. It’s so romantic, and god help him, Jon is playing with his heart now, and he’s mad about it. He closes his eyes, too, and he wraps his arms around Jon’s neck, rubbing his nose against Jon’s and hoping he doesn’t notice. (Jon does). They’re like this for what feels like an eternity before Jon opens his eyes just a sliver. He’s leaning down, closer, and Damian stays still, eyes still shut. This is it, Jon knows. His lips brush against Damian’s--

-- but it’s not even a kiss because there’s an explosion in the distance that startles the luau, and both Jon and Damian are pulling away from each other, eyes wide, before they jump into battle mode.

They don’t talk about it at all afterwards. Damian has no idea there’s anything to talk about, he’s just soaking up what he thinks was an accidental brush on Jon’s part. Jon is fuming at the universe. In an almost hilarious shift, Damian is the one all sunshine and smiles on the ride back, while Jon is quietly stone-faced and twitching.

[pockymllk]

Pt 2 of Pocky’s Manhwa recs for hopeless/historical romantics!

If you liked my first recommendation list, this one will be an instant hit for you as well<3 Read on if you’d like to meet more strong female leads (maybe a dash of villains here & there) and romance and of course amazing stories.

1) A capable Maid (also called ‘a talented maid’)

The useless maid, Marie, has never been able to do anything correctly. But, after caring for a dying prisoner, she becomes a person she had always wanted to be. This is the start of the capable maid, Marie.

- I’ve never seen anyone talk ab this manhwa and it’s so criminally underrated! I’m playing favourites here but 100% I can’t recommend this one enough.

- The story itself is an extremely refreshing face in the sea of isekais and whilst the main plot right now is on a lighter side I can see the story diverting to a more mature/serious tone soon so it’s a perfect balance without being overly complicated. The plot is simple but engaging and it actually has a serious sense of direction which makes you feel rewarded when it progresses at each chapters. But I will admit that the first few chapters were a tad bit slower so it’s something you should keep in mind!

- I think part of the appeal of this manhwa for me is the FL. while I love seeing stunning FLs with blonde hair and blue eyes, seeing this allows me to create a sort of silly little attachment to her. Despite her humane flaws and all, I can say that FL is one of my favourites.

- like many other romances there is surprisingly few cliche scenes and by far my favourite thing about this manhwa is how well paced the the romance is with the FL and ML . It is very realistic (no sudden love at first sights) and is a result of a buildup over the chapters. It also has one of the healthiest relationships ive seen so far including their interactions make it so cherished because you’ve been rooting for them since the very start. This manhwa knows how to deliver the romances at the right times and develops it well too

- both FL and ML are so tooth rottingly cute I swear my heart actually fluttered at some scenes

- highly highly recommend if you want a lighter read, steady plot and a strong capable young woman with her blushy yet heartbreakingly stubborn prince

Over rating : 4.9/5.0

Bonus thoughts : I also really like the art as it’s not completely over the top but so gorgeous at certain parts (look below for what I’m talking about hehe)

2) The Villainess is a Marionette

Cayena, the Imperial Princess, was known as the most beautiful woman in the Empire. She was a woman who knew nothing but evil and luxury.However, she was destined for ruin: she would be used as a chess piece by her younger brother to secure his throne and killed by her crazy husband. She had to change things before she became that Cayena.

- I cannot recommend this enough!! It does have your typical trope of a once foolish female lead reliving her life after a 2nd chance and tbh I’m not really fond of the cliches but damn, I absolutely adore this one.

- The story itself is a perfect balance between character and plot focused (politics, romance, power struggles etc), I see further development in the plot later on but since it’s still in the first 30 chapters it has done a great job setting up the base already. Oftentimes the politics can get a little confusing but overall it still follows a very clean frame.

- I’m absolutely smitten with the female lead instead of the male lead (she is just so admirable + respectable), definitely a must read if you wish to see a mature and well written character paired with the storyline. I’ve read many stories regarding this trope but I promise there’s something special about this one that you won’t regret reading

- Also! (TW: mental health) I think this story does a really great job capturing past traumas and definitely doesn’t shy away from showing the effect it can have on the characters so please keep in mind when reading this!

Overall Rating: 4.8/5.0

Bonus thoughts: I can fangirl ages about the art again but gosh its absolutely stunning and so pleasing to the eyes which just makes this manhwa such an excellent read overall

3) A Symbiotic relationship between A rabbit and a Black Panther 

I was a rabbit shapeshifter who couldn’t even transform into a human by my coming of age ceremony. My family said that I was just a halfling and placed me in a basket… Then I was then picked up by a black panther with an awful personality. This fierce beast. Staring at my trembling face, the black panther’s eyes glistened. “How thrilling.” Mom, I think he’s crazy! To survive a fairly crazy black panther. “The wild beasts are possessive, no matter what it is.” ….Is it possible?

- oddly eccentric FL and ML. the first thing that drew me in was the story and I stayed for the characters. 

- the only thing I’d like to point out is that this manhwa doesn’t have the best plot(?) imo and is most driven on by the unique characters that draw you in instead. This might not be suitable for everyone especially if you’re looking for a well written story. 

- still, FL is so adorably cute in her own way and I love that she’s so stubborn at times. it really shows that she’s strong in her own right without any help from others and ML is so weirdly funny at times I love it

- I can’t wait to see where the story will go further on as it’s pretty new so maybe the plot will pick up it’s pace in the future! 

Overall Rating : 4.0/5.0

[mci-writing]

Attachment (Villain!Midoriya Izuku x Reader)

A/n:This fic was originally meant to be posted July 20th for @birds-have-teeth‘s Izumonth Server Collab! I enjoyed writing for this event and I hope you all enjoy this fic!

Warnings: Somewhat mature themes; reader is a sex worker; gun use; non-consensual touching of naked skin, but not quite groping; Slightly ooc Midoriya Izuku; Reader implied to not be the greatest at defending themselves

There’s a certain loneliness that comes into your mind when you’ve been put down all your life. It’s a form of depression everyone faces once in a while, one that hits some a little harder and hits others a bit less. Then there’s always a trigger and it hits some so low it’s nearly impossible for them to pick themselves back up. 

Some have no idea where their sudden upset came from, settling for letting the slump pass over instead of getting to the root and removing that unneeded variable. Others know exactly what set off the feeling and rather hide it from themselves, wearing a facade over their emotions until they finally can’t handle all the turmoil. That usually leads to… unruly situations and one to a few lives get taken in the process. 

Midoriya has observed enough to know that this… weak point can be manipulated into getting people tricked up in numerous webs for his own self gain. What point in time varies on the person and the situation, but people usually get pretty desperate once all the pieces finally hit just a little too deep for them to shake off the depressive state of unwantedness. He knows all too well himself what paths unwarranted thoughts lead you down when you’re trapped in desperation.

“Here’s the deal then… I help you if you help me,” However, as time passes and you’ve watched numerous people fall for the same trick from a couple of choice words, the small tug of remorse at the back of your mind eases into a silent plea of muddled feelings. Any struggle is resolved with a simple “for business” before he fast talks his way through another bungled, one-sided proposition that ends up with a once innocent civilian put behind bars for the blood they never had on their hands. Twisting fate in his scarred hands for the sake of his survival, “This whole situation will disappear if you just assist me in this one situation. You even get a cut”

There were a few successful missions here and there, and he always made sure to make his end of the deal rather quickly before anything could get too overly complicated. People would go missing and bank accounts would be filled with stolen money; Police turn their heads with a simple threat or bribe. Then the cycle repeats again and another kid that needs therapy gets sent down a dangerous path. If it was just a little over his jurisdiction, another body is left in the gutter of some busted neighborhood with little trace as to just what happened. 

And those that couldn’t wallow in the filth of their crimes usually handled their own punishment.

He learns to lay low, move places, but never forget names or faces. The process can be emotionally tolling on him at times. Certain situations tend to remind him of his times growing up, those hopeless situations that crawl from the depths of your mind and keep you up on late nights. He pushes them away and continues with his day, keeping an eye out for his next victims before he hits the road again. 

He passes numerous people on his way up to his apartment, his body swerving and curling in various ways to avoid the rambunctious space up the stairs and through the halls. He’s lucky to only bump into one person when he happens to glance away a moment. They’re also not paying much attention, squeaking out in surprise from the sudden collision and their hoodie falling in the aftermath. 

They fall back a bit, catching themself with their back-foot before they can fully trip up while Midoriya manages to hold himself from the impact. He’s forced to take in their features, finding himself gazing upon them a little longer than he intends before tearing his own emerald eyes away from their form before he can embarrass and draw extra attention to himself. It doesn’t help that their seemingly tantalizing, (e/c) eyes curiously stare up at him. His body warms in a way that reminds him of his prepubescent awkwardness and his cheeks light up a rare shade of red he’s normally able to keep composed.

He clears his throat before his feet begin moving again to quickly remove himself from the situation before he can open his mouth. He’s only able to have enough decency to give a half-assed apology in the midst of retreating to his home. His heart beats a little faster and takes awhile to calm.

~~~

He keeps notes on the surrounding tenants, documenting every inconvenience that they face and each unfortunate event that seems to surround their bubbles while he’s there. He tosses darts at possible targets daily as he keeps himself holed up in his small apartment. 

It’s a little more than surprising when you get a set of darts as a housewarming gift to accompany the usual “Yoroshiku onegai shimasu”, especially an expensive, name brand set of this caliber, but there are times where you get lucky, I guess? Then again, it came from the person he practically bulldozed his first day of being here and they insisted the incident was their fault, buying them as a “makeup gift” or something? The gift was accompanied with the information of their name as well. He wasn’t opposed and accepted them with open arms (of course, sending the darts in to his associates to check before he properly used them) before coming to the quick decision to distance himself just a little more than he usually does (because there’s something up with the way he finds himself just a little more on the warm side when he talks to them).

His room smells like katsudon from some random takeout restaurant from down the street that he picks up on his way home from those times he goes in and comes home late. He carries a duffel bag to and from his office, filling them with a spare set and replacing them on days things get messier than planned. There are days he finds bloody weapons he forgot to get rid of and days where his neighbors become curious of his occupation. Both are brushed off in the same manor, taken care of and disposed of respectively. 

He maps out the surrounding area for his next aim. He notes the various factors in notes, from the Pro heroes in this specific area to important landmarks he’d like to hit up for priceless souvenirs. He only takes a break to check and manage his time “responsibly”, but only the smell from his leftover boxes really distracts him by reminding him that he needs to probably get some food soon. It becomes a last priority each time he manages to push it away, but his body can only handle the denial for so long before he finally forces himself from his seat.

Midoriya steps out of his apartment once he gets everything he needs, pausing at the sight of his neighbor standing in front of their ajar door. He can only really see past it a bit, catching sight of maybe a chair and a stand? Their fingers are rummaging through a small pouch, their eyebrows furrowed and lips upturned in a pout as they search through it. He watches for a moment before releasing a sigh, walking up to them and clearing his throat to garner their attention.

“Are you looking for something?” He speaks up, his hands shoved in his pockets. His eyes catch the way their face lights up a shade or the nervous downturn their (e/c) eyes make. He takes note of the way their hold tightens around the pouch, the way they begin to sweat under his gaze before their eyes shyly glance back up at him.

“No. Not at all” They lie through their teeth, glancing down at their small bag one last time before they close it with a huff. They open their apartment door, sending him a quick smile, “Thanks for asking, though. I-I’ll see you around”

He stops himself from asking further, quickly nodding his own head and heading out the door of the building. He brushes the encounter off and instead focuses on getting himself a nice bowl of beef katsudon from down the street.

The trip doesn’t take him very long as he walks back in his apartment building with three plates stacked in a bag and a stick of pocky between his teeth. He stares ahead rather blankly as he mentally runs over the crap he’d recently gathered in passing. Some guy a few buildings down needs help with rent payment, a dad struggling over custody of his kid, and a washed up businessman needs enough money to get himself off the ground again. He grins to himself as his plans of another successful caper begin to formulate, so lost in his head he almost passes his door.

He pulls his keycard from his pocket, taking the time to swallow the cookie between his teeth before he gets the door opened. He pauses when he hears the door across the hall slam shut, his back straightening in panic and his body contorting to catch what happened. His eyes narrow at the hefty guy beside his neighbor’s door, rolling his eyes as the guy continues to knock at the door.

“Come on, (Y/n). You've gotta let me in. I’ve changed-” Midoriya sighs as he closes his door, his grip on his bag tightening as he fully turns around and walks up to him. He pulls on an old smile he only pulls in situations that are a little more sensitive and he prays it doesn’t seem disingenuous when he steps up to the door.

The guy is just a foot over Midoriya, bulkier and forcefully intimidating. His intimidation is so fake that Midoriya has to hold himself back from laughing. He settles for clearing his throat to garner the guy’s attention, holding the bag up and innocently tilting his head.

“Hey, is, uh, is (Y-Y/n) here? We sort of planned a l-lunch date for today…” He inwardly cringes at his own words, still managing to hold up the act. The idea of even doing something remotely that romantic with anyone was enough to get his cheeks flushing enough and his, as others say, green, doe eyes was enough to help pull off the innocent look for him.

 “You don’t seem like much..” The dude looks him over, lip upturned in judging disgust. Midoriya has to hold back a roll of his eyes, his free hand making it to his back pocket and setting itself inside as he waits for the guy to finish sizing him up. The smirk that comes to that guy’s face seems to piss Midoriya off just a little more, his voice now louder and taunting, “You really couldn’t do any better, (Y/n)?!”

“LISTEN HERE, YOU PIECE OF SHI- Midoriya? H-Hey!” The sudden yank of the door causes Midoriya to jump just a little more than he thought it would. Hearing their tone of voice and the sudden rise in volume was a little more than surprising to him, especially considering how quiet and to themselves they tended to be when he was around.

“I said you could call me Izuku, i-if you wanted. We’ve already been through so much as is, (Y/n),” He watches their (e/c) eyes dart between the bag in his hand, him, and the other guy standing next to him. They seemingly calm down a bit, a bit of a nervous smiling coming to their face at the sight of Izuku being there. He lifts the bag a little more, stepping to be more in their peripheral vision and reassuring them of the situation, “I hope you don’t mind katsudon…”

“Come on then, Izuku” They open the door a little wider with a kind smile, turning away from them before walking inside. Midoriya takes a moment before following behind, grinning as he closes the door in the guy’s face.

He doesn’t know what to expect when he walks inside, but the barren apartment was a bit of a surprise. It shouldn’t have been. He’s seen people with gaping holes in their walls and others with cow sized rodents running around. This wasn’t anything new at all, especially in such a cheap apartment complex, but it didn’t connect with the housewarming/apology gift he received from them the first week he moved in. There’s a flyer on a small table conveniently placed near the front door. Green eyes scan over the paper covered in various shades of lustful blues and accentuated pinks, swiping the leaflet with finesse and walking just a little further inside after removing his shoes. 

He pushes it to the back of his mind and instead focuses on sharing the katsudon he ordered. It was more than likely a little more lukewarm than either of them would have liked, but that isn't enough to wane his hunger as he pulls the take out bowls out of the bag. He passes (Y/n) some chopsticks, taking his own between his fingers and flipping the top off of his.

The two eat in silence. One believes it to be calming, allowing him to get a look around the room and properly inspect the other without seeming out of place, while the other finds it rather awkward as they search their mind for how to break it. When (y/n) finally does find the right words, they speak up almost meekly. It’s a great contrast from their fussing earlier, yet it was what Midoriya was used to hearing from them, “Sorry that you got involved with all… that”

That was one way to describe that encounter…

“It’s fine. We all deal with crazy people from time to time”

“Yeah…”

