#like you can kind of vaguely know this and set it aside and get swept along

[flossingh]

Devastating to realise that you absolutely can not under any circumstances reference any of Solas' other motivations or cause the player to understand his reasoning without the entire game crumbling into individual ones and zeroes before your eyes.

[ezlebe]

If you’re still taking Tomgreg commissions: Greg’s dad shows up randomly and gets to meet Tom. Post Italy. Keeping it vague cus I’d love to see where you take it!!

“Greg?” Tom raises a brow at Greg’s loading face, blank eyes fixed across the room, then down at the usual opening bid presentation that’s finally come up on the tablet. “You good? I know it’s short notice, but it’s not that beyond belief.”

“Sorry, um…” Greg says, as he sharply clears his throat and jumps back to life. “Lukas has u-us meeting who?”

“I know, right? An actual king, apparently,” Tom says, tapping the screen, changing the name and date on the front slide, then doing the same down on the footer. “Of some kind of a – a tiny euro-micronation. City state. What the hell ever.”

“Yeah, like okay,” Greg says, dropping his head, quiet a pair of beats, as he rolls his lips together.

“King Levi…” Tom says, swiping through the rest of the slides; good, good, good, bad – hah, don’t want to mention that shitshow of a vendor anymore, do they? “Of Maritou? Something equivalent of Monaco or Andorra, Lichtenstein… Singapore. I guess he’s gay, which Matsson, of course, made a point to tell me in the calendar invite. Dickhead.”

“He’s married,” Greg says, voice lifting with a pitchy disbelief. “Isn’t he?”

“Uh, I literally don’t know him from Adam, Greg,” Tom says, lifting a brow upwards while peeking under his brow to entirely take in Greg’s tetchy, dissatisfied expression, then dropping his eyes back to the screen. He’s not sure what that is about, but maybe he’s got a thing against royalty now, even though that whole thing with that contessa was almost an outright con on his end. “Though he is a king, so if I get swept off my feet, you can’t hold it against me.”

“I could, um… Can you like promise you won’t, actually?”

Tom purposely slows his fingers while dropping the menu down on the screen to print. “I guess?” He sets the tablet aside, as he leans back to check the printer has started going in the middle of the floor. “Are you worried he’s cuter than you?”

Greg purses his mouth, oddly petulant. “Can you just do it?”

“Yes, baby,” Tom says, dropping his voice with sugary condescension, and reaching out to yank lightly at Greg’s tie, then smoothing it across the buttons of his shirt and tucking the tail into his belt. “I solemnly swear not to run away with some man I’ve never met.”

Greg seems even more annoyed that Tom isn’t taking this seriously, which just makes it funnier. It took Tom a year to admit to himself he was into Greg, so what is he expecting here?

“Are you gaining a jealousy streak? I’m kind of into it.”

“No,” Greg mutters, as he looks down and straightens his back to pull his tie from his trousers.

“Come on,” Tom says, reaching out and slipping his jacket off the chair; the printer should be done by now. “Maybe you’ll get the crush, and we’ll have to meet with pistols at dawn.”

Greg makes a markedly bizarre disgusted noise at the back of his throat.

Tom slows out of the elevator, peering across the office floor into Matsson’s office. His initial goal is to scope the ruling monarch out, determine some shallow comment to open on, per usual, but he quickly finds himself at a complete stop. He stares narrowly at the tall man on the other side of the glass, bearing a familiar thin nose, familiar round eyes, and who is inexplicably guffawing at something said by Matsson, then turns to look at the unquestionably younger version hunching just behind him. “I’m going to need an explanation in ten seconds or less.”

“Well.” Greg sighs in that heaving, petulant way. “He’s like sort of my dad.”

Tom slowly reaches up and scratches at a missed patch of stubble under his jaw. “Sort of.”

Greg rolls his lips together.

“You’re a Prince?” Tom says, hearing his voice raise, consequently catching a sidelong glance from a passing aide with a sharp, dismissive glare. “What the fuck, Greg?”

“It’s like barely a real country,” Greg mutters, glancing at Tom and then away, shrugging with a roll of his shoulders forward into a deeper hunch. “Sort of like he’s barely a dad, you know? Like… we don’t talk.”

“Does Lukas know?”

Greg glances toward the office with a pinched moue. “Like, would he care?”

“…No,” Tom says, though he feels like, at the least, he’s tried to have taken earlier advantage of it. “I don’t think you’re quite high enough on his shit list. When was the last time you spoke? To the King.”

Greg curls his nose, as he drops his head with a visible, almost startling vitriol in his scowl. “He tried to call me like a while ago and said it was for Shavuot, but it was, like… right after my Grandpa first took away my inheritance.”

“What one is that?” Tom asks, coming up with nothing on his admittedly small mental Rolodex of Jewish holidays.

Greg glances sidelong at a movement into the office, stepping backward to ineffectively hunch behind an art piece. “I don’t exactly celebrate any of them, you know, but… I guess, it’s the cheesecake one.”

Tom raises his brows, deciding to ignore the hiding for something more pressing: “A cheesecake holiday?”

“Not really, it’s like about the – uh?” Greg briefly holds his tongue between his teeth, staring at nothing between their feet, then glances up with a lift of his shoulder. “Torah, I think? Yeah, like getting the Torah.”

“…Greg,” Tom groans, as much as he’d really prefer to actually ask about how that even leads to any sort of cake, let alone the cheese kind. “This is a big damn secret.”

“I didn’t think it’d ever come up,” Greg says, pulling his usual catchall card with a meek flourish. “I kind of thought you knew? Everyone else knows.”

Tom bites down at his lower lip, tilting his head with a brief, irked curse toward the fact that the Roy’s are so… Roy that their ostensibly destitute cousin being an actual, literal prince isn’t even worth a sideways mention. “So I take it… you’re not eager to go in there?”

“I like would rather not?” Greg says, as his eyes dart sideways to the office, then away, a marked tightening around the edges of them. “It would be. Awkward.”

Tom stares hard, as he exhales slowly between a narrow pinch of his lips.

Greg shrugs into an even tighter hunch, hands shifting around the edges of his phone.

“Well, go on,” Tom says, gesturing with a flick of his hand back toward the elevator bank. Fuck, he’s gotten so soft… like cream cheese; damn it, now he wants cheesecake. “Off you go, Prince Hirsch.”

Greg grabs Tom’s hand out of the air to briefly squeeze the life out of it. “Thank you.”

“You’re so welcome…” Tom mutters, playing put-upon, as Greg pulls away to scurry backward when an elevator opens for one of many of Matsson’s assistants to exit. Tom turns with a brief gesture at the ceiling, in disbelief of his life for nth time; it’s not exactly bad this time, at least, just damned bizarre.

He’s been waiting for Greg to expand on the family situation himself – a delicate subject, he thought, and it probably is, but a prince? He never could’ve seen that coming, not in like… ever, if he was given thirty years and infinite goddamn guesses.

Tom reaches out and pushes at the door, slow as he can, uneager to step in the middle of a new Roy family mess. He remembers when he was twelve and thought his Aunt’s second husband was an awkward family subject; so, so innocent.

“Tom,” Matsson says, looking up when the creaks, then frowning slightly while his eyes sweep beyond Tom toward the open floor. “You’re missing a half.”

“He’s got his own meeting,” Tom says, raising his brows with a pointed glance to the phone ever so permanently fixed in Lukas’s hand. “You’ll have to compare fictional farms another time.”

“We’ve moved to space,” Lukas says, blandly, “It’s a beta.”

“Of course, space,” Tom says, widening his eyes with a mocking tone. “So fascinating.”

“Levi,” Lukas says, turning to the… giraffe in the room, who’s probably just as tall as Greg, when he’s not making a big parenthesis of himself. “This is Tom Wambsgans.”

Levi turns from Lukas and steps forward, holding out a hand with a polite smile. “Levi Hirsch,” he says, “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” Tom says, maybe a bit cooler than he intends, but it’s just worse up close, since Levi looks… so much like Greg. It is a bit of awkward new information, since Tom previously also thought Greg looked a bit like Ewan. The whole family is a slew of definitions for daddy issues. Hey, Tom, promise you won’t fuck my dad? Jesus wept.

Lukas sweeps a sideways gesture with a gradual tilt of his head. “You may have heard Tom’s name about elsewhere, but I stuck him back behind the curtain where he came from to keep him out of trouble.”

“Yes, my time at the firm has blessed me with… great opportunities for experience,” Tom says, keeping his expression at what he hopes looks pleasant. He could do without Lukas reminding every single person that comes in that technically he’s been demoted, but he does feel less close than a heart attack than he used to, so it’s a mixed bag. “I do appreciate that in this department I have something I can finish.”

“That’s true,” Levi says, briefly tilting his head with a narrow look, a small, mild smile, but it doesn’t seem to contain any recognition, which is… unexpected. Did he not watch the Senate hearings with his own son?

“So, Lukas texted me you’re looking into some kind of an… expansion?” Tom says, raising his brows and leaning in, as he pulls out the printed out packet from his arm. He hopes he’s doing a good job pretending not to look blatantly like he’s thinking about something else – like the fact that if Levi’s not following Greg’s life, then that means someone told him about the inheritance thing, but Tom doesn’t know Greg’s family well enough to know if it had been Marianne… or Ewan.

“Yes,” Levi says, dropping his chin in a too familiar eager nod. “I am hoping to modernize an existing property on the coast.”

“Sounds exciting?” Tom asks, nodding himself a few times, probably too many, and gesturing at the packet stuck under his elbow with a few pats. “We’ve been very interested in expanding further in Europe since the acquisition.”

“I thought so,” Levi says, markedly eager, which is somewhat bizarre, but maybe being king means he doesn’t need to negotiate this sort of thing – granted, the first sign toward that was probably how he showed up without warning to begin with to Lukas’ office. “I was quite excited to hear about Waystar coming under new ownership.”

“Bad blood with the Roys?” Tom asks, lifting his voice in a question; he must not do a good imitation of seeming simply curious about it, judging by Lukas’ sidelong look.

“Just ancient history,” Levi says, shrugging with a tip of his head. He hasn’t picked up on anything, clearly, “Men of my ilk always have a… few skeletons here or there.”

Tom raises his brows with a tight, forced laugh. He glances sideways, only to see Lukas has wandered off, which is just typical. “Sure, of course.”

“Nothing criminal, though,” Levi says, glancing across Tom’s head toward Lukas with a somewhat harried press of his lips. He clearly doesn’t know Lukas that well, then, “It shouldn’t pop up regarding this or any investment – I was primarily involved with the… the other side of the family.”

“Oh?” Tom intones, flatly, raising an eyebrow. “You buddies with ol’ Ewan?”

Levi inhales between his teeth with an awkward, pinched mouth that Tom is annoyed to recognize as a typical Greg fibbing face. “Uh, yes. Buddies, hah. As I said… just youthful mistakes that one makes, but I closed the – uh, that chapter of my life a long time ago.”

“Right. …So I have a packet here, just a few in-production examples of what we can do – ” Tom feels off-balance, if somehow also vindictive, as mistake echoes, and drops the packet into Levi’s fumbling, surprised hands. “Better to visit in person, but short notice.”

Levi hums while he starts to flip through the pages. “Oh, this is quite hefty.”

“And not even comprehensive,” Tom says, shoving his hands into his pockets to squeeze against his thighs with a deep nod. “We’ve also got there a… yep, page twelve here is a resort-park in the Mediterranean that opened two months ago. It’s less roller coasters and water slides, more massages and spa baths.”

“Yes, I’ve been. A big change from the Brightstar status quo.”

“Hah. I halfway suggested a spa direction just to… to get my partner to try the cryotherapy,” Tom says, feeling odd referring to Greg neither by his name nor from beside him, where he usually uses him as a somewhat terrible yesman who constantly butts into the pitch with fun facts. “He’s a decade younger than me with twice the joint issues.”

“Joint issues,” Levi repeats, thoughtfully, as his eyes sweep the page, which is just enough to blame him for the lot of it.

“I’ll let you look this over,” Tom says, waving a flat hand at the pictures and buzzwords between them. “Of course, give me a nudge, if you’ve got any questions.”

Levi drops his head with a nod, mouth pursing in thought at the page. “Yes, I… I do think this more luxury direction is just what I was intrigued by.”

“Great,” Tom says, forcefully bright, then drops back a pair of steps. He turns to where Lukas and his determined antisocial obstinacy has crowded the window across the office, walking quickly in his direction.

Lukas looks about like he wants to crawl like Dracula out the window, but stays planted, lifting his chin to bid a greeting. His eyes narrow over Tom’s shoulder, to where Levi is peering at the pages, and then a frown settles his mouth. “Unlike you to ditch a pitch, Wambsgans.”

“Uh-huh,” Tom says, then jerks his head back and somewhat peeks, too, just to make sure he’s not wandered closer to listen in on them. “Do you know who that is?”

“Levi Hirsch, Sitting Monarch of Maritou.”

Tom raises his brows high up his forehead. “Hirsch.”

Lukas does little more than tsk. “I’ve met other Hirsches.”

“Oh yeah?” Tom says, keeping his face friendly and his tone low, leaning over into Lukas’ space with a slow raise of his brows. “And how many that have those eyes, that face, and are taller than you?”

Lukas narrows an eye across his office, then glances down at his phone, awkwardly, with a low grunt. “Ah.”

“You weren’t aware?”

Lukas reaches up and scratches at the top of his lip with the back of his thumb, halfway covering his mouth. “I do not always endeavor to make a fool of you…  or, more rarely, Greg.”

“Who King Funsuck over there just called a mistake,” Tom says, feeling his lip curl and forcing it back into a friendly shape.

Lukas glances over with an oddly thoughtful pinch to his mouth. “What a surprisingly impressive pedigree.”

Tom sighs hard through his nose. “Okay, now don’t call him a dog.”

“I’ve heard you call him worse,” Lukas says, evenly and absolutely mortifyingly, as his eyes sweep back toward Tom in his next slow blink. “Haven’t I?”

“You have not,” Tom snaps, then cants away in a short lean and pretends to peer against the uneven skyline. “And even then I don’t say dog.”

“I was thinking a horse, anyway,” Lukas says, lowly dismissive, as if that makes it better, then offering Tom a gradual tilt of his head. “Speaking of, has he asked you to Churchill Downs?”

“To what –?” Tom furrows his brows, sensing something he probably does not want to know, yet still he asks, as he looks at Lukas through their reflections. “The racetrack?”

“It’s racing season soon,” Lukas continues, bewilderingly, gesturing with a flat hand out toward the bay of windows. “I was hoping you’d buy a horse, so we could race.”

Tom stares in moments of disbelief. “No,” he says, having some difficulty keeping his voice lower than a bark while he shakes his head. “No one needs a horse, Lukas, least of all me. Or him. Or you.”

“Problem, gentlemen?”

Tom looks over his shoulder to find Levi towering over them and peering into the conversation with a curious lean. He’s really been looking into the packet, by the creases in the paper, which is now curled against his fingers, and it’s almost a disappointment.

