#i ordered new glasses but alas

[bi-functional]

Do I already have an au thats got its own folder in my google drive about Visually Impaired Bill? Yes. Do I want to talk about it because I broke my glasses and forgot how blind I am? Yes.

There’s just something about low visibility and how it’s such a concept to play with. My eyesight is Horrible and it’s almost impossible for me to get 20/20 vision, you could be standing a yard from me and I wouldn’t be able to see your face and my eye sight is just going to keep deteriorating with age. And for those curious, I do have contacts to wear, though like I mentioned, they do not give me 20/20 and also my jokes of being unable to cry or show emotions was taken too seriously by my eyes which decided they would also be unable to produce moisture properly, which makes contacts extremely irritating and hard to wear for long periods of time, even with the aid of special eyedrops.

But also, it’s been brought to my attention how like… genuinely fun and eerie you can make low visibility, and this isn’t me making light of being visually impaired or anything this is just genuine shit that’s been happening to me for the past week and I’d like you to imagine the following scenarios with Bill in mind:

Staring at people completely dead eyed, only to be told to stop staring at them cause it’s creepy. Apparently we’ve been having a staring contest but I was just trying to track movement of the faceless thing that walked in so I could stay aware of my surroundings.

Being told repeatedly to look at things that’s impossible for me to make out without any aid, fr sometimes I feel like Toph from avatar with the way my family tries to show me shit and has to be reminded I cannot, in fact, see them or what they’re trying to show me.

Having to keep a physical hand on the people I go out with in order to keep a physical marker on them. If I were to loose them in a crowd I would not be able to find them.

The people who choose to adapt to my extremely low visibility and those who choose to be irritated by it. The difference between those two.

With Bill having only One Eye, imagining that one eye having terrible and deteriorating vision is just a concept that I enthusiastically get my grubby little hands all over uk? Regardless of if it’s a human au, or if it’s an ‘axolotl sent me to earth in a human form as punishment’ au or however you want to spin it. An all seeing Eye and being of an alternate dimension warped with dreams and nightmares and unreality being unable to properly conceive the reality he’s been so desperate to find his way into is just a Good Prompt to me idk broski.

It is now time for some of the Bill headcanons I have in this department and in that previously mentioned AU folder.

Bill calls Dipper Pinetree after stealing his cap and discovering the embroidered pine tree on it. Dipper had refused to give his name hoping to be left alone but Bill simply found other solutions.

Bill keeping a constant hand or arm around Dipper while in public spaces.

Others initiating obvious and intentional contact with Bill when they start speaking to him, commonly but not limited to group conversations. It’s a more meaningful way to ‘maintain eye contact’ or allow them to give him their full attention.

Bill also has a contact he can wear when he needs to, but sometimes due to migraines or general discomfort he simply won’t wear it.

This post is already way too long but yeah ❤️ Wether it’s a human au or not just Bill having to deal with a human version of himself that’s extremely visually impaired as a juxtaposition to the All Seeing Eye of his true form. That’s all I’m pitching here. I have so many thoughts uk. So many au’s.

[troglobite]

found out today my left eye's eyesight has gotten marginally worse 😔

[mayajadewrites]

could've been you: aizawa x fem!reader x hawks

summary: You're the new teacher at UA with a rocky past with one of their beloved teachers, Shouta Aizawa aka Eraserhead. You'd rather never see him again but alas, such is life. You also meet Keigo, aka Hawks, who is the opposite of Aizawa. Smiley, golden retriever energy. Nothing could go wrong... right? relationships: aizawa x fem!reader, hawks x fem!reader warnings: some chapters will be NSFW, they will have a warning on them in bold. not many descriptions of reader, other than she's midsize.

ao3

TAG LIST:

@come-away-with-me87, @kxshdoll, @evilsanzu, @friendly-neighborhood-turtle, @lili-pond,

@the-unhinged-raccoon @falling4fandoms

CHAPTER SEVEN

this is a super smutty chapter and i'm not sorry

Your fingers grazed the petals of the roses that Keigo got you. You placed the vase in the middle of your dining table and they were undoubtably the center of attention.

Keigo is a rose. Stunning, adored by most people, and gives whoever receives them an immense sense of adornment.

Shouta is an Azalea. Specifically purple Azaleas. They need more shade in order to flourish, but they are absolute stunning once in full bloom. Azaleas also never receive a quarter of the love and recognition that roses do.

You pour yourself a glass of white wine after your first day as a teacher at UA. You're now in a cream colored lounge set consisting of pants that hug your curves and a tank to.

As you swirl your glass you glance at your phone. You're not sure why you're hoping to see Aizawa's name - he doesn't have your number and you refused to give it to him.

Keigo's name flashed on the screen. You slid the arrow to the right to answer the FaceTime call.

"Hi." You smile as you answer the phone. Keigo is in the air, you can tell by his dark red wings moving through the air.

"Tell me all about your first day!" He smiled into his phone. His yellow goggles moved with his cheeks.

"You're too cute. Well, it was good! Then I got a gorgeous bouquet of flowers from a man that just so happens to fly."

"He sounds like a keeper." Keigo flashed his teeth. Your heart rate increased when he said that. You didn't know if you wanted him to be your boyfriend. You didn't know if you wanted a boyfriend period.

Did you want to have this conversation now?

No.

So you don't.

"How's patrol going?" You changed the subject. Keigo's lips slightly lowered as his smile faded. Not too much, but noticable enough.

"It's going pretty well. League of Villains seem to be in hiding. Which worries me."

"Well at least it's quiet for now." You sigh thinking about Shigaraki. How much pain he was feeling, that in turn you had to feel but only temporarily.

"Please get home safe, Kei." You pressed your chin into your palm as you leaned on the counter. Keigo smiled at the screen - his honey coated eyes shining under the moonlight.

"I miss you." Keigo said softly.

"I miss you too. Come over on Friday and you can sleepover since it's not a school night." This makes Keigo smile form ear to ear.

"It's a date." He takes flight and you notice the screen moving slightly.

"Keigo please hang up if you're gonna fly while on FaceTime, I feel like I'm gonna be sick." You giggle.

"Sorry, I fly when I get excited." He stops moving, presumably leanding on the ground. "Have a good night baby bird."

"You too Kei. Be safe, please." You press the red button on your screen to hang up, leaving your phone on the counter.

One glass of wine turns into two. Two turns into three.

Three turns into knocking on Shouta's door.

Your body felt fuzzy. You could control your actions (mostly) but you felt more... free.

So why wouldn't you knock on Shouta's door at 11 PM?

You pressed your knuckles to the door and knocked semi-quietly.

"Eraserrrrrr." You sing as you plant your hands on your hips.

You hear footsteps and then suddenly the door is open.

Shouta is standing in front of you wearing a black t-shirt, sweatpants and slippers.

"Why are you knocking on my door at 11 PM? No boyfriend tonight?"

"I don't have a boyfriend silly." You look past his shoulder into his room. "I've never seen your room so I wanted to see it!"

"At 11 o'clock at night?"

"Yes. Why do you keep mentioning the time?"

Aizawa stared at you for a few moments, analyzing your face. "You're drunk?"

"I've had 1... 2... 3 glasses of wine!" You held up three fingers in front of his face.

Aizawa grabbed the hand you were holding up and pulled you into his room.

It's spotless, but very dark. He has one light in the corner that's on next to a comfy looking chair and a book. His kitchen is the same as yours, just decorated different.

"You're so clean." You press a finger to his counter.

"Did you think I would be dirty?"

You shook your head and plopped on his couch. "No. I don't know what I was expecting." You shrug your shoulders. Shouta sat next to you and placed a glass of water on his coffee table.

Your eyes wandered to his chest, his muscles filling out his shirt perfectly. His biceps peeked out of the sleeves, something you didn't know turned you on.

But the wetness in between your legs would say different.

His hair was in the low ponytail that it was this morning that made you cross your legs. You must've looked like you were squirming.

"Are you okay?" Aizawa leaned back on the couch and extended his arm behind you. You bit your bottom lip at his movements, unable to hold it in any longer.

"I want you to touch me." You blurt out. Aizawa stared at you through his lidded eyes.

After a few silent moments, he spoke.

"Show me where." He moved his body closer to you, your hips touching. You grab his large, heavy hand and bring it to your body.

"Here." You pressed his index and middle finger to your lips. "Here." You moved his hand to your chest, goosebumps growing along the skin of your tits. "Here." You slowly brought his hand to your aching, wet core. His fingers grazed your clothed heat gently, causing a moan to escape your lips.

"I haven't even truly touched you and I have you moaning already. How long have you been thinking about this?" Shouta's body covered yours as he brought the hand that you were using to show him where you wanted to be touched, to your cheek. His other arm is still laying behind you on the couch.

"I've thought about it a lot."

Why were you admitting this.

You could smell the mint of his toothpaste as he leaned in to rub his nose on yours, something you take note of. He did this before. He loves to kiss with his nose first. It's cute.

"Have you thought about it?" You tilt your head to the side and wrap your arms around his neck, letting your fingers drag through his hair.

"Only every day. Hourly, probably." He whispered and kissed your lips slowly. You take no time to deepen the kiss, opening your mouth to let his tongue in.

You're needy and he knows it. You felt his lips form into a smirk as he slid his tongue into your mouth, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your hip tightly.

You drag one of your hands down his chest to his lap where you feel his erection pressing against his sweatpants. You smile into the kiss with satisfaction, knowing you caused Shouta Aizawa to get hard.

"You're not touching that tonight." He whispers and moves your hand to his chest as he brings his mouth to your neck, leaving sloppy kisses and bites. In your drunk state, you're not thinking about the bruises he will leave behind.

"Why nottttttt." You whine as he bites down on your skin, rougher this time.

"I want you to be sober when you see it. So you remember." His words are hot against your skin as his large hand grazes your clothed core. You whimper with need, knowing your panties are soaked at this point just from kissing him.

"I need something, Shouta." You throw your head back when you feel his tongue drag along your neck to your chest, leaving bites along the front of both of your tits. He looked up at you for approval to take your shirt off, to which you nodded.

Your touches are turning desperate. You're about to come and he has barely touched you. You feverishly pulled him into you, dragging your fingernails along his back.

Aizawa pulled your shirt down, your tits bouncing out of them. He needs two hands for these, maybe three, but he's not complaining.

He left hot kisses along your right breast before he took your sensitive nub in his mouth, sucking and biting as he kneaded your other breast. Your cheeks were red from arousal as he kissed down your soft stomach to the top of your pants. He kissed your cloth core with a smirk on his face.

"You are such an ass." You squirm as he moves to his knees on the floor. Your thick thighs encase his head as he uses one hand to spread your legs apart, pulling your pants down to your ankles.

Aizawa sees your black laced panties and runs his fingers over the fabric. "These are pretty. Too bad they're about to be ruined." He pulled the side of your panties and watched them break with ease.

The sound of your panties breaking sobered you up just a little.

"Hey! These were my favorites." You whined as you looked down at him. He looked like an angel between your legs, his tired eyes gazing up at you as he planted one of his hands on your thigh.

"I'll buy you more." He mumbled as his nose grazed your entrance. You moaned quietly as you felt his tongue slide past your folds. His other hand kneaded your breast with his calloused fingertips.

Aizawa dragged his tongue down your slit, letting all of your juices fill his tastebuds. You place your hand on top of his head as he devours you.

This man is starved.

He turns his attention to your clit, wrapping his lips around the sensitive nub. Your breath hitches as his lips attach to your clit, while he inserts two of his long, thick digits into your aching pussy.

"Shouta," You moan as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you.

"You taste so good, baby." He mumbles as he laps up your juices. You watch his lidded eyes find yours as he continues to destroy your pussy with his tongue. His stubble tickled your thighs as he buried himself into you using his tongue.

You feel the knot in your stomach about to break as you buck your hips into his face. "Shouta, fuck, I'm about to come."

"Not yet." His words vibrate against your body.

"The fuck you mean not yet? I can't control-" His thrusts his fingers into you, curling them once they're burried in your pussy. "Aizawa, please." You whine.

He ignored you, his mouth sucking on your clit and his fingers pumping in and out of you. "I know you can do it, Princess. Don't come until I say so."

You felt the knot in your stomach grow tighter as you heard the squelches of his tongue against your clit. Your hand gripped his raven hair, pulling it gently as pleasure ripped through your body. You bit down on your bottom lip, hoping it was enough to stop you from coming.

"See you are a good listener." He smirked against your pussy. "Tell me what you want, baby."

"I want to come. Shouta, I want to come." You moaned as your toes curled. You were so close. "Please."

"Go." Was all Aizawa said before you had the most mind blowing, body changing, rippling orgasm. The knot in your stomach finally broke. You were seeing every color in the rainbow. This was euphoria.

Aizawa lapped up your juices as your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave. He sucked on your sensitive, overstimulated clit, sure to drink up all you had.

His hands gripped your thick, plush thighs as you he took his last slurp of your sex. His nails dug into your skin when he finally removed himself from your pussy, his face lathered in your arousal.

He wasted no time bringing his lips to yours.

"Taste yourself." He mumbled against your mouth as he slid his tongue inside of yours. "I could live between your legs and never get hungry."

Your mouth was greedy with his kisses, drunk off of not only wine but also his mouth.

Reluctantly, Aizawa pulls away from you slowly. His cheeks are a shade of red that matches his bloodshot eyes. You whimper at the loss of his touch, knowing that this was ending.

"Goodnight Princess." He kissed your forehead gently before standing up. You sat on his couch for a moment, your pussy devoured to the bone, your body bruised from love bites, and your mind was a mess.

"Night." You pull your top and pants up, and you leave.

Without another word.

[demigodsanswer]

Percabeth + coffee shop au + holiday au?

The holiday part of this is a bit squint and you miss it. I meant for there to be more, but alas.

Percy had wanted to open up a bakery, but a coffee shop that sold pastries seemed more lucrative. In hindsight, he was glad he made that choice. He wasn't sure Annabeth ever would have stepped inside if he only sold apple turnovers and cupcakes.

She came in every morning, dressed like a young professional, her hair back in a ponytail usually, high heels sticking out of her purse, flat shoes on her feet. When she got in line, Percy knew to start making her soy latte extra shot before she even made it to the register. Sometimes he slipped one of their vegan brownies in too, on the house.

(He never asked if she was vegan or if soy milk was just a taste thing, but his ex was lactose intolerant. Last thing he wanted to do was ruin her day.)

"Thanks Percy," she said, grabbing her drink seconds after paying for it. He handed her the brownie, in a clear sleeve with their "vegan" sticker on it. She smiled and accepted it graciously. "You're a hero," she said.

"Don't worry about it," he promised.

So, maybe he had a thing for one of his patrons. It didn't matter that much. She was about his age (probably), and never yelled at his staff. Her seven dollar daily latte was keeping his lights on. And she was maybe the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

"Do you think I should add more vegan options?" He asked Grover. Grover was the lead barista and his business partner. He some how sourced fair trade coffee they could actually afford.

"It's better for the environment," was Grover's response.

"So, yes?" Percy asked.

"Give it a shot. Everyone loves a little vegan treat."

"No, you love a little vegan treat. Most people think they taste like sand," Percy said.

"That's an exaggeration. Your brownie is delicious. And I'm sure whatever you make, Annabeth will love it."

Percy bright red face ended that conversation. "I'm going to to hang the Christmas lights," he said, heading out into the cold without a jacket in the hopes that his face went back to normal.

~

Percy kept the coffee shop opened later than was maybe wise, but he worked most of the late shift hours by himself or with Meg, a high school kid working after school. They always got a few late afternoon coffee drinkers, and a couple of high school kids sitting to do homework.

Percy had to be there anyway. He was working on a few new vegan options. The holiday season was a good time to find out what people liked; they were more likely to treat themselves to something sweet.

He'd worked out a good vegan pumpkin pie, which they sold by the slice. That was a hit, although he was still working to get the crust perfect. The oatmeal cookie had been easy enough. The Nutella banana bread was actually so good that Annabeth ordered it the next morning. Percy made a note to keep it on the menu.

The holiday brought festive drinks too. He needed to compete with Starbucks, so he offered peppermint ... everything, caramel everything, and pumpkin everything. He was hanging a sign in the window advertising their peppermint mocha when he spotted a familiar face on the other side of the glass.

Annabeth smiled at him. It was six at night. They were only open for another hour. And she never stopped by after work. She must have come right from the office, because she still had her heels on.