~~~

That wouldn’t be the last time Midoriya would find himself stepping into a similar situation for his neighbor across the hall. It seemed every week there was some dick outside waiting on them, trailing them home, or practically trying to force their way into their apartment. It seemed almost non-stop and was very distracting from his job. He had plans he needed to work out and pawns to create to go in his stead, but instead he was playing hero for his resident next door. He could make it easier on himself and ignore the pricks outside, let them have at them however they were looking to. Turn a blindeye to it all and pretend he has no idea when they inevitably go missing.

However, the flyer on his wall above his laptop reminds him that he just can’t do that. He has to watch over them for a reason and to just let that go out of sheer annoyance won’t feign him much luck when he finally sends his next team out to the field. If he has to feed them every night, have his goons keep watch of them on their way to work at the darkest hours of the night as well as their way home at the very crack of dawn, and leave them small gifts for the better fit of their survival then he’ll do just that to ensure that this deal doesn’t just slip away from his fingers. A sex worker is more than essential to the very job spending time with (Y/n) was distracting him from, especially if they knew their way around the underground of this neighborhood. 

They were good at their job, very good at their job. He’s visited once or twice, only really making his presence known as of late (how many times he has gone to see them prior to that is really only his concern and a personal choice on his part) so they’d talk more openly about it with him and stop dancing around their profession (pun intended). They had a proficiency to their movements that he’s rarely seen in such low par establishments which, added with their fluidity and attractiveness, made it pretty obvious why so many patrons try to find their way to (Y/n)’s apartment in an attempt to gain just a little more than a bit of lewd teasing.

His mind races with the various places and positions he can place them in for this to work, reminding him just how important it is for him to properly socialize with the tenant across the hall. Getting attached wouldn’t be much of a problem. It’s never been much of a problem to him before and it's not like he had much of a reason to keep up such a facade of caring after. Whatever happened to them after wasn’t much of his concern, even if taking them on for more missions later would make a couple a little easier-

That was the original objective, anyway. There’s no room for truly caring for someone when you’re working underground, no room for getting beside yourself and growing any bonds deeper than respected co-workers. Midoriya’s been doing this job for years, first starting out as an intelligence kid for one of the yakuza groups in his neighborhood. He’s seen what kind of hurt it can lead to by keeping people close and how climbing up the ladder of power adds to the heartbreaks caused. 

Midoriya feels himself sigh as he shakes himself from thinking on the subject any longer, going back to his map of the High Cape, an expensive bar upstreet commonly used as a venue for support item bidding. One support item in particular had his and everyone else in the industry’s attention. He knew a couple of villains that would bid ten times the amount of money the device would actually go for and he could definitely use the money for his future projects. With the various vents and ducts in the building (mainly for quirk occurrences rather than heating and cooling the building), he’d need someone with a quirk or some similar ability that would allow them to easily slip by. His eyes move up his table, landing directly on the perfect person: A tenant down the hall, practically a teenager living on her own. She’s small enough for it and she could definitely use a cut of the cash they’d get-

“Hey, Izuku? I’m using your shower again” Midoriya jumps in his seat at the sudden opening of his door, his hands scurrying to put everything out of view. He turns around just as the door closes behind his intruder, towel wrapped around their body and the sparkly new loofa he bought them the other day held tightly in their hand. He’s seen this sight so many times the past month and it still manages to make his cheek tinge a hint of red at the idea of a bare body being there (it doesn’t help he has a very good idea of just what lays under there from the various performances of theirs he’s attended). Times like this make him feel more like their overprotective sugar daddy than an employer trying to get them in a job.

“You sure you don’t want me to pay your water bill? I don’t mind” He reminds as he watches them make their way to his bathroom. His swivel chair moves with his body as he stretches, the satisfying cracks his bones makes causing him to hum out in misplaced pleasure. He doesn’t expect too much of an answer back once the shower water comes on, turning his chair back to his desk and grabbing his planning journal, “I’m pretty close to just doing it against your will!”

He opens it up, reading over it’s contents. He adds a few more spare details as he thinks the plan over, sighing once more as he thinks over his current lab rats. He’s already planted the seeds for a few needed pawns, catching sight of their responses to his anonymous proposal and enjoying the way many of them were quick to send their responses to their designated areas. It makes him chuckle each time he sees those so ready to change their situation “for the better”. Those same people who jump at the deal without hesitation tend to be the ones to fully follow the plan through, do everything they're supposed to and deliver what he needs to his palm, yet they also do the irrational once the deeds they’ve committed really sinks in.

“You’re always writing in that thing when I come over” He hears their wet footsteps on the tiled floor before he realizes the water’s cut off.

“Don’t sit on the bean bag chair until you fully dry off” His jade orbs slowly look up at (Y/n), a knowing look on his face when he looks up to find them loosely dressed in one of his old t-shirts and, hopefully, a pair of underwear. He finds himself frowning seeing the fabric stick to their wet body the way it did, accentuating parts of them that he wished other people didn’t see. He sets his notebook down and trades it’s position for his phone (purposefully bugged in a way to keep out peepers), “Have you eaten today?”

The shrug he receives reminds him that he shouldn’t have bothered asking before he orders them something through one of his subordinates. His eyes gaze over their body again, this time lingering just a little longer. He turns away again, ignoring the way his cheeks warm. 

Having them laid out on his bean bag chair, legs spread enough for him to get enough of a view to confirm that they were indeed wearing underwear added another rosy shade. It reminds him why he’s approaching them in such a protective way and why he has to make sure he gets close enough for them to trust him with their life.

“Do you trust me?” It’s a simple question. It should’ve been a straightforward response from here on out. He discretely reaches under his desk as they hesitate, keeping the steel device out of their line of sight as he stands to his feet. 

(Y/n) nervously grins as Midoriya slowly approaches and there’s this look in his eyes that they’ve never seen from him. They stand to their feet themselves in a wary manner, glancing around for any indication that this was just a prank that they’d laugh off in a few minutes, “Of course I trust you… You’ve already done so much for me, it’d be kinda crazy for me not to-”

“But with your life?” Their heart stops when he pulls the gun out and aims it their way, his index finger close to the trigger and ready to pull it so easily, “Are you willing to dedicate yourself to my case if your survival depended on it?”

“What the hell are you talking about?!” He shoots once, the bullet just barely missing them and perfectly hitting the center of his dart board on the wall behind them. A sign that that’s not what he wants to hear, “Izuku-”

“Are you going to listen to whatever I say when the time calls for it?” The smirk on his face holds nothing more than amusement as he stares them down, patiently awaiting their answer. His head tilts to the side, eyes narrowing slightly as he speaks again, “We both know I’m the only thing keeping you alive and well… I’m really not asking for much and it really benefits you in the long run”

Another hesitant, painfully awkward silence follows that statement as (Y/n) thinks over their options at the moment. They could either defy his request and die right here in his apartment or they could accept his request and do whatever he says to keep yourself alive and, most probably, be taken care of the way he has been taking care of them. It doesn’t take rocket science to decide which was better at the very moment, “I trust you, Izuku...”

“Call me Deku when you’re working” He takes a step forward, the gun still threateningly being held. He flips it in his hold before getting it in a comfortable position again, enjoying watching the person before him squirm under scrutiny at the possibility of a bullet shooting through them. The whole scene gave him excited goosebumps, his coy smile still on his face as he watches them reveal their nervous ticks before him. All of this because they really thought he’d shoot, “Take my shirt off”

He watches as it comes off, the sight of their bareness almost enough for him to put the gun down and properly take it in. He releases a breath through his nose, stepping forward enough for him to reach out and press his fingertips into their skin. He pulls (Y/n) closer, the gun pressing into their side as he enjoys the feeling of having them flushed to his chest.

“I could kill you so easily and no one would know…” He buries his nose in their neck, the cold metal pressing a little harder into their skin as his hold on them tightens. Deku feels the tremble in their breathing and it almost makes him chuckle as he’s quick to reassure, “A shot here would cause quite a bit of damage, but not an immediate kill-” He digs the barrel more into their skin, almost enough to leave an indent, before he lifts it to their forehead with a degrading laugh, “Here would definitely kill you immediately”

His hand eases down their side, relishing in the soft feeling of their skin and giving weightless squeezes. He stops just above their hip, fingertips brushing over the waistband of their underwear (which he ensures to pull back enough to startle them, but not really harm them), before his fingers slowly ease up with feather-like touches. He pulls back a bit and lifts the gun to their chin to have their (e/c) eyes meet his. The look they gave him seemed vacant, yet submissive in a way he wasn’t used to seeing from them. It causes a small ping in his heart and a soft shade to come to his face once he realizes just how close he was to the very naked (Y/n) in the middle of his apartment. 

“Stuff like this would leave you vulnerable during an assignment, y’know? I won’t always be there to protect you from getting taken advantage of…” He’s quick to back away, lifting their hand and setting the gun there. He closes their hand around the trigger, circling around and leading them to hold the gun up properly, “So I might as well teach you how to use it, right? A thank you gift”

He ignores the warm feeling in his chest at having them pressed against his body again (this time with the added bonus of him being more self aware) and continues with his instructing, pulling away to let them try at shooting at the target just above his desk. He throws advice towards them here and there as he grounds himself against, thinking over just how he was going to get through the rest of this without his feelings developing beyond this point.

He reminds himself that he was just trying to warn himself of this very things, his hands reaching over carefully and helping them aim just a little better. It allows him to get a feel for how cold they are, their goosebumps riled up against the skin of his palm enough indication. He tugs his jacket off before he carefully drapes it over their shoulders, lifting the wet shirt from before off the ground, “Go ahead and get comfortable again while I take care of this. The food’s right down the road”

“Hey, Izuku? I meant what I said about trusting you, even if it costs me my life in the long run…” He originally took their nod a bit ago as an okay sign of where they’d just left off and it would’ve been enough confirmation for him to retreat with the wet clothing in his hand. However, he stops once he hears them speak up for the first time since he forcefully interrogated their loyalty to him and their words are enough for his heart to pound in his chest a different way than the original adrenaline he’s used to feeling when having someone swear their allegiance to him, “I’ll do what I’ve got to if it means helping you after everything you’ve helped me with this past month”

Typically, Deku doesn’t find himself too concerned with those he signs contracts with. The process is cut and dry: He helps them and they help back. How they go about their lives after has nothing to do with him as long as they’re not caught snitching. He’s seen various different responses and scenarios play out with these random civilians, situations he’s learned to let happen as they are because they’re out of his jurisdiction. He knows he could probably save a few lives if he wanted with the power he has baking behind him and maybe he could save certain people from prison, even if they put themselves there.

None have managed to make him tear up the way he currently did. He realizes just how attached he’s gotten to (Y/n) in a little over a month (which is really a big jump when compared to the literal months he’s spent with others that were nothing more than irritating) and it’s so hard for him to just accept that they’ve taken the job without much hesitation or question. He knows what that can mentally do to a person, he’s seen it before his own eyes. There have been more than many times someone’s realized they got screwed over after putting everything they had into a job and then for them to take a gun, knife, or maybe even using their own quirk to take that last breath. He’s never been so… concerned over how someone’s life would be majorly fucked from agreeing to his terms.

And all he’s really left to do is mentally reprimand himself for allowing himself to get so attached to some random sex worker he met by chance in the midst of moving into his apartment building. This was going to be a little more than a mess of blood on his hands when he finally gets that support item.

[yukichouji]

I got some more asks for Theron, if you'd like to do them ^^

How does your character behave around people they like? And around people they dislike?

What is their least favourite or most embarrassing moment from their childhood?

What is your OC's voice like (pitch, strength, tempo and rhythm of speeck, pronounciation, accents, etc.)?