“How do you feel about racing horses, Levi?” Lukas asks, turning on a heel with a sharp jut of his chin.

“They’re an investment, with the right one,” Levi says, slowly, a bemused expression building across his face.

Lukas tilts his head to look at Tom. “I am attempting to… entice Tom’s partner to buy one,” he says, in a rare show of tact, “But Tom can’t see the value.”

Tom narrows his eyes at Lukas’ pointed brow raise, then looks over to Levi with a tense laugh. “It’s not quite my thing.”

“Ah,” Levi intones, then shrugs with an uncanny press of his mouth and a flappy-handed shrug. “Happy spouse, happy house?”

Tom raises his brows back, forcing a grin. “We’ll see.”

“I’ve sent him a reminder,” Lukas says, looking up, as he swipes across his phone.

“I’m not buying any sort of million dollars on four legs,” Tom says, trying to keep his voice somewhat friendly from where he stands between the observing secret king-father and his actual paycheck signer. “Let alone one that someone else rides.”

“I do regret bringing it up, now,” Lukas says, looking over to Levi, clicking his tongue while slowly cocking his head. “If he had asked on his own, Tom would’ve barely questioned it.”

“Not true,” Tom says, glancing down and pulling out his phone, as he feels a buzz at his hip.

10:34am Do you have any thoughts about like horse sports?>>

“Jesus Christ,” Tom mutters, reaching up and pinching at the bridge of his nose. He shoves the phone back away, looking up at Levi with a forced smile. “I apologize, this meeting has gone so far off the rails, it’s in the station lobby.”

“It’s alright,” Levi says, offering a horribly familiar, awkward grin while his head cocks to the side. “Today is more greet, than meet.”

“Ah,” Lukas says, brows going up while he sets his phone to the side with a lengthy inhale. “Now I do see it.”

Levi furrows his brow into a bemused pinch.

Tom’s phone starts buzzing in his pocket, rescuing him from coming clean, and he looks down, absolutely unsurprised at the name across the screen. He takes a step away, backing out from between Lukas and Levi with a toothy smile. “Sorry, I have to –”

“Go ahead,” Lukas says, oddly urgent, rather than with his usual sarcastic dismissal in the presence of any sort of phone call.

Tom retreats a few more steps while sweeping to answer the phone. “Hello,” he says, cheerful, holding his face in a smile that he knows irritates Greg when on the phone. “I know you know I’m busy.”

“Do you like need an out?”

Tom stares at the seam of the windows for a beat, then huffs, “I’m not sure Odin would go for it.”

“He – uh, he texted me, so,” Greg says, as a bizarre waterfall sound travels through the speaker, then repeats, but somehow in the opposite – oh, it’s the damned slinky. “I think he feels, like… awkward?”

“Oh, does he?” Tom says, glancing against the reflections to catch Lukas smirking blandly up at Levi. “Aren’t you two just thick as thieves.”

“Tom…” Greg trails off, a familiar quiet, sighing edge to his voice.

Tom rolls his eyes hard. “You’re not getting a fucking horse. It is a living creature, not a toy.”

“Okay, but –”

“No,” Tom interrupts, pulling the phone from his ear to speak perhaps overly loud into the speaker, then immediately taps at the red icon.

10:40AM That was really rude :’(>>

“Other half calls?” Lukas says, superior enough to slap.

“He’s done with his meeting and we’ve got another scheduled,” Tom says, pretending to look at his watch with a sharp raise of an eyebrow. He shakes out his sleeve, looking up at Levi with a smile that stretches at his mouth like stiff putty. “If I could get the technicals of the current property, I could put together a… more tailored proposal to discuss a potential future for the resort? You can keep the offerings packet, of course, look it over in your own time. My email and number are – ” He leans forward to doublecheck, then nods like it was planned, reaching out and pointing at the bottom. “Yep, here on the footer.”

“Thank you for making time, Mr Wambsgans,” Levi says, dropping his head with a narrow-eyed peer to follow the gesture. “I hadn’t planned on dropping in so unannounced, but I passed they building and just had to stop.”

“Tom, please,” Tom says, holding out a hand, again, and offering a brief, barking laugh. “Anything for a king!”

“Yes, well,” Levi says, reaching out with a single, determined shake of Tom’s hand that’s just like the first one. “The annual GDP of Maritou is some less than Waystar, I’ve been told.”

“Hah,” Tom says, tightly, wondering exactly which of his ex-in-laws had said dropped that particular nugget: Logan, or Caroline, or perhaps a precocious Kendall? …It also could’ve just been Connor in a tactless moment.

~

“You’re not going to tell me more about him?” Tom asks, later that night, as he half-watches a Law and Order episode that probably came out while he was in Cornell. He peeks over to Greg, curled up with his tablet, and wets his lips, stretching to knee him in the thigh. “Greg, I’m dying. The curiosity here is like a gut wound.”

Greg shrugs, tightly, “I said we don’t talk.”

“Okay, and –”

“For real, Tom,” Greg interrupts, in an unfamiliar tone, not quite resentful, really, or even unhappy, but balancing at some edge between them, with a dash of weariness thrown in for flavor. “I had like an Instagram once, like in 2016, and he, like… He somehow came up as one of my recommended follows on it? So I deleted it.”

Tom raises then drops his brows.

“He’s just – he’s kind of like my mom, you know, but… but not in a good way, like a way worse way? My mom wasn’t great at like being my mom, but she… You know, she’s my friend. Even when she couldn’t be around, she always like… she called me. She – uh, she likes me as a person, I think?”

Tom slowly nods an awkward agreement. He never really knows what to do when Greg awkwardly talks around his mom being a bit unfit, and now here he is directly addressing it in some way that’s purely: hey, Tom, it was much worse than you thought.

“And I also, maybe –” Greg visibly swallows, as he keeps scrolling at the tablet. “I kind of just hate that I look like – so much like him.”

“Greg,” Tom sighs, feeling some guilt for being unable to get that thought out of his head the whole time he’d been in the office. It was pretty eye-opening, like a comforting portent, though he’s definitely going to hold off on the cracks about Greg’s prematurely greying hair for… a month or so longer. “Baby boy, you look like you. And if –” He briefly pauses, reluctant, “If you don’t want to work with him, I’ll pull in someone… Curtis, maybe.”

“It’s okay,” Greg says, tilting his head, still not looking over, which isn’t much of a sign that he’s being candid. “Kendall had to work with – uh, with Uncle Logan all the time.”

Tom feels his mouth flatten further, while he quirks a brow. “Not a great endorsement.”

“Hey,” Greg says, turning the screen toward Tom, showing a dapple grey posing smartly next to a track. His expression is one of determinedly changing the subject. “Look at this one – she’s called Cover Up.”

“No,” Tom says, reaching out and jabbing at the tablet until it’s turned back over. “Absolutely not.”

“But she’s really pretty,” Greg says, while his eyes widen to about an eleven on the pout scale. “And when she’s old, she can live at the ranch.”

Tom scoffs, lightly, “Over your grandad’s dead body.”

“Probably,” Greg says, tilting his head with another swipe at the screen. He coughs lightly, gradually losing any remnants of his earlier, anxious expression. “We should like still go to the track.”

Tom wonders with a start if Greg would actually crack open his own heart just to gain leeway on getting his way with this horse thing, and lands on a solid, somewhat fond: most likely. “That sounds a lot like: oh, I just want to look at the sad puppies at the ASPCA.”

“Hey, we could like – You could get an old one or something?” Greg says, looking up, again, face bizarrely lighting up at the idea of getting something that can’t race. “I forgot you’re like a rescue guy.”

Tom stares for a beat, irked to feel consideration enter his mind, like the word itself has inspired some mental rendition of Sarah Mclachlan to play between his ears. “…Stop trying to work me over on this.”

Greg uncurls tellingly on the sofa and Tom reflexively spreads his thighs to balance the approaching weight, as Greg crawls on top to straddle him. “You’re like so sweet, Tommy.”

Tom rolls his eyes to the ceiling, away from Greg trying to cuddle slash seduce him into submission. He’s going to pretend this is comfort for the earlier conversation, for his own peace of mind. “Greg.”

“You could make sure it lives the rest of its life like super good, instead of, like – as a pit pony.”

“It’s not working,” Tom says, feeling his tie slip off, peeking sideways while it’s thrown limp across the back of the sofa. “That’s not even a thing anymore.”

“You rescued Mondale,” Greg says, kissing heavy across Tom’s jaw with a low, warm hum. “You rescued me… Rescue a horse, next.”

“I did not rescue you, you are a prince with a quarter billion inheritance,” Tom says, wetting his lips, as his shirt collar pops open, and gives in to slide a hand across Greg’s lower back. “You tricked me into thinking I rescued you. You’re a cuckoo.”

“It’s almost like a third now,” Greg says, earnest, leaning in and kissing at Tom’s neck, then rubbing at the spot with the backs of his knuckles.

Tom snorts loudly, then breaks into an outright laugh that seems to do little to deter Greg’s evident quest to find the perfect place for a hickey. “So wait a couple years and buy this thing yourself.”

Greg pouts palpably into Tom’s throat. “Tom.”

[cinebration]

None Like You (Geralt x Reader) [Request]

hi! can you do a geralt one shot with fem reader where she's a princess and they start falling for each other? tysm! — Request by anon

Warnings: blood

Gif Source: frodo-sam

Your mother had raised you to believe you were someone of importance, but life on the farm had said otherwise. You toiled just like everyone else, bleeding and sweating. You were soiled, not spoiled. Yet your mother insisted you were a princess and told you outrageous bedtime stories to lull you to sleep in your youth.

You should have paid better attention.

When King Henselt’s only son died, leaving only a marriage and no heirs, you woke one morning to the pounding of a mailed fist on the door. Your mother answered and then hurried into your room, fluttering about like a mad woman.

“It’s time,” she cried, shoving you into your best dress and raking her fingers through your hair.

“For what?”

“To be someone.”

Then she bundled you out the door into the arms of a military escort carrying the Kaedwan sigil on their shields and tunics: a red-horned unicorn on a yellow field.

It took you the whole day to finally coax information out of your escort regarding the whole ordeal. When they told you what you were, you nearly fell out of your saddle in disbelief.

The king must be desperate, you thought as you tried to fall asleep beside the campfire.

Then the night turned bloody.

~~

Something crunched underfoot to your right. You huddled deeper in the hollowed tree, clutching the steel in your hands. The edges had sliced open your palms, but you didn’t care. It afforded you some protection, even if the creature had snapped the blade it came from like a twig.

Tensing, you waited for the sound to draw nearer, coiling to spring. It was just like killing chickens, you told yourself. One neat slice to the throat.

You leapt out of the hollow, slashing up and across.

The witcher caught your wrist easily, flinging the steel out of your hand. Stifling a cry, you cradled the injured hand to your chest, backed away from him. His eerie yellow eyes tracked you as you pressed yourself against the tree trunk, searching for an escape.

“What happened?” His voice rasped like feet dragged over gravel.

“Death,” you whispered, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the massacre. “Some…thing.”

“It’s dead now.”

You fixed him with a wary glance. “Truly?”

He grunted.

You nearly sank to your knees in relief. Pressing a hand to your mouth, you felt the cuts in your hand spasm. Fresh blood wept from the slashes, trickling down your arms. The witcher swept his gaze over you, eyeing the wounds. You fumbled with the hem of your dress, trying to rip the dirty fabric into strips.

“Did you fight it?” The surprise in the witcher’s voice drew your ear.

You wheezed. “I slashed it, yes, but fight? No.”

Rummaging around in the leaves on the forest floor, the witcher retrieved the broken steel, examined it. He swore.

Unease coiled within you. “What is it?”

“Come here.”

You hesitated. The witcher rolled his eyes and strode over to you, grabbing you by the wrist. His touch was firm but not tight, much to your surprise. You followed after him, feeling a little dizzy as he led you over to the road. A horse stood idly there, kind eyes inquisitive. It didn’t shy away as you drew near despite the smell of blood.

“Good horse,” you murmured, appraising it.

The witcher fumbled through a saddlebag, searching for something. At last he pulled out a vial and took your hands, tearing off the strips to get to your wounds. He poured the grey contents of the vial out before you could protest.

You nearly screamed, the pain in your hands was so excruciating. Lighting shot up your arms as the vial’s contents fizzed on your palms and in your wounds.

“To prevent the venom from killing you,” the witcher explained.

“If the pain doesn’t kill me first,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

A smirk tugged on the witcher’s lips, followed quickly by a frown. “What were you doing traveling with those soldiers?”

You hesitated again. What had you heard about witchers? That they fought for coin and hunted monsters. You had no coin, but neither did you know where you were or how to get home.

“King Henselt sent them,” you confided slowly. “They believe I am his bastard daughter.”

“A princess.”

You elected to ignore the mild groan in the man’s voice. “Can you take me home? The farm, not Aed Carraigh.”

His yellow eyes fixed on you again, white eyebrows beetling together. “You don’t want to go to the castle?”

“Is it safe? As safe as home?”

His lips pressed into a thin line.

“Then take me home,” you insisted. “I’m no princess.”

~~

The witcher smelled. You couldn’t ignore it, not with your face pressed into his back. He wasn’t made for traveling with someone sitting behind him. You could feel it in the tension of his shoulders and back, as though he couldn’t relax beneath the touch of your arms. You did your best to relax your own tense grasp.

You had run nigh over a mile before collapsing in the hollowed tree trunk. The horse covered the distance easily, passing by the smoldering, bloody encampment you had settled down in the night before. You watched it pass, glimpsing the heaps of bodies scattered about.

It took several hours to draw near home. Joy fluttered in your chest as you approached.

You crested the ridge overlooking home and went still, horror rolling through you. The farm house was ash and rubble, still smoking. The animals had been let from their pens, taken for livestock by whatever had rolled through the farm.

“Bandits,” the witcher noted.

Fighting nausea, you wandered down to the burnt house, searching in the ruins. The ash burned your hands and legs, but you sifted through it, yanking aside a crumbling beam.

Beneath lay your mother. What was left of her.

You retched off to the side, stumbling through the ash. You stood bent at the waist for an eternity before you felt the witcher watching you. Turning to face him, you wiped the sick from your chin. “I can’t stay here.”

He frowned.

Your mother had raised a practical woman, fantastic fantasies about your lineage aside. It was all you could think to do as you stood in the ashes of your dead life. One foot in front of the other.

“I have no money,” you confessed, “but if King Henselt sent for me, he can pay you to ensure my arrival.”

The witcher considered it. At last he growled and nodded.

~~

It would take four days to reach Aed Carraigh. The horse—named Roach, you learned—could only manage that distance in a shorter time if not burdened with two riders.

You sat close to the campfire, warming yourself in the flames, shaking not from cold but from fear as the night closed in around you. The night held terrors untold, but until the night before, you had never seen them in the flesh. Knowing they lingered out in the dark set your teeth on edge.

“I’m sorry to burden you,” you told the witcher, the silence too much to bear. You watched the horse warily for signs of attack, knowing the animal was likely to hear or sense it before you.

“Why don’t you want to be a princess?”