The bell rang as she opened the door. "Are you still open?" She asked.

"Sure am," Percy confirmed. He would have said yes even if that wasn't true. "Soy latte?"

She shook her head. "No, no. Um, what about that --" she pointed towards the sign, "peppermint mocha?"

"You got it," Percy said, heading back behind the counter. "Soy?"

"Sure."

"I don't have a dairy-free whip cream," he said. He made a note to try and find one. Frank would like it.

"Regular is fine," she said. "I'll treat myself. Decaf though," Annabeth added.

"Are you vegan?" Percy asked as he brewed the espresso.

"I try but fail a lot. I'm pretty good at avoiding meat, but real dairy is just too good," Annabeth said.

"Easier to bake with too," Percy said. "For here or to go?" He had a to-go cup in his hand out of habit, but Annabeth had settled down at one of the open tables.

"Here," she said. Percy made the drink in a large ceramic mug.

"What brings you in tonight?" He asked, as he dropped off the coffee.

He didn't have anything pressing in the back, and there were only two college students diligently working on the other side. He could chat for a while.

As if reading his mind, Annabeth used her foot to push a chair out for him. Percy said down as she took the first sip. She closed her eyes and sighed happily.

"That's so good," she said. Percy was pretty sure he was flushed again. He hoped it went away before she could open her eyes. "It was just one of those long end-of-the-year work days, you know? Everyone rushing to get things done. I wanted something to cheer me up, and I walked by and thought ..." she looked at him in a new, attentive way he'd never caught before. "... a warm drink sounds nice."

"I hope it helped," he said.

"It is," she promised.

"I've got a new vegan cinnamon roll I'm testing. Want to try it?" Percy offered.

"How is it?" She asked.

"Not sure, they're fresh, first round," he said.

"I guess I can help test it for you," Annabeth said with a smile.

Percy jumped up and came back a minute later with one round roll on a plate and two forks.

He tried not to be too creepy as he watched her take a bite, savor it, and then carefully make up her mind.

"It's a little dry," she determined. "The icing is great, and the taste is good, but ..."

Percy took his own bite and nodded. "Too much cinnamon. It dries it out."

"Still pretty delicious," Annabeth said, going for another bite, "especially for not having half the ingredients that make food taste good."

"Thanks!" Percy said with a wide smile. "You know, my co-owner Grover is vegan."

"Oh, is he the motivation for all the new treats?" Annabeth asked.

"Uh, sure," Percy said, barely playing off that she was the real reason, not his best friend of almost twenty years, "but he was telling me about this new vegan restaurant. He says it's pretty good."

Annabeth was smiling, and she had a mischievous look in her eyes that told him she was six steps ahead of him.

"Oh?" She said innocently, going for another bite of the cinnamon roll, but not actually putting the fork in her mouth yet. "Have you tried it?" She asked, finally taking a bite.

"No, I was wondering if you'd maybe want to go with me? If you're not too busy?" He hadn't planned to ask her out today. He was thinking of maybe doing something corny and easy to ignore, like writing his phone number on her to-go cup. But he was in it now.

"I'd love to," she promised. Annabeth reached into her bag and pulled out a business card, and then shook her head. "Is this horribly impersonal and --?"

"It's alright," Percy said, "as long as I don't have to fax you the date information." There was a fax number on the card.

"Please don't, it's a communal machine," she said, "and older than I am."

"Alright, I won't," Percy promised. He didn't have a business card of his own, just ones with the coffee shop's information. So instead he did what most modern people did: he texted the cell number on her business card with a simple hey it's percy and a coffee cup emoji.

Annabeth smiled and took a second to save the number.

"So," she said, picking up her still-full drink. "Why did you start making vegan pastries?"

She had that I'm way ahead of you look in her eyes again. Percy swallowed hard.

"Um ..."

[vinelark]

With the exciting news of Kon being in MAWS season 3 (!!!!!), do you have an specific recs for him when it comes to comics? (I know Young Justice is good for him, but not much outside of that)

hello! exciting news indeed!!! and hell yeah, here are some kon-centric comics outside of yj that i’ve enjoyed reading:

Reign of the Supermen arc (1993)

this arc has kon’s intro, well before he even had the name kon, and it’s worth a read if you haven’t already because of the way he shows up and is peak annoying immediately (said with love). especially Adventures of Superman #501! (the storyline spans a number of titles, reading order here)

(and for a related rec, the reign of the superman (2019) animated movie blends aspects of the original comic arc with the “kon is made with lex luthor’s dna” reveal/retcon; it’s a fun watch! left me with Much To Think About pang-wise, too.)

Superboy (1994)

the most concentrated amount of og jacket and glasses superboy you’ll find in one series; there’s a lot going on here, most of it so very 90s (both in the plot/world and on a more meta level) and also so many adorable kons. special shoutout to my favorite side character, krypto in his “tiny white terrier with a giant attitude” form. (and for a more specific rec i’ll point to issues #60 - 61, in which kon is hopping through multiple realities and we see, among others, robin!kon and “supergrrrl” kon.)

Batgirl (200) #41

this is the issue where cass goes “hmm, i should try to do A Romance” and shows up outside kon’s window to see what all the fuss is about, and they proceed to have the most lavender date of all lavender dates. i adore kon’s inability to shut up here, and also for obvious reasons need to give it a special shoutout for kon taking a “bat-babe” on a date in the clouds.

Adventure Comics (Vol 2) #1 - 6 (2009)

this arc serves to re-settle kon into the world (and smallville) after the whole [waves hand] dying and coming back to life thing. (technically it’s 12 issues, but you’re asking for specific recs so my specific recs are the first six!) this is about kon starting life in smallville and having a prolonged identity crisis re: the superman + lex luthor of it all. cassie, bart, and tim all show up as significant guest stars (one of my fav tim & kon issues of all time is in here) but it’s very kon-centric! i also really enjoy the art, especially when it does wide/landscape shots.

Superboy (2010)

this is a pretty direct continuation from the adventure comics arc, once again feat. kon’s 21st century black t-shirt (sigh) and also kon wearing the tiniest, goofiest pair of Disguise Glasses. that said, it’s a fun, classic “teen superhero juggles school and crushes and a statistically high number of supervillains for a small town (seriously, what the hell was poison ivy even doing in kansas?)” series. also if there were any justice in the world simon valentine would’ve been one of those crushes, but alas.

Convergence: Superboy (2015) #1 - 2

i’ll be honest, i’m not super familiar with the overarching convergence storyline, but i really enjoyed this two-shot featuring a kon who has been stuck in metropolis without his powers, only to suddenly gain them back and immediately start brawling with alternate versions of heroes he knows. i also like the art in this one, and the character designs overall—leather jacket kon my beloved!

Action Comics (2016) #1020 - 1028 (“House of Kent” arc)

this sequence brings kon back into the kent family fold after the timeline fuckery (and i think follows from the young justice (2019) gemworld arc where they re-find kon?)—so basically it’s kon’s re-introduction to clark, and to lois and jon (who’s visiting from his own future adventure) and kara and martha and jonathan. despite spelling conner’s name two different ways in the span of a few issues, it’s a neat speedrun of different kon+superfam interactions, and also a fun time for anyone who’s a fan of kon being solidly part of the kent family. also: jacket kon is back 🙏

this is not at all an exhaustive list, just some of my favs--happy reading!

[libraryofloveletters]

Snowed In

Mark Webber x Fem!Reader

Warnings: prior to mulit 2-1, redbull era mark, grumpy mark, snowed in at the airport, alcohol and the consumption of, mark blames you for the snow, airport delays, seb and hanna cameo.

Word Count: 564

Author's Note: grumpy x sunshine is sooooo mark coded

--

It wasn't even his idea to go to Switzerland, and now he was stuck on New Year's Eve, in the worst place on the planet; the airport.

A recent move had taken Sebastian and Hanna to Switzerland, the young couple took it upon themselves to host a little Christmas party for their friends.

Mark, being Seb's teammate, received an invite to said Christmas party. When the invite arrived, you had opened it and showed it to your husband.

Knowing your husband, you could've predicted his answer; "let's just spend the holidays here." - Here being Australia.

You reminded him that the two of you spent Christmas in Australia almost every single year, and that Seb and Hanna have gone out of their way to invite the two of you to come and spend Christmas with them in their new home.

It's common courtesy for the two of you to show up.

Mark knew you well enough to know that you wouldn't stop pestering him until he agreed to go. So alas, he gave in and the two of you flew down to Switzerland to spend the holidays with his teammate and his girlfriend.

There were a few other drivers from the grid spending Christmas with Sebastian and Hanna, which made Mark slightly less miserable. The thought of having to spend the holidays with Sebastian was not something that he liked nor enjoyed but he knew that you and Hanna got on quite well so he gave in for your sake.

New year's eve and the two of you head to the airport to fly home to spend the new years with your family.

The snow is coming down quite heavily and you asked the girl at the counter if the flights are going to be delayed. She told you that she wasn't 100% sure but there might be a few minor delays, emphasis on the minor.

At first, your flight was delayed by an hour, which wasn't so bad.

Then it was delayed by five hours, not the best but manageable.

Before you knew it, it was being delayed for nine hours.

Mark, being the grumpy man that he is, of course, blamed you for the snow, for the trip and for the delays.

"Will you shut up?" You looked at your husband, annoyed with him.

"Why should I? We're stuck in the stupid airport on new year's eve because you wanted to come to Switzerland."

You roll your eyes, resisting the urge to smack him in the face.

Before you know it, it's 15 minutes to midnight, and the two of you were still stuck waiting on your flight. Mark was still grumpy, but blaming you less.

"C'mon," you grabbed his hand and your carryon, pulling both towards the bar. Mark sat next to you and you ordered a drink for each of you; if you were going to be stuck on new years, at least you'd be slightly plastered.

The minutes rolled by and eventually, it was 2 minutes until midnight. The airport was full of life, those celebrating together, those on their phones to loved ones and those who were trying their best to get home.

You order two shots, passing one to your husband, "sorry for getting you stuck in Switzerland on new years eve, even though it's not really my fault." You tapped your glass to his.

Mark laughs, downing his shot at the same time as you. "Cheers to that, love. Happy new year."

"Happy new year, Mark." You whispered, leaning in to kiss your husband.

[letters-from-dekarios]

sunkissed hearts

chapter one: sandy and danny

summary: you’re starting a new college in europe in the fall and are taking all the time in the summer while in america to live your life to the fullest. while out at a bar one night, you meet a rather handsome man who gives you the best summer of your life. when you start college, your new english professor looks rather… familiar.

or: you spend a summer with gale, only for him to become your professor

word count: 3.8k

tags: college!au, professor!gale x f!reader, brief NSFW, MDNI, charas >20, mild language, themes of alcohol usage, theater kid!jen, artist!astarion, eventually other people will be there i promise

author’s note: i wasn’t intending for this to be a multi-part series, but it got so long & I didn’t want to rush the story, so this is going to be split into a few parts! i’d like to also note I don’t necessarily condone teacher/student relationships in most circumstances but… this fic fits the ones where you can go “okay that’s fair”. enjoy!

“Come on, one more bar!” You encouraged your friends. It was a Saturday night, the city was bustling with life. You were infused with the confidence of seven strippers on a Friday night and six shots of vodka— nothing was stopping you now.

The disapproving, tired looks from your friends begging you to give the night up and return home did nothing to deter you from pushing forward. But, alas, you were always the persistent type. Your whining droned on as you kept trying to persuade them.

“Just let me find a guy to go home with, okay? Then you guys can leave!” You urged them, and they begrudgingly agreed. Well, Jenevelle annoyedly agreed, Astarion was more than happy to keep going for the rest of the night, except he was sleep-deprived and just being a little jerk about it.

“Fine! But if you don’t find someone within the first hour, we’re leaving!” Jen yelled back as you practically skipped into the next bar you had on your list.

You had this idea in your head that the moment you left for college, you’d never be back to this town again. So, with that concept in mind, you aimed to complete your list of top things to do before you moved. This was one of your bucket list items- visit every bar in the city at least once and get a drink. You were making your way through the list pretty fast!

After entering, your friends separated from you, leaving you to walk up to the bar top and order your drink on your own. You started with something simple, a nice wine to get your evening going… even though you were halfway through it.

It wasn’t long before someone else was at your side, a good-looking man, no doubt. The conversation was idle and only lasted a few minutes before you were bored with him. He caught on to your exhaustion and gave up after a while, stumbling away into the rest of the crowd. Frustration brewed within you as you sat in silence conversations flitting around you and not with you. And then this smokey, woody scent stirred around you. You couldn’t tell if it was in your head or reality until you were greeted by a new man who sat beside you.

“Well you look awfully lonely, don't you?” The man joked, smiling at you as he ordered himself a whiskey- neat. You observed him, his features, and you contemplated if this was going to be your ride home tonight.

When he actually turned to you, and you looked at his face fully, you were certain he was the one. He had those eyes that just invited you into a warm hug, one you’d never want to let go of. His expressions were soft and comforting, bringing you a sense of calmness amidst the chaos around you. Even if only for a one-night stand, he would stay in your mind forever. You hadn't even been properly introduced yet, but the aura surrounding him gave way to opinions of him you would soon find as fact.

And he looked like he gave incredible head.

“Hello! The name’s Gale, might I ask yours?” He introduced, extending a hand towards you as he took a sip from his glass.

“Y/N,” you replied, shaking his hand. What kind of a man introduces himself at a bar and shakes your hand? Only a gentleman, you concluded. Okay, it was mostly the alcohol in your system talking, taking over your intuitions and ability to see any red flags, but gods did you want him.

And gods did you have him.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

“Fuck-”How late was it? You couldn’t tell anymore. Your concept of time had long since faded.

He was so goddamn good you just didn’t want it to stop. You kept begging for more, your body completely succumbing to his will. You moved in response to him and him alone, the noises of satisfaction leaving you fueling his desires. Your head tilted back into the silk sheets, your fingers clawing into his shoulders.

“Gods…” you heard him breathe out as he littered kisses down your bare chest. His hands roamed all along your curves, gently grabbing at you here and there, pulling your hips up to him, arching your back, sliding down your thighs… He knew his way around your body like he’d been with you for years.

You could feel the love and the care he put into it, which was an odd thing to think with a guy’s dick that you met mere hours ago in you.

Regardless, the feeling was true. You knew that he wasn’t one of those assholes who would toss you out right after he was done. No, he’d encourage you to stay- maybe even make you breakfast the next morning. He’d let you wear his shirt, even “accidentally” let you take it home. He’d leave his mark on you, and he’d do it with grace and respect. You had never had this with someone before.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

A little while later you were curled up at his side, your head against his bicep as you laid in bed with him. Your hand rested on his chest, tracing the tattoo he had there. You admired him, and he, you. You would let yourself indulge in this… for now. For as long as you could before you’d move away.

“Tell me…” Gale’s sweet, honey-like voice broke the quiet barrier between you two. “You’re much too kind and much too beautiful to be on your own. Are you sure you don’t have anyone special waiting for you back home?” He asked, and though you’d already answered “no” once, this time the question felt different. His thumb rubbed against your shoulder, his arm pulled you in, and you felt safe there, with him. Like you could tell him all your darkest secrets, and he’d listen to them all with no judgement.

“I’m sure,” you answered, looking up at him. You were still so mesmerized by him.

“How long are you here for?”

“Three more months, then I move away.”

“Hm.”

A hush fell between you as his eyes flitted to the ceiling, pondering over your response. You had no idea what he was to say next, but you’d answer wholeheartedly to whatever it was.

“Perhaps you’d like to spend some of that time with me?” He suggested, bringing his eyes back down to you.

This piqued your interest. What could that mean? You had seen from his lavish apartment that he was on the more comfortable side of life, was he willing to share that with you? Was he willing to make your summer memorable?

“Depends on what you mean by that..” you raised an eyebrow, shifting so you sat up. You moved on top of him, straddling his waist as he replied to you.

“You talked about making the most of this summer. You have a bucket list, right?” You nodded your head. “I’d like to help with that if you’d let me,” he offered, placing his hands at your sides.

“Oh? And what do you get in exchange for helping me fuel my crazy plans?” You asked, leaning down towards his face.

“Good company every once in a while. I’d like to hear about your adventures- maybe even partake in a few…” he trailed off, letting your mind wander to what he meant.

“So… you’d be my sugar daddy?”

He laughed, a deep laugh from the abdomen. His eyes squinted, his nose scrunched up, he shook his head… he was so pretty when he laughed.