What does your OC like to ridicule and/or what do they find stupid?

Feel free to omit, reinterpret or in general answer as you like ^^

Hey :D Thank you so much for your ask! I am truely sorry it took me so long to answer alskdjflsad Life got in the way of the fun things for a bit, alas. But here we finally are! :)

How does your character behave around people they like? And around people they dislike?

Around people he likes Theron is pretty chill. He likes to crack jokes, poke fun at his friends (though not in a malicious way, just a bit annoying at times, perhaps xD) and really lean into his quick, sarcastic humor. Though he can and will be serious if the situation calls for it. He cares deeply about his friends and by the way he treats them that is easy enough to see. He's a warm, friendly kind of guy.

As for people he doesn't like, he'll be pretty much the exact opposite. Except for the sarcasm, that one's a constant. But, if he doesn't like someone they'll definitely know that as well. He gets cold and hostile even, depending on how big his dislike. He'll be mouthy and difficult and have a hard time reining himself in if he has to work together with the person he dislikes for some reason. Doesn't always make things easy, but it's his way of looking out for himself and making sure people with ill intent stay very far away from him and know what they'll be getting into should they try anything.

What is their least favourite or most embarrassing moment from their childhood?

Oh, my xD Well, he knew pretty early on that he wanted to be a hunter and the kids in his clan got these little training bows and arrows to practice with, you know the kind I mean? Ones that will hit dummies but that won't cause any real damage if you accidentally hit something you're not supposed to unless the aim is really unfortunate. And little Theron was not happy with those. Because how dare anyone treat him like a child. He got himself so worked up about it when he was about 8 that he talked Tamlen into sneaking into their clan's craftman's shop and stealing one of the grownup bows and some arrows to prove to everyone that they were strong enough to handle it. They didn't use the training dummies for their little experiment because that would have gotten them spottet right away, but isntead Theron had this wild idea that they were going to sneak out into the woods and bring backs some game to prove themselves. Not only did he completely fail to draw the bow they'd swept, it being way too big for him, but he also managed to get both himself and Tamlen so completely lost it took the clan two entire days to find the two kids huddled in a cave miles away from camp to escape the rain and the cold. Tamlen got sick because of it, down for a whole week with a fever and everything and Theron got the scolding of a lifetime. The whole clan was so very angry with him because they had been worried out of their minds. He was pretty bitter about the unfairness of it all, but as he grew older and less resentful he eventually understood how stupid he'd been then and what all could have gone horribly, horribly wrong. Tamlen and him were incredibly lucky to not have come across anything or anyone hostile those two days, otherwise they'd both have been dead or much, much worse for sure. He still feels bad for having done something so stupid and endangering Tamlen in the process just because the boy with no parents felt a need to prove something.

What is your OC's voice like (pitch, strength, tempo and rhythm of speeck, pronounciation, accents, etc.)?

Ok, I'm not sure how good I am going to be at describing this one (english is not my first language and I am struggling a bit here xD) but I will try!

On a scale from really low to really high his voice is probably somwhere around the middle, leaning slightly towards high? And a bit nasal, but not in a way that's horribly anoying or weird. He likes to talk quickly, so much so that he consciously has to slow himself down sometimes. It's like his mouth is racing to keep up with his brain and that's moving too damn fast. His voice is firm and sure, usually, a bit brash even. But it can change a lot when he really gets serious about something and isn't deflecting through jokes. It gets lower and slower then and his intonation gets calmer as well. His accent is Ferelden (because that's where he grew up) but mixed with that typically dalish accent? I am bad at pinpointing accents in general so I can't really say what real world accents those are derived from.

I hope that made some sort of sense xD

What does your OC like to ridicule and/or what do they find stupid?

One of the things Theron finds stupid is when people complicate things overly much. Like, when there is a simple solution for a problem he won't have a lot of patience for someone moaning about propriety or tradition or whatnot. He's a guy, who likes a direct approach best. Which is also why he dislikes it when people talk around an issue instead of just saying straight what they mean/want/the problem is. He will also mercilessly poke fun at someone if they overestimate themselves, boast about their prowess and then fail at the task they set out to do. Though the way he makes fun of that will depend on whether he likes the person in question or not. If he likes the person it will very much be good natured, if he doesn't his words are going to be chosen to make the other feel it. All of that definitely means that he has absolutely no patience for politics and the delicacies of high society's machinations. It just doesn't make sense to him and probably never will.

[azroazizah]

yo, Okey so I wanna make a comic.... but I have never ever made a comic before. I mostly want to make a comic because it looks fun to have longer art projects to work on over time. Anyway I have no idea how to write a story( and I’m also scared that making a comic will be too hard). What should I do :0 how do I start, how much prep on the story should I have before starting drawing?? Thanks!!( and btw I always love it when you do small comics!! Your art is really an inspiration to me OwO)

okay, first, omg thank you very much you have succeeded on melting my heart into a mush 😭

and second, I’m hardly someone who should give others advice since I’m not a professional yet wwwwww but anyway I’ll try my best

1. Plan you ending

yes, do plan your ending first before you start to write anything complex. it gives you an anchor and sense of direction when writing the plot and problems. it doesn’t have to be overly detailed

2. Do write the script form start to finish, plan the arcs

this is important in doing a long story. write out your general plot first. write your main conflict and problems.

then you can start to divide it into tinier plots if you wish to by planning little arcs and bridge them nicely. it would prevent you to stray from your original plot.

to start a serious comic, you must have at least planned all the major plots and the ending, and also already have a structured outline on how much arcs and sub-plot it would have. if not, you’re most likely going to stray and would find trouble with the pacing. Give an arc a hint or a revelation on the main plot and keep them relevant. unless you wanna make a small detour to let you characters breathe from the conflict

you don’t have to plan an over-complicated plot, just the simple introduction, mystery, action, conflict, and conclusion will do. The main point is that you know where your story is going to, and you know how it would reach the finish line

those two are what you should prepare before drawing. now, to the extra advice:

3. Because it’s a comic, make your characters distinguishable

not just for their hair and eye color, but also eye shape, facial features, body shape, etc. Make their expression unique for each of them. Know your character and translate their traits into body language. I usually do this by drawing those facial expressions meme with the same character over and over again.

for example, Soul’s contented smile would differ from Black Star’s contented smile. Bakugo’s surprised face is different from Deku’s surprised face, and of course, even if you switch their hairstyle and eye colors, they’re still distinguishable because they have different facial features

4. Make your characters human, including the antagonists

don’t make them two-dimensional. give them flaw, make them relatable. make us understand why they do what they’re doing even though we don’t agree with their decision and behavior.

You don’t have to like your character as a human, but do give them both good and bad points. there are no real villains and heroes in a good story, just deeply flawed human beings.

5. Growth

this is also important. identify the main issues of your character, and make sure they have changed at the end of your story. it doesn’t have to be a positive growth, but make them change, especially emotionally

write how your characters are at the start of the series, and compare to how they would be at the end

this also applies to character interactions. friendships and familial bonds grow over time, you have to remember that it’s not only romantic and antagonistic relationships that are changing

6. World building

if your story would be set in an epic fantasy or otherworldly concept, then don’t give your readers info dump

introduce your setting slowly, only tell what’s important. and bc it’s a comic, use the background, use the people, use your art style to introduce your world.

we can take A:TLA for example, we don’t see them dumping worldbuilding things and history shit on the first episode. we just see there’s bendings, there’s the avatar, and it is set in a medievalish age. We would naturally see further into the world concept as the character travels around

7. REFERENCES AND BETA READERS

this is pivotal. watch and read many comic/webcomic and focus on their storytelling and art.

also give your first draft to a beta. ask them how your pacing is, how your story is, is there a plot hole, etc. and don’t be afraid, first drafts are bound to change and evolve! don’t be too harsh on yourself if your first attempt is not to your standard!

that’s it I guess?

anyway I’m just writing what I’ve been doing I’m sorry if my advice just over-complicates things wwww I hope it could help you a bit ><

thank you for asking and I wish you good luck on your comic!!

[emerald-amidst-gold]

Hi~ this is my first ever ask so I hope I'm doing it right lol

Hug prompt 6 or 16 for dragon and wolf? Whichever one you like more (:

(Or both I wouldn't mind)

Why, hello! Another FRIEND has entered the spire of which I live! >:D And you wish for the dragon and the wolf to be mushy with each other? Ohhh, I can oblige!

(Sorry this took so long! I had to sit on the idea for a little while! <3)

***

We're gonna go with 16. ‘not wanting to let go’ hugs for this one! :D

Fane was never overly affectionate, and Solas could confidently say he wasn't, either. Years upon years of disconnection from beings capable of such gestures made one...no longer yearn for a brush of hands or a simple hug. Fane's was more complicated, however, body scarred and aching, mind associating gentle touch as if it were a firm slap. He knew this and he respected his dragon's want for space, always asking for consent unless Fane reached out first. It wasn't like they didn't touch; they did. They had their moments, and most of those moments happened in...well, the bedroom; afterglow or not.

Such as now, the both of them situated on the bed, but not in the way most would believe when they were caught casually walking, side by side, in the Great Hall; unassuming minds and nattering mouths awash with impurities.

"Are you certain you're comfortable, vhenan?", Solas asked softly as he idly flipped a page of a book he was reading. Even when 'retired' for the eve, there was still secrets to unfold, information to compare to memory.

"I'm perfectly comfortable.", Fane mumbled from where his face was currently buried in Solas' shoulder; his dragon having taken place behind him, arms firmly, but gently wrapped around his middle as long legs caged him in, knees bent.

Solas chuckled. "I will take your word for it.", he said, instinctively reaching up with one hand to tenderly ruffle a white cloud of hair; his eyes never leaving the page of his book, smile quiet just as the air around them was. "Even as it seems your neck is groaning from such a position."

"Hmph.", was the only response he got, strong arms tightening a hair, pulling his body closer to the one behind.

The action and continued warmth against his back had Solas letting out a contented, quiet sigh, actively finding himself melt into the wall of slender muscle behind; his head resting against the side of Fane's buried one, but still keeping his gentle focus on his reading. These were the moments that no one else saw or even imagined them having, so certain that with how they acted and spoke with each other that they were engaging more...physically. While at times, they did engage in a more...primal sense, it was not all they did. Those acts were cherished, nurtured every time they occurred, like a gentle flame that wished to blaze high, but was kept to an ember for more tender, focused warmth.

However, another type of warmth had Solas letting out another sigh, eyes fluttering shut as a slightly wider smile formed upon his lips, book going limp in his hand, the one in Fane's hair stilling to hold the head it was attached to. He felt lips, careful, slow, tender and hot, brushing, trailing, and gliding along the column of his neck. A firmer one against his pulse had Solas leaning his head into Fane's more, seeking the butterfly heat like a beacon. It would appear his dragon was attempting to build the fire of passion, and truthfully, Solas wanted him to, knowing it had been over three months since the hearth was stocked.

"Fane..", Solas breathed out around a chuckle as another kiss against his pulse had him drawing up his own legs, fingers curling into snowy strands.

"Hm?", Fane hummed in question, but did not stop, did not pause in his stoking, but his arms drew him closer, unwilling to let go, to lose the logs he was attempting to ignite with flaming lips.

"I believe now..", Solas trailed off as squeeze of arms and light nip had him gasping quietly, body shuddering like electricity had struck it before he continued; his voice more strained, the tone dropped. "...would be the time to position yourself more comfortably." It was a prompt, a beckoning call, but the dragon he voiced it to seemed unwilling to listen; his lips traveling and flying with slow kisses, deep kisses, burning kisses.

"Not yet..", Fane murmured against his neck before resuming his kisses, pulling his body closer to where Solas was practically slumped against him, cheeks flushing, ears twitching, and breath quickening from the smoke of desire. "I want to hold you for a bit longer.." The statement a quiet, deep plea, begging for consent with rolling thunder and growl of another being.

Solas couldn't help but smile despite the smoke choking his mind further, tightening his lungs and making him shift subtly against the furs and silk of the bed--their bed--as the striking of lips like flint upon tinder stoked the flames within higher and higher. For a being that could not desire, could not even dare such a thing, Fane was incredibly versed in seduction and how to best invoke it, but his dragon was also soft and caring when he wanted to be, even amidst lust and passion.

Solas could feel it in the kisses upon his neck, his pulse, that were firm, tender, but caring, a light flick of a tongue soothing where a nip was perhaps a bit too harsh for the bearer's liking. He could feel it in how strong arms, bounded with leather and cloth, desperately clung to him, but how idle thumbs would stroke where they could reach in a soothing, caring manner as if to relax him, to tend the flame and guide it gently to its full roar. He hear in it in the quiet sighs through an elegant, deep breaths sounding after as the owner took in a scent that would otherwise turn their stomach; magic.

Yes, Fane was versed in passion, in desire, even as his draconic nature, for all intents and purposes, could not revel in such things, but he was more versed in soft care, in tender guidance. And Solas adored that contradiction with all his heart, with all his spirit as he leaned back even more, resting a hand upon one of the chains around his middle.

"Hold me as long as your heart desires, ma'isenatha.", Solas whispered, voice shaky, but highly content as he kept his eyes shut, basking in the guidance offered to him with a tender smile and heated cheeks. "I am yours." The declaration was soft, sweet, but held depth they both knew all too well, and he knew that with the way kisses halted, arms squeezed lovingly, and a ghost of smile pressed against his neck.

"And I'm yours.", Fane whispered back, voice deep, growling, but nowhere near threatening before he resumed his tending, his guidance of flame and cinder.