Taken aback by the unexpected question, you shrugged. “Why would I want to be one?”

“Riches. A comfortable life.”

“I had a comfortable life with riches untold. They just weren’t gold.”

“Gold is necessary.”

“Gold means nothing if your life is miserable.”

The words hung heavy in the air. The witcher averted his gaze, surprising you. Frowning, you rubbed at your arms, trying to make the hair on your arms stand down. His averted face gave you the opportunity to study his features. They were rough and worn, his brow creased from excessive glowering. He was all hard edges, a larger man than even the largest farmer you had seen. He appeared both comfortable and uncomfortable in his own skin, or perhaps your presence was upsetting him.

“Am I keeping you from work?”

“Are you always so concerned for witchers?”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Yet there you sit.”

You bit your tongue, surprised by the sting of his barb. Something flickered across his stern features as you ducked your head. “Then tell me where to go and I will get there myself.”

“The road is dangerous.”

“Being a woman is dangerous.”

He almost smiled in surprise. You could see it dancing on his lips.

“So tell me where to go,” you insisted. “Then I can leave your remarkable hair.”

His eyebrows twitched. The silence stretched between you both for a minute, the fire crackling in the quiet. At last, he said, “I will take you.”

You almost gave away your relief with a sharp exhale.

~~

Though the witcher was a man of few words, you found you were able to read more from his face and the set of his shoulders than from anything he said. His silences were full of information, though you couldn’t be sure of what exactly. You merely knew that he radiated safety as much as he did danger.

“Do you know many princesses?” you asked him.

He grunted.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“I know one or two,” he said. “But none like you.”

You frowned, glancing down at your soiled dress. “Yes, I suppose I’m nothing like one. The people will be overjoyed with a farmer’s daughter.” You snorted.

“I think they could use one.”

Frowning, you glanced up at him. He didn’t quite smile, but the glower on his face had shifted into something softer.

“Well, when I am princess,” you said, “I will remember at least one person believes me suited for the job. That’s all that matters.”

A faint smile touched the witcher’s lips. You matched it with a slow smile of your own.

[celestialarchon]

The Celestial Archon

Chapter Two: The Moonlight Phenomenon

Genshin Impact x F! Reader

Warnings: major Genshin Impact Spoilers! Possible grammar errors.

Tag list: To Be Added. (sorry it needed to be published!)

With the return of a mysterious archon, celebrations began! The night was filled with laughter, food, and memories being made. One person was amiss during the celebration, Mona still found herself unsettled and unable to be as excited as the others. An eerie feeling of unrest and anxiety has settled over our esteemed astrologist as our beloved heroes celebrate.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“I’ve finally found you,” Mona’s intense astrology session was interrupted by a cheery high pitched voice.

“Hello, Seraphim.” Mona turned to greet the beautiful woman.

She nearly gasped as the woman walked in, her hair now styled and her eyes shining brighter than before, the mysterious tattoos seemed to have faded and though she was still striking she looked far more human than before. The Celestial Archon merely smiled at the woman’s surprise and stepped towards her, hand out.

“We should talk, my child. Fate had brought us together, an astrologist with a water vision instead of a celestial vision is strange enough.” The woman was calm but not cold as Mona took her hand.

Mona was warm as the gentle archon interlocked their fingers and led her to the corner of the room, sinking down into a comfy chair and pointing at the one next to her. Disappointment creeped up in the astrologist as her idol released her hand. It was quickly replaced with embarrassment and a soft flush across her cheeks. Mona was wholeheartedly captured by the mystery goddess.

“I’m sure you’re aware,” The bright eyes goddess sighed, “That my arrival in Teyvat has stirred up some trouble.”

Mona frowned slightly, “There was already trouble, your sudden appearance is not the cause of it.”

“That’s good, but I still feel that my presence is going to stir the pot a bit. I am connected to all the stars and spaces of this world, I can feel and see things so deeply and I am well aware that there are challenges coming. It’s annoying in some ways.” Her eyes were distant again.

Words were lost on Mona for a moment. She couldn’t begin to imagine how stressful it was to feel so deeply, to constantly be overwhelmed by information and one’s connection to the world. Every piece of text written about the Celestial Archon was very vague. Information on the god of stars was hard to find and many details had been lost, yet one thing seemed to stay the same in ever piece of information Mona had consumed.

Even when the world was teeming with elemental energy and gods were far more common, the goddess of the sky, Seraphim, was an oddity. Before the Archon war, Seraphim was a lone wolf being without many ties. The last god of stars kept to herself and had no desire to interfere with the other’s problems, despite knowing so much of them. It was incredibly lonely and sad.

“You said it’s strange that I have a water vision,” Mona finally spoke.

“Yes,” The archon clicked her tongue, “Had I been around, somebody like you would’ve received a vision from me. However, you did not receive one of my visions and ultimately that should’ve impacted your abilities over astrology but it did not. You are quite the gifted character, aren’t you Miss Mona?”

Mona’s face was tomato red at the words of the beloved celestial archon, “I am honored to be complimented by the goddess of stars.”

“You’re very formal,” The starry eyed goddess laughed.

“Excuse me,” the two were interrupted by none other than the acting grandmaster, “I would like a word with the Lady of the Stars.”

Mona was hesitant, not wanting her idol to slip away but nodded and escorted the woman to the door. She was a bit dissatisfied with the conversation they’d had, wanting to know more and more of her long awaited god. The woman turned back to Mona, eyes twinkling, and embraced her. The normally level headed and somewhat haughty astrologist stiffened in shock but returned the warm hug. A sigh escaped Mona’s mouth, but she didn’t mind. The goddess was warm and something about her affection put Mona at peace.

“I am so lucky that somebody as beautiful and gifted as you awaited my return, Mona Megistus. Until we meet again, my darling.” The woman’s grasp around Mona tightened as she whispered in her ear.

The water mage watched as the strange goddess gracefully glided away with Jean. She was ethereal with the moonlight filtering in from tall windows, her skin illuminated as she hung on to every word Jean said. Even the confident and ever busy acting grandmaster found butterflies swarming her abdomen at the sight of the goddess. Jean felt as if she could be swept away by the young woman.

A part of Jean felt guilty for several reasons. As acting grand master, it was her duty to know about the citizens of Mond, it was her duty to work without personal emotions interfering, and her duty to oversee the safety of all the wind borne citizens. The Celestial Archon was challenging all of these duties. It was only natural for an astrologist to be obsessed with a god of stars, and Jean had interrupted the conversation. The Dandelion Knight couldn’t help but feel an innocent sort of crush on the goddess, she was kind and beautiful and she really seemed to want to get to know everyone. Ultimately, Jean was also aware of the danger a new archon posed.

Even so, the beautiful knight couldn’t help but want to push all those thoughts aside and capture the attention of the goddess for hours. She shook off that thought, attempting to focus on her duty as Mondstat’s respected Grand Master. Jean explained the general politics of the city of freedom and the individual jobs of the knights of favonious. She even went as far as to explain the adventurer’s guild and the recent trouble with Storm Terror. The Celestial Archon hung on to every word, nodding and asking occasional questions.

Jean took the time to explain the place they were in, a place between Mondstat and Liyue, and the teleport points that marked both countries. She was diligent and had already prepared some documents for the 8th Archon, maps and other things needed in the world. Jean had even communicated with others to ensure each safe place for the archon was marked. The allied domain was the middle ground, but Mondstat welcomed the new Archon with a living place and much to do. Liyue had also prepared a small home in the city for her.

The archon stared in wonder at the map. The knights of Favonious had prepared a room for her in their own head quarters, even the esteemed Tycoon had set aside a room. Wangshuu Inn welcomed her and Liyue Harbor gave her quarters close to Rex Lapis. Small notes were written for her, both Xiao and Diluc noted the stars were best seen from where they were while the traveler and Paimon had starred their favorite places to eat.

“Ah, Master Jean.” The Goddess spoke slowly, bowing.

“Please, Seraphim, there’s no reason to be so formal!” Jean’s voice rose nervously, “You are an archon after all.”

“Yes, that’s true. You do not serve me though, please refer to me as my chosen name. Formalities aren’t my taste much.” The Archon remarked bashfully.

Jean nodded, rose dusting her cheeks.

“I,” The Archon sighed, “Really need an open space so I can, uh, deal with my weapon situation.”

“Oh, oh!” Realization hit Jean.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” Jean babbled nervously, “Here let us go out to the cliffs, it should be okay, right?”

“Mhm,” The goddess followed the knight to the exit.

Aether and Paimon were also by the exit, turning at the sound of approaching foot steps. Aether grinned and waved at the Celestial Archon, she waved back and beamed. Paimon immediately took off, throwing herself into the Archons arms as the woman giggled. Jean’s face was priceless, attempting to process how this small otherworldly creature could just tackle and archon without shame.

Aether and his companion followed the two women, curious about the weapon another archon would wield. The group made their way to the edge of the cliff, the stars seeming extra bright and the moon full. The goddess lowered herself, feet on the lush grass and put her hand forth, palm out. Swiftly, she struck the air in front of her with her pointer finger, an unfamiliar constellation connecting at each point.

“Return to your master, Destroyer of Divinity.” Her words were clear and calm.

The constellation burst into a ray of white light, Aether covered his eyes as Paimon whined. Darkness fell again and he opened his eyes, gasping at the sight in front of him. The goddess held a long weapon close to her body, above her shoulder was a large opalescent curved blade, below the hip on the opposite side, another shimmering curved blade could be seen. No weapon in Teyvat was even similar.

“I-Is is that a scythe?!” Jean sputtered.

“Aha, well yes,” The goddess blushed at their reactions, “Destroyer of Divinity is an unusual weapon, meant to slice through dimensional and spatial barriers. I didn’t mean to shock you.”

Aether stood, mouth agape, “Even its name is terrifying! What the hell?”

“Ahahaha,” the archon continued to laugh nervously, “Well, its existence is basically to bring judgement from the heavens upon those deserving so yeah it’s a bit intimidating.”

Aether nearly screamed. How could she say something so casually?

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The traveler was feeling a bit nervous, as anybody would if an Archon decided to tag along for their daily commissions. Paimon and the Celestial Archon chattered away as Aether spoke to the Katheryne in Liyue. It did not help that the three had left before the others awoke and the Celestial Archon had left a note declaring it as a “friendly date.”

The last thing Aether wanted was to piss off literally any of the adepti, the Geo Archon himself, and even Jean who had taken a very noticeable interest in the goddess. A cloud seemed to look over the blonde but Paimon didn’t notice. The eighth Archon gave the teenager a sympathetic smile and put her hand on his shoulder, attempting to ease his nerves. Only one thing could make the situation worse, and unfortunately that particular thing was heading straight towards Aether.

“Let’s run,” Aether grabbed the startled archon’s wrist and dragged her to the teleport point nearby, ignoring the calls of a certain troublesome individual.

The archon chuckled, “I didn’t know daily commissions would be so exciting!”

Aether smiled sheepishly and let go of her wrist, trying to focus on which commission to start with. He was distracted by a sudden commotion, people yelled out as a hooded figure darted past the trio. Liyue Harbor’s guards thundered after the thief, knocking the poor panicked goddess off her feet.

The eight archon shut her eyes and prepared for the impact of the fall, but was yanked back by a pair of strong arms.

“Hey, girlie. Hold still.” A charming voice said.

The goddess watched as the lanky ginger haired man moved forward and shot an arrow, narrowly missing all the guard and hitting the suspicious character in the back. Aether’s eyes were filled with shock and panic at the sight of the man. Immediately, the goddess side stepped away from her hero, on high alert.

“Now,” He turned to her beaming, “What exactly is such a beautiful young lady doing with this kiddo?”

Her starry eyes met his azure eyes, “I’m just a new adventurer from Mondstat, learning the ropes from the best.”

“Hmm?” His gaze was questioning, “Well then, I’m Childe. Number 11 of the Fatui Harbingers. We should definitely get to know each other.”

The goddess moved to Aether in a quick swift movement. Suddenly, she wanted very much to escape Liyue Harbor. The Fatui were trouble, the goddess was new to the era but even she knew that they were dangerous. It was one of the first matters addressed at her arrival. She no longer knew the Cryo Archon, and this Tsarita sounded troubling.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” an annoyed voice chimed in, averting the red head’s attention.

A shorter man with a large hat and ominous aura stood behind the tall harbinger. Aether tensed up and the goddess wrapped her arm around his shoulder. Slowly, the trio made their escape at the expense of Childe. The older harbinger was chewing the younger man out for flirting and wasting time, both harbingers bickered as the traveler and his companions fled.

“You shouldn’t be wasting time on trying to get laid you, fool.” Scaramouche scowled, still ripping into his subordinate. “Especially not that woman, even from a mile away I can tell she’s trouble. You’re a harbinger not a host, get your shit together, Tartaglia.”

Childe smirked, looking down on his superior, “So you noticed her, too. I wonder what someone like that is doing with my favorite traveler.”

“We should alert the Tsarita of that girl,” Scaramouche mumbled, avoiding the earlier comment.

“I actually agree,” Childe’s eyes narrowed, “I was hoping to see for myself what she is, but that kid stopped me of course. There’s something strange about her but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe I can charm it out of her?”

Scaramouche slapped his comrades back, “Let’s go you useless fucking playboy.”

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Wangshuu Inn looked beautiful and the aroma of food was far too enticing. Aether sighed as he watched his small, chubby companion chase after the eighth archon. The woman was supposed to be divine, yet in some ways he reminded her of a puppy or a kitten. She was somewhat moody with her affections and spacey like a kitten may be, and still somehow clingy and energetic like a puppy.

Luckily for the two, Aether had a commission from Verr Goldet. The blonde tried to maintain composure as he saw a familiar dark haired yaksha speaking with the Inn Keeper, not wanting to admit he’d accidentally led the Fatui straight to the Archon. The traveler watched in fascination and amusement as Verr’s face twisted from composed to horrified when Xiao was knocked over by the goddess. The conqueror of demons merely grunted and stood back up, clutching the ethereal woman to his chest.

Xiao’s eyes were cold as they met Aether’s, clearly annoyed with the boy, but his expression softened at the yawning goddess in his arms. Once again, the traveler was overcome with curiosity at her behavior. Only moments ago the woman was bubbly and hyper, now her eyes were fluttering and she was snuggling up to one of the most dangerous beings in Teyvat. Without a word, the tattooed man spun around and carried the goddess upstairs.

“I’m here for your com-“ Aether began.

“Who was that?!” Verr Goldet burst out, “I’ve never seen Adeptus Xiao so damn agreeable. What just happened? Is this a dream?”

Paimon giggled, “He loooooves her! That person is the one we told you about before! Even Xiao can’t be in a bad mood around her, it’s amazing!”

“Oh,” Verr blushed at Paimon’s words, “She’s that person? No wonder he’s been so restless.”

“Wait, restless?” Aether questioned.

Verr Sighed and beckoned the two to a guest free area. The two followed her into a small back room, exchanging glances. The boss lady pulled out an old book and brushed the dust away. Aether and Paimon peered down at the book, puzzled by its appearance. It was a dark leather with carvings of the moon and clouds on the front.