“In a manner of speaking, you could call it that. I’d rather not, however.”

“You are technically older than me,” you pointed out. Though it was only by, what, ten years? Barely even that.

“Don’t say that! That makes it sound bad!”

“Ooooh… look at you, going after younger women…” you gasped, holding a hand to your chest dramatically. You fanned yourself, shaking your head and tsking disapprovingly at him. He broke your dramatics by flipping you into your back, hovering over you with a faux-stern look in his eye. Giggles broke from you as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down to you.

“Maybe I’ll take back my offer, then,” he threatened jokingly, returning your tsks.

“No, don’t do that…” you pouted, he couldn’t help but kiss you. You returned it, obviously, running a hand through his hair and tugging him closer. You had him already and yet you wanted more.

“I’ll take this as a yes, then?” He mumbled against your lips, trailing them down your jawline and to your neck.

“Yes.” You could barely breathe it out as he distracted your mind with his kisses, his soft hum against your skin an acknowledgment of your response. The night slowly faded away after that, his affection becoming a blur until you finally drifted off to sleep.

You were right, you found out, he was the type to make you breakfast the morning after. Though he didn’t stay, he left a sweet note for you apologizing for not being able to enjoy the morning with you. He even left you cash. Oh, hell yeah, you were doing this.

After enjoying your breakfast, you took down the phone number he had left you, sent him a sweet message, got yourself ready with all the things he had in his apartment (because who wouldn’t?) and went back to your home.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

“You will never guess who I met,” you started as you entered through the doorway, dropping your shoes down.

“Henry the eighth?” Jen replied, not bothering to look up from the book she was currently invested in. Theater kids- you despised them at times.

“Gods no, I’d lose my head in two seconds flat,” you snorted, jumping over the couch and landing next to her.

“I don’t know then, who?” She asked, placing a finger in her book and shutting it.

“You remember that guy I went home with last night?”

“The librarian looking dude?”

Astarion came out from his room quickly, running out to join in the conversation. “Is she talking about the one who looked like that Hozier song’s lyrics?”

Jen nodded at him, and you rolled your eyes before continuing. “He was hot! You guys are just mean. Anyways- he took me home, best sex of my life by the way, and guess who has…” you paused dramatically, digging into your bra for the cash he had left you, holding up the wad with a grin on your face, “their very own sugar daddy! Just like I’d always dreamed of,” you sighed wistfully and then broke out in laughter as Jen and Astarion stared at you blankly.

“How old was this guy again?” Jen asked, raising an eyebrow while you swatted away Astarion’s greedy hands.

“Thirty-four— but he was so nice! He said he wanted to aid me in my summer bucket list. He made me breakfast,” You frowned slightly, and they got the hint that you really liked this guy.

“So, basically, you were a prostitute, and now he’s going to hire you for the whole summer?” Astarion asked, making a cheeky face at you.

You grabbed a nearby pillow and threw it at him, groaning out. “It’s not like that! You guys are so judgemental!”

“Hey, I didn’t say anything,” Jen raised her hands defensively, but the look she shared with Astarion said more than it needed to.

“No, but you’re thinking it! That’s just as bad!” You threw a pillow at her, and then a fully-fledged pillow fight began in the small living room space. You were laughing then, sure, but a teenie part of you wondered really why he was doing this for you. Did he like you that much? Or was he just using you for your body— were you seriously becoming a prostitute? Gods, you hoped not.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

The next few weeks were normal, you’d tell Gale what you were up to, he’d send you some spending money, and you’d catch up with him later. Sometimes it’d be sex, sometimes he just wanted to hear about your day. You got the sense that, despite being so nice, he didn’t have many friends. At least, not any friends nearby, so you elected to keep him company whenever he needed. It became less and less of a business deal the more you got to know him.

A month into your little… transaction, he sent you an image of two tickets to Venice and the dates. You could’ve screamed right there, enthusiastically telling your companions about your upcoming trip. It was a short weekend, sure, but it was the most fun you’ve ever had.

He took you to a little restaurant, your table overlooking the water, one night. A single rose and a candle were placed between you two. It was fancy. You weren’t used to fancy, mostly because you never had the money for it. The only reason why you were moving was to take advantage of the international students program- that was pretty much a paid college ride.

Your parents weren’t exactly rich either, barely scraping by and living paycheck to paycheck when you were younger. The finer things in life consisted of a rare dinner out, usually pizza or Applebee’s, and the occasional gift or two that had a practical use for you. New shoes or a pencil case for school with your favorite character on it— you weren’t the spoiled type, all of this was new to you.

“Get whatever you’d like,” Gale told you, and your eyes hungrily scanned the menu. The prices caught your eye, and you bit the inside of your cheek. You knew he was generous, but some part of you felt awkward taking from him so bluntly like this.

“I think I’ll just get a salad or something…” you said warily, apprehensive about it all. Funny how you were hesitant now, and not when he bought you tickets to Venice. Ironic.

“Oh, please. Humor me, darling. Make my wallet hurt,” he grinned at you from across the table, and you laughed at the comment. Well, now that you had his permission…

“How much can I hurt it?” You asked curiously, eyeing a rather expensive meal on the menu.

“Hm… are you willing to make up the difference later if it’s more than expected?” He raised an eyebrow at you, his eyes still trained on the menu.

“When in… Venice,” you chimed back, adjusting the phrase to suit your location.

It was, in fact, more than he expected. But you were sure he’d say that regardless of what you ordered, and you didn’t mind the view of the sunset over Italy as he hit it from behind.

You laughed internally, both out of humor and pity for yourself. You had no idea how you were going to survive once the summer was over and you moved away, not once this whole thing broke off. But, hey, you could, and most definitely would, enjoy it while it lasted.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

The rest of the summer was spent similarly, going out and doing adventurous things with your friends, paid for by Gale. Sometimes he’d join you, or take you away on another short vacation and spoil you absolutely rotten with everything he could. You couldn’t be happier, and it felt good for him to use the money he had to help someone live their dreams before they had no free time left.

The end came faster than you did after your first night with him. Less crude analogy? How about, the summer ended faster than the bullet train you took in Tokyo where you’d spent a whole week with him.

You had told him in advance that it was your last week in the city, and he took the opportunity to pamper you more than ever. He got you a new laptop, headphones, brand new tablet… he wanted to make sure you were all set for your move. You half wondered if he was trying to get you to be his girlfriend- but that was a subject you two didn’t talk much about.

You realized in that final week that, actually, you didn’t know much about him at all. You knew he was an English Professor, he didn’t share where, though. You knew that he was young to be an English Professor… and that he had a cat, named Tara. Besides that, he was a phantom on the terrace threatening to leave you with the wounds of a lover when you finally moved on.

Despite your wanting to cling to him regardless of the time or day, you knew that it would have to end eventually. Even if you stayed in touch now and then, part of you wanted to leave all your dreams behind for him. You knew he wouldn’t let you do that.

The last night, before you moved out, was spent with him. He took you to dinner, indulged you, like usual, and then the rest of the night was… well, passionate to say the least. You savored every moment with him, and he, you. He took his time, caressing and kissing every inch of you. He memorized the way your body felt under his own, the way his hands fit perfectly at your bare waist, the way you moved in accordance with everything he did. You wished the fun would never end.

“Promise you won’t forget me…” you begged him, sticking to his side as you tried to make the night last longer.

“My love, with you I forget myself. I would never dream of letting these memories slip away from me. You are the object of all my intuitions, and you will forever be branded on my heart,” God, he was so poetic. You loved it. You loved him, but wouldn’t say it. This was a transaction, right? Now that it had been processed, you had to move on. Besides, you still barely knew anything about him. What was there to love other than the poet’s romantic words and the money in his pocket?

“I’m going to miss you,” you whispered to him, burying your face into his chest.

“Try not to.”

But you couldn’t try to not miss him. You couldn’t stop thinking about your summer with him, how adored he made you feel. You thought you’d never see him again.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

“If I had a nickel for every time you spent mourning over your summer with Gale, I’d be able to buy and sustain a cottage in the middle of nowhere,” Jenevelle remarked one day in your new apartment. You finally had things together and littered your space with pictures you’d taken of your time with him. Astarion had to stop you from crowding his space with those pictures, too.

“I’m not mourning anything. I just miss it,” you huffed, setting a photo down as you went back to packing your bag. “The sex was awesome.”

“I doubt he even remembers what you look like. It’s been months,” Astarion cackled.

It had been so long since you last saw him. When you left for college, you were supposed to start in the fall, but now it was practically winter. Between the stress of moving, and life being life, your start date was pushed out a few months longer than it was supposed to be. It didn’t help that your school lost your transfer papers, either, or that your student visa was delayed by a few weeks. Overall, your move was a mess, and you blamed it on leaving the handsome English professor in America. Maybe if you’d stayed…

“Don’t say that!” You whined, whacking him in the back of the head with some of your papers. “He remembers me. He still talks to me.”

“Yeah, he sends you money. That’s about it,” Jen pursed her lips together, shrugging at you. Okay, maybe she was a little bit right. But you were not about to admit that.

“Shut… shut up.”

“Exactly.”

You finished packing for the day and started to make yourself breakfast. You had calculated the route perfectly, you had plenty of time to get ready and enjoy some you-time before your morning class.

You didn’t estimate the giant accident on the way there, though. You practically had a mini heart attack trying to rush through traffic to get there, just barely making it on time. Lucky for you, the professor wasn’t there yet, either.

You squeezed into a seat near the back that was open, apologizing to your seatmates for being late. You pulled out your tablet and set up your notes as neatly as you could. By the end of the lecture you were sure they’d be all over the place, but you could at least try. Your peers beside you introduced themselves as Lae’zel and Wyll and you thanked them both for allowing you to sit between them.

You were nose-deep in your screen, perfecting the layout of your notes, that you didn’t even notice the professor walk in, the room becoming oddly silent.

“This guy is also on the board of directors, and he’s the head of the English department,” Wyll whispered to you. You looked up from your tablet, only seeing the professor’s back as he faced the board. At least your seatmates were kind enough to let you in on all the missing details. How useful that would be in the long run, you’d find out, but it was beneficial to know who you were dealing with.

“Welcome to Honors English 122. For all those new and old, we’re going to be covering a variety of subjects this semester…” his voice trailed off in your mind— you recognized it from somewhere. But where? It was hard to place, especially since he was so far away from you. You needed to see his face- that would solidify where you knew him from.

“I’m Professor Dakarios and I’ll be your guide through the wonderful world of the English language and its impact on our society,” You tried to place the last name, but failed. You were convinced you absolutely knew him, but had not a clue as to how. Oh well.

“Does he start every class like this?” You whispered to Wyll, who nodded solemnly. Was it an ego trip or excitement to have a class to himself? You’d uncover that, too, you supposed.

The professor clasped his hands behind his back, satisfied with the way his name had been written on the board, and turned to face the class. He beamed at the students in front of him, stepping around his desk and leaning against the edge of it. Your eyes narrowed, trying to see him clearly. Considering how large the lecture room was and how far away you were, it was a bit hard.

“It seems we’ve had a handful of new additions to the class this week. I’d like to take a small break from the usual lecture and get some introductions in,” he smiled again, folding his hands in his lap. “I’ll start— my first name is Gale, I’ve been teaching for about six years now, and I have a little feline at home named Tara- who, no, I cannot bring in to show you all.”

Holy. Shit.

“Who would like to go next?”

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

[wlw-imagines]

Coffee Shop - Kara Danvers/Reader (Supergirl)

request: i found this prompt and was wondering if u could write it with kara danvers from supergirl pls?? "i started writing 'Supergirl' on your coffee cup as a joke because you kind of look like her but it actually turns out you are them oh shit - anon

a/n: these are from my old tumblr thefandomwritings from back in 2018 ! re-vamped and re-purposed (jk it is hardly edited at all) !! hope u enjoy and forgive the 2018 me style writing

Starting anywhere as a newbie was tough. Especially at this coffee shop... when you’d never made coffee before... and to be honest, you weren’t even really a coffee drinker. But, alas, you had rent to pay and a job opening had come through and you had been accepted for the job. More fool them.

The coffee shop was a busy one, constantly on the go. Your hands were already covered in burns and your new clean white apron was now covered in coffee drips and smears. Your shift had only started 45 minutes ago.

You let out a deep sigh and slouched, leaning on the serving desk to try and gather some energy before the next customer appeared. You really couldn’t bear some jackass in a fancy business suit complaining that you’d made their fancy coffee wrong again. Even though you had most definitely made it wrong.

As the next customer approached, you perked up slightly. Maybe the next 10 minutes of your life as a barista would be more bearable.

"Good morning, you must be new here! I'm Kara." She began and smiled cheerfully at you. She also added in an awkward wave before pushing her glasses up her nose.

"Uh, yes I am." You replied, letting your customer service smile develop into a real one. "Is it that obvious?" You laughed slightly, there was probably a 'newbie' aura about you (maybe it was the burnt hands?), it was fairly obvious how nervous you were, and you didn't need pretty girls making you even more flustered around boiling hot liquid.

"No, no! You're perfect- I mean, you know, you're great- doing great." She rambled, her cheeks reddening. "I pick up coffee from here every day before I go to work so I guess I just know everyone who works here pretty well."

“Morning Kara! The ususal?” Your co-worker, Liam, greeted her with a smile. He had been a slight godsend to you and had the patience of a saint. No matter how many times you had fucked it up.

“That would be great, but no rush!” She added, politely eying your resigned expression. You could hardly make 1 cup of coffee and now you had to make 6? For a pretty customer? Shit.

Liam nudged you, “Ready?” He smiled, his eyes slightly teasing as you took in a deep breath and nodded hesitantly.

“Yeah, sure, piece of cake.” You shrugged, taking the order note and looking to find the easiest first. Small steps.

On the first attempt of the first coffee you already found yourself once more cursing yourself for ever applying to work here in the first place. Your curses were interrupted by Kara looking at you with a worried look. "I'm sure you'll get the hang of it soon." She gave you an encouraging smile and you shot her a weary look.

"God, I really hope so." You mumbled, running your burnt hand under the tap for a couple of seconds.

After a short pause (and two successful coffees in) Kara cleared her throat and nodded towards the coffee machine, “It’s like riding a bike, right?”

“Huh?” You glance up quickly, confusion etched on your face.

“Making coffee. Once you learn, you’ll be set.” She elaborated, fiddling with her fingers anxiously. 

You smiled slightly and gave an embarrased shrug, “I can’t ride a bike.” You admitted.

“You can’t?” She looked slightly crestfallen, hoping to have made you feel better rather than just make you feel worse about the situation. “Oh.” She faltered, annoyed with herself. Her brain searched for something else to say to make you feel better and to make you properly smile again. Before she could, you continued.

“I just never understood like, the pedalling? And the turning and also the gears?” You let out a soft laugh, “Although a bike makes more sense to me than this coffee machine so maybe I do have a chance.” You smiled up at her and her heart melted. That was the smile she was aiming for.

“I could teach you!” She burst out, without really thinking about what she was saying. Kara shook her head and tried again, “I mean, I like cycling. It’s easy once you get the pedalling and the turning and the gears down.”

You nodded, trying not to let her offer go to your head, “Do you also know how to make coffee by any chance?” You joked, standing up to properly face her and nodding your head over to the devil machine.

“Can’t help you there, sorry.” She put her hands out apologetically. You laugh and go to continue the conversation, but before you can Liam is nudging your shoulder and pointing to the coffee you were making.

“Y/N, the cup-” You turn around to see the coffee pouring out over the top of the cup, overfilling and spilling everywhere.

You leap towards the cup and let out a small, “Shit.”

9 cups of coffee later (3 of which were currently residing in the trash can), you carefully started to pass the cups into a holder, so she could carry all of them at the same time, and then hesitated.

"Which one is yours?" It’s your first shift and you're already trying to pick up girls. You decided to forgive yourself, you deserved it after the hell of this shift. Once it was pointed out (she had black coffee usually, which surprised you as it didn't seem to suit her sweet character), you wrote your number and drew a little picture of a superhero and labelled it 'Supergirl' - you were quite proud of yourself for making the art.

They didn't look identical or anything, but you had noticed that there were similarities from the moment she had stepped up to the counter. Once you were finished you slid the carrier of drinks and her black coffee over the counter.

She frowned slightly, looking suspiciously at the doodle on her cup. You shrugged, suddenly feeling a little self concious. You weren’t sure what about - the drawing? Your flirting? Your bad coffee skills? You cleared your throat.