Those were the only words Solas needed, desired, to hear as he let the fires engulf him, their tendrils lapping away restraint, their smoke choking his mind to blissful suffocation, and their inherent heat melting away the ice that had long encased his heart and soul. And all the while, he was held back, held firm, by arms that never wished to let go, to let him fall as the sky should fall.

***

Slight spicy again! Eheh! :3 I can't go two minutes without turning up the burner on these two, or making them complete fools! I hope you enjoyed it! Short, but sweet! X3

[alexandenigtscreations]

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast Summary:

What if Juno didn't have time to heal properly from the soul incident before he and Ransom went on their first mission in the Aurinko crime family?

__________________

“I recommend we turn our walk into a run.” Nureyev said, not daring to look at the scene Miss Nova Zolotova was making.  “A very fast run, Go!”  and gave a gentle shove to the small of Juno’s back as they broke into a sprint, Juno hitching up the golden skirt as they fled.  His footsteps fell farther and farther behind, glancing back Nureyev saw his face twisted into a grimace “Quickly now Detective!” he called.

“I’d like to see you run in 6 inch heal-ahh!” he stumbled and Nureyev grasped his elbow to keep him upright at the very least.  He’d have to have a chat with Buddy about practical footwear later.  Hopefully. 

The security was closing in fast, one of them even throwing a flashy prop blaster at their retreating backs; the shot went wide.  It was no matter.  There was their ride up ahead, hovering just over the precipice of the floating mansion.  He’d rarely been so glad to see a car.

“When I say jump-”

“What are you crazy?! I’m not gonna-”

“Jump!” 

The pair dove into the transport’s open door, Nureyev never loosening his hold on a screaming Juno’s arm as they fell into a heap in the back seat.  

“Hello.” said Jet “please fasten your seatbelts.”

“A little busy- at the moment.” Nureyev disentangled an arm to pull the door shut.  “For now, might I suggest we make our getaway.”  Several drones shot out of crevices.  While the security inside had to meet aesthetic requirements, there were no such restrictions on the outer team.

“I’m merely pointing out that our escape may be bumpy.” said Jet, nonetheless plugging their route on the controls. Doing a complicated maneuver to avoid a hasty trap.  Juno hissed as the pair were jostled about, clinging to Nureyev in a peculiar fashion “The security is different from the schematics Buddy provided.” Jet grunted, pulling hard on the steering console.  

“They updated the security system at 2 a.m.” Nureyev supplied, throwing out a hand to brace against the car’s side.  

“2 a.m.?  A last minute security switch then.”

“Quite, not the most organized affair, but a switch nonetheless.” It was Juno that found that out, Juno that had saved his overly cocky self from being caught by the cameras.  He was still rattled from the whole affair.  

The lady in question was unusually quiet, the quietest he’d been all evening.  Huddling into Nureyev’s side where he’d landed; a hand wrapped around his middle, breath coming in fast and shallow.  Nureyev was reminded of Juno's less than favorable reaction to their joy ride in the Ruby 7.  Was this his motion sickness?  or- something else- concern welled up in his chest.

“Juno?” he asked softly, struggling into an upright position moving the other with him “You didn’t get hurt, did you?” 

“Wha?  No- it’s juss-'' he pushed away and leaned over “hard for a lady to catch his breath in a get up like this.  Besides'' he winced, reaching into the folds of the skirt “landed on something kind of hard.” and produced the Gilded Globe of Reaches Far with a weak smile, that made Nureyev’s nerves flutter.  The golden circuitry and intricately carved gems glinting in the faint light of the floating mansion.  Nearly losing it after a sharp maneuver from Jet.

“Might I suggest you put that away until we are back in the carte blanche?”  

Once back, they were informed to make a showing for the family meeting to debrief the others on the mission.  Juno disappeared to change, hobbling into the meeting room a half hour later looking morose. 

“So kind of you to make it darling. I was just about to send Jet after you.” Buddy greeted.  

“That dress is a nightmare to get out of.” he shot back.  

“Yes, well, if you need help, all you have to do is ask.  Ransom,” Juno made a funny sort of cough “has just been telling us the details.  It worked for the best this time, but for future reference, when you have an account filled with fake credits, best not draw too much attention to it.”

Juno sighed, collapsing into a seat.  Something seemed to be weighing on the detective, something other than the disaster of a mission the pair had endured.  Nureyev kept glancing over, noting the way Juno sat hunched over on himself, the tired way he recanted the mission, the way he tore their performance to shreds.  They had finally started to work as a team near the end, but before then- well, they both had a lot to say about the faults in their plans.  The only thing Buddy scolded them for was failing to keep her in the loop, and chastising Nureyev for not relying more on Juno.  

They had successfully retrieved the globe but it did not feel like a victory.  

Later, after the debriefing and a private word with Buddy, Juno came to his room to talk.  Well, Juno talked, a long winded apology Nureyev barely managed to listen to as his mind whirred with the information Buddy left him.

“Point is I’m jus- sorry.”  he stopped, eye over bright and wide in anticipation.  

Nureyev couldn’t think of what to say, it was clearly his turn, as it were, clearly the time to speak, but….

“Juno-” his voice came out soft and strained.  

The other man stood unsteadily “I-I’m too late aren't I, damn it, I- I should leave-” 

Nureyev swallowed, catching Juno’s hand in his “Not too late, Juno, not too late at all.” he gave a short humorless laugh “In fact, I can’t think of anyone I would want to stay with more than you.”  

Relief washed over Juno’s face as he pulled away.  “Hell, don’ tell me that’s it!”  He started to laugh, there was something off about it though, “You know how s-scared I was of-of this?  Of us?  Of- ahhh-'' he doubled over clutching his stomach for the second time that day.  

Nureyev dashed to his side “Juno?  Juno what’s wrong?” He grasped his shoulders trying to get him to look him in the eye.  They sank to the floor, Nureyev pulling him close like he had done in Miasma’s compound.  

That’s when he realized what was so off putting about the situation, Juno was in pain, serious pain and had been for quite some time.  Only he’d been too caught up in his own stupid thoughts to notice it before.  Just like the mission.  

The last instance he saw Juno this bad off was during Miasma's experiments in an old Martian Tomb.  

“Juno!”

“N-Nothin- jus feelin a bit woozy-”

“Woozy?” Nureyev pulled him closer, ghosting a hand down his side and- there was something damp there, sticky even.  

“Yeah, being swept off your feet has that effect on a la-ahh!” he curled tighter into his chest, like he did in the car, breathing far too hard.  “Don’ touch.”  Nureyev wasn’t paying attention now, thoroughly distracted by the russet smear cross his fingers.

“Juno you’re bleeding.”  His mind reeled.  Juno had been hurt, but when- how?  Why hadn’t he said anything.  

“Oh yeah, what do you know?  Thanks for the update.”

“Let me have a look.”

“N-no, it’s fine.”  He struggled to push himself upright, “shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh don’t be such a baby.” he pushed Juno back gently so he was resting against the dresser.  Juno let him, leaning his head back and closing his eye in exhaustion.  Lifting his shirt elicited a soft “ohhh-” from the thief.  

He was covered in injuries that couldn’t be more than a few weeks old, judging by the angry red and pink of the lacerations.  The corset couldn’t have been doing his healing process any favors.  Some of the wounds had opened, and Juno had placed large Band-Aids over the top.  Those would need tending to, but the one that was most concerning was one where a bandage was wrapped around his lower ribcage, blood dying the once pristine fabric a deep red.  

“May of had a lil’ more f-fun than anticipated today-”  

“Juno, what happened?” Nureyev cupped his face, gently stroking a thumb over Juno’s cheek bone.  He felt hot to the touch.  It only added to the concern.  

“Stupid really- I hit some space junk- and-” he paused, pulling in air “it hit back.” 

“Space junk-? Never mind that, why didn’t you tell us?”

“I did-”

“What? When?”

“At the meeting family thing.  Wasn’t- feelin my best-”

Nureyev thought back to the family meeting hours ago, he hadn’t been paying attention.  He remembered Juno supporting his resume and spilling his coffee moments after a defiant declaration to Buddy he could drink it.  The situation had been comical at the time, but he remembered how his hands had shook-  Same when he tripped on the carpet to the galla.  

Juno was many things, but he wasn’t a novice to heals or an elegant gown, his performance on the dance floor spoke to his skill.  His impatience to end the auction, and the way he’d bulled him over when he tried taking the globe prematurely.  The way his face had twisted, and how tightly he squeezed Nureyev-  Was that what had done it?  Or was it when they escaped to the transport-   

The truth was, Nureyev hadn’t been paying attention.  He didn’t pay attention and Juno was hurting because of it.

“Wasn’t feeling your best?  Juno, these are serious injuries.”

“N-not anymore-” Juno sighed “And we needed- the map- the Cure Mother-” he drew in another ragged breath “It could do a lot of pe-eople a lot a good.” 

Fear coiled in Nureyev’s gut as he thought of the words Buddy had said to him mear hours before ‘We are not legends- legends are dead things-’

How many times had Juno almost become a legend himself?  How many times had he tried to sacrifice himself for the greater good? 

“I’m going to get Vespa.”

“N-no!” Juno gasped, grabbing hold of the other’s wrist “Nureyev, please- I- I don’t want her to see me- right now.  Don’t need it-”

“Detective, you need more than I can give you.”

“It’ll stop- soon-” he was almost pleading “please, jus’ stay.” 

Nureyev looked at Juno Steel for a good long moment- he loved this man- it was a simple truth that he’d tried to run from- even going so far as to let him walk away on those soft feet in the dead of the night all that time ago-

He could live without Juno Steel- but it was getting harder and harder to understand why he’d wanted too.  

“Oh- have it your way Detective.  But you’re going to let me patch you up at the very least; I will not have you bleeding out on my watch.”

Juno gave an exhausted, wicked grin “Thanks Toots.” 

Nureyev relieved Juno of his soaked shirt and unwounded the bandage; careful as to not interfere with the clotting blood to reveal a truly evil wound.  A jagged V carved into the side of his ribcage, deviating into the vulnerable flesh of his stomach; half-healed bruises blotching his skin.  It wasn’t hard to believe Juno lost a fight with space junk.  The stitching had torn apart, none too neatly either.  

It wasn’t wise to stitch him up again, best let the doctor do the proper patching.  But, maybe, he could hold it off till morning.

He cleaned it best he could, Juno occasionally letting out little piteous sounds as he worked.  It was intimate, he could feel every stuttering breath under his long fingers, every twitch and tensed muscle.  He had him like this before, under more enjoyable circumstances, delighting in the honesty that played across his face-  But now- there were only gasps of pain and watery smiles.  Worry settled heavily in his chest, he’d just gotten him back, and now this-

Fresh gauze packed tight and back the bandage went.  Juno’s feverish head resting in the crock of Nureyev’s neck as he wound it tightly around.  He was given a fresh bed shirt, the largest one Nureyev had packed.  Juno was more muscular than he was, smaller in stature but broader of shoulder.  He was lucky to find anything to fit him at all.

“Okay, to bed love.” and pressed a kiss into his curls, marveling at how easy the term of endearment slipped from his lips.  “You’ve got a doctor’s appointment in the morning.” 

“I- don’ want too-” Juno whined, but placidly allowed Nureyev to maneuver him to the mattress.  He curled on his good side, laying his head in the hollow point of Nureyev’s arm.  

Nureyev found himself hoping that this time, he would stay.  

In the morning- he’d see Juno treated and that would be that.  He ran his fingers along his back in a soothing fashion and fell asleep to his lady’s gentle breath.  

 It was that same breath that woke Nureyev some odd hours later-

[atomicfilm]

what do you think of INFPxINTP?

Note: when I use the term relationships I don’t only mean romantic ones. 

Also, all types can make it work if they’re willing to. INTPs in particular tend to collect diverse people to keep themselves entertained with multiple perspectives. 

You can skip to the “What I Like” section at the bottom if you want to as it functions as a summary. 

In my opinion, most of my closest friends and family are INFPs. This is a pairing I really like for the most part. I think intellectually, INTPs and INFPs are quite similar, although INFPs approach problems in a way that INTPs often find to be quite annoying which is that they are often very biased towards one outcome, even if it’s not very logical, because they are sentimental towards it. This sensitivity is not in itself a bad quality and I often admire it, except it can spell trouble for INFPs if they rely too much on their heart's desires. I find this typically leads them into a lot of toxic relationships and eventually, they have so many that they tend to abstain from relationships completely for long periods of time. I don’t know many other INTPs, but I abstain from relationships because someone isn’t the right fit for me and I can tell it’s going to go south very early on. INFPs, unfortunately, tend to ignore too many red flags and often end up heartbroken. They’re not to blame, the world is just crueler than they want it to be and they tend to get caught up in daydreams. 

WHAT I DON’T LIKE: 

A few things that annoy me about INFPs is that sometimes they rely on me too much. My mother, for example, asks my opinion on everything. Should I buy this house? Should I make this career move? Should I date this person? Should I go to this church? Should I purchase this car? Ect. ect. She asks me every possible question she can for my opinion and then if I tell it to her, she usually ends up ignoring it anyway. We both annoy each other in that we’re both very flaky when it comes to decision making. She’s flaky in that she doesn’t really care if a decision makes sense. For example, right now she is trying to start a coaching business and wanted my help choosing which seminars she should make. She wanted to do something along the lines of  “How to be Your Authentic Self” and I said that was fine but people were likely only going to buy such classes if she taught them how to make money from it or improve their relationships. It had to have an end goal, or most people wouldn’t see the point. 

Because of this, I believe she doesn’t really like my advice style. It’s often too blunt and I won’t fake my support if I don’t agree with something. In return, I expect the same. However, when I am supportive, you know it’s genuine and I personally make sure to make it obvious that I’m proud of people. 