Carefully, Verr flipped the book open and turned it to the two. Paimon shot up, shrieking. The book looked like a book you’d find in a library but was strange. Instead of ongoing text, the pages had scraps and pieces stuck on the pages with various notes scribbled around. Verr turned to the first page, placing her middle finger at the beginning text and giving Aether and expectant look. The traveler leaned down and began to read the text.

“The moonlight phenomenon: Legend of Liyue.

It is said that there was once a ruler of the stars, one who ruled over the sky as the Gods rule over our land. When tides of war overcame Liyue, Rex Lapis sought out the monarch of the sky to form a contract.

Seraphim granted Rex Lapis the moonlight phenomenon. Liyue’s skies were never to dim even on the darkest of nights, the moon and stars would remain as guides for Liyue always. It is said that this contract assisted in bringing the evil gods to their doom, the sky illuminating the way to victory for Liyue and all of Teyvat.”

Verr flipped the page as Aether exhaled trying to wrap his mind around the strange passage.

“The Contract: Seraphim and Rex Lapis.

The circumstances of the moonlight phenomenon still remain unknown. It is an ancient mystery that many still attempt to solve, what exactly did the Geo Archon barter for his people?

Nobody knows, still. However, the most common theories are that the contract has not been fulfilled or that there was no contract to begin with. Many believe that Rex Lapis and Seraphim were secret lovers, and this was Seraphim’s gift to her beloved. Others hypothesize that Seraphim’s wish was never fulfilled, as her death sealed the victory for The Seven Archons.”

Aether shuddered. People in Liyue believe that The Celestial Archon died in the Archon war? Verr flipped to a page in the middle of the book.

“Liyue’s Priestess Seraphim

It is said that a woman with eyes vast like the galaxy beyond and mysterious astrological powers once enchanted all of Liyue.

Seraphim, the last Celestial wielder was Liyue’s last hope. Though she is not honored as an archon, she is known vaguely as a priestess. The woman who captured the attention of the archon’s themselves and was adored by the Adepti. Few remain, but Liyue’s legends claim that the priestess of the stars was the lover of Rex Lapis, the lover of the Vigilant Yaksha, or the lover another adepti.

Even fewer discuss the devastation that occurred when she fell from grace. Her death was the catalyst of the only known battle between Liyue’s very own Archon, The Anemo Archon and his people, and the Adepti. A lesser known battle that almost forced both Mondstat and Liyue into Civil Wars.

When the dust settled, all that stood was the full moon. Many Adepti still honor the priestess under the moonlight by fighting evil spirits and demons.”

Aether’s eyes widened at Verr. She solemnly shook her head as the traveler’s face fell. Xiao, Ganyu, Zhongli, Venti, all of them suffered so terribly. It was confusing to the boy that every text described the Celestial Archon as deceased. His head began to hurt from the information. Verr sighed and led him back out.

“Once you finish commissions, why don’t you two stay here? I’ll prepare a room for you,” The boss was sympathetic.

Aether grimaced but nodded, leading Paimon out to finish their duties.

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Somewhere in the shadows of Wangshuu Inn crept a Fatui agent, slipping away as the traveler set out. The shadowy figure grinned at the piece of paper in their hand.

“Protected by the traveler and the Adepti. Master Childe will be interested in this,” His eyes were dark as he approached his fellow Fatui agents, “She could be very useful to us, this (Y/N).”

The suspicious shadows began to slink away, overcome with desire to inform their boss of the new information. Only a few feet away, a strange creature ducked down to avoid being seen by the agents, fidgeting.

“The angel is here!” The creature shrieked as the cult like group left it’s sight, “(Y/N) will be ours.”

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Hiii!! I really love your tumblr posts and I'm pretty new to the Batfam (meaning I have only read fics and textposts about them, no comics) and I wanted to ask about the year Bruce/Batman gets "lost in time". I know general things of what the kids have been doing–Dick became batman and fired Tim from robin, giving it to Damian, everyone thinking Tim was crazy for believing Bruce was alive, (don't really know what Jason was up to though, was he still murderous towards Tim? Does the pit still affect him? Also I have no idea about Cass and Duke, were they introduced at this point??) Anyways, my real question was why was Bruce lost in time, what villain put him there? And how did he get out? And how long was he "dead"? Was Bruce in another reality or like just asleep the whole time? Oh! And how soon did this happen after Damian got introduced to the family–a couple months?

I'm so sorry this is so long, but I hope you answer and thank you!!

(I’m going to try and cover all my bases here by going into how exactly Bruce “died,” what went down during the Battle For the Cowl, what the Batkids did while Bruce was gone, and how Bruce came back. Hopefully it all makes sense?? We’ll see how it goes lmao.)

Part 1 - What Happened to Bruce:

So there was this event called Final Crisis (which I won’t go completely into since it would make this post a million times longer than it already is), but the bottom line is that Darkseid wants to overthrow reality and release his Anti-Life Equation, which would overthrow the whole planet and turn everyone into slaves. (If you’re interested in knowing more about the storyline, here’s a Reddit thread that explains it WAY better than I could.) 

What I CAN tell you is that during his final confrontation with Darkseid, Bruce is hit by an Omega Beam and turned into a burnt chicken nugget killed. Poor guy.

Final Crisis #6

Clark and Diana bring the body back to the Batcave and break the news to the Batfamily. Batman #687 covers a good portion of the aftermath such as Bruce’s funeral, the Batfamily grieving, and Dick coming to terms with his new responsibility of becoming Batman.

Batman #687

Part 2 - Battle For the Cowl: 

Musical chairs time, fellas! After word gets out that Batman is gone, Gotham erupts into chaos. Dick doesn’t want to take over the mantle, Tim needs Dick to take over the mantle, and Jason says “fuck it” and takes over the mantle himself because somebody around here has to. He becomes this murderous psychopathic Batman and starts taking out criminals with deadly force because someone’s gotta do the job, so it might as well be him.

Batman: Battle For the Cowl #1

(Okay honestly, this series had some pretty bad characterization overall, which sucks since it’s such an important storyline. Jason is portrayed as this violent psychopath, which...okay, he was kind of insane after the Pit and all, but not to this degree. Personally, I choose to owe the bad characterization to Bruce’s death because as much as Jason resents Bruce for all he’s done, he does still love him and losing him would be devastating, which would exacerbate his already fragile mental health. As for Damian, this happens roughly three years after his first appearance, so we can assume it’s been a few months since he first joined the family. He’s still relatively new at this point, so nobody knows how to write him yet. He ends up being depicted as if his main two personality traits are Bratty and Assassin-Child and that’s it. It’s all just a mess.)

Anyway, Tim tells Dick to become Batman and stop Jason’s reign of terror. Dick says no, so Tim follows Jason’s lead by saying “fuck it” and putting on the cowl himself. He goes to confront Jason, which ends in Jason beating the crap out of him (again) and leaving him for dead after Tim declines his offer to become Jason’s Robin. Dick goes to save Tim and ends up fighting Jason. 

Battle For the Cowl #3

Dick wins, Jason disappears, Tim is fine, and Dick finally gets his head out of his ass and becomes Batman. 

Part 3 - What Happens to Each Batkid While Bruce is “Dead”?:

Dick: 

As I said, Dick becomes the new Batman a month after Bruce’s death. He’s got big shoes to fill, and it takes some time for him to get used to his new role. He and Damian end up flipping around the classic Batman and Robin dynamic, with Batman now as the fun counterpart to Robin’s edginess. Dick, Damian, and Alfred relocate to the penthouse above the Wayne Foundation building, operating out of a secret Bat-Bunker in the basement.

Batman #688

Jason: 

After Battle For the Cowl, Jason is still batshit insane and determined to make Dick’s already stressful life even harder by becoming a supervillain with an ugly costume and an even uglier hairstyle. (I know it’s just because the artist sucked, but still. Jason is horrifying to look at during this time.) He mostly just gets on Dick’s nerves by running around Gotham with his new sidekick Scarlet and killing criminals as Batman and Robin wannabes. Eventually, Dick has Jason committed to Arkham Asylum and he hangs out there until Bruce returns.

Batman and Robin (2009) #5

Tim: 

Tim...doesn’t do great after Bruce’s death, mentally. Dick makes Damian Robin, his reasoning being that Robin is more of a sidekick and he sees Tim as his equal. By making Damian Robin, Dick hopes that it will give him the stability he needs to keep him from straying back toward the “bad” side. (It’s the right move ultimately, although his execution was pretty messed up since he didn’t discuss it with Tim beforehand, but he’s allowed to make mistakes. Dick’s father just died and now he’s in charge of picking up the pieces of their broken family. It’s a lot to handle.) 

Long story short, Tim has a breakdown, realizes that Bruce is alive, dons the Red Robin identity, and cuts ties with his family to travel the world in search of proof. It’s a rough time. 

Red Robin #1

Damian: 

Our little guy becomes Robin! So proud of him! As I explained earlier, Dick makes Damian his Robin with the assumption that it will keep him out of trouble, and he’s right on that account. He mentors Damian, teaching him how to channel his violent instincts into something productive, and it works! Slowly but surely, Damian makes the transition from bratty assassin to actual hero!

Batman and Robin (2009) #22

Cass:

Duke sadly was not introduced at this point in time, so he missed out on all the pandemonium. Cass, however, has been Batgirl for years by now, but she got kind of pushed aside by the writers after Bruce’s death. Bruce disappears shortly after adopting Cass, but once he was “dead,” the writers sort of moved Cass around for a while, not quite knowing what to do with her. First she was with the Outsiders. Then they got disbanded and Cass tried forming a new network of heroes to take over for Batman if needed. Then she helped out in said network during Battle for the Cowl, taking care of a newly ravaged Gotham. Then Cass gave the Batgirl mantle to Stephanie Brown after she became disillusioned with the role, thanks to the loss of her father and mentor. Then Cass picked up and moved to Hong Kong to “follow Bruce’s plans” by continuing whatever work he had set up for her there. It was all very vague and confusing, and Cass more or less got swept under the rug during this time. Thanks, writers.

Batgirl (2009) #1

Part 4 - How Bruce Came Back: 

When the Blackest Night storyline happens, the Justice League realizes that the corpse buried under Bruce’s grave is apparently not the real one and that he’s actually alive out there somewhere! How wild is that! This is further proven by Dick after he places Bruce’s body in a Lazarus Pit to revive, which has the same result because it’s very clearly Not Bruce and they should have listened to Tim from the start.

Batman and Robin (2009) #9

Anyway, what actually happened is that the Omega Beams that Darkseid shot at Bruce didn’t kill him, but rather blasted him back through time to the prehistoric era with his memories wiped. The Omega Energy inside of Bruce ends up catapulting him through various time periods, which is all part of Darkseid’s plan. With each time-hop, Bruce builds up more Omega Energy in his body which, when he gets back to his original time period, will be unleashed and destroy everything.

Batman: The Return of Bruce Wayne #5

It’s been a little under two years since Final Crisis, though in-universe it’s uncertain exactly how long Bruce has been “dead.” We can assume it’s been a year, give or take. The way he comes back is too scientific and complicated for me to understand, so uhhhh the bottom line is that Tim and a few Leaguers save Bruce at the Vanishing Point and the day is saved! Hooray! 

Batman: The Return of Bruce Wayne #6

(If you want to read about how it actually goes down, then I seriously recommend reading Batman: The Return of Bruce Wayne. It’s only six issues, so it’s a quick read and it explains the situation far better than I ever could.)

Bruce eventually reunites with his family after spying on them for a period of time as Insider to see what has changed in his absence:

Bruce Wayne: The Road Home

After that, things quickly settle back into their new normal. Dick and Damian stay on as Batman and Robin. Bruce goes back to being Batman as well, with him handling Batman Incorporated business and Dick continuing as Gotham’s defender. Tim keeps the Red Robin outfit, Steph stays on as Batgirl, and Cass becomes Black Bat. Jason stays in Arkham for a while before filing an appeal to be moved to a regular prison. He kills 82 inmates in less than a week and gets transferred back to Arkham, which he promptly escapes from. It’s a ride, I tell ya.

Aaaaand that’s about it! I hope this answered all of your questions!

[ragingbookdragon]

Each Word Gets Lost In The Echo PT. 1

Roy Harper x Batbrother!Reader

Word Count: 2.9K Warnings: Explicit Language, Mature Themes

Author's Note: I had way too much fun with this but PT. 2 is going to be angsty and y'all are gonna hate me for it. >:) Enjoy! -Thorne

********************************************************************************

So, are you planning on getting us together soon?

He hummed in response, pulling out the pan and spatula. “I dunno. With Gutierrez’s wife giving birth, I want Esmeralda to have some time with her daughter before we pull out again. I know her Samantha wants her home.”

Understood, but…what’s happening in Syria…it’s not going to get better on its own.

“I know it won’t, Nadeen. But until we get a mission from somebody overseas, we can’t exactly go out.” He pulled a few eggs from the refrigerator, cracking them on the rim of the pan, watching the yellow yolks fall in. “Besides, it’s the first week of a three-month leave.” He smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re already bored.”

Are you kidding me? Um and Ab have grounded me from flying. I’m stuck here, (Y/N).

“How is your family by the way? Wasn’t your sister attending the Cairo University?” he asked.

Yeah, and Um is so proud of her.

(Y/N) chuckled, whisking the eggs in the pan. “Someone’s jealous.”

Well, I can’t exactly tell my parents I work for an illegal black ops squad. Kinda puts dampers in relationships.

“Nadeen, we’re not an illegal squad. We’re government sanctioned.”

The fuck we are. They just don’t bother us because they know they can’t kill us all.

Grabbing the pepper, he ground some into the pan. “Jesus, take a vacation, Nadeen. Go to France or something.”

Fuck France. I’ll go to Saint Petersburg first. Oh shit, speaking of SP, have you spoken to Vitsina yet?

(Y/N) frowned, setting down the pepper grinder. “Why? Is something wrong?”

What? No. I was just wondering if you had. She really needs to get a hobby. Hey, maybe I can get her and Walker to come hang out with me at home.

“You’re not going to get Walker out of his flat, Nadeen. You know how he is when he gets on leave.”

And what about Nakamoto?

“You know they’re both paranoid. Remember to—” something clanged down the hallway and he stopped, mid-sentence, going silent.

Hello? (Y/N)? Captain, you alright?

He frowned and turned off the stove, opening a drawer at the far end of the counter. Pulling out the Glock, he cocked it and murmured, “Asghar, lemme call you back.”

Ten-four, Captain. Be careful.

The line went dead, and he crept to the edge of the doorway and paused, inhaling sharply before he peeked around the corner, gun ready. Nothing. (Y/N)’s frown only deepened as he moved down the hallway, quiet and breathless. He got to the first room in the hall, his study and he shifted against the wall, listening for movement. When he heard nothing, he moved slightly, gun pointed into the door as he swept the room. Empty.

Exhaling deeply, he started to move when he heard the noise again and he peeked out the door to his bedroom. There. (Y/N) crept along the wall again until he was at the doorway and he leaned against the frame, listening carefully. Something was in there. Something or someone, he didn’t know what, but he did know.