"Well, it's a joke." You smiled at her. "Just because, well y'know, you look a bit like Supergirl...” She looked up at you, eyes slightly wide, which you couldn’t tell if it was a good sign or not, “If you just took away the glasses and added a cape-" You trailed off slightly when she started to look uncomfortable. You straightened up and cleared your throat feeling somewhat guilty that you seemed to have distressed your new (and favourite) customer. "Sorry, I meant it as a- it was supposed to be kind of like a compliment." You smiled gently, trying to show her that you didn't mean her any harm or discomfort. In the short space of time that you had met this women you couldn't help but feel completely distracted by her.

"Oh, right - Yes, of course... well, she is pretty strong and it must be kinda cool to be able to fly. Hypothetically speaking, of course. So, uh, yes. Thank you." She looked back at her cup then tilted her head to the side to read your writing. "Wait, what does that number mean?" Kara tilted her head, her eyes scanning her coffee cup. It's like she was deliberately trying to make your heart melt.

"That is my phone number." Blood rushed up to your cheeks. You don’t recall a time where you had to explain your pathetic attempts at flirting so much.

"Ah, right. Yes. Your phone number...” She nodded thoughtfully before her brows shot up and she looked back at you, a similar red creeping into her cheeks, “which I will phone you with." The realisation dawned on her face as it slowly sank in that you had just given her your number. 

You laughed and leaned towards her again. "Yes." You nodded, licking your lips. "Or you can text me. It's up to you, if you were to want to go out sometime, that is."

"No- I mean yeah, I'd love to. That, that would be great. I-" She grinned and she nervously pushed her glasses up her nose again. "I should go but I hope to see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, of course. As long as I haven't burnt the joint down, you'll definitely see me tomorrow." You joked and watched as she nodded slowly with a small smile in return and turned to leave.

As she walked out the door she looked back at you, giving you a little wave before walking out and away. You smiled and took a step back from the counter, mentally congratulating yourself on the win, until you knocked a cup of coffee from the side and it flew all over your feet. 

“Shit.” Maybe your job here wouldn't last as long as you thought.

[kydrogendragon]

Hi! I was thinking about Dream dating Hob because a wager with Death. Time passes, Hob can't believe Dream is interested in him/his experiences, but he is so happy, he has so much to live for. Until he finds out about the wager and... He is ok with that! He tells Dream that he thinks they made the wager because Dream was lonely, and it's ok because he was lonely, too. But Dream doesn't hear him, he is so offended, he says "You dare..." and he storms out. Time passes again and, I don't know, there is a happy ending, of course.

Third prompt for the day! This one was fun to write. I feel like it could easily be it's own multi-chapter fic cause it's a real fun concept, but alas, I have too many wips as is, so we'll take the bite-size version :P

Thanks for the request!!

Relationship: Hob/Dream Words: 2293 Warnings: None Ao3 Link

“You know, your sister told me about the wager,” Hob says, looking down into his water glass. Tonight was he and Dream’s six month anniversary. They’re tucked into the back corner booth of the Italian restaurant just down the road from Hob’s own apartment. The place was a pricier one, yes, but Dream had talked about missing their carbonara last week and Hob wasn’t about to let his boyfriend suffer a moment longer without it.

Hob remembers when Dream first approached him in the White Horse back in June. He’d been relaxing with some of his coworkers, celebrating the end of term a bit late, when the most breathtakingly pretty man approached their table. He looked like he’d stepped out of some sort of fantasy novel, like he was the Fae Prince himself. And then those icy blue eyes of his met Hob’s and Hob knew he was done for.

Dream had asked if Hob meant it when he’d claim to know true love the moment he first saw them. Hob had just smiled and said yes. Because he did. And the moment he and Dream’s eyes locked, Hob knew that he was going to love that man. Hob said just as much, which earned him a hearty eye roll at the time. But Dream had said he’d meet him there, at the White Horse, again next week if he’d meant it.

So, of course, Hob had gone back in a week’s time and found the handsome man sitting near the fireplace, nursing a glass of wine. They’d chatted, well, Hob chatted, Dream listened. Hob went on and on about his life, his work. He talked about his friend and family, about his childhood and the new TV show he’s been obsessed with. Then Dream asked him, a few hours later, if he still meant it. If he still thought Dream was his true love.

And Hob said yes.

They continued meeting once a week, which shortly turned to twice a week, then sometimes even sooner, depending on each other’s schedules. Most of the time, they met up someplace in the city for dinner or drinks. Dream had taken him out to the park to feed the birds, which quickly became a common date for them. Then, Hob invited Dream back to his, and Dream said yes. They didn’t do much, just relaxed, watched a movie and ordered take-out, but it was a change in their dynamic. And over the course of those few months, Hob could see Dream relaxing more and more.

The Fae-like man had always seemed overly tense. He carried a weight in his shoulders and his stance that looked just moments away from crushing him. Hob had resolved himself to doing whatever he could to ease some of that stress away from him. And over time, it seemed to work.

The first time Dream had kissed him, Hob thought he’d died and gone to heaven. It was a hesitant thing. They’d been relaxing on Hob’s couch as they had for week by this point. Perhaps they’d had a few more glasses of wine between them than they usually would and maybe sharing a blanket was just an excuse to be close to one another. Dream had turned to him with a look in his eyes that Hob had seen many times before. It glinted with fear, but hope. Then Dream leaned in, slowly, giving time for Hob to back away. Then those rosebud colored lips were finally on his own and it was wonderful. Hob was addicted in just one go.

They didn’t kiss much after, much to Hob’s disappointment, but the times they had felt like magic, but that kiss changed their dynamic. Hob found that Dream was more open to hugs or cuddles in the evening afterwards. He’d even gotten the man to lie his head on Hob’s lap which quickly became a favored position. Hob loved it too. It gave him a chance to just run his fingers through that kitten soft black hair of his. Then six months had passed which felt like forever and also no time at all. If Hob ever doubted his love for this man before, these past months solidified it.

Dream’s sister, Death (a very odd name, but his boyfriend’s name was Dream so who was he to judge?), had tracked him down at the White Horse a week back, which is how he’d found out about their initial wager. She hadn’t told him intentionally. She’d assumed Dream had explained things (he hadn’t) so she’d taken the liberty to explain the situation.

Hob’s pretty sure she thought he’d be angry about it. And yeah, sure, it was a bit of a surprise to hear that Dream had only continued to meet with him after that night because of a dare. But the more he thought about it, the less he really cared. It brought Dream into his life, after all. How could he be mad about that?

Dream looked up at him from over the top of the fancy leather menu, his eyes wide. Hob shot him a smile to try and ease whatever thoughts are running through his boyfriend’s mind. Dream looks back down and slowly closes the menu, setting it in front of him on the white linen tablecloth. He takes a breath before he speaks.

“And what did she say of the wager?” His shoulders are pulled back and his face is carefully masked. Hob knows this posture well. He’s preparing himself to be hurt. The notion makes Hob’s heart ache, so he extends his hand, tilting it upwards just in front of Dream. He doesn’t reach for it, though Hob can see his gaze dart to his open palm.

“Well,” Hob starts, tilting his head down to try and see Dream’s face better. “She said you two overheard me and my boasting that night at the pub. She also said she thought maybe I’d fall in love with you at first sight, which you apparently, and I quote, rolled your eyes so hard she thought they’d get lost in your head.”

Dream rolls his eyes, but Hob spots the twitch of a smile. “She said you thought that was ridiculous and that even if I thought you were striking, I’d soon grow tire of you.” His voice trailed off, softening at the end. Dream swallows, his jaw clenching. It was a fear of his, Hob knew. Dream never said so, not in so many words, but he said it through his actions. Through his carefully constructed face of neutrality, through the fear and the hope that radiates from his eyes when he does something he thinks Hob would dislike. In all the small actions and tentative steps, Dream’s made very clear the fears inside his heart and Hob’s sworn to himself to love each fear away.

“And have you?” Dream asks, his voice quiet.

“No. Never. Told you, one look and I know. I knew. That night, I knew.” Hob replies instantly. He can see the slight shimmer of a tear down Dream’s cheek as he closes his eyes. Dream remains, stiff in his chair, hands in his lap. “I’m glad you made that wager. That your sister made you keep hanging out with me, dating me. I think it’s been good, for both of us. I think… I think maybe she pushed you towards me cause you were lonely. That you needed someone to show you you were worthy of love.”

Dream’s eyes dart to his, a mix of surprise and fury in his face. He’d seen many emotions from his boyfriend over the past six months but anger was rarely one of them. Frustration, irritation, sure, but the way his lip is snarling and his nostrils are flaring, this is true anger. Hob shifts, lifting his hands up in a placating gesture. He rewinds the conversation, combing through each sentence trying to figure out what it was that earned him such a reaction.

“You dare?” Dream spits. “You dare to know how I feel? You dare to claim that you know me? To know my heart so?”

Hob blinks. “Yes,” he replies, utterly confused at how this conversation has so drastically shifted. “Yes, I do.” Dream huffs as he tosses the napkin in his lap on the table and stands. Hob’s up on his feet as Dream stalks away, following after him. “Dream!” He calls after, weaving between the tables and the onlookers. He was suddenly glad that their waiter had been taking a while to get to them.

Dream storms out the doors into London’s pouring rain. He stomps down the sidewalk as Hob rushes after. For as thin as the man was, he walked faster than Hob would have expected. “Dream, Jesus, just-just wait, please!” He calls against the rain. His boyfriend’s steps stutter, and it gives Hob just enough time to close the distance. He grabs onto his shoulder and spins the other man to face him.

His inky black hair is soaked already, just seconds into the downpour. Hob doubts he’s much better. It sticks to his pale skin. The rain coats him completely, Dream’s eyeliner already beginning to run. Hob feels the flutter of adrenaline under his skin, afraid that one wrong move and he’ll lose this dramatic wet cat of a man that he so desperately loves. He needs to tackle his carefully, thoughtfully. Hob needs to treat Dream with a calm hand and a gentle touch.

“What are you so afraid of?”

Not what he should have said. Dream’s brows furrow, the scrunch of his nose and the sneer of his lips already beginning to paint his face. Hob tightens his grip on his shoulder, his other hand moving to hold Dream’s wrist. Dream tugs, but Hob doesn’t relent. He stares into Dream’s reddened eyes as he speaks.

“We’ve been dating for six months now. Today’s our anniversary, in case you didn’t know. And maybe I don’t know you completely, but I feel like I’ve got a pretty damn good grasp on you. I know that you hate the mornings, not because it’s early, but because your favorite bookshop doesn’t open until ten. I know that you take your coffee with more sugar and milk in it than actual coffee, but you’ll drink it black in the presence of others because you think it looks better. I know you choose each word you speak with such a meticulous nature than I can’t even begin to fathom because words are important and they mean a lot to you. I know you worry about the amount of bread the pigeons and ducks in the park eat, which is why you always make sure to get the special feed mix from the farm supply shop, even though it’s a half hour drive to get to. I know that you overthink each action you take because you’re afraid of how I’ll react. And I know, from tonight, you think that if you push me away first, then you think it might not hurt as bad as if I pushed you away instead.

“But guess what, Dream? I’m not letting you go. Not if you don’t want me to. Not if you love me even just a sliver as much as I love you. Cause I do. I love you, Dream. Have since that day you first walked up to me. Told you that. It hasn’t changed. If anything, I’ve just fallen even harder for you since. So you can yell at me, you can push me away, but I’ll still be here. Forever loving you. Just like I promised you six months ago.”

Dream stares at him, the anger falling from his face and morphing into a pained expression as Hob talks. The adrenaline has started to fade from his veins, leaving Hob tired and shaky. Dream doesn’t say a word, he just stares and with each passing second, fear begins to creep in. Is this how it was going to end? Six months in and that’s it, all because Hob dared to say he understood the man in front of him.

Then lips are on his and there’s a pair of hands clinging to the flaps of his jacket, pulling him ever closer. Hob melts into the kiss, his hands falling to Dream’s waist. It’s an awkward kiss, their noses are jammed against each other, but his body is warm against Hob’s and he’s holding him close and Hob hasn’t lost Dream. That’s the most important thing.

They part, panting against each other in the pouring rain. Dream’s icy blue eyes peer into Hob’s. He’s so close. He can make out all the individual lines of color in Dream’s irises. He can see rough edges of his eyeliner and the bits of mascara that cling to his lashes. He is a work of art, not that Hob’s ever thought otherwise, but here, as the golden glow of the restaurant’s lights reflect against the trails of tears and raindrops against his pale skin, Hob wishes he could take a picture and keep it forever.

“You are a ridiculous man, Robert Gadling. Impertinent. Foolish,” Dream whispers against his lips. “You could have anyone.”

“I could,” Hob replies. He moves one hand up, cupping Dream’s cheek. He rubs his thumb across the chilled skin. “But I want you.”

“A terrible choice,” Dream says, kissing him once more. Hob’s eyes drift shut as he loses himself to the warmth of soft lips dancing with his own. They’ve a long way to go, Hob thinks to himself. But he’s a hopeful man and a determined one. And he plans to spend as many lifetimes with this ridiculous man in his arms as he possibly can.

[simp-ly-writes]

To New Adventures with Old Friends

Can be read as a standalone: What is Left by the Lakeside (pt.4)

Pairing: God!Gale Dekarios x Sorcerer!Reader & Tara

Summary: While Gale awaits your decision to ascend or not, you need space in order to make a clear decision on your future so yet another adventure awaits you with some familiar faces alongside a new one waiting to join the story.

Warnings: mentions of sadness and regret, teasing.

A/N: the story that just keeps on giving, thank you so much to the anonymous reader who gave me the idea for this and the next chapter!

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

What is Left by the Lakeside Series (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) (pt.5) (pt.6) you are here

“I am going to need more than a few moments in deciding these life changing decisions, Gale Dekarios. And I am going to need that space in order to make a clear decision, you will know when I summon you for my answer, not a minute sooner or later- that I can promise,” you tell the God of Ambition, speaking over him while squeezing his hand- trying to convey your sincerity. 

Gale looks at you closely, his eyes glowing softly as he takes in your words. The room becomes that bit dimmer as he closes his eyes, taking a breath in and out deeply before he responds, “I understand, my love....” his voice trails off, words becoming stuck in his throat as he drops your hands and stands up.

“...The time I can comprehend, the space I cannot-”

“Then you should have thought of that before leaving me here on this “mortal plane” you speak of,” you retort back before quickly walking yourself out of the room and giving the guard a small smile on your way out. They bow to you- watching you scurry down the hall in search of your belonging with a locating spell. 

Gale stands still where you left him in the study. He observes the spot where you sat closely, a part of him still imagining that you are there with him- overjoyed to join him but alas that projection is not the truth as he ushers over the guard with a flick of his wrist once more before returning back to his realm. 

--

You rip the purple gown from yourself, throwing it back in the chest with a cry as you stand there still- looking at yourself in the long mirror that stands beside the wardrobe. Your hands shake as you cup your face, your appearance, as horror strikes over you- of what you almost became. I need to leave, I need to go far away from here soon, you think to yourself before sending a bird before the shadows of the nightfall. 

You later join back with Mrs. Dekarios who claims that you make her sound bedridden with such titles, “Morena will do more than fine, for you are family,” she says with a broken smile as you both sit with a plate of dinner. Guilt begins to eat you alive, you feel horrible about leaving her so soon yet your heart can't bear anymore reminders of Gale and this house appears to be full of them. 

As you begin to tale all that happened in the study moments ago, Morena places a hand over her mouth, shielding a gasp before grasping your hand in hers tightly, “Please do save me some grace by saying that you will not be accepting such an offer- even if it is for my son, I do not have the heart to let go of yet another child of this family” she strains. 

Tara joins in on the sentiment, quipping, “There are greater evils than your own mortality, dear. It is a gift to live and a curse to exist- do not tempt fate into prolonging the inevitable for it will not serve you well.” 

You take their words to heart, giving a solid not in return as you sigh heavily. The weight of the world has appeared on your shoulders once more yet this time all you had to save was yourself. Who knew that this would be the hardest of them all, you think to yourself before topping off a glass and picking at the dinner set before you. 

Morena picks conversation back up, making commentary on all the new flowers she is growing in the greenhouse as you offer to give her some of the seeds to plants you had found from throughout your travels. She eagerly accepts your offer, asking the details of each species' environment and background as you both happily chat amongst yourselves. 