 I’m flaky in that I tend to make a decision from the beginning and then alter it as I go along and am provided with new information, which can also be a source of frustration for INFPs at times, even if they are the same way. INFPs tend to be more of follower types whereas INTPs are truly independent and don’t really want to boss people around. The phrase “that’s your decision to make” will likely come up often.

If you’re searching for a lot of emotional comfort, INTPs aren’t often your best bet. If you’re sad, you can likely expect someone awkwardly patting you on your back and trying to find you a blanket or comfort food. Sweet words of encouragement will only come with practice. This is Fe, Fe can be developed and in my case, I’ve put in the work on it because I think in terms of social standing, Fe is the easiest way to improve myself. Oddly enough, I learned the most about Fe from mimicking a peculiar ENTP because handling emotions is a very foreign process to me, despite being surrounded by feelers. I’m not sure what people expect from me unless they tell me. 

From the INFP perspective, they give and give and give and give. And they do, they usually are extremely generous people, whether it be with their time, money, or emotions. An INFP may become frustrated if they do not feel like their efforts are being returned in full. This is a high expectation for INTPs who usually do whatever they want to when they want to. That being said, sometimes INFPs can be selfish when it comes to listening to my problems because they don’t expect me to need their comfort. My dog is currently in surgery and it’s possible she might die. When we were at the hospital, the only thing my mom said was “this is going to be expensive” and I was the one bawling uncontrollably. With INTPs, when Fi hits, it’s something we really don’t know how to cope with very well so we get overwhelmed and INFPs, despite all of their empathy, aren’t so good with Fe. She did manage to cheer me up by saying Jesus in Czech over and over again in really ridiculous ways so I wouldn’t call her a lost cause, I just wanted her to be crying with me in that moment. Also, INFPs can kind of dominate conversations when it comes to talking about how you BOTH are doing, but I think this is because most people leave them deeply unsatisfied attention-wise.

Anxious INFPs ruin me. I cannot handle your anxiety on top of my anxiety. Give me a moment to decide my next move. Don’t ask me what it is. I’ll say it when it’s developed. 

Unhealthy INFPs are also extremely sensitive and turbulent. I would say the only type as toxic as an unhealthy INFP is an unhealthy ENFP. They become moody and a strange mix of aggression, manipulation, and self-focused. A lot of that comes from Fi. Unhealthy INTPs become complete ghosts. They flicker out of existence. Depression tends to be a major issue in both types. 

WHAT I DO LIKE: 

I love INFPs because they’re one of the few types that understand what INTPs need. Yes, they are demanding emotionally and there are bound to be complications because of that, but for the most part they’re worth it. They make me feel something and at their best, they are some of the most idealistic, moral, creative, and cheerleader-like personalities. They show up. Where most people won’t come through, they will, except in areas that don’t align with their passions. They may be flighty or reclusive at times, but they make up for it by having high Ne and teaching INTPs about how to be a generally good person. INTPs at their worst detach from their compassion and their emotional side and a healthy level of correction to this instinct is much needed by the INTP from the INFP. I would say INFPs also need INTPs to some extent to guide them. Also, while INFPs have low Te, Te is something I admire because it’s nice for getting a different perspective. And gosh diddly darn it, have you ever met someone with Ne who wasn’t hilarious? 

Generally speaking, I think ISFPs, ISFJs, INFJs, INFPs, and ENTPs all are the best pairings for INTPs as friends. I like ENFPs a lot too, but I always have toxic relationships with them that involve a lot of fights. Fights with INFPs tend to either absolutely never happen (one of my best friends is an INFP and I haven’t fought with her once in the past 4 yrs.) or if they happen they go something like this: 

INTP:  I don’t like you very much.

INFP: FINE, I DON’T LOVE YOU, I’M NEVER GOING TO TALK TO YOU.

INTP: I was joking.

INFP: STOP TALKING TO ME.

INTP: Yeah, okay, I’m sorry, that wasn’t a good joke, I love you.

INFP, 5 minutes later: Okay, I’ve cooled down, I love you too.

It’s usually INTPs who instigate and then INFPs escalate it. INTPs aren’t usually intentionally fighting with people so those kinds of fights end in a few minutes. 

I think INTPs will fall for any INFP quickly, and that will probably make them uncomfortable. An INTP may not want to pursue a romantic relationship with an INFP if they think it will become overly emotional, which it’s quite possible it will. But the good thing is that once an INTP commits to something, they are unlikely to give up on it easily and this is a source of comfort to INFPs. Plus, INFPs (and also ISFPs) are skilled at drawing out the INTP’s soft side which they secretly like. 

 I would say that as long as it’s healthy, an INFP x INTP relationship is one of the most beautiful and long-lasting of them all. The most important thing to focus on here would be communicating your feelings often and directly, but also providing the INTP with a bit of help. Tell them why you feel this way, whether you like this feeling, and what you would like for them to do. They may not be able to pick up on that on their own unless you have known each other for years. Also, to appease the INTP, try to find a common intellectual pursuit, even if it’s something as simple as listening to NPR in the car together or making a two-person book club. While INFPs aren’t really boring per se, they can become dull if they don’t stimulate the INTP’s brain enough and focus too much on small talk, routine obsessions, or debating with obviously biased information. 

[c4pricornc4ts]

"April Fool's bitch! Also can I move in with you?" - OriginsSMP one-shot

Happy April Fools! - Read it on ao3 here!

Words: 2k Characters: Tommy, Tubbo, Niki, Wilbur

“It’s April Fools Day, I’m pranking him.” He points to his chest with his thumb proudly. “So he needs to borrow some of your lake. Just till he wakes up.”

Niki laughs, she had forgotten about April fools day. It wasn’t really something she ever did. Or cared to do. But this seemed harmless enough. So she nods and goes to guide his float all the way back to the middle of the river before the sun rises any more.

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

Niki wakes up and immediately notices something very different. There was a large object floating on the surface, and it definitely wasn’t a mob she knew. Unless Minecraft had updated? Surely she would have known. She stares up at it from her ocean bed for another minute, working up the courage to swim up to it.

Well, it didn’t seem hostile. It didn’t really seem like a fish at all, but it was so early in the morning there wasn’t really a lot of light to tell by. So, at four in the morning, Niki finds herself swimming up to the surface.

She breaks through the water and takes a minute to adjust to the land. Her eyesight was worse up here. But it wasn’t so bad. Tubbo was working on some glasses for her, but apparently, the whole ‘needing to be waterproof’ thing is giving him some trouble. She didn’t blame him, it was a little troublesome.

Niki gasps when she realizes it isn’t an animal but rather a certain very loud, very not into sleeping at low altitudes, Tommy. She immediately grabs the air mattress he’s somehow still asleep on and slowly pulls him over to land. She’s about to wake him up when someone starts talking.

“Hey! Niki!” It’s a hushed voice, with a hint of excitement in it. Niki jumps a little but tries to stay quiet as well.

“Hello? Who are you?”

“It’s me, Niki! Your best pal. Duh.” Sure enough, Tubbo with his brown hair and signature oversized green shirt struggles to get out of the bush he was hiding in.

“Well I don’t know about ‘best.’”

He sits down in front of her and pushes a still sleeping Tommy back into the river. “You wound me, Niki.”

“Why did you just push him back?” She tilts her head at him, bracing for some sort of overly complicated answer. It was a coin toss whether she’d understand a single thing in Tubbo’s explanations.

“It’s April Fools Day, I’m pranking him.” He points to his chest with his thumb proudly. “So he needs to borrow some of your lake. Just till he wakes up.”

Niki laughs, she had forgotten about April fools day. It wasn’t really something she ever did. Or cared to do. But this seemed harmless enough. So she nods and goes to guide his float all the way back to the middle of the river before the sun rises any more.

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

Tommy wakes up to the sun in his eyes and a pounding headache. He looks around, confused when he sees trees instead of the usual mountain peaks. And more confused by the fact his hands are sinking into something that is definitely not his bed.

“JACK FUCKIN’ MANIFOLD, WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?” He carefully gets on his knees, not sure how stable afloat in the middle of a lake is.

It surprises him when Jack doesn’t appear, but Niki does. Which really shouldn’t surprise him at all, because, well, he’s kinda sleeping in her house.

“This one wasn’t Jack, unfortunately. But it wasn’t me either before you get mad at the person who is about to rescue you.”

Tommy narrows his eyes at her. “So you know who did it then?”

Both of their attentions shift to Tubbo, who just fell out of the bush he was hiding in. Clutching his stomach in laughter.

“Oh, you shulk! Just wait till I get over there I’ll-” He looks around him and realizes there's really no way for him to get over to the shore. Well besides swimming and he doesn’t want to be wet and have a migraine this early in the morning. “Niki, if you will.”

She nods, trying not to laugh at him which the avian appreciates.

Once they finally reach the grass, Tubbo helps him off the bed, and the three talk.

“Now how the hell did you manage to get me out there and what the hell are you gonna do to fix this headache I have from sleeping so low?” He rubs his head to make a point, now that he’s not so focused on getting out of the water it hurts a lot more.

“One question at a time sheesh Tommy. I got Philza to help me. Not sure how you slept through that.”

“Tommy’s just used to flying I think, Philza has carried him a lot.” Niki joins from the water.

“So you’re telling me I have to go get mad at him too?” Tommy turns to Niki very seriously. “Tell me you weren’t in on this too.”

“Oh don’t worry Tommy, I was just as confused why you were in the middle of the river.”

“Well, I’m just glad someone likes me and doesn’t want me dead!” He turns back to Tubbo and crosses his arms.

“Oh come on you didn’t die!” Tubbo is laughing at his dramatics, and Tommy can’t deny he wants to laugh too. It’s a good prank, at least all he got was a headache. If this had happened to Ranboo…

“Yeah, and that’s a bad thing for you, I’ll get revenge Tubbo.” He gets up, waving bye to Niki before heading to someone who he knows would help him get revenge.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way. See you later Toms! Bye Niki!” Tommy doesn’t say anything back, just focusing on getting to Wilbur’s house.

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

He doesn’t bother to knock, knowing Wilbur is probably asleep. He usually was during the day, being a phantom and all. He does knock on the bedroom door once however, he’s not completely rude.

“Wilbur, I need your help, it's an emergency.”

Wilbur gets up hearing that, feeling around his bedside table for his glasses. He almost knocks over a cup of water in the process which Tommy catches.

“Wh-what’s wrong Tommy?” He finally puts his glasses on and looks up at him. “You seem too happy to have a real emergency. God damnit Toms what did I say about-”

“Nope, no, save the lecture for after I tell you what I woke you up for.”

“Alright.” The phantom sits back down. “Tell me your ‘emergency.’”

“Tubbo and Philza pranked me and I need your help getting him back.”

“You wake me up, and scare the shit out of me for a prank war?” Wilbur’s looking up at him with an unimpressed face, waiting for a real answer.

Tommy plays with his hands and smiles nervously. “Um… yes?”

Wilbur sighs and falls back on his bed. “I’m in. What’s your plan?”

“So glad you asked. It’s simple really.” Tommy sits down on the bed as well, grabbing a notepad and pen off the dresser and tearing off the top page that was full of what looked like song lyrics. “Wilbur are you sad again?”

“What? No. That has nothing to do with your prank anyway.”

“Okay, sure.” Tommy writes ‘bring up another time’ on the top of the notepad. Wilbur laughs and slaps the whole thing out of his hands.

“Just tell me the plan, you fuckin’ vegan.”

“Alright, so I was thinking I just toss a glass of water at his face.”

“That’s kinda lame compared to what he pulled off.” Wilbur laughs.

“So? He had time, probably planned that stupid prank for months! I have hours. And he hates getting surprised so it’s perfect really.”

“Look, I have some bubble wrap. We’ll put that under his rug and you can still do your stupid water shit when he’s still figuring out why his rug sounds like fireworks.”

“Okay weird plan but sure. Where is the bubble wrap? I’ll speed walk it to Tubbo’s treehouse.” He gets up off the bed, waiting for the phantom to do the same.

“It’s in the living room, go ahead and go over. I’ll have to be invisible.” He leaves Wilbur and starts the walk to Tubbo’s house, careful not to run into anyone on the way.

He likes Tubbo’s treehouse, it always felt so personal. Almost everything Tubbo had in it was handmade. Tommy had even reluctantly helped with some things. Like the rug in the entrance. They had lined it with thin pieces of oak and carved their initials into it.

He climbs up the ladder into the trees and lets himself into a thankfully empty treehouse. When he lifts up the rug to place the bubble wrap under, he smiles when he sees their initials and stupid little drawings were still scratched into it. He never checks it when Tubbo is around, always insisting it was dumb of them to have done.

He goes to the kitchen and is looking for a cup when Wilbur appears behind him.

“How’s it going?”

Tommy yelps and turns around, hand on his chest. “Wilbur! Don’t scare me like that damnit!”

“Ah, yes. My bad. Forgot that avians were fragile.” Wilbur retorts, causing Tommy to just roll his eyes.

“Well, at least I don’t need to wear a stupid hat in the sun.” The hat was oversized and very floppy but for some reason, Wilbur insisted it was stylish. Tommy didn’t know when blue sun hats with red ribbons came into style, but whatever kept his friend from dying in the sun was okay in his book.

“It not stupid it’s-”

“-Stylish, I know. Keep lying to yourself, Wilby.”

They both pause, Tommy turns back and picks a cup. Wilbur sits on the counter, swinging his legs.

“Sometimes I wish I just accepted his offer to live here. It’s kinda… lonely at night.” He regrets it as soon as he says it, but looking at all the art and knickknacks Tubbo has scattered around his kitchen just makes Tommy feel at home. More than his own house.