(Y/N) waited until the noise got closer then turned the doorway and moved in. Someone’s hand shot out, grabbing the gun and he grunted, throwing up his elbow into their jaw. The intruder cried and with their free hand, grabbed (Y/N)’s shirt and yanked; they went tumbling to the ground, the gun falling away, but he didn’t waste his chance, scrambling atop the stranger as he went for the Strider he had in his back pocket.

He flicked it out and brought it down when the person beneath him grabbed it with one hand, the other ripping off the hood he wore. “(Y/N)! It’s me!”

“Roy?”

The archer sighed and went slack beneath him. “God, yes, it’s me!”

(Y/N) relaxed and tossed the knife to the side, hanging his head down. “Jesus Fuck Roy, I thought you were an assassin.”

“Get those often?” he shot back and (Y/N) glowered at him.

“Yeah, I do actually.” He rolled off Roy and got to his feet, holding out his hand for him to take.

“God, remind me not to sneak up on you again.” He let himself be tugged up and rubbed his jaw. “I thought you dislocated my jaw for a second.”

(Y/N) shoved a finger in his face. “You’re lucky you managed to grab the gun because I almost shot your ass.” He bent down and picked up his Glock and knife, putting the latter back in his pocket after he’d flicked it shut. “Are you some kind of idiot? Why the fuck didn’t you just knock on the door? What possibly justified sneaking into a mercenary’s bedroom through the window?”

Roy shrugged. “I thought you weren’t home yet.”

He opened his mouth to retort, then shut it and nodded. “Alright, that’s actually not a terrible excuse.” Sighing, he shoved past Roy and walked down the hall into the kitchen, the archer following him. “But don’t do it again.”

“Why? Worried you were gonna shoot your boyfriend?” Roy teased, wrapping his arms around (Y/N)’s waist, nuzzling into his neck.

“Yeah, I was.” He put the gun back in the drawer and lugged the archer towards the stove where he flicked the burner back on. “Next time just text me and ask if I’m home.”

Roy hummed, pressing a kiss just above the mercenary’s collar. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well,surprise me you did,” (Y/N) griped. “I seriously thought I was about to have a firefight in my own damn apartment.” He paused, seeming to remember something and said, “I live in a penthouse.” Glancing at Roy, he questioned, “How the fuck did you get up here?”

“I’ve got skills, babe,” Roy grinned, waggling his brows and (Y/N) rolled his eyes before tapping the Bluetooth headset at his ear.

“Call Nadeen.” It pinged for a few moments.

Captain, you’re back. Everything good?

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Roy was in the apartment.”

You live in a penthouse? How’d he get up there?

“His ‘skills’ apparently.”

Nice. He still going around with your brother?

(Y/N) nodded forgetting she wasn’t in front of him and reclined into Roy as the eggs started cooking. “Yeah. Got a new gig as Red Hood and Arsenal.”

Roy blinked. “Wait, does your squad know…about you know…”

He waved and (Y/N) completed, “That my family and friends are vigilantes? Yeah. Why?”

“Isn’t that a breach of security?”

He snorted. “You act like my squad is friends with every government in the world, baby.” He shook his head. “I trust my team with everything. And in return they trust me with theirs.”

Aww, Captain you do care.

“Does your dad know that they know?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Probably. But he doesn’t tell me how to live my life and I don’t tell him how to live his.” He scrambled the eggs. “Nadeen, go hang out with Vitsina for a week or two if you’re really that bored.”

She’s back in Russia right now, isn’t she?

“I think so. Said she had a loose end to tie up with Antonovich.”

Oh shit, she’s gonna fucking kill that guy. She might need air support then.

“Hence why I said go hang out with her.”

Wanna come along? You could bring your boy-toy?

“Did she just call me a boy-toy?” Roy blurted. “Excuse you, I am not a boy-toy. I am a boy-man.”

Well, from the pictures Captain’s showed us, you are in fact a boy-toy, Roy.

He blinked and looked at (Y/N). “What pictures did you show them?”

“Nothing,” he coughed. “Nadeen, shut up.”

The ones with the red lace and matching heels.

“You didn’t.” Roy breathed. “You showed them the pin-up photos?!”

(Y/N)’s mouth fell open and closed as he vaguely gestured around. “I didn’t directly show them. Nakamoto hacked my phone like the nosy asshole he is and found ‘em.”

“So that means you still showed them because you apparently didn’t stop them from seeing!”

Oh, look at that, Captain, Ab is calling me. Talk later!

She hung up on him and (Y/N) huffed a laugh, pulling the device from his ear. He set it aside and shrugged out of Roy’s arms, pulling two plates out of the cabinet beside them. He plated the food, smirking at the flush across Roy’s cheeks. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re embarrassed, baby?”

“You showed my nudes to your black ops squad. It’s hot. Ridiculously hot. But also embarrassing.”

“If it makes you feel any better, they were very impressed with them.”

Roy tried and failed horribly to hide the grin coming over his lips. “…They were?”

(Y/N) set down the plates and got up in Roy’s personal space and flirted, “Oh absolutely baby. They were so stunned at how pretty you looked all dolled up in that red teddy, your lips painted crimson.” He gripped Roy’s hips and pulled them flush together, and while Roy was about five-eleven, (Y/N) had a couple inches on him. He smirked when he felt the definition in Roy’s jeans. “Wanna know what my favorite picture is?”

Roy swallowed thickly, one hand coming to grab at the island behind him, the other grabbing (Y/N)’s shoulder. “Which—which one?”

He pressed a kiss to the underside of the archer’s jaw, trailing his lips to his ear where he breathed, “The one where you’re bent down on the bed…” he reached up behind Roy’s back and tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck. “Your ass is up in the air and...”

“Uh huh, what else?” Roy begged, hips canting forward.

“God, you’ve got that pretty red flush across your cheeks.” (Y/N) whispered. “You looked incredibly ravishing.” He breathed in Roy’s ear. “We were on that mission in Kazakhstan for two whole months and all I could think about was getting back home and drilling you into the mattress until you couldn’t walk.”

“(Y/N)…” the archer groaned shamelessly. “Babe, please.”

He smirked, pressing a kiss to Roy’s cheek. “I didn’t show them that one though,” he said, pulling away without a second thought, picking up the plates. “I kept that one to myself. It’s still in my wallet if you wanna go check. I look at it a lot.”

(Y/N) wandered towards the living room and plopped down on the couch, propping his legs up on the coffee table. He snorted when he heard Roy’s moan of frustration followed by the man stomping into the living room with the other plate in his hand, the free one adjusting the front of his jeans.

“I hate you.” He scowled, sitting on the other end of the couch. “I hate you so fucking much it’s not funny.”

(Y/N) shrugged and picked up the remote, switching the channels until he found a football game to watch. “You snuck into my penthouse and almost made me shoot you point blank.” He shot Roy a grin. “I guess we’re both doing things to each other we don’t like.”

“I thought you weren’t home!”

“Mhm. Punishment is still a punishment, baby.” He turned up the volume and dug into his eggs. “Jason know you’re in Gotham City?”

Roy swallowed the food in his mouth, answering, “Told him I was in the area.”

“You know he’s gonna wanna see you.” (Y/N) replied. “If not to hang out, to make sure you’re not into trouble.”

“Are you saying I’m trouble, babe?” Roy retorted and he chuckled.

“You’re my kind of trouble.”

The archer went silent, and his cheeks flushed. “…That was a low blow.”

(Y/N) winked. “Uh huh.” His side vibrated and he reached down, pulling his phone out.

“Who is it?” Roy asked.

“Alfred.” He slid his thumb along the bottom and put it to his ear. “Hello, you’ve reached the answering machine of your favorite grandson. How may I assist you today, grandpa?”

You’re absolutely hysterical, Master (Y/N). You should go into comedy.

“I would but it doesn’t pay that well unlike merc missions.”

Hmm…how are you today, Master (Y/N)?

He smiled. “Not too bad Alfie. Could’ve eaten a perfect parfait with fresh fruit and granola, but beggars can’t be choosers, huh?”

You did miss an excellent breakfast if I do say so myself. Nevertheless, it is Sunday morning. Shall I expect you later tonight for dinner?

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Alfie.” (Y/N) agreed.

Wonderful. I shall set out an extra plate in case you decide to invite Master Harper. Have a good day. Until tonight, sir.

The line clicked and (Y/N) pulled the phone from his ear, staring at it in confusion. “Babe? What’s wrong?” Roy questioned.

He shook his head. “Alfred knew you were here.”

“What? He did?”

He looked up at Roy. “Yeah…said he was going to set out an extra plate for you tonight at dinner in case you wanted to come.”

“I get to come to the Wayne Family Sunday Night Dinner? Really?” he seemed awfully excited.

“Dude, it’s just dinner.”

“That you guys do every Sunday night and don’t allow anybody to tread on,” Roy retorted with a glare. “This is special.”

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. “Are you that eager to be introduced to the family?” he dodged the pillow Roy threw at him. “But…if you wanna come, you’re free to.”

“Really?” Roy doubted. “You want me to come over? I thought you wanted to keep this quiet?”

He sighed and pulled his legs from the table, setting the plate on it. “It’s not that I want it to stay a secret. It’s just…I worry about it.”

Roy set his plate down on the coffee table and scooted close. “What about?”

“I don’t know, Roy. I’m just worried that the more people that know about us the more danger I put you in.”

“Babe…” Roy started, placing a hand on the other side of (Y/N)’s cheek so he could turn his face to the archer’s. “We both live dangerous lives. There’s always going to be danger surrounding us.”

“I know,” (Y/N) sighed, leaning into Roy’s hand. “I still worry though. About you…about us.” He met those evergreen eyes. “I’m just worried that every time I leave, it’s going to be the last time we see each other.”

Roy chuckled. “Afraid I’m going to get offed?”

“No,” he murmured, turning his lips into Roy’s palm. “That I will.”

The archer gaped at him. “(Y/N)…why haven’t you told me about this?”

“Because I’m a super soldier who was trained to keep my emotions under control by an anal retentive, over glorified kitchen scale of a father.” (Y/N) deadpanned, then heaved an even bigger sigh and rested his forehead against Roy’s shoulder. “You’ve got enough on your plate.”

“Yeah, Jaybird keeps me pretty busy with missions.”

He chuckled. “Gonna have to tell my little brother to let my boyfriend have a break.”

“Break smeak.” Roy quipped, pressing a kiss to (Y/N)’s temple. “Listen to me, you’re a strong man, (Y/N). You’re probably the best out of your family. Smart and skilled off the charts.” He ran his calloused fingers down his lover’s neck. “If anyone is going to get out alive on a mission, it’ll always be you. Always.”

He sighed, turning his nose into Roy’s neck as he whispered. “You think so?”

Roy smiled, gripping his chin lightly to pull his head up. “I don’t think so, babe. I know so.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to (Y/N)’s. “I love you,” he murmured against the soldier’s lips. “So much.”

(Y/N) hummed and pressed a hand to Roy’s chest, shoving him backwards onto the couch and he crawled atop him. “I love you more,” he replied and pulled his shirt off his body before pressing his hand to Roy’s chest, except the archer hissed and he let up. “What’s wrong?” he worried, and he shook his head.

“Nothing.”

“Roy.” He warned, cocking a brow. “Where are you hurt?” he asked, pressing the same spot again.

“Ow! Stop that!” Roy grunted. “It’s tender.”

“What’s tender?” (Y/N) inquired and Roy sighed.

“I got a new tattoo.”

He narrowed his eyes and gazed down at him. “Of?”

“Nothing.” The archer muttered, though pink was coming across his cheeks and he sighed.

“C’mon Roy. Talk or I’ll tease it out of you.” He shot him a glare. “And you know I will.”

They stared one another down for a minute then Roy sighed and pulled his shirt off and (Y/N) peeled away the bandage. His eyes went wide when he saw the silver spartan helmet atop the black shield, the gold lettering underneath.

“Is this…”

“Your squad designation?” Roy offered. “Yeah…thought it seemed right.”

(Y/N) traced the raised flesh, eyes flashing to Roy’s when he shivered from the calloused touch. “I can’t believe you got my squads symbol tattooed on your chest.”

“You don’t like it?” he sounded hurt.

“I love it,” (Y/N) huffed, gesturing to his own tattoo on his ribs. “We match now…though you forgot to put your name inside the shield.”

“Well, I’m not technically a Spectre, (Y/N).” Roy said.

“Maybe not, but that’s still where your name goes.” He retorted and smiled. “It’s awesome, baby.”

Roy’s thumb brushed his hipbone. “So does the tattoo get me out of punishment for sneaking in?”

(Y/N) smirked down at him. “It just might.” He reached down and tugged the front of Roy’s pants. “Why don’t you show me how sorry you are for it? I just might decide to forgive you before subjecting you to dinner with my family.”

A multitude of emotions flashed through Roy’s eyes. Arousal, desire, need, and then surprise. “Oh shit, I forgot about dinner.”

“Seriously?” (Y/N) blinked, unsurprised. “God you’re such a man.” He crawled out of Roy’s lap much to the archer’s dismay and groaning.

“Where are you going?”

He paused and looked back at him. “I’m not fucking you on my couch, Roy.” He started towards his bedroom. “Hurry up or I’ll start without you.”

Roy rolled off the couch and to his feet as fast as he could.

[fific7]

Cold Day in Hell - Part 1

Logan Delos x Reader

A/N: This does not completely follow canon, it’s mainly lemon zest 🍋 because the world needs more Logan Delos.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content, including oral, between consenting adults* in future chapters. Drinking and swearing.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My GIF)

Logan Delos was bored. Mind-numbingly, screamingly, terminally bored. He was rapping out an irritated drum solo on the arm of his chair with his long fingers. He was shifting in his seat, constantly crossing and un-crossing his long legs. He was moving the papers on the conference table in front of him from side to side, then backwards and forwards.

The businessman who was talking through the main presentation had a voice that was flatter than roadkill and had only one tone... monotone.

Logan leant forward and propped his elbows on the conference table in front of him, using his fingers to physically hold open his eyelids as they kept closing of their own accord. He felt a yawn coming on and fought to stop his mouth opening to accommodate it... but failed.

He was aware of the door to the conference room opening behind him but didn’t even have the energy to turn and see who it was. This asshole is draining the fucking will to live out of me, he thought. He vaguely heard said asshole saying something about his colleague talking through the next section of the presentation.

Logan sat right up in his seat as he spotted a beautiful - no, stunning - woman making her way to the front of the room. She was dressed in ‘business smart’ but even those sensible items couldn’t hide her curves. Her hair was pinned up, and he had already started fantasising about loosening it and running his hands through it. He wished he’d paid attention when Asshole had said her name. Or had he said her name? Logan had no idea.

He heard her starting to speak, a melodic voice... he had to know her name! Logan tutted and picked up the meeting agenda, riffling back and forth through the pages to get to the correct one, but wasn’t even sure what page he should be on. Suddenly the folder tumbled from his hands and clattered onto the floor. The talking stopped and he became aware of everyone’s eyes on him, including hers. In fact, she was kind of glaring at him.