Yawns eventually fall upon your tired bodies as you hug your goodnights, Tara has made herself comfortable on Morena’s duvet cover as you softly close the door behind and enter your own guest space. The room is exactly as you left it besides the set of flowers that sit atop your bedside table. Observing them more closely- you find them to be your favorites but are confused as to how they were obtained. They are still not to bloom for many more months, you question to yourself while giving them a small sniff, smiling and producing a vase from your supplies before settling yourself in for the night. 

--

As birds begin to chirp outside your window, you stretch and pat the spot beside you. Your face falling in recognition of this habit for Gale's presence was no longer with you. Not wanting to sour such a bright morning you hoist yourself out of bed and begin to pack your belongings for the long journey ahead. You needed to make your way to the closest waypoint in order to meet up with some familiar faces. 

You have breakfast and the morning paper served to your room as Morena and Tara join you in your bed. You all chat happily with one another as they both pry for who you are travelling with and to what direction you are headed. To the best of your ability, you keep your lips sealed and promise to fly notes back on your adventures. Tara threatens you to uphold that promise as Morena scolds the tressym, she simply rolls her eyes in response before picking up another bite of fish. 

Bags packed and your boots fashioned to your feet, the green robe you wear matches the flowers blooming on the trees that you observe through the windows of the foyer. Morena stands from atop the stairs, Tara in her embrace as she waves you off. The door-greeter from earlier stands tall, awaiting your presence with a purple tint to their eyes. 

You observe them closely, offering your hand as they hesitantly shake it goodbye yet you grip it tight, pulling them in closer so that your mouth is right beside their ear as you observe the tip of it become pink from your warm breath. Whispering harshly you convey the utmost seriousness in your tone, “I expect to be the only present here when I am gone and for you to be alert for when I return. Is that clear?”

They only nod in reply as you let them go and motion for your luggage to follow you outside the house and down the path once more. The waypoint by the watersedge awaited you as did Halsin, taking what he quoted, “a prolonged vacation” once more from the grove. And along that way you both would be picking up Astarion later in the night. 

--

Your body lurched, still not being used to the waypoints pull on your form as you ended up a mile away from Emerald Grove. Smiling to yourself at all the memories you obtained from this area where your adventure started all those moons ago, you continued your journey to the Grove only to be met by a pair of large arms scooping you up and cheering excitedly in your ear. 

“It is good to see you, my old friend!” Halsin cheered as a few other druids called out their celebrations of your presence. 

“It is always good to see you as well, Halsin, the grove looks to be in better shape than ever!”

“Yes, much work has been done that deserves an award I think not? Let us continue our adventures together, right where they left off.”

“That is the plan I suppose,” you humble back while patting the tops of children's heads that had run up to you, excited to be in their saviours presence once more. 

Halsin looked at this image sweetly, a large smile growing over his face that soon fell when he looked closer into your eyes. He was expecting great news of your return as the letter he received answered yet all he felt now was growing concern.

You mouthed, later, to the bear-druid before the kids grabbed your hands and ushered you to play with them. Using your magic, you conjured up a sheet of ice as you skated with the children. Their laughter and smiles filled your senses with pride as you joined in their joyous expressions. 

Halsin watched from afar, the healer deeply concerned by this facade that you held yet he would wait for you to open up. It appears a long conversation is ahead of us, he thought to himself before addressing his successor and packing his belongings for the road ahead. 

--

As the children got called for their meals you and Halsin left the grove silently. The sun still held high in the sky as you ventured up the mountain path and towards the waypoint you agreed to meet Astarion by sunset. 

You could see Halsin struggling with himself to keep quiet about asking about your condition, always the healer, you thought to yourself before starting the conversation to ease the increasing wrinkles that framed the man's face. 

“Please rest assured I am plenty more than fine-” you begin to say before Halsin holds up a hand, stopping both of your walking and turns to face you. 

“I can observe that clearly with the plain eye yet nature speaks to me when I say that you are rotting away about something internally, tell me- where is the root of your worries, dearest friend?” 

His gaze holds you accountable as your image breaks, your shoulders slump forwards as his arms pat your back reassuringly. 

“You have always been the truest seer I have met, Halsin and an even better friend at that,” you sigh out, “you see- I have fallen for a man that has left this plane and I am left here in his wake. Here with my memories, here with my many emotions that I cannot help but feel conflicted on where to venture forth. I have the option to stick with a fragment of what is left or to be left remembering all that happened and all that could have been. It is torture to be found in the place between decicions, especially when those decisions stem from the heart.”

“You are wise for your journey thus far- you have always been, Y/N. I am happy to be of company, yet there is little I am willing to offer in swaying your opinion. It is of your body, mind and soul to discover the answers you speak of and I am here for as long as you need me to be- so that you can find those answers yourself,” Halsin replies, pulling away to squeeze your shoulder in reassurance before dropping his arm and continuing up the path.

You stand there still, contemplating his words before jogging up to match his strides. The sun has begun to set and you can feel the runes pulsing in the wind, beckoning you towards another friend here for your support. 

--

“My, I was beginning to worry you had forgotten about me like that Gale has done with you!”

“Astarion!” Halsin shouts out, his body stepping in front of you in an effort to shield you from the vampire's words. You whole-heartedly laugh out from behind the druid before trying to shove the man aside as you give Astarion a wave hello. 

“There are no hard feelings to be held, Halsin. I can take a joke or two in this state better than most,” you retort before signaling Astarion to come closer as you fling open your bag. 

“I have been studying your condition thoroughly and have shed some new light on it so to speak. Please take this, it is only a temporary solution- yet it could save you some skin,” you say as you hand over an enchanted ring. It glows in the beckoning moonlight as Astarion looks at it carefully. 

“I do not think it to be my style, but it will have to do for now,” he replies before slipping the ring on one of his fingers with a small smile, “Thank you for the help today and always, Y/N” he replies with heart as you return the smile. 

 “Are we good to go forward?” you ask the group while readying your bag across your back once more. “We are golden,” Halsin simply replies as your team makes its way southwards in search of a new and dangerous artifact that had mysteriously made its way to market once more as the newspaper clipping in your hand noted. 

--

Travelling through the night, and sleeping through the late morning, your team made great pace towards the village where the artifacts location was last known. Searching the perimeter of the area you all looked high and lows for clues as to its possible whereabouts and asked the locals who replied with utmost terror that you were trying to find the damned thing.  

“What good is it asking for help when all they do is look up at you- scared to the high heavens of your presence and scamper back to their homes” Aatarion comments boldly into the crowd that you navigate through. 

“Speaking from experience,” Halsin questions lightly, a slight teasing tone in his voice as Astarion tenses and shoulders fall after a quick breath in and out. 

“I just think that there is something odd stirring in the air. Heavens I should be the most of their concerns yet it appears that our sorcerer friend here is what drives the information away, why is that?” Astarion turns to question you, a perplexed expression coats his ivory skin. 

“That I do not know the answer to among many other things, I think that this is our sign to camp for the day and restart later in the next,” you rally the group to their nods of agreement as you all head out into the woods in search of a clearing for your belongings. 

--

The next night your camp is awoken to the sounds of hurried footsteps rushing around camp. Waking confused you ready a witch-bolt before rushing outside of your tent in your nightwear. A scratch can be heard as the figure cowers before you, jumping behind a rock with their hands outstretched- pleading, “I bring you no harm I swear- you are the great saviors are you not? And I am the legendary bard Alonzo! I have journeyed long and far to meet your crew- to sing others your stories in praise! If you would put down that magic in your palm and allow me to accompany you?” 

You look past the shaken bard to see two sets of eyes glowing behind, one red the other yellow as you signal for the boys to come peacefully from behind the treeline. As they join you back at camp you wave out the spell in your hand while offering your other hand to raise the man up. He stands impressively tall before you, a thankful smile coating his feature as he dips down to kiss the back of your hand. You notice as his long red hair shines in the moonlight, his high ruffled collar almost comical in shape and the pointed ears that he bares. His trousers hold minimal stains or blemishes as does his skin that has been painted in a pink hue from your prolonged staring. 

You giggle awkwardly in reply and remove your hand from their embrace before motioning everyone to sit on the louds surrounding the firepit as you call fire a spell to light the area. Alonzo claps impressively at your simple magic as he begins to scramble words in his journal. You watch his hurried writing strikes across the muddied pages as a violin sits idly beside him on the log. His shoes appear polished in the moonlight as he clicks the two together while beginning to humm a tune before peering up at you and smiling brightly as their eyes fall over your appearance slowly backtracking to their notetaking once more. 

“Do make sure to capture my looks in this tale of yours,” Astarion assures while observing the new ring you gave him. Halsin sits back watching the scene unfold, curious as to the outcome of it all while you can’t help but laugh to the melody of the violin that echoes across the forest and into the night. 

╰┈➤ A/N: and another part bites the dust, this is defiantly a longer series than I expected it to be and expect to have more coming its way!

What is Left by the Lakeside Series (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) (pt.5) (pt.6) you are here

[acupofqueercoffee]

“Offer me the deathless death”

Andromache the Scythian x Female Reader

request ( found here ) by @nightly-polaris

|･ω･) go wild, you said and go wild, i did. i included as much of the provided details as i could. hopefully, you’ll find it agreeable

cw : 18+ 18+ 18+ 18+ 18+ // dubcon-ish // ✂️ ✂️😼 // overstimulation

casually quoting hozier for all my andromache fics. that fight scene on the plane and the way she grabbed nile by the jaw tho 😩 wanted to incorporate it in a fic ever since i saw it, and fucking finally did

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Hallucinations. A fever dream.

Anything but reality is what you tell yourself, and what a job you have been doing thus far! Fantastically foolish if nothing else. Cocooned in a bubble of lies that spill forth none other than your lips, and illusions that are carved by your very mind itself, you harbour not a droplet of doubt that the reality in front of your eyes is nothing but bona fide.

People after all are the most masterful at fooling themselves.

Ensnared in a web of deceit weaved by your fingers lie no hapless preys, but you, yourself, who revel in the sweet taste of false security as you do in the richness of the creamy warm chocolate drink that coats your tongue.

Even though business in your shop today is notably satisfactory if not the most profitable, it is not the digits that matter to you the most. Your little shop is borne purely out of your profound passion and desire; obligation is out of the picture. It is where you feel the most at home, doing what you love while bathed in the aroma of freshly ground coffee and cocoa.

Amidst brewing a cup of americano as per the order of a customer with stylish sun-glasses and a striking jawline, your dress is accidentally soiled. Little do you know, the scatter of black and bitter constellations along the pristine white of your sleeve is merely the dawn of a darker, more bitter happening.

──────── ༻✿༺ ────────

Finding you has been relatively easy.

When the familiar dreams begin plaguing her usually dreamless nights, a telltale sign of a new immortal on the horizon, Andromache has half a mind to ignore them altogether. Had she not seen the places that stoke recognition amongst the wild tapestry of images, she certainly would have. But alas, her target, as it so happens, is no stranger to her. By no means does the Scythian know you. Nor you, the Scythian. New immortals bring together with them an assortment of risks, one of them being the exposure of their secret. It is with such knowledge in mind that Andromache feels obliged to set out for you despite her reluctance. You living in the neighbourhood of her temporary place of residence only makes the search all the more convenient.

Being a warrior for many a millennium has developed a vast array of tactical traits into personal trademarks. Those that once upon a time had had to be mindfully exercised, now occur as easily and effortlessly as breathing, involuntary more often than not. Beneath the dark shades of a spectacle perched on a well-defined slope of a nose lies a pair of sage green eyes, scanning the vicinity of wherever she goes like an eagle on a hunt. They have landed on it then, during her visit to a store, standing adjacent to it is a cafe in the name of “Trouvaille”. The Scythian is not one to be easily intrigued, but what a lie it would be to say that the charming building with its vintage air and curious name had not tickled her fancy. Or its owner whom she has noticed is all sweet smiles and dulcet eyes.

Eyes which she has only seen from afar then, now she stares directly into them. Protected by the shades, the intense greens study you with brazen openness, roaming all over your frame, from the tiny clips that decorate your cascading hair like colourful Christmas lights to the butterfly pendant that dangles from a simple silver chain, hovering directly above the dip of your throat, from the little flower prints on your dress, the skirt of which softly caresses your thighs, to occasional glimpse of seemingly soft flesh that teases the Scythian, left uncovered by a pair of white thigh-highs.

It is retrieving you that is the hard part.

Immediately upon arrival, Andromache has read your features for perhaps a trace of recognition. You paying the Scythian a visit in her dreams can only mean one thing after all: that she, too, must have appeared in yours. Yet, no widening of your eyes greet her, only a smile that does not waver.

“Hi, welcome to cafe Trouvaille. What can I get you?”

“Americano will do. Hot.”

Beside the fact that it is broad day light, a few people roam the place. As capable as Andromache is of manhandling you, it is not in her best interest to attract attention. The situation calls for patience. Rushing will spell only more trouble at best. Wait she must, and so, wait she does.

Leisurely, the Scythian sips her coffee, studying you periodically as she does so. It is after some minutes have ticked by, the cup of coffee sitting on the table, empty and cold, that she decides to fish a book, leather-bound and well-worn, out of her backpack. Thumbing through old pages, Andromache spends the better part of the wait indulging in literature, until one by one, people start trickling out of the shop.

In due time, it leaves only the Scythian and you.

The sky has taken on a deep orange hue by the time she stands to approach you. She eyes you surreptitiously, and upon confirming that she is not at the receiving end of your attention, the Scythian moves to lock the door. Ever the diligent wielder of caution, she does not forget to flip the little dangling plate. The letter “We’re closed.” that is carved into the wood will help ward off potential visitors.

Even as she walks towards the counter, you do not seem to notice her for you are kept occupied by the book in your lap, fingers busy scribbling onto paper. It is the tinkle of porcelain on marble as she drops the cup and saucer atop the counter that finally has your eyes zeroing in on her. She watches you watch her. Backdropped by the sunset with her shades finally tucked away into the pocket of her jacket, the sight of the Scythian brings about a subtle shift in your mien. Although fleeting, the furrow of your brows that must have been imperceptible to others, does not go unnoticed.

“Hello, again. I hope you’ve had a good time.”

The smile that you give her is sweet, if not the most genuine.

“Why don’t we save the pleasantries, hm?” The smile that touches her lips, in contrast, has a hint of sourness. “You’ve seen me before.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t believe I have.”

Your answer only brings about a twofold increase in the Scythian’s irritation. Judging by the slightest delay in your response, she knows that you are well aware that she has not meant it as a query, and so, she says as much.

“It wasn’t a question.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You must have mistaken me for someone else.”

The adamant denial from you has strong, slender digits tightening around the strap that is slung over one shoulder.

“Do I really have to spell it out for you? You died, and then you woke up, saw a bunch of people you had never seen before in your dream, including me.”

“But, that was- No. Surely it was-.”

“Look, kid-” Forming into a thin line are Andromache’s lips as she takes a moment to compose herself, slowly huffing out an exhale through flared nostrils. “-I know you’ve got questions but I need you to come with me first.”

“No. No, I don’t think so. This isn’t real. None of this is real. Leave, please. I need you to leave.”

Lips that slowly curl into a smirk and a chuckle that comes out dark and dangerous. “It’s cute that you think you have a choice.”

Battered boots that come to rest just shy of polished loafers.

“You know…your folly is, dare i say, commendable. Reality is not just something you can rewrite, and yet, you managed an impeccable job of tricking yourself into thinking what you believe to be the truth is the truth.”

One foreboding frame that looms like a predator and the one that cowers like a cornered prey.

“Alas, I almost feel bad for shattering your little illusion. But then again, I’ve done a great many questionable things in my life having lived as long as I have. What significance would it make to add another?”

“What I saw in my dream. They really happened.” It is a question albeit not being voiced like one. The Scythian does not find the need to answer. Why bother when the answer already lies in your hand?

At her silence, a look of horror dawns on your features. “You’re a murderer. You and your friends. I’ve seen them. I- I’m not- I can’t.”

“Oh darling, a rose without thorns is but a weed, easy to be plucked, to be trampled on. You’re one of us now. You will come with me whether you like it or not, and you will do so this instant.”

Every single step you hesitantly take back is met with an immediate footfall of boots as they fall right onto the place that your loafers have just vacated. It goes like this for a while, you actively ruining the close proximity, and Andromache rectifying it, until there is nowhere for you to flee, and your hips collide with the counter edge.