“I can’t believe you didn’t. Were you hoping Philza would take you?”

“Yeah. I suppose I was. God, how stupid am I?”

“Stupid enough to choose avian as your class.” Wilbur jokes and hops off the counter before continuing. “You know, Tubbo’s a good kid. Betcha if you told him you changed your mind he’d let you.”

They both look at the cup of water Tommy just filled, planning to throw at Tubbo. “Then maybe we shouldn’t prank him back…”

Tommy goes to pour out the water, Wilbur stops him. “We absolutely should prank him back! He’s a strange kid, he’ll appreciate it.”

“I thought he was a good kid.”

“He’s both. He’s also a fuckin shulker.”

Tommy laughs. “Like if true!”

They hear the door creak open and Tommy flattens himself against the kitchen wall, gripping the cup of water so tight his fingers are turning white. Wilbur quickly makes himself invisible.

Tommy hears the popping, flinching from how loud it is. Wilbur was right, it did sound like fireworks. He hears Tubbo yelp before throwing the water at his face as he runs into the kitchen.

Tubbo trips on seemingly nothing and falls. “Oh my god, Tommy!”

He starts to get actually concerned for the shulker so he kneels down to check on him. Tubbo flicks water onto his face and laughs.

“I was starting to think you weren’t going to.”

“My damn headache didn’t let me forget.”

“Well, I think that fall gave me one too, or maybe a concussion.”

“April fools bitch! Also can I please move in with you?”

“Haha- Wait what?” Tubbo gets up. “Oh come on now Tommy you already pranked me once this joke is actually cruel.”

“No it’s not a joke, I promise. It’s just- you live up high and we could split the chores you know…?”

“Sure, chores are what made you want to live with me.”

“Yep! Chores. So can I?” He gets up and then reaches his hand towards Tubbo to help him up. He notices the window is open, Wilbur must’ve left.

“... Clean the puddle on my floor and we’ll talk.”

[opheliacassiopea]

CHAPTER 10.

TW: Mentions of a weapon.

Landing back in Quantico that evening was a welcome feeling, the few hours of sleep you managed to get on the plane making little difference in rejuvenating your body and you were practically on auto-pilot for the short twenty-five minute drive back to your apartment. Typing in your alarm code, you quickly tidy your things away, securing your weapon and your credentials. It might seem odd to start tidying your apartment when your body is aching all over, and you’re practically dead on your feet, but it calms you, tethers you to some form of normalcy. So you cleaned the small amount of mess you’d left in your rush to get to work once you’d gotten the call to come in, you weren’t really a messy person anyway so it didn’t take long. Apartment cleaned, you set about fixing yourself dinner and hopping into the shower, turning the water to the highest temperature, the hot water bringing you comfort, easing your sore shoulder and side as you wash away the stress of the last few days.

Despite how tired you are, you fear that sleep won’t come to you easily, you had a lot to think about, your mind still focused on the case that technically still wasn’t over as the paperwork hadn’t been completed, and of course you couldn’t help but think of Hotch, what had happened between the two of you. Realistically you knew nothing would come of it, but that didn’t mean you could suddenly stop thinking about it altogether, it was incredibly good sex after all, and the sweet moments afterwards were something you couldn’t forget any time soon. Clambering into bed and getting comfortable under the covers, you find that sleep washes over you quickly, leading you into a dreamworld. Many hours later you awaken from a peaceful sleep the next morning, feeling well rested and slightly less sore than the day before and decide to make the most of your morning off, choosing to change the bedsheets and open all the windows to let in some fresh air. Along with the rest of the team, you were having to head into the office later that afternoon to fill out the paperwork for the recent case in Bend. 

Much like your appearance, you look pride in your apartment looking the very best it could be, and much like your appearance, your apartment truly resembled you too. It was a fairly decent sized apartment, the reasonably sized living room decked out with fashionable, yet vintage looking sofas and chairs that were situated around the antique coffee table that faced toward the TV. Arguably the best part of the living room was that in the cupboards of the small coffee table, was a small projector that allowed you to play some of your favourite films, or productions of your favourite books and it was something you often did on your days off. Stacks of books, plants and knickknacks lined the shelves that covered many of the walls, all arranged to look neat and tidy, rather than cluttered. The back corner of the room was home to your record player and cart of vinyl's, next to your beautiful wooden piano, plants and candles covering the top. There were many smaller lamps dotted around on the side tables throughout the room, small trails of fairy lights used to accentuate certain accessories.

The back wall of your bedroom was painted in your favourite colour, a deep forest green, your bed placed directly in front of it whilst the rest of the walls were exposed brick, which was the main reason you’d fallen in love with this particular apartment. There was a decent sized wardrobe along with a full length mirror, chest of draws and a small vanity, all home to strategically placed plants, accessories and yet more fairy lights to make the room warm and inviting. You used the smaller box room at the end of the hallway as an office so had decided to keep the colour scheme fairly neutral since it also doubled as a spare room, but was still filled with yet more books and little knickknacks that you absolutely adored and truly made your apartment feel like home and the walls were adorned with your various achievements. Your bathroom could be described as a jungle, multiple plants lived on the window and hung down from the ceiling in macramé pots, loving that it made the room feel more open. The kitchen was relatively simple, a decent sized dining table with benches and chairs always sporting fresh flowers in the middle and the windowsill lined with various cookbooks you’d yet to even open. In short, you loved your apartment, it was your sanctuary, where you felt safest and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride when it came to your home.

Filling the rest of your morning with errands and odd jobs like laundry and food shopping, your morning off scurries by in a hurry and you’re soon headed back to Quantico, ready to speed through the necessary paperwork and potentially catch up on any other administrative tasks you needed to complete. The bullpen is relatively quiet upon your arrival and as you walk through the glass doors, you can already see Reid halfway done with whatever he’s working on, smiling to yourself you stop by the breakroom to grab yourself a tea. 

“I’m surprised that you’re here on time, you looked dead on your feet yesterday” Prentiss greets you as you enter, handing you your mug from the cupboard.

“How charming of you” you rebuke, swatting her on the shoulder as you take the mug. “I feel way better after a decent night's sleep” you tell her as you finish making your drink.

Sensing she wants to say something you turn to face her as she begins to speak up. “That case, I know it was your first of its kind and it was pretty intense, I just want to check in with you”. Concern was apparent in all of her features and as always you appreciated how the team looked out for you, for each other.

“Seriously, I’m fine, all good I promise. Not looking forward to sorting out this paperwork, the reports are gonna be much more complicated, and with that being said, we better get a move on” you say as you exit the breakroom and head over to your desk, freshly made tea in hand. 

After a couple of hours of completing various forms and case reports, you begin to bring the report you were working on to a close and as you came to the end of the sentence you were writing, you lean back and flick your gaze to Hotch’s office to find that he was already looking at you. Sending him a small smile, which he returns immediately, you dip your head down and continue working the day away, offering to help JJ with some of her extra case consults.

Finally the weekend rolls around and you’re buzzing with excitement, once a month the team meets for breakfast in a local diner and if you’re being honest, it’s one of your favourite pastimes with the team. It’s laidback, it’s easy and you relish in the simplicity of it. It’s not even been ten minutes since you’ve all sat down at one of the large round booths at the back of the diner, conversation flowing; Spencer telling Emily and JJ about traditions for new homeowners, Derek and Penelope swapping office gossip, whilst you’re engaged in a conversation with Dave and Hotch about the upcoming FBI triathlon in a few months when you’re interrupted by your phone ringing.

“SSA Paisley Selwyn” you speak into the phone, wondering why nobody else was taking a phone call, let alone a phone call from a bureau phone number; normally the entire team would receive a phone call if you were all out of the office to inform you of a new case or potential emergency. 

“This is Heather Price, Chief of the Crime Translation Unit. We’re in need of a translator for a case we’re working and as a language and linguistics expert, you’d be the perfect fit to help”

she tells you over the phone and you’re slightly unsure, you’d heard of the unit a few times in passing, but never been involved. This might strike an outsider as odd considering as the woman rightly stated, you did specialise in linguistics, but the BAU appealed to you much more.

“I’m flattered, but is there nobody else that can fill in for the case?” you query, you loved your work, but sometimes you needed a break and you weren’t overly keen on leaving breakfast with the team. With such bizarre schedules and hectic jobs, sometimes dealing with unspeakable things, you welcomed any normality that you can find. For that morning the eight of you aren’t FBI agents, you’re just eight friends out for breakfast and today that’s exactly what you needed. 

“Unfortunately not no. We’re keen to make use of your profiling abilities too. I’ll see you here in no less than forty minutes” she informs you, hanging up shortly after. Letting out a small sigh, you twist with the two pendants hanging around your neck, you’d been looking forward to this morning since the moment last month's breakfast ended and it hadn’t gone unnoticed by the team. 

Seeing your slightly crestfallen facial expression as you place your phone on the table, Derek is the first to question you. “What’s going on, Lee? Who was that?” concern evident on his face.

“Heather Price, she’s requested my help on a translation case” you tell him, looking down at the table as you do and when you look back up, you have the entire eyes of the team focused on you, a range of facial expressions on show; JJ and Emily look slightly surprised, Spence and Dave looked proud, whereas Hotch’s expression never falters, staying stoic as ever.  

Spencer’s eyebrows suddenly shoot up. “The translation unit? Isn’t that where Oliver WIlliams works?” he questions and you know he already knows the answer, his voice raising slightly being the dead giveaway and despite your slight annoyance at having to leave you can’t help but laugh at him.

“Don’t act like you don’t already know that, you’re not that smooth, Spence. I’ll tell him you said hi” you tell him, through Derek's confused expression only makes you laugh all the more, clearly he hadn’t been clued in on Spencer’s slight crush. Collecting yourself, you turn your attention to the brightly dressed woman to your left.

Penelope however, looked outraged that you had to leave. “What?! Now?! But it’s your day off, you can’t miss our breakfast, you’ve been looking forward to this for ages! Is there really nobody else they can call?”. Penelope exclaims, waving her hands as she expresses her annoyance at the interruption. Arguably, Penelope valued these outings with the team more than the rest of you might have done, working back in her office to perform her technical magic whilst the rest of you were out in the field, or even another state, left her somewhat isolated and therefore occasionally missing out of the odd inside joke so times like these were perfect for filling her in on any missed gossip and it broke your heart to see her upset at the change in plans.

“I know, I know, sorry PG, we’ll just have to do something another time” you tell her, kissing her cheek as you begin to gather your things in order to leave. Standing up, you bid the rest of the team a hurried goodbye, hearing the end of their conversation as you go.

“How many languages does she even speak? I lose track of her sometimes” JJ questions, though you can tell she’s joking and it’s Reid who answers.

“Three; French, Spanish and Italian. Though if you count sign language, it would be four, which is marginally impressive because statistically speaking..”.

Quickly swinging by your apartment to pick up your weapon and credentials, you decided against changing out of your very casual outfit, this was meant to be your day off after all. 

It was an odd feeling riding the elevator to a different floor, nerves building in your stomach for whatever it was you were about to work on. Stepping out of the elevator and taking a deep breath, you’re greeted by who you assume to be the woman you spoke with on the phone. “Unit Chief Heather Price, nice to meet you, please, come this way” she introduces herself to you with a welcoming smile, gesturing for you to follow her to her office.

“As I mentioned on the phone, we’re in need of an translator, specifically for Italian translations. I realise that your primary work for the bureau isn’t in fact translating, but you’ve come highly recommended to us and we think your knowledge of language and linguistics, along with your profiling abilities would prove to be an incredibly useful asset for this case” she informs you, handing you a brown folder that clearly contains the case information that you flip open and start to read over, leaning back on one of the office chairs when there’s a knock at the door.

“You wanted to see me?” the voice questions. Head snapping up from the file in your hand, you see that the voice belongs to a male detective and you immediately placed him to be Oliver Williams thanks to Spencer’s descriptions. He’d confided in you about his small crush during

one of the late night sessions in the library; the two had met around a month ago when the team was working a local case and in order to solidify a theory you and he were working on, Reid had gone to the translation office to collect a transcription manual and bumped into the man and since then the two had been buying each other coffee

“Ah, yes I did” Price tells him, ushering him into the room. “This is Dr Paisley Selwyn, I requested her help on this case as you know”. Pushing yourself up from the arm of the chair, you lean forward to shake his hand and the two of you exchange pleasantries and you can tell that the both of you will get on well as Price starts going over the case plan, explaining that 

essentially the two of you would be left to your own devices, taking the lead on the case and she would only be stepping in when it came to the interrogation of the suspect. 

Following Williams back out to the larger desk spaces, the two of you begin working the case, starting over from the very beginning, and coming up with entirely new strategies regarding everything from the translations of smaller articles of evidence, to various interview methods and spoken translations. Eventually you found yourself working in a rhythm with Williams, discovering that the two of you had similar methods in translating which sped the process along and soon you found yourself enjoying the work you were doing; applying theories, methods and techniques you hadn’t used since doing your masters degree and it came as an easy reminder as to why you loved working with language. When it came time for the interrogation of the suspect, it wasn’t hard to tell that both Price and Williams were impressed with your translation skills, picking up on the smallest changes and inconsistencies that eventually brought the case to a close at around eleven o’clock in the evening. 

Now you were sat with Williams filling out the huge stack of files for the case, because you weren’t officially part of the unit, there was more paperwork than usual and by the time you were both done and finally out the door, it was pushing midnight. Walking to your cars, the two of you conversed like you’d known each other for a lot longer than a day and you called across the car park to him “Oi, Williams, Spence told me to tell you hi” which caused him to smile from ear to ear and blush a deep pink and you smiled to yourself as you made your way home, singing along to the radio as you drove.