He gave an apologetic wave to the room in general as he retrieved the folder from the floor. She began speaking again, and he resumed his page-riffling. Finally he found the current one, and there was her name in black and white. A melodic name to match her voice, he thought.

He started paying attention to what she was actually saying.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You’d just started your part of the presentation when some asshole dropped his agenda folder, the sharp noise bringing you to a screeching halt. When you saw a hand waving around in the air, your eye followed the arm down to its owner and noted that he was in fact a very good-looking asshole. But he was still an asshole.

You cleared your throat, trying to collect your thoughts and then launched back into your presentation. The asshole was now staring at you relentlessly; every single time your eyes swept the room, his dark eyes were on you. Like... always on you. Not like the others, who were at least glancing down at the handouts occasionally.

The section you were presenting drew to a close, and you now took an empty seat at the table. It was diagonally opposite the handsome asshole. Who was still staring at you.

Now that you were much closer, you could see that his eyes were a dark chocolate brown, with a wicked gleam in them. They matched his shining dark hair, which was immaculately swept back from his forehead. You boldly met his stare for a while, before breaking eye contact to listen to your colleague Craig deliver the final part.

At the end of the presentation there were a few questions which were duly answered, and then everyone was gathering up their paperwork and milling around prior to leaving the conference room. As you tucked your folders away in your document bag, in your peripheral vision you became aware of a pair of long legs making their way to you. You knew who it was bound to be so you didn’t bother looking up. A throat cleared next to you but you continued packing away your items, and then you heard your first name being spoken in a low, husky voice. This time you did look up - it would be rude not to - and yup, it was Handsome Asshole. A hand was proffered to you and by reflex you took it, your hand being crushed in a strong grip. “Logan Delos,” said that suave voice, “...it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart?” you scoffed, “...how original!” while thinking, oh... so this is the infamous Logan Delos, whose name you’d heard all the time in connection with the projects but never actually met before. He had a reputation of being a bit of a diva. You heard him give a deep chuckle. “Yeah, that’s me - an original. Unique, in fact I’d say.” “Well, you’re super confident, that’s for sure!” You picked up your document bag and headed for the door, saying “Nice to meet you, Mr Delos,” as you started to leave. His tall frame scooted round in front of you before you could reach it, “Oh, not so fast.... I can’t let you leave before you agree to have dinner with me.” You tried to sidestep him but he blocked your way, and then a little ‘step to the right, step to the left’ dance ensued. Finally, exasperated, you stood still and put your hands on your hips. “Mister Delos! Will you please let me past!” He copied your stance, “Not until you say you’ll have dinner with me. Or lunch. Or.... breakfast, if you prefer?!” wiggling his eyebrows at you. You huffed, “I don’t date business partners!” He still stood in front of you, seemingly immovable, “We’re not business partners - technically speaking. Boring Asshole is my business partner, not you.” Your mouth dropped open but before you could stop it, laughter bubbled out.

You hastily silenced it, saying, “I admit, Craig may not be the most inspiring public speaker, but he really knows his stuff,” trying to cover your somewhat indiscreet reaction and save your colleague’s honour at the same time. “But that’s beside the point, Mr Delos, because we are business partners despite what you’re trying to say.” Logan had moved slightly aside while you were speaking and you took this opportunity to brush past him, calling out, “Goodbye, Mr Delos,” with the emphasis on the goodbye as you went.

If you’d bothered to look back, you would’ve seen Logan Delos watching you go, a very determined expression on his face.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Juliet looked up from her laptop as Logan breezed into her lounge, tossing his car keys onto the coffee table and throwing himself onto the sofa, long legs spreading out in front of him as he did so.

“Good meeting?” she asked, seeing that his head had gone back onto the cushions and he was staring up at the ceiling. He hummed, “Good and bad. The presentation was the single most boring thing I’ve ever heard in my life, but on the other hand one of their staffers.... wow! It was like an angel came down from heaven and found her way into that conference room.” She sighed, “Logan... by all that’s holy... do not try to screw one of our business partners for god’s sake! Dad will go ballistic if you mess up our working relationship with them.” Logan looked offended, “Who says I’d mess it up?” Jules gave a big sigh and shrugged, “Me, for one. Dear brother, I love you with all my heart but you’re fucking awful at relationships. You’d just fuck her and drop her like a hot potato. Who is it that caught your roving eye this time anyway?” Logan said her name in a dreamy tone and Jules rolled her eyes heavenwards, “Oh, no, no, no!... no way, Logan. I know her, she’s a lovely person and also does a fantastic job - she’s one of their top software engineers, specialising in middleware.”

Logan smirked, “She can engineer my middleware anytime she likes.” “Oh, shut up and get your mind out of your pants, Logan. Stay away, okay?!!” He huffed, “Hey! You can’t tell me who to pursue or otherwise, Jules!” “But that’s it, right there - you’ll chase her, catch her, bang her and drop her! I really like her as well as respecting her work, so you better just be damn careful!”

Logan sighed. He loved his sister but god, she was a king-size pain in the ass sometimes.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

A week or so later, and you’d almost forgotten about that handsome asshole at the presentation. You couldn’t deny that he’d popped in and out of your thoughts since, but you’d googled him the day after you’d met him and had also made some discreet enquiries amongst those colleagues who’d worked with him before on projects. What you’d discovered had not endeared him to you.

He was a world-class player, that was obvious - and not fussy about which gender he played around with either. Not that that put you off, it was just the sheer volume of men and women he was pictured out on the town with. And alcohol and substance abuse had been there in the mix too, with some stays in rehab mentioned although the last one had been over a year ago. So no... you’d decided you wouldn’t be entertaining any further thoughts of the undeniably attractive Mr Delos.

You turned your thoughts back to the current middleware solution you were constructing, in fact it was for Delos Corporation, involving various scenarios for their Westworld hosts. You were immersed in code and structure when your phone rang, and you saw your boss’s extension number on the caller ID. Hmmm... what could she want? She usually gave you free reign when you working on a project, catching up with you every couple of days at team meetings. Answering it, you heard her assertive voice asking you to pop along to her office and so you set off on the short walk there. You knocked on her door and heard her say ‘come in’, so in you sailed and then came to an abrupt halt. Logan Delos was sitting opposite your boss; he was half-turned towards you with a somewhat triumphant smirk on his face. Your boss indicated the chair next to Logan and you quickly sat down, wondering what this was about and why Logan looked so smug.

Your boss launched into a mini-summary of what you were currently working on, and all you could do was nod. Eventually she finished up with, “So all your current projects are for Delos.” It was a statement not a question, so you just nodded. “Mr Delos here...” she levelled a hand towards Logan, “....has come up with a suggestion, and I happen to think it’s a good one.” She smiled at Logan, before looking back at you and continuing, “He thought it would be beneficial to have the person working on most of his projects - that’s you, just to clarify - to be based at Delos Destinations for the next three months, to facilitate progress.” You knew you were looking completely dumbfounded as she hurried on, “Obviously I’d like your input on this, but I’m sure you can see that it’d be very helpful for you to be on-site with our partners while you’re working through the projects?” Meanwhile you were desperately trying to come up with reasons to remain in your own office, but truthfully you couldn’t. It would be helpful to have instant access to their engineers when you needed an answer on something, you couldn’t deny that. Reluctantly you nodded, “Yes...I can appreciate that. But couldn’t we just have me spend maybe one or two days a week over there rather than be actually based in their offices?”

Logan spoke for the first time, his expression business-like now, “That wouldn’t really fulfill the brief though, would it? Because we’d be back to having a slight delay in receiving and giving responses for the time you weren’t at our offices. And I’d ... we’d... make you very welcome. There’s an office waiting for you... right next to mine.” He couldn’t stop that smirk reappearing as he finished speaking. You forced a smile, “Well, I can’t really refuse an offer like that, can I Mr Delos?” You looked back to your boss, “I guess that’s agreed then. When does this take effect?” Your boss beamed at you, “Excellent! I don’t see any reason for it not to commence immediately, do you? How about as of tomorrow?”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Logan walked onto his office the next morning, whistling a happy little tune. He’d had a small glass of wine the night before at Juliet’s place when he’d dropped in on his way home, knowing he had to break the news to her that evening about the cunning plan he’d come up with. He was happy for two reasons; firstly, visiting Jules and his niece Emily and not having to see William’s stupid damn face any longer would never get old, and secondly, his little scheme to get closer to that gorgeous woman was coming together. As Jules worked partly from home and partly at the office, he had to let her know that a new face would be around for at least the next three months. It would give him a much better chance to persuade her to go out with him - she wouldn’t really be able to escape him given that she’d be right next door to him every day. Predictably, Juliet had issued a stern warning about what would happen to certain parts of his anatomy should he overstep, but had reluctantly accepted that it was a fait accompli. (Privately, she was looking forward to working more closely with her and also warning her about the usual antics of her beloved brother, that’s if she wasn’t already well aware of them).

He’d been racking his brains for ideas on how best to pursue her ever since she’d turned him down flat at that conference. Logan wasn’t used to being turned down. He’d had a brainwave a couple of days later and had checked into who was handling the Delos projects at her company - after all, surely she wouldn’t be at the conference in the first place if she wasn’t involved somehow? He’d been overjoyed to find out that she was handling just about all of the current open projects (so why on earth had they allowed Boring Asshole to give the majority of the presentation?! he’d thought incredulously) and had then begun to put together a plan to somehow get her into his close orbit. He was really quite proud of what he’d come up with.

His secretary knocked on his doorframe and announced that his visitor had arrived. A big smile appeared on Logan’s face.

Here I go! he thought, the thrill of the chase coursing through his veins.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The secretary smiled at you over her shoulder as she leaned against Logan’s office doorframe, “Please, go right in,” before stepping aside so you could enter.

The man himself was lounging back in his fancy office chair, which to you looked more like the type of padded seat you’d get on a private jet, waving you into the office before getting up and striding over to you. He held out his hand which you took but instead of shaking it as you expected, he pulled you towards him and kissed your cheek very softly. A waft of delicious and no doubt expensive cologne reached your nostrils before he stepped back, “Welcome on board!” he said, “...I’m so glad you’re joining us here at Delos Destinations.” You smiled, “Thank you, Mr Delos.” “Logan!” he said immediately, waving his hand and saying your first name. “Logan,” you said dutifully, “yes, thank you for the welcome ....of course I do still work for my own company.” He smiled at you, still holding onto your hand and beginning to lead you to the door, “Well, for now you do. I’ve a mind to steal you away for myself, you know. Or, sorry... for Delos Destinations, I should of course say.”

OK... seems like he’s still interested, even if that wouldn’t last longer than a heartbeat once you’d gone out (and especially if you slept) with him. You knew this secondment was going to be trouble, you thought. Three whole months of trying to resist Mr Player of the Decade. But you were convinced that you could do it.

As he lead you from his office to what was going to be yours, you were suddenly very aware of his tall figure beside you, your hand in his (he still hadn’t let go of it) and a hint of that beautiful cologne of his again. He looked across at you, dark eyes gazing into yours and gave you a mischievous grin. Annoyingly, your stomach did a little flip.

Yeah, really convinced.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

(Not my GIF - credit to owner)

[kerie-prince]

We're Worlds Apart (5)

Draco Malfoy x American No-Maj!reader

series m.list | general m.list | previous chp

warnings: cursing, mom being a dick :/, accidental peeping eyes, jealous draco

summary: Draco Malfoy is a pureblood wizard. Magic runs through his veins and has been since his birth. You're a Wiccan No-Maj; a non-magical being with ordinary blood through your veins, but practices what you call magick. And this very practice upsets your neighbor.

a/n: omg, i had to rewrite this WHOLE THING again. but now i know to write things in my google docs first

(gif cred)

Everyone at the table was silent. Your mother sat processing what had just occurred moments ago. I practice, too. You always wondered why your brother never talked too much about her whenever you were on long phone calls with him. He was pretty vague about Stephanie, and now you knew why.

Actually, it made complete sense as to why he didn't tell your mom about Stephanie being a practicing witch, but you? That was what really confused you.

“So,” you decided to break the silence, “how long have you practiced?”

Stephanie had an excited glimmer in her eyes when you asked. “I'm still a baby, I started earlier this year.” Something about her aura was soothing and pure. You scooted your chair closer to her and continued your conversation. “So you’re a Wiccan? Or do you practice something else?”

“I practice Gardnerian Wicca,” she declared. From the corner of your eyes, you could see your mother holding back a scoff. Surely she was thinking Why the hell is she encouraging this?

The ding of the oven sounded like church bells to her as it gave her an excuse to leave the room and focus on anything else. The situation was quite hysterical. But questions were in order. As Stephanie left to use your bathroom, you pulled your brother aside. “Dude, why the hell didn’t you tell me anything?”

He flinched away from your hand and started massaging the pain away from your grip, “I didn’t think it was my business to tell.”

“But you told her about me?” You asked with crossed arms. Your brother’s logic was lacking. “It… might’ve slipped, but I only told her after she told me that she’s a witch. I don’t go around campus saying ‘Hey, I’m Y/B/N Y/L/N. I’m a communications major and y’know what? My sister’s a witch.’” You weren’t upset that he told his girlfriend about you. You weren’t ashamed at all. And you weren’t really upset that he didn’t talk to you about her. Because, in a sense, he’s right.

But you like being dramatic, so you figured that while you've got your brother in your house you’d act like a petty sister. “Whatever, man. But you could’ve told Mom beforehand,” you scolded with your arms crossed. He had a scoff in his laugh, “Tell Mom? We’re thinking of the same person, right? You know she would freak.”

“She’s freaking out right now! I’d have rather her freak out earlier before she made my house look like some stupid picture in a Martha Stewart kitchen advertisement,” you whisper yelled. To think that your house could have looked as it normally did annoyed you. Grandma’s tapestry you whined internally.

Stephanie found you two in your hallway and froze in an awkward stance, “Is everything okay?” You and your brother put on your best smiles. “Yeah, just wanted to see how my baby bro is doing,” you reached up to pinch his cheeks to which he swatted you hand away. It started a playful fight that made your guest laugh in amusement. The sound of your mother announcing that dinner was ready brought the little fight to a halt. “I’ll beat your ass later,” you challenged him, fingers doing an ‘I’ve got my eyes on you’ movement.

—

He couldn't believe it.

Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini stood at his doorstep with their bags. Theo had his wand pointed out with confetti spurting out the tip. “Surprise!” he yelled.

Draco pulled them in quickly and nearly sprained his neck as he looked around to make sure no one saw his friend. “What part of 'muggle neighbors’ did you not understand” he scolded.

“Oh shit, sorry mate. I forgot.” Theo scratched the back of his head. He then glared at Blaise knowing that with his brilliant memory, he let Theo make a big mess of things. Theoretically and literally. An enchanted broom swept up the confetti on the floor.

“What are you guys doing here, I wasn’t expecting you two for another week?” Draco asked as he pulled each wizard in for a welcoming hug.