“Why me?” She parries your plea with a nonchalant shrug, face impassive. “Beats me.”

“Please, I-” Tears glisten in your eyes, murmuring beseechingly. “Let me go. I can’t kill. I know nothing about fighting.”

While her hands grip the counter on either side of your waist to cage you in strong arms, her lips lower to the shell of your ear, breath warm as she speaks. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. You can kill. In fact, anyone can. You just have to listen to me.”

“No! Let me go! I don’t want-” Yells dissolve into a yelp by way of digits seizing your jaw.

“I’ve gone out of my way to exercise great forbearance, but it is running terribly thin. It would do you well not to try it any further.” She husks threateningly, feeling the softness of your cheeks giving under the roughness of her battle-hardened fingers. Salty droplets drench her digits as tears start spilling in rivulets down your cheeks.

“Go on, bite me with those baby teeth. Scratch me with your little paws.” She taunts. “Why, would you look at that! All bark and no bite. How pathetic.”

It is as she says this that your teeth sink into the palm that is pressed tightly against your mouth. The unexpected retaliation has her stance faltering, and although you manage to break free from her bodily confines, the Scythian, being far more nimble and dexterous, hardly has to break sweat in recapturing you.

“You're a stubborn little thing, aren’t you? Two can play that game, although don’t say I didn’t warn you. Breaking men, after all, is considered one of my fortes.”

Wrists locked behind your back in her iron grip, and body bent over the marble counter, Andromache revels in the quavering of your body beneath her own as one wicked hand, like a sneaky serpent, slowly slithers up your thigh.

“Are you-” A whimper flies past your lips when your arms are pulled taunt, shoulders craning uncomfortably. And then, she yanks, hard and unforgiving, until you are forced onto your feet, back colliding with her front. “Are you going to kill me?”

Andromache cannot help but laugh at your question, a rich throaty sound that brings about the erection of soft little hair on the nape of your neck.

Your wrists are released at the cost of your cheeks bearing the brunt of her ire as rough fingers dig into your flesh. They flee from their cage between the two of your bodies to take sanctuary on her forearm, soft fingers grasping the sleeve of her jacket. “Where’s the fun in killing you when I can just have my way with you, hm?” Her hold around one of your thighs remains unrelenting while the hand on your jaw coerces you into craning your neck. Your head rests on her chest with a grunt, and you drown, held spellbound by the intense green of her eyes. “I’d rather enjoy the view of you crumbling beneath me than watch you bleed out only to come alive again.”

Although it douses you in shame, you have to admit that you are not entirely immune to the woman. How can you when she oozes charisma, frighteningly beautiful even as she looms over you with all the grandeur of a great menacing panther.

And then, too many things happen all at once; fingers that crawl into a forest of hair to grab a fistful, with a yank to the side, a throat that is bared for the predator above to conveniently sink her teeth into, the frenzied little flutter of a pulse beneath the flat of a warm tongue, chocked sobs that dissolve into a strangled gasp as a cold hand journeys into the waistband of an underwear.

Previously, your hands have found home on her thighs, fingers grappling fabric, but upon feeling wandering digits inside your underwear, one of them flies towards the offending hand, locking around a wrist.

“N-no. You can’t.”

“You would do well to remember that I am in control here.”

The Scythian’s growl is not only heard, but also felt on your skin as teeth nibble, mouth suck, and lips soothe the stings that afterwards will linger on your body in the form of dark blues and bright reds.

Horror and humiliation dance a wild tango whereas fingers waltz delicately along your folds, a condescending tsk echoing off your nape when they come away wet. Betrayed and backstabbed by your own body, mortification colours your face as not one but two of her sizeable digits sink into your heat with little to no effort. Although sudden, it does not hurt, though it stings, leaves you breathless still. Dewdrops bloom on your lashes and they drop down your cheeks when fingers in your core bury knuckles deep, abuse your tightness. You feel them in the very depths of your body, filling you so deliciously that when they wiggle so much as a little, it is more than enough to sucker-punch a breath out of your lungs.

Between her hot mouth kissing your neck all rosy and sore, her fingers cleverly caressing your insides, and her hand toying with your breasts beneath your dress, it is no surprise that your undoing greets you with a tidal wave of pleasure.

It is, however, a surprise to find yourself being shoved back-first onto the table, legs being pulled wide by fingers twining round your thighs. You are still suffering through a series of aftershocks from your first orgasm when her mouth attaches itself to your quavering folds, that wicked tongue immediately slithering into your hole. It does a cruel little nudge and your fingers wind up entwined in her hair. Instead of a reproach, it is a hum of satisfaction that you earn as the Scythian grabs a handful of your buttocks and devour you like a starved man.

By the seventh one, you are well beyond exhausted, brain foggy courtesy of being fucked into oblivion, and body agonisingly sore, littered with deep hues and teeth marks. Somewhere between third and fourth, if you recall correctly, she has stripped you bare, bar your thigh-highs, and completely rid herself off clothes, magnificent muscles coming into display. You have ogled them with barely restrained awe until your attention is swayed elsewhere by her mouth leaving traces of herself all across the expanse of your body.

Now, once again, you marvel at them, entranced by the impressiveness of her muscles that ripple with every roll of her powerful hips.

You barely recognise the face that is staring right back at you, reflected in the surface of sea green eyes, or the sounds that are oozing out of your lips. Sweat clings to the forehead of the woman towering over you as it does to yours. One of your legs is slung over her shoulder, and the other lies limp and useless between her thighs, as she rubs herself into your core with wild abandon.

“I- I can’t. Too much. It’s too muc- ah!”

“Yes, you can.”

She has taken the hand that goes to rest on one of her hipbones only to weave her fingers with yours. Now, they hover in the air, tightly intertwined, suddenly made much tighter by the white knuckled grip of your hand.

“Slow- nghh please! Be gentle.”

“You do as I say. Not the other way round. Is that understood?”

The desperate nods of your head is met with a bite to the succulent inside of your thigh just above the brim of your sock.

“Answer me.”

“Yes!”

“My word shall be your command, and you will dance to my every desire, won’t you darling?”

“Yes! Yes, I will.”

“You are mine after all, aren’t you? Mine to do with what I please. Mine to use how I see fit. Don’t you agree?”

“I’m yours- ngh- all yours.”

“Good girl.” She moans, movements escalating from lazy strokes to untamed gyrations.

“Andy.” She rasps breathlessly. “I want to hear my name dripping down those pretty little lips when you fall apart.”

And hear she does. Andy. Andy. Andy. Andy. Her name is all you can cry out as your juices mingle with one another’s, the combined essence soiling your thigh-highs as well as the couch beneath you.

Back curving, toes curling, you soar high, high into heaven, swimming amongst clouds, drowning in euphoria. And then, you plummet, down into the pit of hell, down into another one of those little deathless deaths. An intense blinding white replaced by an absolute dark.

When you awake, it is to the heart-melting sensation of lips softly caressing your forehead. You find yourself on the same couch that you have passed out, cocooned in toned arms, face tucked snugly into a warm, musky throat. Reflexively, you begin nosing the soft underside of her jaw before you are startled by fingers wandering down your very naked thigh.

“Look at me.” Obediently, you oblige, reluctantly leaving the pleasant warmth of her neck to do what she desires.

“What have I told you?” All too delicately, or as delicately as the callouses on her hand will allow, the pad of a thumb grazes the apple of your cheek.

Fighting against the urge to slip your eyes shut, you sigh dreamily instead. “That as long as I remain a good obedient girl, no harm will befall me.”

“That’s right. And are you?”

A nod as an answer prompts a pat of a forefinger on your cheek, and then, another. You know what she wants, so you give her just that.

“I’m a good girl.”

Not only do you see the smirk on her face, but you also feel it on your skin as she leans down to drag her lips across yours. “You forgot to mention whose, darling.”

“I’m a good girl, Andy. Your good girl.”

“And will my good girl obey my every command like she had promised?”

“Mmhm.”

A breath catches in your throat as her lips journey down down down, admiring the traces of none other than herself until that ravenous mouth adjourn to your hip, sucking the tender spot on your hipbone to make it all the more vibrant.

Although it has not been the main purpose of her doing what she has done, it is without doubt that Andromache gets a sick sort of pleasure out of seeing you covered in her marks. Every inch of your body and soul, all irrevocably hers.

You have said it so yourself, willingly given yourself up to her. That being said, it is purely her own greed that has her craving more and more and more of you. The scent of you that is sinfully sweet, heady and uniquely yours, makes her ache. The sight of you, like the dewy petals of an exquisite flower, pretty and pulsating, makes her mouth water.

It is with this insatiable hunger swelling inside of her that the Scythian sinks to her knees between your luxuriously smooth thighs.

“One more, darling. Give me one more before we leave.”

And you do, oh how you do even as one bleeds into two and two into three, because a good girl does what she is taught, does she not? And you are a good girl, Andy’s sweet little good girl to do with what she will.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

[alltheyoungmoons]

the ghosts of my memories won't let me sleep

Rated T, 2.1k words - Summer of 1995. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, has become the new base of the Order of the Phoenix, but Sirius finds it hard to fall asleep on his first night there.

The clock in the drawing room chimed thrice, the sound shattering the mortiferous silence of the ancient townhouse. Sirius heard it all the way from the kitchens, in the basement. He hadn’t set foot in that house, or in Islington for that matter, for twenty years, twelve of them spent in hell. He thought he quite deserved a drink to celebrate the unlikely return, and remembered very well where Orion stored his liquor collection. Kreacher had caught him tinkering around that cupboard several times, the young boy mesmerised by all manners of fancy bottles and delicious-looking liquids. He produced some ice with his wand inside of a fine crystal goblet he plucked from the mantle top and poured a healthy dose of aged Firewhisky that must’ve cost a fortune, stirring slowly. He brought the glass to his lips, inhaling the smokey, rich smell of the alcohol. He looked down and sighed, and placed the goblet back on the table. With a tap of his wand he transfigured the goblet to a mundane-looking Old Fashioned glass.

“Much better,” he muttered to himself, and went for the stairs. 

Sirius, for all his misfortunes, had never thought he’d be back in this house. He hadn’t thought twice about giving it to the Order, relishing in the fact that their parents would be rolling in their graves if they knew. It had been the easiest decision he’d ever made. He didn’t think he’d be forced to stay there, though. He’d take his cell at Azkaban or a frigid Scottish cave over his childhood bedroom any day. Thankfully, Remus was there with him.

He planned to nurse his drink on one of the library’s sittees, hopefully with a useful read in hand. He felt wide awake, adrenaline coursing through his veins just like after a duel, or a flight, or a quick shag. If he couldn’t sleep, the least he could do was keep his mind occupied. 

He was deep in thought when a rotting step whined under his foot, and he looked up, flinching instinctively. 

He was in front of his mother’s portrait, the curtains drawn wide open, but she wasn’t screaming, as she did that morning, when he, Remus, Moody and Kingsley breached the entrance of Grimmauld Place after a decade of abandonment. 

Instead, she looked at him gravely and with disdain, her mouth a tight line. 

In this silence, Sirius had the chance to properly see her. She wore her mourning dress, black cap and veil to cover her silver hair that matched the gray in her eyes, the same that were looking back at her now. She was so different from how Sirius last remembered her - a beautiful, regal woman now turned old and bitter, her hateful scowl forever impressed on her once smooth skin in deep wrinkles. 

He broke the silence first. “Hello, mother,” he said, tilting his glass towards her in a sort of cheering gesture.

She didn’t bother to look him in the eyes, her gaze wandering out of frame. “You’re no son of mine.”. Her tone was flat, indifferent. 

“Believe me, I’ve spent the better part of my life hoping just that. But alas,” he opened his arms as if to show off his surroundings, shrugging “The house opened for me. So.”

No response. Walburga kept staring off into the distance. Sirius wondered silently what she could see within the dimension of the frame.

“Guess you didn’t disown me after all,”

“Well, You won’t catch me complaining about it. It’s been pretty useful lately.”

“The inheritance, I mean”,

“Turns out being put in prison for twelve years is an excellent savings plan.”

Sirius saw her eyes dart to him for a moment. He wasn’t sure if it was the mention of Azkaban that did it, or the fact that he had the gall to bring up a subject so common as saving money. 

He took a sip, suppressing a smirk. 

There was a thrill in being able to talk to her without the fear of retaliation that was engrained in their every exchange since Sirius was ten. 

He still felt a little nauseous, though. 

“You were sent to Azkaban.” She said, then. It sounded like an affirmation, but Sirius knew better. His mother never did questions, only statements. 

Sirius nodded. He studied her reaction. 

Her eyes would’ve glinted if they weren’t oil paint set on canvas.

“Just like your cousin.” 

Sirius had been wondering when the comparisons to other members of the family would start, a fixture of Walburga’s chinwag. 

“Dear Bellatrix was there, alright,” Sirius nodded, circling the remnants of the ice around his glass. “The whole jolly company was there, eventually, the inner circle at least. Saw them coming in one by one. But I was there first.”

He looked up at her, and saw one of the corners of her thin mouth lift slightly. He was starting to enjoy this. He wanted to make her believe he’d recanted his belief in the end, and then pull the rug from under her feet. He wanted her to ask. 

“And I was the first out. First Wizard to ever do it.”

“I’ve been at large for the better part of two years now.”

“Thankfully no one can find me here.”

He winked.

Walburga sat up, straightening her already impossibly rigid posture. The shadow of pride swiftly passed on her features - Sirius recognised it immediately. He used to chase that impossible shadow as if it was his only reason to live. Before Hogwarts. Before he knew better. 

They studied each other for what felt like minutes, their stern features a mirror of each other. 

“How.”

Sirius rose to his full height. Not so much a question as a demand. Still, she had caved.

“Well,” he started, with a chuckle. “I tried to avenge my best friends’ deaths and was falsely incriminated because of the curse of the name that I carry! This title taints everything it touches like poison, it fosters animosity and mistrust, it follows like a haunting! The system this family helped to build sent me straight into the Dementors’ mouth without even sparing the thought of a trial, just because I must’ve done it, I must’ve been rotten after all, because I am a Black! First and foremost, forever scarred to drag around your filthy, thoughtless, sheeple beliefs with me even if I made extensively clear that I never wanted to be associated with you or the obscenities you preached! You were always so concerned about decorum and standing and reputation that you never noticed that all of those things had slipped from your control decades ago! Outside of your stupid Sacred Twenty-Eight circle-jerk everyone thinks you’re utterly mental!”

Twelve years of pure agony, of building a steady hatred for them and all they came to signify, had come out in almost a single breath, his tone clear but never loud, precise and cutting - he had learned from the best, after all. 

Sirius had never hated his family during his school years, and even after, during the First War, he tried his best to act like they never existed at all. Indifference was the best way to hurt someone, he knew that well. But in Azkaban there were no distractions, and he found that rage was an excellent companion, keeping his flame alive. He had been caught because of Peter, sure, but he was imprisoned without a trial because of his name. It was never going to go any other way. 

Walburga’s face had turned into a mask of blistering fury, huffing angrily, chest heaving - she stayed silent for a moment, and Sirius had to remind himself that she was a painting. He would not flinch. 

So he took another sip, smacking his tongue at the end.

Walburga lunged towards him fruitlessly, shrieking, her rage bound to the two-dimensional space of the canvas, starting off her usual tirade:

“Filth! Traitor! Coming here in the house of my forefathers slandering the name of the Noble and Most Ancient House in Britain! How dare you come back here, you scum! I knew since the day you came back from your first semester at Hogwarts that you were going to be nothing but a criminal! A degenerate! Fraternising with blood traitors and half-bloods! Having impure thoughts about them! You’re nothing but utter filth and I cursed the day you were born until I drew my last breath! Traitor!”

Sirius just stayed there, leaning along the rail, finishing off his drink and letting her words slide off him, like water off a duck’s back. There was something cathartic about letting his feelings explode like this, with no filters, even if it meant they’d probably have to endure Walburga’s shrill shouting for a while. The treat had not been without its consequences; still, better be subject to her incoherent string of slurs rather than one of her well-placed hexes. 

There was a sudden noise from up the stairs, and after a moment, a sleepy Remus appeared, in his pyjama, wand drawn. He stopped a few steps from Sirius, looking confused and disheveled from being woken so abruptly. Sirius looked up at him tenderly and smiled, and Remus let his arms rest down to his sides, donning a grumpy expression. 

“Merlin’s balls, Sirius. I thought someone broke in.” Remus had to shout over Walburga’s yelling to make himself heard.