A/N: I can’t believe I’ve written 10 chapters of this fic already! Tried making this a slightly shorter chapter as the past few have been quite long. Don’t forget you can follow along and read the story over on my Wattpad: @opheliacassiopea

As always, let me know what you think; any feedback is welcome!🖤

[photiniainsummer]

A Little Audience Participation Can Tip the Scales (2/?): Hunting Blind

Genre: GenFic - Action, Mystery, Humor Rating: Teen and Up Story Summary: There’s a strange group living at the old Markiplier Manor. They’re the villains of their tales, they’re looking for information, and they need your help putting Mark’s scattered egos back together to get their lives back. And stop Mark and the Entity breaking reality. Small goals. (Second Person POV, vaguely fem-coded Reader) Chapter Summary: The one where you gin up the courage for some minor trespassing Word Count: 5810 Author's Note: Decided to cross-post from my Ao3! The next three chapters are already up, and I try to post every Tuesday. :3

Interested?

Read on Ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30510852/chapters/75668213

Hunting Blind

With the Manor’s heavy gate behind you, you tug your shirt back into place and loop your bag to hang securely across your body before beating a quick path up the driveway toward the Manor. There’s no real point in trying to be sneaky about it - with the dusk wrapping around you and the nearest neighbors seemingly out, there isn’t much to try to sneak around. Regardless, your nerves push you onward at a steady pace up to the large front plaza, your thoughts roiling. Jonah had seen to that, giving you just enough to be suspicious of, to drive you onwards in his absence.

What could be bad enough that a decade after Mark’s death, and even longer after whatever might have happened actually happened, that the boards of practically every paper in the state would nix any mention of him? What could he have possibly left behind at what was likely the scene of his crime that would unveil the truth?

Most importantly, what or who would you find when you made it inside?

Shaking off the thought, you dig out the little collapsible nightstick your parents had insisted you carry when you’d moved into the city proper. Thankfully, you had never been in a position where you needed to use it, but many where you had been grateful for its reassuring weight. You hold it now in your hand, thumb on the release as you make it up the annoyingly long and snaking driveway to the silent plaza. Shrouded by trees, the space is even darker than the rest of the grounds, all awash in strange, late evening shadows. It had clearly been meant for welcoming in guests, for hosting a number of their vehicles at a time, but now, overly quiet with the added dampening of the trees and without even a security light to cut through the shade, it was eerie. Lonely.

Again, you have to focus on the task at hand and keep your mind off these wandering asides. You’d always had an active imagination, but now was certainly not the time to let it run wild. You gather your wits about you (really, you just take a really deep breath and hope that’s what that looks like) and approach the large, wooden double door entrance. A built-in eaves houses it, and even in the gloom, you can see a family of spiders have made the nicely sheltered spot their home. Reflexively ducking your head just in case there are any low-hanging creepy-crawlies, you press close to the doors. They still gleam despite their disuse, well-burnished dark wood carved in elegant yet simple patterns.

It’s only when your hand finds one of their brass handles that you consider the Manor could be locked. You try it anyway, pressing on the latch with your thumb. It makes some downward progress but sticks halfway before popping back up to its original position. You curse quietly to yourself and try again, but the latch repeats its stifled motion. You start clicking the latch repeatedly, tugging on the door for good measure. You lean your weight into it, and a particularly good press-and-push combination sends the latch snapping suspiciously like you’ve broken it, and you stumble into darkness.

Catching your weight on the swinging door, you pull up short in the entryway, stunned by the sudden reveal of the yawning belly of the Manor. Although your eyes begin to adjust to the darkness, you don’t need them to be able to tell that the place is massive. You can feel it. A cool breeze of emptiness strokes your face, and you straighten up to get your bearings. Out before you is a massive room seemingly a little lower than the tiled entryway where you stand. Along with the vaulted ceiling directly above you, your stumbling footsteps echo back loudly.

“....christ on a cracker,” you breathe, then reflexively cover your mouth as you remember you’re meant to be sneaking around. After your entrance, though, you’re not sure if that’s a totally viable strategy. Regardless, you drop your hand from your mouth and retrieve your phone, turning on its flashlight and casting a somewhat shaky light around the core of the Manor. Just as Jonah had said, it’s still full of… well. Stuff. The massive room you felt before is filled with what seems to be heavy furniture, ornate shapes covered in white sheets and pushed around at strange angles. You swing the light around, catching yourself in the eye with it as it falls across and is reflected by a massive, cracked mirror directly to your right. Thankfully, you manage to stifle a hiss of surprise before it slips out between your teeth. Blinking through your self-injury, you move the light to the side, allowing you to see the rest of the surrounding area more clearly.

The mirror there is uncovered, spotted with age and covered in a thin layer of dust. You can see a few handprints on its gilded frame, but the massive, multifingered, spiderweb crack running along the center demands your attention. It looks as if it’s dented, almost, the rounded crack pressed inward from the force of impact. Your inwardly warped expression stares back at you - do you always look so much like a deer in the headlights?

The feeling of being watched strikes you again.

Lifting your unextended nightstick, you instinctively shine your light up to the second floor, illuminating a landing with dark wood to match the floors of the house. Emptiness is all that greets you, although you can feel a shiver hiding down in the muscles of your shoulders, now. There’s nothing enough to shiver at, but something in you knows, instinctively… something. You aren’t sure what to call it, but there is something there.

All the more reason to stop standing around like an idiot and look for what you came here for, your brain helpfully supplies.

Resolving to speed this process along, you shut the door somewhat behind you before easing across the tiled floor to keep your steps from echoing so loudly. An imposing statue of a woman in flight welcomes you to what seems to have been the main sitting room. Now, it seems more like the main workspace for whatever restoration crew was here last. The wooden floors, likely once as burnished as the exterior door, are dim with dust, cut through with work boot footprints. Your light falls across a far alcove, home to a dustcloth-covered piano that fits so well in its corner that you wonder if the house was built around it. Everything about the place feels intentional, if a bit over the top - the walls’ dark wainscotting connects to the interestingly arched ceilings above with intermittent, delicate strips of wood, drawing your eye up into its inlaid patterns. They feel designed to capture your attention and hold it, demanding of your gaze and keeping it there to let it dance through complicated tiles and curling designs that disappear as soon as you try to intentionally follow them.

But there’s nothing here along the lines of what you’re looking for, so you almost reluctantly pull your gaze away from the craftsmanship of the Manor and keep searching. The sitting room connects through to an intimate dining area and further on to a large kitchen, as far as you can see, so you turn back toward the main entryway. The passageways here, apart from the grand entrance to the sitting room, feel horribly narrow despite the size of the rooms they lead into. You wonder idly if it’s the size of the occupying furniture eating up space as you carefully move your weight across the old wooden floors, cautious of traitorously creaky spots.

Mindful of the cracked mirror, you swing your light to either side, realizing the entryway sits almost at the midpoint of the house. With the sitting room behind you, a narrow hallway to the right opens onto the dining room and kitchen and ends in a staircase. To the left is the cracked mirror and a winding bit of hallway that seems to open onto another, larger room. Unsure of what you’re looking for but knowing Mark’s personal possessions would very likely not be in the kitchen, you opt to head left, winding around the sharply angled walls and their shadowy corners. You realize, then, that the narrowness is intentional. It’s meant to make the rooms feel bigger - the hallways squeezing you before releasing you suddenly into a wide open space.

All it does is make you claustrophobic.

The larger room you’re let into is a bit of a let-down, clearly also meant for entertaining and barren of anything of note but another cloth-covered couch near the far wall’s fireplace and a sizable bar to your left. There are a few dusty bottles on the mirrored wall behind it, but some have been knocked over and most seem empty, their contents long evaporated. The barroom feels larger and emptier than the others. Although you’d think you’d feel less closed-in here, the air feels heavier. That creeping sensation of someone watching you only grows. You don’t feel much desire to linger - it’s already starting to feel like you’ve been in the house too long, even though it’s probably only been minutes since you broke through the door. You wonder if the realtor has a silent alarm on the place, the thought settling more of that desire to shiver in your muscles. Come on, come on. Just keep moving and stop getting all squirrely.

The hallway continues past the bar room, tight and dark except for the light of your flashlight which sends strange angles of shadow twisting across the walls and floor. It ends in a door, about where the far wall of the barroom seemed to end, but you find it locked tight. Because of course it is, you gripe. A massive suit of armor looms to your right, standing guard over a staircase that draws your eye up its tight spiral. The top isn’t immediately visible, and dread settles into a pit in your gut as you crane your neck and light in tandem to peer up its length. Of course the first abandoned house you end up exploring is absolutely massive and endlessly creepy. Not that you necessarily want more experience exploring abandoned houses, but. You shake the errant thoughts away, just pushing your feet to take you up the stairs, its once-rich carpet beaten thin and worn with age.

Where could his office have been? you wonder as you climb, assuming Mark might have left some suspicious letters or blank checks, maybe even a diary if you’re lucky. You reach the top of the quietly creaky steps to find that the landing here opens onto yet another sitting room -- really, how much sitting did people do back in the day? Putting your bewilderment aside, you notice it’s much darker up here - all of the curtains you can see are drawn so even the rising moonlight can’t creep in. It’s quieter and stiller, too, warmer as you check your surroundings. Another door to your left, which you test and also find to be locked. Swearing softly to yourself, you try to ignore how your breath shakes as you exhale. You’re starting to feel like this is all pointless, that you’re just scaring yourself for no reason or benefit to either you or Jonah. How did he even know the house was still full of stuff? Even if the historical society had left the furniture behind, surely they would have removed books, papers, things people could easily steal long ago. You had no reason to believe there would be anything useful here, beyond, what, Jonah’s hunch?

You kick the old door out of frustration, still leaning on it and rattling the handle. It immediately strikes you as childish, especially after your explosive entrance to the Manor, and you let go with a quiet mix of embarrassment and frustration swirling in your throat. You wish Jonah was here, he’d have some crazy idea about how you could get in, he’d break all this skin-crawling tension that threatens to suffocate you. He’d make you laugh, at the worst possible moment, and it would be just a stupidly big, dark, empty house and not the imposing darkness that felt like it was watching your every move. He’d…

Suddenly, a bone-chillingly loud creak comes from back towards the stairs. You turn in a rush, heart leaping into your throat. But as you do, you fumble your phone and lose your grip in your panic. The device uselessly flings light across the walls around you as it clatters to the floor. You’re thrown into darkness and your free hand reflexively scrabbles on the wall for a lightswitch while you shakily raise the night stick in your other. The release jams when you press it, and your chest tightens as you hunt in a blind panic. Finally, you feel a smooth metal casing and its switch under your fingers, and you snap it up sharply.

The switch was, apparently, connected to more lights than you had thought - practically every light in the hallway and stairwell bursts to life and briefly blinds you. You blink through the spots dancing across your vision, driven by fear to find whoever was creeping up on you. The hallway you’re standing in seems to follow that of the first floor, running the length of the front of the house - you can see clear down it even from your far position.

Or you could, if not for the man standing about twenty feet away on the other side of the narrow, cat-walk-like landing that winds around the entryway below. In a beige coat and dark pants, he occupies most of the hallway’s width with his broad shoulders, and is staring directly at you with...

… a thick, fabric blindfold, deeply stained with blood.

Suddenly, he’s advancing on you, catching the crooked railing to guide himself. He moves so quickly it startles the breath out of you - how can he see me? But you jerk into motion, scooping up your phone from the floor and rushing to the staircase between you. The man is fast, his mouth twisting in rage, but you’re closer to the stairs. In your rush, though, you stumble and almost throw yourself down the steep flight, only narrowly catching yourself against the heavy banister pole. The impact manages to shake loose a nearby picture from the wall and it crashes to the floor with your bum nightstick. None of this does anything to slow the man closing the distance between you, and you thunder down the stairs in what feels like broad daylight compared to the gloom you’d been in, begging your feet to stay underneath you where you need them.

He hits the stairs shortly after you, taking them quickly with heavy steps, so close behind that you can hear him muttering gutturally to himself as he goes. His voice makes that deep, horrible shiver that’s been building in your muscles all night finally burst to the surface and send your skin up in goosebumps. But you just push your legs harder, rushing down the hall toward the entrance. Finally able to see where you’re going with the ambient light from behind you, you clear the barroom and can just see the tiled entryway - your escape - when you hear a dull thwack and pain blooms across the back of your head and neck. Your balance lost, the floor rushes up to meet you and sends you back into the all-consuming darkness.

---

It’s darkness to which you awake, too, head pounding. Your ears ring, dully, and everything hurts - your neck, jaw, the side of your face… The memory of your skull bouncing on the Manor’s black and white tiles forces a soft groan from you.

“Oh, look, our little spy finally decided to finish her nap.” A deep voice echos around you, and you feel like you’re somewhere… low. There’s a distinct chill and stillness to the air that makes you think ‘basement’. You don’t immediately sit up, the effort of trying to lift your head feeling like too much all at once. Its weight isn’t something you’ve ever really considered, but now it’s all you can think about - it might as well be a sack of rocks. A firm tsk breaks the silence. “Come on now, we know you’re awake. No point in playing dumb,” the voice comes again.

It’s strange, a man’s voice, vaguely British although impossible for you to place. Stranger still, it’s as if he’s rather poorly practicing his enunciation, both overworking and mashing his syllables together into a dizzyingly paced patter. And despite its warm timbre, it’s clear this man has precious little patience to afford you.

“Sit up, little spy.”