“Merlin, mate. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you’re disappointed to see us,” Blaise teased.

“That's not what I meant and you know that. I’m happy… just surprised.” The blond wasn't isn't used to showing this kind of side to himself. “What brings you two here early?”

“Have you ever known Theo to be patient for anything? Bloody git nearly dragged me out in the middle of work,” Blaise expressed. The Slytherin trio laughed as the two friends followed Draco through his new home. “Well, here’s the guest room. Set your things down and I’ll grab some drinks.”

For the first time since getting his phone and learning about take-out, Draco had ordered a couple pizzas to be delivered. Blaise and Theo were genuinely impressed by the whole thing. “Muggles sure do think of everything,” Theo observed.

“Almost shocked that Malfoy here adapted pretty well to them,” Blaise had a smirk on his lips before stuffing his mouth with his first ever slice. “Salazar, this is amazing.” Draco raised his eyebrows in agreement. The three men sat in the living room eating and caught up with each other.

The night was filled with laughter and tipsy hiccups. It was arguably Draco’s best night since he first moved to America. He hadn’t realized how much he missed their shenanigans since Hogwarts before it all went to shit thanks to a certain Dark Lord. He was ecstatic and couldn’t wait for them to meet his new friends.

In the middle of their laughter, Theo was seen squinting his eyes in a direction, “Oi mate, who’s that?” The two others followed his eyes which looked out a window. Sort of blurry due to the alcohol, Draco leaned forward to focus on what it was Theo was talking about.

When his vision cleared, he saw some heads moving around. And… arms flinging about? The sight was strange to say the least. Draco didn't exactly know what was going on, he watched as you stood in your living room in front of who he recognized as your mother. Sitting on your couch was some woman, and in between you and your mother was some guy.

“Is that the muggle neighbor you told me about?” Blaise observed.

“Yeah, and her mum. Don’t know the others, though.” Draco stated. He shrugged his shoulders and sat in a comfortable position. Blaise continued to look at the weird scene next door. The only pieces he could put together was that you definitely weren’t happy and neither was your mother. “She’s kinda fit, don’t you think?”

“No,” Draco didn’t hesitate to answer. His irritated voice was indication enough to not press on the matter more. And seeing as it was their first night in America, Blaise didn’t want to risk getting hexed before bed.

Draco looked at the clock on the wall which read 10:57 pm. “Shit,” he whispered. “I’m turning in. I have a meeting in the morning.” Theo was already passed out on the soft couch and Blaise walked himself to the guest room to claim the bigger bed. Once in his room, Draco chugged a bottle of water that was on his nightstand and went to sleep.

—

She finally went home. After the huge fight that broke out after dinner, your mother grabbed her things and left. Poor Stephanie had witnessed the mess and regretted coming. As much as she was glad to finally meet a fellow practicing witch, she underestimated your mother entirely.

It actually surprised you that your mother acted in such ways. Growing up, your mom never really made too much of a fuss of your Craft. But just out of nowhere, she’s making comments of this and making complaints of that. You wanted to forget Thanksgiving night all together.

Currently, you were pacing in your kitchen debating on whether or not to call Stephanie and make sure she was alright. She was nothing but sweet and kind. Didn't deserve to come home with your brother and have some woman blow up. Your mother hit some random nerve in the middle of your conversation that you carried on about what Steph’s practice consisted of and yelled about her whole family getting full of ‘damn weirdos’.

The best thing to come out of it was that you were able to bring back all your original decorations and stored all the stuff your mother bought in the garage.

Thinking about it started to give you a migraine. You walked to your bathroom and started to fill the tub with the hottest water you could take. As it filled, you went to the comfort of your room and undressed. You opted out on bath salts and oils; just the warmth of the water would be enough to settle your nerves.

Before you could remove your bra, you felt a weird shiver up your spine. Something in the air made you feel tense. You wanted to assume that it was negative energy that your mother left behind, but it felt different than that. No, you felt a presence in your home. Or worse, from somewhere else.

You turned around and widened your eyes in horror. A man that you didn’t know nor have ever seen before looks at you from the window of your neighbor, Draco’s room. As soon as it processed to him that you were looking back, he quickly shut the curtains again. At that moment, you wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. You were so caught up in your thoughts that you forgot to shut your blinds.

You sat in your bathtub still shocked that a complete stranger almost saw you naked. Had you even gone further a couple seconds or ignored your instincts, he could have seen everything. You dunk your head into the water and scream under it. This day can’t get worse you thought.

But oh, how it can. You performed your house cleansing spell and as soon as you set the censor dish down, the doorbell rang. You opened the door and was face to face with the same man who saw you. “Hello,’ he said. You recognized the accent, how it sounded like Draco’s.

Shyly, you nodded your head and said a soft ‘hi’.

“Listen, I just wanted to say that I am so sorry for… for what happened,” presumably Draco’s friend apologized.You stood there a bit shocked and flustered. “I swear I’m not a bloody pervert. Mate doesn't have any light in his room so I’d thought I’d do him a favor. Guess that didn't turn out so well,” he sheepishly chuckled. It made you laugh as well. It was decided that it was just an honest mistake.

“It’s okay. I should’ve closed my curtains so I guess it goes both ways,” a blush was spread across your cheeks. The more you looked at him, the more you studied his gorgeous features. “I’m Y/N. You must be Draco’s friend,” you extended your hand out for him to shake. He took it in his and you nearly melted into his smooth skin.

“Yes, I am. I’m Blaise.”

—

Draco returned home with a pounding headache and stiff neck. He had never felt more tired than he did in this moment. He saw Theo sitting on his couch reading the Daily Prophet with one hand and holding a cup of tea in the other. It was funny to Draco because he explicitly remembers Theo promising that he would never become his father who did this exact thing.

Looking around his surroundings, he noticed how his other best friend wasn’t around. “Where’s Zabini?”

“I think he went out for a walk,” Theo guessed. “Think he’s been gone for about an hour now that I think about it.” He put his paper down and mirrored the look of curiosity that was also on Draco’s face. Seconds later, the devil himself walked into Draco’s home. The look on his face was the same he had back in Hogwarts. A look Draco and Theo knew all too well.

“How? Actually no, scratch that. Who?” Theo pressed on instantly. Draco was also interested as to how Blaise somehow seduced a woman a day into his vacation in the foreign country. “You gits really want to know who?” They both nodded. He stood hesitantly but kept the smirk on his face, “Your muggle neighbor, Y/N.”

Theo stood up and gave Blaise a high-five, “You still got the magic touch I see.”

“Please never say that again,” Blaise sighed. He went on to explain everything that just happened, how he accidentally saw you, how he went over and how you invited him in for coffee and talked for about an hour. Well, mainly flirted. Then he talked about how he acted coy and wanted to know whatever was nice in town and when you told him about a French restaurant uptown, he used it as a way to ask you on a date.

Blaise was explaining everything, but it all sounded quiet to Draco. He couldn’t hear a word out of his friends mouth after he said your name.

“Mate, you alright? You look pale,” Blaise looked concerned.

Draco snapped out of it and lied through his teeth, “I’m fine. Just tired and slightly hungover is all.” Lie? Why would I be lying about this? Wait… why am I lying about this?

“Oh, well I can make the thing my mum makes for hangovers if you’d like,” Theo offered.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just get some rest.” Draco walked to his bedroom and removed the necktie around his collar. As he walked in, he saw how his curtain wasn’t fully closed. He opened it slightly and as he looked across, he saw you sitting in a chair in your bedroom. You seemed to have been in a haze before you looked up and met your eyes with his. You waved gently and Draco, as he always does now, nodded his head and closed the curtains.

This can’t be real.

—

next chp

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[astouract]

The Smell of Soil — Chapter 2 (Y/N)

Synopsis: (Y/N) almost burns her house down, and of course Loki shows up to help

Words: 1901

Warnings: None yet 😈

—

You practically slammed the door behind you, leaving the god-turned-gardener on your front step. Something wasn't right. You weren’t supposed to be stationed at the house right next to his, why would they put you there?

Watch him from afar, they had told you, don't get too close. He's still dangerous. Unpredictable.

Your heart felt as if it would beat right out of your chest, you noticed, as you placed a hand on your chest and let the door support you. After taking a moment, you pushed yourself off of the door and wandered into the cottage. It definitely wasn't anything like the Asgardian architecture you were used to, floral patterns and natural wood instead of stark white marble and expensive accents. There was no television, which was almost a relief as you had absolutely no idea how to use one. There was, however, a little pink radio on a shabby looking green end table.

A floral sofa was the centerpiece of the room, placed in front of a small fireplace. Small tables held little knickknacks and tiny vases that could only hold one or two flowers. And, actually, it seemed like plants were taking over the house. They were everywhere, you realized with a groan. You’d have to water them every day, and they’d still end up dead.

You moved on and into the kitchen, where there was not nearly as much counter space as you were used to. The room was a cacophony of different patterns and colors, but somehow it all came together to form one cohesive style. A little round table sat in the corner, with two mismatched chairs and, of course, a potted plant. Everything looked like someone else had used it for twenty years and then dumped it on the side of the road somewhere. Even the gas stove could've used a cleaning. Cooking--yet another thing you would have to learn how to do. Fresh herbs hung from the wall above the large window, making the room smell faintly of rosemary and basil.

To the left of the kitchen was a small flight of stairs that led to the second floor, which you soon discovered was more of an attic with a bed and some windows. You let your hand trail along the puffy duvet, feeling its softness under your fingers. It wasn't an Asgard duvet, that's for sure, but you had a sneaking suspicion that you may like it more. It was plush and inviting, and you resisted the urge to sink into the mattress.

A little dresser held flowing skirts and dresses, and a few pairs of jeans. You looked down at your current outfit, your last work of magic before hopping through the portal, and the first assignment of your mission: a loose T-shirt, paired with blue jeans that had to be the tightest pants you had ever worn. Not your usual clothing choices, but you were to play the part and do it well. So, flowing dresses and flower crowns it was.

Your feet carried you to the window, where you brushed the curtains aside. You had a clear view down the street, and your eyes landed on Loki's house, where he was on his hands and knees in his garden.

It was so odd, seeing him like this. Loki, God of Mischief, Prince of Asgard, was on his hands and knees digging through dirt to care for fruits and vegetables. Loki, who a week ago would have killed anyone who even looked at him wrong, came over just to help you with a yard sign. His hair had been thrown haphazardly into a top knot, and he'd had dirt smeared on his cheeks. He wasn't in Asgardian robes, trading his armor out for cotton button-ups and flannel pants. What had become of the prince you’d known your whole life?

Shaking your head, you stepped away from the window and retreated back to the first floor. The rest of the downstairs consisted of a small bathroom and an equally small study, where picture frames hung on the wall presented pressed flowers of all kinds and random journal entries. A wooden desk sat against a big window, and a small bookshelf was tucked into the corner.

You made your way back into the kitchen and through the back door, where nature had reclaimed the property. It was immensely overgrown, with so many clusters of weeds and flowers that your eyes couldn't find a place to settle. There was a rotting shed, and a greenhouse hidden behind greenery. Various gardening tools were scattered around the area, and you couldn't even imagine what else might be hiding in the bushes.

"It's. . . Charming." Loki's words echoed in your mind, and you rolled your eyes.

You liked a good project.

--

"Shit shit shit shit!"

You clamped your hands down over your ears, rushing into the kitchen and throwing the oven door open. You reached through the billowing smoke and grabbed the pan, crying out and dropping it immediately as burning pain overwhelmed your senses.

"Fuck!" You switched the oven off and held your hands helplessly in front of you, coughing.

You didn't know what to do. Your hands were an angry shade of red, an alarm was blaring from somewhere in the kitchen, and the smoke wouldn't stop billowing out of the oven. Somehow, above all of the noise you were able to hear a series of knocks at your front door. You crossed the distance from the kitchen into the living room, and carefully pulled the door open, hissing sharply at the pain rolling over your hands.

Shit.

There, standing on your doorstep for the second time that day, was Loki. Of course it was, because what else could happen when you were supposed to be watching him from afar?

He looked into the house behind you, and back at you with wide eyes. "Is everything okay? I heard the alarms and some loud crashes, and. . . Your house is full of smoke." His gaze asked what he wouldn't say out loud--asked if you needed help. Norns, he was practically begging you to let him help.

Who even was he?

You sighed, and then did the unthinkable: you stepped aside to let him in. He followed you into the kitchen, and you realized just how much of a mess you’d made. The oven door was hanging open, with smoke still billowing out relentlessly, and there were charred cookies all over the floor. The baking pan was upside down in the middle of the room, but Loki didn't seem to notice as he rushed around the room trying to reconcile the smoke issue.

"What happened?" He asked breathlessly, propping the back door open and sliding every window open that he could.

"I made cookies. I think."

Loki reached up above the door frame, and pressed a button on a white box that stopped the screeching alarm. He started opening every drawer in the kitchen, until he found what he was looking for. He offered you a tea towel, but you just stared at it.

"I can't," you murmured, looking down at your hands. Loki's gaze followed.

"Oh my God." He sucked in a breath, "You need to take care of that."

I would, if I could use my magic, your subconscious snapped.

He turned on the sink, and gently guided your hands into the cool water. "I think maybe you should go to Urgent Care."

"Urgent Care?"

Loki didn't seem to hear you, lost in thought as he looked around the room. He pulled over the chairs from the kitchen table, offering one to you at the sink before leaning against the counter while you soaked your palms.

"Did all of this furniture come with the house?"

You nodded. "It was mostly furnished when I got here, I just had to add a few small things. I only brought one suitcase with me."

"I see. Where did you move from?"

Shit. Why was he interrogating you? Did he know something?

You removed a hand from the water to gesture vaguely. "Just some run down old town about a day's trip north of here." The lie came effortlessly, and Loki accepted it with a nod.

"Where's your bathroom? Though I really think you should see a doctor for your hands."

"To the left of the entry, and there’s no need for medical treatment. I’m a fast healer." You grimaced, not daring to move your fingers.

Loki disappeared into the next room, and returned a moment later with gauze bandage. "It's going to hurt, but you have to wash your hands with soap before I can wrap them."

"What?" You asked stupidly.

Loki took the old soap from beside your sink and squirted a bit into your open hands. "Just wash them real quick. The internet said so."

Gods, being mortal sucked.

You did as told, and Loki turned off the tap before grabbing the gauze. "I'm going to wrap them now, okay?"

You offered him a hand, and he began to unwind the bandage with extreme delicacy onto your skin. It was mesmerizing, watching someone who you knew to be an actual war criminal act so selflessly. Gone was the dark, brooding prince, and standing in his place was a mortal, kind and simple. And concentrating.

Loki released one hand and moved onto the next, and suddenly, those green eyes were staring right back at you. Your breath caught, and for one, fleeting moment, you were swept up. The atmosphere felt different, like a static kind of electricity clung to the air.

War criminal. He shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be here, with your hands gently in his.

The things those hands had done, the lives they’ve ended. The cities destroyed, each one’s story carved into the lines on his palm. Those hands were unpredictable. Dangerous.

War criminal.

"That should do it," Loki said softly, "and look, the smoke has cleared!"