Sirius couldn’t help but grin at him. “Couldn’t sleep, bumped into Mother. Thought it’d be rude of me not to greet her properly.”

Remus squeezed his eyes at him suspiciously. His gaze registered the empty glass and Sirius’ fingers nervously tapping on them. 

“You had to go and tick her off uh? What year is this, 1973?” Remus had stepped down a few and was now eye-to-eye with Sirius. He was studying his face in that way of his, as if gathering information and quickly making a log of it in his head. 

They hadn’t talked about it, exactly. They had a steady correspondence streak going since the summer after Sirius - and Peter - escaped, but some things couldn’t be committed to parchment. It was clear that they were both inclined to naturally fall back into their old ways, but so much had changed, and even when forced to share a bed - seriously what was Dumbledore thinking, just sending him there, no notice, as if Remus lived in a mansion, as if Remus wanted anything to do with him after all those years… it had been extremely awkward to say the least. 

And for all the free, comfortable beds that Grimmauld Place had to offer, Sirius still couldn’t sleep.

But the love was still there. They both felt it. If it was never going to be like it had been before, Sirius was fine with that. Remus was his oldest friend. 

Still, it was fun, sometimes, to slip into the old ways. 

“You know, I have an idea that would really aggravate her”. Sirius glanced at Remus’ lips and wriggled his eyebrows. 

Remus arched one brow and crossed his arms. “How many of these have you had?” 

Sirius huffed as if he were offended, but smiled. 

“Come on, help me draw the old bat’s curtains.”

“Fine, but I want a drink too, afterwards,”

“Fine, but can I sleep in your bed,”

They looked at each other, spooked, and then warily glanced at the portrait that was still mumbling angrily, quieter now. It didn’t seem to have noticed them.

Sirius was just bantering along, but the truth had its way of slipping out. 

Remus’ lips were parted, and his cheeks were flushed. Sirius couldn’t stand the buried pain in his eyes. He looked down, and whispered.

“Can’t sleep.” He found his gaze “This fucking house, y’know?”

Remus exhaled sharply, and nodded. 

“Sure, yeah.” He whispered back.

“It’s not really her, you know.” Remus added, still looking at him, searching.

“Yeah… yeah I know. Still. Felt good to take some things off my chest, I guess.”

“Might want try to piss off Phineas Nigellus’ portrait next. That one’s more animated.”

Sirius tutted “Remus, don’t give me any ideas.”

Remus smirked “Bet he loves an argument just as much as you do,”

Sirius rolled his eyes, but he was elated. It was the first time they had been able to joke between them as if no time had passed at all.

“Tease.”

They yanked the curtains shut, and tried a few silencing spells to boot. When they were done, Remus plucked Sirius’ tumbler off the railing and gave him a delicate shove.

“Come on then, Master Black. Show me where that cranky old elf keeps all the booze.”

[fishermanshook]

SEE YOU AGAIN (barmaid x gn!reader)

# HAPPY (early) BDAY DEMI! , day 10 of @philomena-propellente ‘a valentines event , C4L , grammar and spelling warning

INTRO

Once a customer, always a customer, even if your journey ends here. Care for a drink?

꒰wc꒱ 711

The sound of chatter and drinks clinking fills the Bourbon's tavern down the main street. Except for a lone seat at the bar, every chair has been occupied in just the first hour since the bar opened for the night. The drink orders have been coming in at rapid speed this night, and the duo can only try to keep up. Demi busies herself by getting out more ingredients for her brother, Sam, as he preps their secret to success: Dovlin. The next hit in the industry has people coming in from every corner of the world trying to get a sip.

But alas, her eyes refuse to leave her brother as he mixes and shakes the unknown ingredients together to make Dovlin's recognizable color. A deep, penetrating red that looks as if it's been pulled from humans itself. While she isn't entirely sure what lies in the drink, she trusts that her brother knows what he's doing.

Unfortunately for her, a bell near the front indicates that a new customer has arrived. Neither of them can take another drink order, but Demi reassures Sam that she's got this. The Barmaid takes a deep breath in before plastering on her best-serving smile and-

And she's greeted with you. Your eyes widen at the site of her, and a big smile graces your face as you almost leap to hug her. Demi laughs into your shoulder as she spins you around. "Hi hun, how are you?" she squeals. Demi takes your light giggle as 'good' and takes you to your unofficial seat in the tavern.

You've already been stripped of your coat and spot Demi hanging it up in the back so it doesn't get stolen. Immediately, the Barmaid's attention goes directly to you. You've been gone for some time now, guess all you can do is play catch up at this point. You're distracted by the magic that Demi performs, as she does all sorts of bartender tricks with your glass. Even earn some stares from the surrounding tables as they watch the Barmaid flip the glass and pour the wine. (Low clapping can be heard in the background of the tavern. For you, Demi would practice that trick during the time you were gone. Hoping to impress you by the time you arrive.)

After she's finished, Demi has produced your favorite drink. A purple, grape-flavored juice that invades your veins with excitement. The drink itself is familiar as well and makes you feel more at home in the tavern.

"You've been gone for a month [name] now just where did you run off to?" Demi questions you as she jabs you in the shoulder. She's more than happy to see you, but that still doesn't excuse the time that's passed since your unannounced departure. You take a sip from your drink. It's cold and fizz sending your stomach in a spiral. You wipe your mouth before speaking again.

"I apologize for going AWOL on you, I promise it won't happen again," You say with an apologetic look on your face. "I got caught up on a business trip and was forced to leave as soon as possible." You can't deny that your job doesn't pay you well, which forces you to go back and forth between different departments. That's why you've been coming to this bar for god knows how long. The leather seats have ripped with age, but the nostalgia grows stronger the longer you're separated from the tavern.

You take another sip from your glass. This time, the fizzy feeling became less prominent. "I also have received a rather... interesting letter. The sender is anonymous, and I couldn't pull any more information from it besides the fact that it's offering a large sum of money in exchange for my presence in a game." You hand Demi the letter. It feels smooth in her hands, like a ticket. A ticket to freedom. To a better life. "It's a promise to something greater in this little life of ours, and I'm contemplating taking them up on the offer. Do you or Sam perhaps know anything about Oletus Manor? Hello? Demi I-"

The memory ends there, and the Barmaid wakes up in a cold sweat with dried tears on her face.

note: like 5 months latter and I still can’t write Demi properly 😞 older readers do we recognize the purple drink???

(2024)©️fishermanshook — do not steal, translate, plagiarize, or repost my work on any other platform

[somethingsomethingwords]

Ok so, here is another one. This is a little bit different from what I usually write or even like reading, but alas, sometimes an idea just enters your brain and just doesn't leave. Also this one has a title ig. So here it is. I hope you'll like it. Enjoy 💜

Of course I wanted you to stay

(but you didn't, no you didn't, no you didn't)

Lance was so full of adrenaline he almost dropped the mic. He was shaking from head to toe, but there was a huge grin on his face.

There was no sadness, because even if this was the last concert of the tour, it had been one of his best ones like, ever.

Also he was home, so he knew that after all the crazy partying he would do tonight, tomorrow he'd meet his sister, he'd go to that bakery that sells the best cupcakes, and he'd be able to roam the streets with his thick glasses and ugly beanie and scarf combos, and no one would recognise him.

But still, that's tomorrow. In that moment, there was the encore.

It was always different, so it was always special, but that day even more so. It was composed of three of his older songs, about pain and heartache and moving on despite the past, maybe in spite of it. He loved it very much. Because he was home, singing his first hits and he was ending one of the happiest and saddest tours of his life.

It had started great, new album, in love and energetic. Then he was left behind, alone and with nothing to show for it. Because it had to stay a secret. He had to keep his love secret. He had had no one to complain to, because the only people who knew would have been put in an uncomfortable situation, and he didn't want that. So he hid his hurt and did what he always did. He put it in his music. He sang his pain until the only hurt he could feel was the one in his throat.

It really had been a rollercoaster. But now it was the end, everything was better, and he wanted to send a last fuck you. He may have matured, but nothing would make him lose his pettiness.

So he sang.

Are you sorry like you weren't at the time?

Loving you was easy,

that's why it hurts now

The worst way to love somebody

is to watch them love somebody else

and it works out now

And sang.

Cause someone loved me,

someone fucking loved me

Someone fucking loved me,

I loved him too

Goddamn it, I was worth something,

I fuckin' earned something

I have a right to die, a right to live,

a right to choose, too. And God, no!

Of course I don't wanna feel better!

Can you fucking imagine?!

And sang.

Because, in the end,

you can see how much I loved you

from the fact that I'm fine now

It's a lie, but I say it anyhow

He put every single emotion into these songs, and finally let them go.

When the crowd roared, it all exploded.

He felt a solitary tear wet his face, but nothing could have stolen his smile. He waited for his band, then bowed and left the stage.

The night was young and he was feeling free and wild. And quite hungry, actually.

So he took his band to his favourite pub. They ate, and drank, and ate some more.

On the taxi towards his house, Lance realised that, no matter how much it had hurt, he didn't regret having what he had with Fernando.

Even the tears, even the heartbreak, they all shaped the person he was today.

He liked to think he was loyal, and dependable and kind. But most importantly, he liked to think he was better than the person he was yesterday.

His house appeared, and after paying and tipping the taxi driver, he opened the door.

Yeah, it was big and a little bit empty and a little bit cold. A little bit like his heart. But it was something to be proud of, because it was his, and he was working on it.

---

The next day he really started to rethink all of this rock star thing.

His head pounded with his heartbeat and his mouth tasted rancid.

He got up and drank some water, downing a couple of aspirins for his headache.

After the shower he felt somewhat normal, and decided to go out for breakfast.

He reached his favourite bakery and ordered two pastries to go. He wanted to retreat and lay warmly in front of the fireplace.

Lance noticed him as soon as he stepped out, but he decided to ignore him. His house wasn't that far, he could reach it quickly and without having to talk to him. For once, he wanted to thank whoever made him with long legs.

But even if he could go fast without running, so could the other.

They walked in silence, side by side, for a few minutes.

When the silence and the presence were getting to him, he abruptly stopped and turned towards the other man.

"What do you want?"

Fernando didn't deserve kindness nor gentleness. He forfeited those when he left Lance. Via text. Without explanation and blocking him immediately after.

Lance had spent too many days crying; now he wanted nothing to do with the man.

"Hello Lance. Was just around" he said, as if it explained why he was in Canada and not in England, in Monaco, hell even at home in Spain.

Lance huffed and started moving again, having had more than enough, but stopped when he felt a firm grip on his wrist.

He stared at the hand on his arm with wide eyes, before raising them to Nando's face.

"You have three seconds to either take your hand off or have it broken" he said shakily.

There must have been something in his voice that made the threat a real one, because suddenly he was free again.

"Lance, am sor..." Nando started.

"Shut up before I make you. We can't discuss here, someone could recognise you. Come to my house" surely not his finest moment, but all Lance could feel was fury. Still, he wasn't raising his voice, so he could consider it a win.

you are still protecting him, Este's voice said in his mind.

shut up, of course I am, but what else could he do?

They arrived at his house. He quickly opened the door and closed it when Fernando got in.

"You have no right to come here with your flimsy excuse and expect me to be ok with it. Now, tell me what you want and get the hell out of my house" there, simple and direct.

For a moment, Fernando seemed seriously sorry. But Lance didn't care. He was the one left behind, the one who had to pick up his pieces when he fell apart. He healed as best as he could, and he would not apologise for building up his defences.

"Lance, I am really sorry, for what's worth. I want to explain"

"You are a few months too late. At this point, I don't even know if I care. I only ever asked one thing, Alonso. One. I was ok with being kept a secret, and avoiding being seen together, and the distance. I only asked you to openly communicate and shit like that. You just left without a word" now that he had started, he couldn't seem to stop.

"You knew, I told you why I wanted that. Why I needed you to be honest and open, yet you just disappeared. I had to ask Este, who had to ask Mick. And for what. To be told that you had a new model girlfriend? So no, Alonso, I don't care anymore. It would just reopen old wounds. Now go, I'm sure you have somewhere else to be"

and someone else to be with, it wasn't said but both could hear it.

"That's not right. I have nowhere to go. Am alone, Lance" he said, something hurt and teary in his voice.

Lance was about to replicate, sharp words already on the tip of his tongue, when something in Nando's expression made him stop. His eyes showed how open he was being, how vulnerable.

Lance sighed, and led the man into the living room, making him sit on the couch, while he went into the kitchen and brought back two glasses of water. He would have preferred something stronger, but this felt too important of a moment to have it tainted by alcohol and not being in the right mind.

He sat on the opposite side of the couch, and waited for the other to start talking.

"First of all, am sorry, really. I knew it would hurt you, how I left you, but I did it anyway. And I know you have no reason to believe me or care. Am here because I believe you deserve the truth about everything"

He seemed honest, but Lance wouldn't trust him so easily, not again.

"What are you hoping for with your confession months later, mh? I'm not going to obediently come back to you, waiting to be heartbroken again. You're not gonna fuck me and leave, either. So, what do you want?" he was probably being unfair to the other man, but anger and confusion had never been a good mix of emotions for him.

"Lance, I would never..."

"Like you would never leave, Alonso? Don't make promises you can't keep and don't say things you don't mean" he interrupted, harsh and stubborn.

"You are right. I made promises and then I broke them and betrayed your trust. But I need you to know I had reasons. Not perfect, not good, but I had them" and goddamnit, Lance could feel himself beginning to soften.

just listen to him, said his conscience, suspiciously sounding like Mick.

"Would you care to explain them?" Was he being sarcastic or curious? He himself didn't know.

"Of course. Someone was starting to notice some...changes in me. I was happier, nicer, smiled more. Someone I don't like said something in a way I didn't like. Made me understand that he knew something was up, and would ruin me. So I decided that I needed to protect myself, to protect you. Left you because I couldn't see you. I knew I'm not strong enough to leave you if I saw you"

It all sounded logical, from a certain point of view, but Lance knew there was more, so he waited for the other to continue.

After a few seconds, Fernando raised his eyes, looking at Lance, before turning them down again.

"I didn't like the weakness. All the time, I was thinking about you, wanted you near. It was too much. So I thought I could just stay away, and forget about it"

about you, was left unsaid.

"And can you? Forget about it?" Lance not only wanted to know. He needed to, before going on with the conversation. He could feel his hands beginning to shake and his eyes starting to water, but he had to be sure.

Fernando immediately raised his eyes, and spoke with a tone determined and something like hope in his eyes.

"Of course I can't. I'm here right now, begging for a second chance" he said pleadingly.

"Then beg" Lance said, not meanly, but he also wasn't feeling particularly charitable, and it was better to make some things clear from the beginning: he wasn't going to repeat the same mistakes. He wasn't the young man staring at his teen crush, starry eyed and in love and grateful for every scrap of attention and affection. He was older, maybe a little bit more bitter, a little bit wiser. Fernando left some marks onto his heart, and he wasn't going to refresh them for nothing less than certainty.

"Lance, please give me another chance. I know I fucked up, was so wrong. I'm begging you, let me fix this. However long it takes, is ok. Just, tell me you'll think about forgiving me, and starting again" he was being so earnest, how could Lance resist?

"Even if I forgive you, and it's a big if, I'm not going to forget anytime soon, ok? I'll need time and space and for you to make an effort" he really was weak for this man, but who could blame him, he spent half his childhood idolizing him and then he met him and fell in love.

"Will do whatever it takes. But let me, please"

Realising all the air stuck in his lungs, Lance sighed.

"Ok"

He didn't even finish the word that Fernando picked him up and spun Lance around, making him laugh despite himself.

Fernando finally put him down, and took his hand to kiss it, maintaining the eye contact for a few seconds.

Lance could feel himself blushing, and quickly shook his head, still smiling.

After a few seconds of just getting reacquainted with one another, Fernando broke the silence.

"I liked the show yesterday. Especially the encore"

And now Lance was definitely blushing. His encore had been designed as a way of finally letting go, one last screw you to the man now in front of him. But he couldn't say that to him, even if it was pretty clear.

It would have been childish to throw shades at Fernando in one of his concerts, no?

"Yeah, I was inspired, I guess" his smile smaller but still there.

"Fuck the guy who made you suffer, the bastard" and in his jokingly way, Nando was telling him that he wasn't angry, and that they would be ok.