You blearily blink your eyes open, although the darkness you’re swimming in is only slightly less than that behind your eyelids. You’re slouched forward, staring at your legs and sitting in a chair supported by some kind of restraint wrapped around your chest and arms. Your hands are bound behind you, tied together themselves for good measure. You can feel that whatever your captor used is digging into your skin the longer you stay curled over. When you lift your head and try to scoot yourself up in the chair, though, you only succeed in awkwardly bumping it around as if trying to escape. The motion messes with your balance and makes you sick, and you fall still, firmly secured. “Ah, ah, ah, none of that, stay right where you are… we’ve got a few things to ask you, don’t we…”

“Indeed, we do,” a second voice agrees. If you thought the first one was strange, this one defies explanation. Although it speaks as one, it is complicated, multi-throated, reverberating. It bounces off the bare walls of the darkened room as easily as it does around those of your mind. Like an agonizing accompaniment, the dull ringing in your head rises, as its owner seems to approach you. The sound of his steps across the floor partners with the ratcheting up of your throbbing headache. More pressingly, though, the voice’s tone is terse, focused, and has none of the lilt and implied smile of the first. A clammy, cold sweat breaks out on your neck. Fear coils in your stomach for the first time - whoever had spoken, whoever is so near you that you can feel how he displaces the dank air of the basement is not human.

You feel horribly small in the dark with these… beings. But you force yourself to look deeply into the shade and try to make them out, to know their faces should you get the chance to escape - as unlikely as that possibility seemed. Your throat is dry, and you croak out, “What… what do you want?”

“It would be simpler to ask you the same,” comes the multi-voice again. Despite its many layers, it is steady, assured. “Tell us - what, exactly, brought you here tonight.”

The ice it carries makes your mind seize up. How weak you realize your story will sound, in your creaky voice, in the face of such sharp intensity. You try to begin, anyway. “I. I can explain, it’s just. Weird…”

“Well ‘weird’ is pretty much our constant bedfellow at this point, my dear girl, give it a shot,” the first voice goads. Against the tight restraint of its companion, it’s like if a rainbow bouncy ball had suddenly stood up and spoken. It’s hard to tell if its lilt is earnestly playful or just hiding a crueler edge. You try to focus despite the whiplash between the two, pushing through the throbbing of your damned head.

“I… This friend of mine, he asked me to check the place out with him. We’re reporters, and he’d heard on his police scanner last night that a neighbor had seen, just, someone wandering around… Which isn’t super weird by itself, but when an officer showed up, there was nobody around and there were lights on inside, despite… I mean, it’s been basically abandoned for years. And… we just thought we’d look around, but he couldn’t come and he asked me… He really wanted to check it out, so. So I came in.”

You’re surprised you even got to finish your jerkily delivered explanation with how quickly the first man interjects. “Oh, a very likely story, ‘just simple curiosity, that’s all!” His voice goes a bit falsetto in a crude parody of yours before dropping sharply back to his original range and practically roaring, “You really expect us to believe such hogwash? For all we know, you could’ve killed this so-called friend of yours before breaking your way in here!” He’s so close to your face, you feel his breath across on your skin and despite your best efforts, your legs shake against the hard wooden chair beneath you. What is he talking about?

“Wilford, please, she isn’t one of your interviewees,” the second man sighs. “Control yourself.”

The first man, Wilford, retreats with a muttered exclamation, apparently trying to calm himself. “Let’s just get rid of her quick, Dark, she’s no better than the last one.” The tell-tale click of a pistol hammer being drawn back is bright and sharp in the close room, clearing your foggy head. Pain replaced with cold fear, your feet scrabble slightly on the smooth floor. From the sound of it, the whole room is tiled in stone.

Would anyone hear you if you screamed?

“N-No, I mean it, I’m serious, it,” your voice is strangled, too obviously panicked. You struggle to swallow, steady yourself. “It really was just… just curiosity, he’s so nosy, and… and he wouldn’t let it go, he practically twisted my arm, but I only came t-to keep him out of trouble. He just, we… please. Please, don’t kill me, I won’t tell anyone you’re here, that I ever came here--”

“Stop.” The being’s tone is slightly less terse than before. He allows silence to fall for a moment, only broken by your damnably shaky breathing. You try to calm it, but your body’s panic switch has fully flipped, short, ragged breaths echoing in the darkness. The ringing in your head reasserts itself, sharper in the silence, and you squint against the way it so easily exacerbates your wounded head. You wonder if you’re bruised, if you’re bloodied. Finally, he speaks again. “Nobody is going to kill anybody. Not yet, at least.” Somehow, that’s not as reassuring as he seems to intend it to be. “Who sent you here tonight.”

A weak groan creaks out of you unconsciously, although whether from pain or dread you’re not sure. “Nobody, I mean, Nobody but. But my friend, like I said, he was the one who wanted to come here, but, h-his car, it. Something happened, it practically exploded on him. He couldn’t afford a ride over, so. So he just asked me to come in and look around. That’s all…”

“And your friend, who is he, again.”

“Another reporter, we work together, we basically share a desk… He covers crime, I’m. I do politics…” Another pause, another almost unbearable moment with the ringing. Your stomach churns, everything awash in pain and just feeling… too much. The ringing is either steadily getting louder and that much worse, or your tolerance is rapidly declining.

“Nobody asked you to come here, apart from him? And nobody asked him to come here?” You shake your heavy head. “Answer me,” he suddenly growls, the ringing rocketing to excruciating heights. Your head feels like it might split open.

“No!” you cry. “Nobody asked us to come here! Nobody told us… nobody told us to…” After a brief moment where it sustains that splitting frequency, the ringing begins to recede, and your pain along with it. Although the pounding remains, it feels more appropriate to the blunt force trauma you’d been through. The relief is like sinking into cool waters and you do your best not to sob.

“She is telling the truth.” The first voice groans, clearly unconvinced.

“And how can we be so sure someone else didn’t put the idea in her little friend’s head and she just doesn’t know it! Someone up the line from them pulling the strings for Mark. We can’t trust her, Dark, and you’re just going to let her go-”

Wait. Mark?

“You forget yourself,” Dark interrupts, his voices losing focus, thundering in the small space as their unity unravels. He echoes, pitch dipping as if intentionally warped before returning to normal. “Did you not say yourself that you are a part, not the leader? I believe it was me you foisted that title on. So when your leader tells you that she is honest, I expect you to trust me.” Silence reigns for a moment. Dark seems to be putting himself back together in the silence, corralling. He sighs, quietly, then speaks, unified once more. “I did not say anything about letting her go just yet. Possess yourself with patience.” Wilford settles with a not-so-subtle harrumph, but seems appropriately chided for the time being. Shoes scuff quietly on the floor as Dark turns back to you. “My apologies. We are all a little… tense these days.”

Realizing he expects a response, given his pause, you look in what you think is his general direction. With how long you’ve been here in the dark, your eyes can make out a faint figure of what appears to be a man, standing tall with his arms clasped behind his back. His head tilts in your direction. You work your brain for something to say. Play along, keep them talking, don’t panic too much. “...It. It’s all right… I mean, I did break into your house.” It’s hard to tell with him, but it seems for a moment like Dark chuckles, albeit without humor. An acknowledgement more than anything.

“Yes. You did…” He pauses, considering you. “But I believe that you did not do so for any ulterior reason… apart from your own curiosity. Or, rather, that of your friend’s. However, you do now know of our presence here, and you’re somewhat of a… liability to our continued residency.” You swallow thickly. In the dark, you can see him twist, as if craning his neck to one side to crack it. It’s a tortured gesture, demanding its performance. Is he in pain? He returns his attention to you, moving on. “Now… Why should we allow you to leave? Alive, I mean.”

It’s you now, who pauses. Your mind is spinning, lost in the darkness and overwhelmed with new information. What had Wilford meant, ‘pulling the strings for Mark’? He was dead, why would a dead man need strings pulled on his behalf? Did this have something to do with whatever the actor had done and its cover-up job? More pressingly, what could you possibly give some… nonhuman entity and his paranoid partner to earn your freedom? And was his name really Dark? It felt too cheesy to be true.

It all seems beyond belief or explanation, but the silence between the three of you is only growing longer, and now you really feel watched. You push your mouth to move, to just start speaking - your brain promises to catch up.

“Well. Apart from me… not having anything to do with… whatever you’re doing here. I. I’m a reporter, I have connections. I can get you information that… that you might want.” You pause, letting the offer hang. The other two are silent, but they’re still watching you. They’re not disinterested, and that’s the best you’ve got right now. You swallow, trying to get your dry mouth to cooperate. “I. I heard you mention Mark.” The air in the room seems to go tight, but you soldier on. “Part of why my friend wanted to come here is because he’s been… paying attention, I guess. Any stories about Mark, even now, they. I mean, our board, at the paper, they kill them, nothing ever gets to print, not even puff pieces. Other papers have been doing the same thing, too. The most famous guy from this place, and we can’t even write about him. That. It’s weird.”

“I am failing to see the purpose of this explanation,” Dark presses, as if through gritted teeth. You keep going, your voice coming out in even more of a breathless rush than before.

“Our. Our editor, he keeps all the stories we put up, even the rejected ones. There was a big one my colleague did, nearer the anniversary of his death, I know she did a lot of work on it, did a lot of research into what happened after… after he basically became a recluse. I. I could get ahold of it for you. And more, if that… if that’s something you’re looking for. Or something else, just. I can get you something about anything. I swear.”

Again, the room falls silent with you. Your pulse thrums in your throat, rushing in your ears. It’s a thin connection, barely there, but it’s what you have. Jonah might kill you for offering to basically be a mole for god knows who these people are, Walker might have questions about why you suddenly want everything about the man, and, hell, this might put some invisible target on your back given how the board’s been treating articles about Mark... but that would just have to be a bridge you cross when you get to it. You have to be alive to approach that metaphorical bridge, and for now, this is the one card you can lay that you know has any value to your captors.

It was like the two men began communicating telepathically in the dark, debating back and forth the value of your offer. You can see them staring at each other and shifting ever so slightly, but they never speak. Time creeps by, and after what feels like an eternity, Wilford makes an irritated noise while Dark decidedly turns back to you.

“By when could you have these articles.” Yes. You feel light enough to float on the ceiling. You’re going to get out.

“The earliest, tomorrow evening, but it could be two or three days, depending on when my boss is in. The cabinets are in his office, and he locks up when he’s out.”

Dark hums. “Two days, then, to return with what you find.” You open your mouth to agree to the terms, eager to be freed, but Wilford interrupts again.

“You are letting her go. How do we know she won’t just skip town on the first train out of the station?” His tone is still blistering, but his ire is a shadow of its former self. “We don’t even know if she’s a real reporter. You know, little missy, I’m a reporter myself, and I’m just not sure you’ve got the--”

Thankfully, Dark asserted himself once more, sounding as if he was physically restraining Wilford from re-invading your personal space when he spoke again. “We will just have to trust her, won’t we. Something you seem to need a little practice with. Besides, something tells me she’s honest about that part, as well.”

Wilford rounds on him, then. “And if she’s not?” Dark however, doesn’t take the bait, maintaining his chilly smoothness.

“If she’s not… well. You always say you prefer a moving target, don’t you.”

A beat passes wherein all of Wilford’s suspicion and frustration seem to melt. He chuckles in pure glee. Although it doesn’t have a drop of malice in it, that sound makes you shiver in your restraints. “Ahh. You’ve got me there, old boy, you know I live for the hunt!”

Dark gives that barely-there chuckle again. “But we will handle that… business if and when it comes to that. For now… see her out, Wilford. Carefully, this time, she doesn’t need a concussion.”

“Fine, fine… All right now, dear girl, up you come.” Two solid hands take hold of your forearms and draw you up from the chair. You start to exclaim, but the ropes binding you fall away, like they had only been loosely draped around you. They had been digging into your skin only moments before, you were sure of it… Wilford places you back on your feet but stays close, and even in the gloom of the basement you can make out snippets of him - a loose mess of curly, dark hair hangs over a strong brow. Similarly dark eyes crinkle with a mirthful, massively mustachioed smile as he registers your surprise at being so easily freed. “No peeking for this part now, close those peepers for ol’ Wilford.” Before you can formulate any kind of response, one of the man’s hands covers your eyes.

“And… voilá!”

Suddenly, a cold night breeze swirls around you, and you can see again. Moonlight illuminates the quiet neighborhood street before you. You realize, blinking against even the dim light you’re now washed in, that you’re back to where you started: standing alone outside the locked gate to the Manor, bag hanging from one shoulder, cell phone in hand, staring up at the imposing building. The stars shine down brightly on you without the city’s light pollution to hide them, but the Manor is all dark.

...what?

If not for the remaining dull ache in your head and the ghost of Wilford’s touch on your face, you would be certain you had just had a very violent and vivid hallucination. But your head does ache, and you can still feel the callused touch of the man’s hands on your arms, on your face, clear as anything. Dumbfounded, you stare at the Manor for a moment before you hear the crunch of gravel. You jerk and look towards the sound - the Manor’s neighbors are home, a sleek car pulling into the driveway. Quickly, you move behind one of the trees ringing the Manor’s massive grounds and unlock your phone. Your rideshare app is still open, still waiting for you to select your driver. Without hesitating, you pick one and press the confirmation button.

You wait until the neighbors are well inside their similarly opulent house before you make your way quietly back down the street. Even with your head swimming like it is, you try to fix every detail of the experience in your mind, just as it had happened, fighting the blurring tides of adrenaline and, now, exhaustion. It’s hard to hold on to any one thing, especially with how much time you spent in semi- to total darkness, but by the time your ride pulls up, you are keenly, yet strangely, aware of one detail for certain.

Although his hair was dark, Wilford’s mustache was tinged with a rich pink.