"Yeah, fuck him"

[dr-futbol-blog]

Runner, Pt. 2

They gate to the planet with the high UV radiation index in a puddle jumper, and where Sheppard is obviously steering, McKay has taken the second seat. Previously, McKay usually sat behind Sheppard and Ford had the second seat, probably because it's the gunner's position and Ford was the most useful person to sit there and look at targets for him. Regardless, McKay has changed seats and taken what would be his rightful place by his side. Riding shotgun is the privilege of a significant other, and while they may not be together-together anymore, they are still significant to each other.

However, we don't know how McKay wound up sitting there--whether he claimed the seat, ended up there by chance, or whether Sheppard had wanted him to take the seat. Given that Lorne, his new second in command is on board, a case could be made for him to have taken the seat. But then, McKay and Teyla are on his own team, so the privilege should probably have gone to one of them. And a case could also be made for Teyla, as a lady, to have been given the privileged seat. But alas, it is McKay that we find next to Sheppard. And this is their usual seating arrangement from hereon out.

They land the jumper, and we find Sheppard and McKay bickering with that old married couple energy:

Sheppard: Life signs detector's useless. McKay: I told you so. Sheppard: Just preserving your streak of being right? Officially.

McKay's "told you so" is given with such gusto that it's pretty telling. It also informs us that we are once more missing a part of this scene because we did not, in fact, hear McKay "tell him so." But Sheppard's response to him here is strange. What does he mean, officially? Why does he say it with a playful smirk and raising his eyebrows in a way that indicates there's some backstory to this? When we look at the previous episode, McKay wasn't right the whole time and in fact Sheppard got more things right than McKay did. His streak of being right, whether official or unofficial, cannot be a reference to the events of the previous episode. And the way McKay says "told you so" makes it seem as though it's not the first time he's said it in recent times.

It's possible McKay has been pointing out more errors for Sheppard and in Sheppard's behaviour than he had done previously. It's not that he was previously giving Sheppard "best behaviour Rodney" but when someone is in love, they tend to see the other person through rose-coloured glasses, being blind to their flaws. When you're in love, letting their flaws slide is natural. But it seems as though by this time, they are both severely chafing on each other, intentionally or unintentionally getting under the other's skin, and so they are both bringing out the worst in each other in a vicious circle. McKay is behaving like a haughty know-it-all and Sheppard is being a snooty asshole, going back and forth, back and forth. Truly they are a match made in heaven. And while neither of them wants to be like this, they seem helpless to break the cycle.

But, even though it might not seem like it, they are both trying to make this work. They are putting in the effort to stay professional:

McKay: Doctor Parrish believes that the indigenous plant life retains enough residual radioactivity absorbed during the daylight to, well, to screw up our sensors. Sheppard: Making it the perfect place to hide. McKay: Yes, or the perfect place to be exposed to dangerously high levels of solar radiation!

McKay is being Sheppard's science officer. He is giving him factual information to make his decisions by. And he's not wrong, either. Especially for the two of them with their recent radiation exposure, this planet presents a clear risk. And while it's not even that Sheppard doesn't believe McKay, it's that he's being entirely too stubborn to actually hear what the other man is saying, and this stubbornness has very little to do with Ford. But Sheppard, too, is trying to remain professional, giving them orders based on his strategic evaluation of the situation.

He also gives a manly grunt as he adjusts his... weapon, which just may confirm Lorne's belief that Sheppard motivation for treating McKay the way he does here has to do with masculine performance, or McKay's lack of the same.

Sheppard: Start a sweep, teams of two. Radio contact every twenty minutes... How come it smells like I'm on vacation? McKay: Mmm, could it be the simulated tropical aroma of cocoa butter? Sheppard: Strong enough for anyone within five miles to smell you. McKay: Like they haven't been tipped off by the Aqua Velva? Sheppard: It's dark.

This exchange is fascinating.

For one, Sheppard loves the beach. We later learn that he likes surfing (in fact, he tells McKay in The Last Man (S04E20) that "surfing a thirty foot wave in Waimei is cool!", implying it's the best thing he knows). Also, when he has an actual vacation in Brain Storm (S05E15), he describes the destination as "a beach that's never been surfed or even touched" and in Travelers (S04E5), he's returning from "a tropical paradise" from a supply mission he had volunteered for. So, he loves the beach and ergo something that smells of vacation to him must be a really good smell. It's a smell that takes him right to his happy place (and also, while we're on his happy place, he turns to face McKay just as soon as he's out of the jumper; even now his body just cannot seem to bear to have his back turned to McKay). Interesting in this regard is the meaning of the name Rodney, often derived from "Rhoda's island" which is meant to evoke "images of breathtaking beaches, gold sand, and crystal clear water". And if this wasn't obvious enough, they later emphasize it by giving him the name Meredith, ruler or protector of the sea. John Sheppard loves the sea, is the thing. He loves the beach. And apparently when Sheppard is on vacation, cocoa butter is involved.

Now, did McKay know that it's one of Sheppard's favourite smells when he concocted the sunscreen? This, we can't tell. However, McKay himself seems to know what Sheppard smells like. Real up close and personal. He knows the aftershave Sheppard uses. He knows Sheppard's personal grooming habits. There is no earthly reason for a guy to know, and even less to have made a mental note of, another man's aftershave if they're just co-workers. And here, he's making a dig at Sheppard using this very personal information.

Interestingly, Aqua Velva is also a cocktail that one might have on a beach vacation, and McKay might be implying that he can tell Sheppard has been hitting the gin a little too much recently, which would admittedly put a pretty dark spin on this. Probably he didn't mean to imply this, as McKay is pretty straightforward with what he says, there's barely ever hidden meaning to his words. That's not how he operates, he's an open book. That, of course, doesn't mean Sheppard could have taken it that way, as he has a penchant for double entendre, especially in the case he actually had been drinking (and it's entirely within possibility that he has; the nights suddenly seem longer when you're not watching someone sleep like you used to).

Sheppard's response to McKay's dig is "It's dark," and the assumption is that this is an argument against wearing sunscreen. It's dark, hence the sun isn't up, hence there is no need for sunscreen. Only, he says "It's dark" as a response to McKay's line about the Aqua Velva. He makes it sound like his argument is that the enemies won't be able to smell his aftershave because it's dark, like that makes any sense. What Sheppard actually seems to have done is to ignore McKay's comment entirely, just skipping right over it, either because he didn't deem it worth answering or because he simply didn't have an answer to it. If he has been sleeping in his fatigues (and it seems as though he has), it's likely he has been skimping on other forms of grooming also, and splashing on some aftershave might have been an attempt at covering up the fact that he hadn't showered that morning. The fact that he was still wearing his fatigues from the previous day also suggests that this was the case; if one showered, they wouldn't put back on the rumpled clothes they slept in on. So, because McKay was still preserving his streak of being right, unofficially this time, he chose to ignore his comment instead.

But this whole exchange is again the two of them having a conversation inside a bubble of their own where the others are not invited. And given that most of the men are new recruits that don't really know either of them, it must be confusing for them to witness this interaction between their commander and his science officer. Sheppard is not behaving like a team leader and McKay is not behaving like someone who takes orders from this man. And the thing is, they don't need to be having this argument. They know where each other stands perfectly well without this exchange, and at the end of the day, they both want the same thing. They want to bring Ford back to Atlantis and fix him without getting skin cancer or losing the ability to procreate children, so they're not really at loggerheads. They don't have a disagreement.

What they have, at the present moment, is an inability to connect with the other man outside of this unending bickering, because even this is better than not having any connection to the other at all. So, they both say a lot of unnecessary things:

McKay: Yeah, and the sun will be up in two hours, forty three minutes and... ten seconds. Sheppard: It's raining! McKay: So we'll be cold and miserable. Look, the cloud cover will depreciate a small percentage of UV rays, but ninety-five percent of deadly is still deadly.

Again, the audience is made to think that McKay is being unreasonably cowardly when it probably hasn't been more than a week since they both got a nearly lethal dose of ionizing radiation. But we can't really point to either of them as the instigator of the this bickering, of making these digs at each other. They are both behaving this way, they are clearly acting and re-acting. Other people also seem to get caught in the cross-fire (and it's interesting with regards to the next episode that McKay seems to hold nothing but contempt toward the science of Botany). As soon as McKay turns his attention on Lorne, Sheppard tries to be the grown-up and actually splits himself and McKay up:

Sheppard: Teyla, you're with me; Coughlin, take Billick; Reed: you and Sherman cover the Gate; and Major, you've got McKay. Lorne: Oh, lucky me...

Now, Lorne clearly thinks that he got put on baby-sitting duty because McKay is the weakest link, he's the science officer with no field experience that needs looking after and as the second highest official, second most capable person militarily, he's the best person to look after him. And this is partially true. McKay is not a soldier, he has no combat experience. His field experience is limited. He does need someone to watch over him, to keep him safe. And it's logical for Lorne to come to this conclusion, as the tone Sheppard uses, he makes it sound like he's tired of McKay's bellyaching and hence wants someone else to take him on. Actually, Sheppard's internal conflict comes through in how he first says "And Major" with the tone of listen well, this is the most important thing in the world, but then the "You've got McKay" comes out in a tone that's more neener, neener, as he quickly takes off so as to avoid any backlash from McKay for his decision. Clearly, while he needs Lorne to look after McKay, he doesn't want either of them to know just how vulnerable this makes him.

Now, Sheppard could have either taken this task on himself or put anyone else on it. But Sheppard knows that since he himself is going after Ford, it would pose the most danger for McKay to be with him right now. He chose Lorne because he does think that he's the most capable fighter after himself. He chose Lorne to be McKay's personal bodyguard because he trusts him enough to be able to perform this task. He had chosen Lorne for his second in command, and he believed that Lorne would be able to take on Ford if it came down to that. Sheppard paired McKay with Lorne because he still cares about McKay, and he is damned if he's going t let anything happen to him. What ever Lorne might think, he didn't pair Lorne up with McKay but McKay with Lorne, and there's a world of difference in that.

Bitchy though he might (currently) be, McKay is the most important person in Sheppard's life, and he's not going to let anything happen to him. He's not taking any chances with his life. And the thing is--he chose not to take McKay with himself for that exact reason. He doesn't think that he's the best person to look over McKay and keep him safe, especially not now. He is distracted by McKay at the best of times but currently, the way they are bickering, if they had paired up together anyone would have heard them coming a mile away. There is no way they could have kept quiet. Even though neither of them wanted to talk about the important stuff, the stuff they should have talked about, neither of them could shut up around each other either. They both need each other's attention, and they'll clearly take it any way they can.

And given that Sheppard can't keep himself from making snide digs at McKay or from responding to the other man's subtle barbs, there is not a way in hell they can form a team of two on this mission. He needs to be able to concentrate, especially because a slip in his concentration might lead to McKay getting hurt. So, he chose the second best thing for McKay, his second in command. He trusts Lorne to keep him safe. But Lorne doesn't get this, doesn't get how much Sheppard is trusting him with, doesn't understand the importance of what he has been trusted with. He thinks he got shafted, for some reason. He got the short straw, the short end of the stick. Like maybe his commanding officer doesn't quite trust him yet, like Sheppard might be testing him or something. Lorne doesn't know what Sheppard and McKay are to each other and the way they're behaving, there's really no way for him to even begin to guess.

McKay himself, he seems fine with this. But we've got to remember that for McKay, not being wanted is his core issue. It was the fact that Sheppard seemed to choose death rather than him that had hurt him the most. While Sheppard does get in 'the last word' here with this, because he doesn't understand how McKay thinks about this, he also doesn't get how far below the belt this last jab is for him. Yes, they're trading barbs, but it's not their intention to really hurt the other. And yet, that's what Sheppard manages to do here, and he doesn't even realize it because his thinking is so very different from McKay's in this.

For him, McKay is the single most important person in his life. There is no one else in two galaxies that matters more to him, and that's a fact. Put next to anyone from either galaxy, he would choose McKay ten times out of ten any time of day. And because this is so obvious to him, he can't even begin to understand why what he did hurt McKay so much. As far as he's concerned, he's doing what he thinks is best for McKay, he wants to keep him alive and safe. That's what you do for someone you love. Even when that means protecting them from yourself, which is what he does here, pairing McKay up with Lorne. But for McKay, it's high school athletics class all over again. He's chosen last because no one wants him. He's pawned off to someone who makes it clear they don't want to be paired up with him. For him, what Sheppard does is cruel.

But at the same time, this is familiar to him. McKay knows how to deal with Majors. He can break in another one. He at least tries to make friends with Lorne:

McKay: Here, try some. SPF 100. Lorne: A hundred? McKay: Yeah, can't buy this kind of protection. Make it myself. Waterproof too.

This is pretty interesting, too. First of all, McKay makes it himself. Fair enough. But Sheppard knew that he does this. Earlier, back in Weir's office, Sheppard said "Bring your sunscreen". Not "bring sunscreen," not "bring the sunscreen," not "put on some sunscreen," not any number of things he could have said if he was referring to general sunscreen, or just making a snide comment. He told McKay to bring his sunscreen, knowing that McKay has made his own sunscreen. Knowing that McKay had sunscreen that he had made for himself. Sheppard knew about McKay's sunscreen. Which is interesting in and of itself.

But then he tells Lorne that it's waterproof. Sunscreens generally aren't water resistant, although obviously there are waterproof ones out there and, if one had aspirations of swimming while wearing it, it would make sense to make it waterproof. So, it's possible he had made it with swimming in mind, whether for himself or for someone else that might canonically enjoy the ocean. OK. But what on Earth made him try his hand at mixing up body lotions in the first place? What, he's suddenly Alfred Garnier of Atlantis? From what we can tell, this man barely knows how to cook and probably survived mostly on instant noodles outside of institutional cafeterias his whole life.

The thing is, they probably didn't have a whole hell of a lot in the way of lubrication the first time they came from Earth. We don't know what the expedition's policy was on sex and sexual hygiene, whether bringing condoms and other assorted paraphernalia was a priority, but how ever much of this stuff they did bring with them, at some point during the year, it would have run out, just like the coffee. If there was any lube intended for sexual purposes to begin with, it would eventually have run out. And after that, just like the beans they attempted to substitute coffee with, it would have been up to them to come up with alternatives. And here, McKay is suddenly an expert in mixing up waterproof lotions. And let's not glide over the fact that he's using this to bond with Major Lorne, very possibly a closeted gay man in the military. He's letting Lorne know that if he's ever in the need of waterproof lotion, he's the man to see about that on Atlantis.

Granted, this sunscreen that smells of cocoa butter is not something Sheppard has smelled before--at least outside of the context of a vacation. Sheppard is not familiar with this lotion. But this does seem to be a new mixture, the fact that it has the simulated aroma of cocoa butter is a new thing. But it is interesting that McKay specifies that the sunscreen is waterproof here when sunscreens most often are not, whereas personal lubricants used for sexual purposes which are particularly useful in all manner of sex acts between two men due to a distinct lack of natural lubrication, well. What we know now is that McKay had, at some point in his life, learned how to make waterproof lotions that made the skin slippery with its base of vegetable butter. And we, as the audience, apparently really really needed to know this. Safe sex is important, after all. And I'm not saying he had made this particular lotion as lube, although it probably would work as such. I'm saying, he clearly has acquired the know-how to make sunscreen and other lotions through personal necessity.

And now we know this about him. Now we know this about them. They might not currently have any use for it beyond staving off radiation but they have used it in the past and they will use it in the future. And Sheppard won't mind if McKay's new stuff smells like a beach vacation. He won't mind at all.

Continued in Pt. 3

[krogerkryptid]

Hello hello new followers of mine (I wish this font was smaller with every fiber in my being I tried coding for an HOUR and alas it would not give me the font I requested) I've decided to do a tag as well since the vote for the project was almost tied. In the meantime have my map of queer Victorian London compiled through all of the fun and funky sources I have been reading for this passion project! No idea why the quality drops but that's CLASSIC social media so! (All the numbers are just in the order I added them and I'll add context/locations for all of them in a later post) There is added context for newbies under the cut to explain this whole thing and what I'm working on!

For those new to the scene and have no context for what this map is or what I am ranting on about I am looking at historical queer culture, specifically in London, and cross referencing it to the Sherlock Holmes canon. Since it is easy for us to say that they seem to be written as queer coded from our lens of literature and life experience, I wanted to see how queer characters were written back then as well as examine the attitudes and understanding of queer behavior in society to see if ACD did things on purpose (my thought is he did my god some of the things cannot be coincidence) or if we are looking back at a Victorian era story with our 21st century glasses.