You grimaced as he collected the charred cookies from the floor. "You don’t have to do that. ."

Loki only grinned, putting the now dented pan in the sink. "I'm more than happy to help."

You walked together back through the house, and ended up back on the front steps for the third time that day. The sun was setting behind the trees, the sky a breathtaking canvas of oranges, yellows, and pinks. The world outside was quiet, peaceful.

"Seriously," Loki emphasized, turning to face you. "If you need anything. You know where to find me." He offered a sympathetic smile.

And, unfortunately, he knew where to find you.

Loki pointed to your hands. "You should take the bandages off in the morning and see what the burns look like; your hands will likely get worse over the next twenty-four hours or so. Whatever you do, don't apply ice. And, don't apply any ointment until the burns have cooled. Make sure you keep them clean and wrapped."

You cocked your head slightly to the side, regarding him curiously. Suspiciously. “How do you know all of this?"

Loki smiled all the way to his eyes. "Internet."

"Oh. Right.”

Loki rubbed his hands together--something that you wouldn't be doing for a couple days, by the sound of it. "Well, you seem to have had a rather. . . eventful. . . day so I'll leave you to it. Have a good evening, (Y/N)."

"Loki," you called out, stopping him on his way down the steps, "Thank you."

He smiled.

[ambrosiaaddiction]

Not Meant to Be

Word Count: 1,404

Pairing(s): Anthony Bridgerton x reader, Simon Basset x reader

Summary: You are obsessed with the Duke of Hastings and become jealous of the fact that he chose to marry Daphne rather than you. If you couldn’t have him, then you were going to do everything it takes to make sure that no one else can before you take your place as his wife.

TW: none

Part 1/6

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

In the end, he chose to marry her. After all we had been through together, she placed herself in our midst and seduced him for her own advantages. It just wasn’t fair! Even when I had tried to warn Simon, he told me that I was being utterly paranoid!

The people who claimed to care about me would say that I shouldn’t be so hostile towards Daphne, and that I should happy that Simon was happy.

They couldn’t see the distress hidden in his eyes that shone with faux adoration of his erroneous bride to-be. I was supposed to stand by his side. We were supposed to be engaged then live in his grand country estate with just the two of us.

Whether or not we had children was up to fate and not out our selfish desires. Yes, I knew of Simon’s sworn secrecy of his bloodline dying with him, but I felt a small ounce of pity for the Bridgerton girl.

I, too, was capable of providing what he needed. I, too, could have a lifetime with him and not worry about trivial affairs. But I still hadn’t the faintest idea as to why he was the one who suggested to begin their elaborate ruse.

Once I had confronted him, I could believe the words that left his mouth. “Y/n, you don’t understand. The two of us are helping each other to fulfill our achievements. You need not to worry. You and I will be together again like old times.”

Oh, how foolish I was to hold his promise in the highest regard. It tore my heart to pieces the night Simon got down on one knee to propose to Daphne in front of her entire family. I slipped away from the celebrations, and found myself standing in front of a lake. It was dark for as far as I could see, but the moonlight’s reflection on the water showed how lonely I felt at the time.

With no recollection of how I had gotten there or how to find my way back, I sat down on the ground and curled up my legs to my chest. Why couldn’t I have been the one he loved? Daphne was beautiful and kind, yes, but she did not belong with Simon.

A tear then another and another began to fall down the sides of my face. I began to sob and whisper the words, “It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair!” I had lost track of time, and then the sun slowly peeked over the horizon, which meant that I’ve been gone for several hours.

That was when I heard my name being called by several voices, and Simon’s was the most distinct out of them all. Some time later on, I vaguely remember being scolded by mama and papa because I made Simon, and everyone else searching for me, worried beyond relief.

They reprimanded me for wasting his time when he should have been preparing for the wedding that was taking place in three day’s time. The opportunity to confess my love for him was getting further and further away from my grasp.

There wasn’t much room for me to argue it defend myself when they were both right. What they said next swept away the last few remaining pieces of my already shattered heart. “Why can’t you be like Miss Bridgerton and put aside your problems, y/n?”

Miss Bridgerton this. Miss Bridgerton that. Everything revolves around that wench, and I hated every moment of it. Yet there was nothing I could’ve done to change the course of events.

Simon was to be married to a young woman whose skin was fair and void of blemishes, her hair kissed by the sun and voice as sweet as sugar. A young woman who wasn’t me.

It just wasn’t right. She was too much of one characteristic as though she ended up being all of the perfect qualities that a man was looking for. Speaking of personality traits, from the youngest Bridgerton to the eldest, they were all too good to be true. It was no wonder why I grew jealous of Daphne.

Although, I was not going to admit it out loud. I would be ridiculed and teased for my biased opinion of her. She’d knew how to play the piano, how to crochet simple yet intricate patterns, and her mannerisms were to be rivaled.

Now was a better time than ever to ruin her happiness. She didn’t deserve to have Simon if I had lost him first. She didn’t know what she was getting herself into or the real reason why Simon refused to have children.

I invited her to my home for tea and a brief lunch, which my mama gave me appraisal for attempting to make amends with the eldest Bridgerton daughter. Little did they both know that I had plans to break her down bit by bit.

Eventually I transitioned the topic about our families to her fiancé, and her eyes lit up with delight. Well, that wasn’t going to last for long. “Miss Bridgerton, how has Simon been treating you as of late? Fairly, I hope?” The question stopped Daphne whilst she sipped her cup of tea, and she cleared her throat before she spoke.

“Yes, the Duke had sent me bouquets of flowers and scheduled a dress fitting at the modiste later today. He is a very generous man.” She smiled softly, and I forced one of my own. “How lovely! You must be enjoying the gifts, I take it. Your family is quite fond of him, too.”

Except for Anthony, that is. Like me, he had done all that he could to stop Simon from marrying his sister. Then after some odd occurrence, he was suddenly the first to congratulate their engagement. It baffled me, but I knew asking him questions would only raise suspicions.

“‘Tis a shame that you won’t have any children, though. Simon swore to have his bloodline die with him, and his father died moments later.” Daphne’s smile fell apart, and she furrowed her brows in confusion. I raised my cup to my lips then took a long sip, quietly waiting for her reaction.

“How do you—” “Daphne, Simon tells me everything. I’ve known him far much longer than you’ve spent time with him, and he hasn’t shared an actual piece of himself when the two of you are together. He’s marrying you to placate the queen’s disappointment as well as the ton’s need for a perfect couple of the season.”

She went silent after I said what I have wanted to let out, and she looked like she was trying not to cry. The poor thing took in a deep breath then folded her hands on top of her lap. “Well, Miss Denbow, I cannot say I’m not surprised. You are a good friend of the Duke’s, and therefore you do know him better than anyone.”

I scoffed in disbelief and at the audacity of being called Simon’s “good friend.” I was more than just a measly role of comforting someone in their most vulnerable state; I should’ve been the one engaged to him.

“I never had the chance to give my best to you for the engagement, so I’ll say it now before you leave. Congratulations, Miss Bridgerton, and I hope you live a wonderful life as the Duchess of Hastings.” Silence and rapidly beating hearts. “Th-Thank you, Miss Denbow for the tea, and have a good day.”

After our pleasant conversation, I walked her out of the parlor and to the door. We said our goodbyes as the light in her eyes become clouded with betrayal and disillusion. “I must say, y/n. Job well done.” I chuckled and patted myself on the shoulder once I’ve closed the door then headed up to my bedroom.

Only time will tell when the relationship between her and Simon begins to tear at the seams, then I will be the one to take my rightful place at his side. He’ll realize that Daphne wasn’t meant to be his bride, and he’ll finally love me just as much as I love him.

It felt good to break the rules fate had set for us, and I would do it again to get what I want. Nothing was going to stand in my way of marrying Simon.

Everyone was going to accept it whether they agreed with me or not.

[merryfortune]

Blue since the day we parted

Written for 100ships on Dreamwidth

Prompt: #13 Blue

Ship: Ai/Shoichi/Yusaku

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS

Word Count: 1,745

Rating: T

Warnings: Choose Not to Warn

Tags: Canon Compliant, Angst with a Happy Ending, Missing Scene Fic

   A tear glistened in the corner of Playmaker’s eye as he reached out into that cloudy, blue sky and touched Ai, plucking him from the digital space.

   Ai convulsed inside his hand. Just an eyeball. Reconstructed, refigured, recantered and then he remembered. Playmaker’s heart lurched with worry as he cradled Ai, standing into the wind and letting it roll off him as he waited for Ai to say something. To do something. Anything. And then a tear to match the ones dripping slowly down the side of Playmaker’s face welled up on the rubber duct of Ai’s entire eyeball.

   “Yusaku…?” he murmured. “Yusaku! Yusaku! My Yusaku!”

   “Y-Yeah, it's me, Ai.” Playmaker beamed and Ai was happy that such a wide smile would be his first memory in this refreshed, new world.

   “I thought… I thought I was a goner.” Ai mumbled, grateful to be alive but grim in his certainty that he was very much not so supposed to be alive.

   “You know me,” Playmaker shrugged, “once I decide something, it becomes my purpose. Be it for three months or ten years, I just get absorbed in that one singular desire. Looking for you, piecing you back together, that was my one desire this time.”

   “And I bet it was just as destructive for you than if was just plain ol’ revenge.” Ai replied.

   Playmaker didn’t have a verbal response to that but the guilty look on his face spoke volumes. Ai nodded in his hands, moving himself up and down against Playmaker’s palms.

   “I thought as much.” Ai mumbled. “You never really change and yet…?”

   It, too, was written all over Playmaker’s face just as much as the guilt of having pushed aside so many of his connections just so he could reconnect to this one. Playmaker found it worth it though. Unbelievably worth it. He kept smiling, even if his initial grin had shrunken in on itself and steeped with guilt.

   “I can’t help it, your right,” Playmaker replied, murmuring, “Ai means to love people but I feel like I can only do it when I have…”

   “Ai?” Ai piped up hopefully.

   “Yeah, exactly.” Playmaker told him.

   “Oh, you incorrigible…!” Ai complained and he seemed rather cranky in Playmaker’s hands now, frowning and pouting but then he let up on it. “I love you, too. Thank you for bringing me back, for having hope.”

   “My pleasure.” Playmaker replied.

   “So, what now?” asked Ai. “Am I going to be stuck like this forever? My handsome visages? Gone, perished, truly a fate worse than death.”

   “I’ve got that all figured out,” Playmaker assured Ai, “So let’s log-out.” He shifted slightly and an admittance followed, “There’s someone else I really want back now, though, as well. Its kind of co-linked to getting your body back, too.”

   Ai had a sneaking suspicion that he knew what that meant so he perked up immediately, “Let’s get to it then, Playmaker! Seize the wind, already!”

   Playmaker laughed and it was such a lovely sound to Ai. It was unrehearsed and croaky but it was laughter nonetheless. They logged out together shortly afterwards. A cavalcade of pale blue data turning into sparkling shards of data before disappearing entirely.

   When they resurfaced, the location was not where Ai expected. He was still in the palm of Yusaku’s hands as he ventured out of a dark niche where his Link VRAINS rig was set up. It was familiar but it wasn’t home - or at least Yusaku’s apartment, even if it had never really felt like home until the end, when it was more about the emotions imbued in the walls than the walls themselves.

   Looking around, the first thing Ai saw, through the guards of Yusaku’s fingers, was the ocean. It was about midday, early afternoon, and the ocean was sparkling. It was a rich azure through the silver railing and the framing of the huge doorway into this building that Yusaku had made his next hovel. Ai realised where they were; they were at the site of their final showdown, if not a warehouse or two either.

   Ai wriggled in Yusaku’s hands so he could look up to him, “What happened to the apartment?” he asked. “Wh-Where’s Roboppy’s shell?”

   “Somewhere safe, don’t worry,” Yusaku replied and then he shrugged, his gaze grew distant, “I’m not sure what happened to the apartment. Landlord never tried to contact me when I bailed, I left behind whatever I couldn’t bring with me so I could stay here. It was easier than trying to move all your stockpiles there. Mightn’t be the most luxurious of places but its quiet here.”

   “Yeah, nothing more soothing than the sounds of construction.” Ai complained because he knew, for one, that he could hear the sound of jackhammers somewhere along the industrial pier.

   “Okay, serene.” Yusaku corrected himself.

   “But if there’s people around… how are you…?” Ai’s voice trailed off.

   “It’s not easy but I’ve managed alright to hide out undetected. I think the workers enjoy having a ghost around. So long as it doesn’t touch anything important, they don’t care if some electricity is pilfered.” Yusaku said but he brightened up, returned his gaze to Ai. “But now that we’re together again, let’s try and find somewhere really nice to live, yeah?”

   “Yeah.” Ai excitedly replied.

   “So let’s get you into your not-meat suit.” Yusaku said. “I don’t have all the means to give you back your Ignis body but take your pick of SOLtiS bodies.”

   Yusaku drifted through the vast, freezing warehouse like it was his home, showing Ai to one of the many stashes of cold, lifeless bodies that belonged to them. As eerie as it was to have so many empty SOLtiS androids around, Ai jumped into one enthusiastically. He wormed and wriggled his way into their shell and the eyeball became a beating heart. Yusaku watched, breathless, as a dressed and ready Ai appeared before him in the form of his dashing persona as a human.

   Whilst Ai may have been groggy and vague at first upon revival, he was really in the swing of things now as he popped up on his two legs like he was born to walk. Yusaku smiled gently whilst Ai stretched out all his nuts and bolts, making sure his limbs hadn’t rusted and got as close to limber as a robot could be and at the very end, made a very satisfied sigh.

   “Alright, what’s next?” Ai asked.

   “I think you know,” Yusaku said and though his heart thudded in his chest, a beg not to, he reached out to take Ai’s hand, “let’s go.”

   “Of course, partner.” Ai replied affectionately.

   Their fingers intertwined and linked together and then they were off with the wind. Not forever, obviously, Yusaku wanted to circle back later to grab Roboppy and a few other things that would be difficult to replace retroactively but for now, he and Ai were really putting the blues of the warehouse behind them both. And they both knew where they were headed on the interim, following the winding, concrete paths that allied themselves with the ocean so down below at the base of the steep cliffs here.

   When they arrived where they wanted to go, they still arrived looking like they ought to be dead. A corpse and a ghost: neither sure which was which but it was worth it.

   Cafe Nagi’s van was set up to the side of the Stardust Road. The last of the lunch time rush customers were trickling in and out, a waiter with a fluffy ponytail darting around them, fetching them refreshments and the like who paused to stare, puzzled, as his brother abandoned his post behind the grill.

   Yusaku smiled, tears in his eyes again that turned his smile creaky and all the more sincere, “Hey Kusanagi,” he said as Shoichi rushed towards him and Ai with a disbelieving smile, “I-I’ve missed you.”

   Before Yusaku knew it, he was swept up in a big bear hug from Shoichi. His arms surged around Yusaku’s scrawny frame and were so warm, Yusaku couldn’t have been more thankful for it. He buried his wet face into Shoichi’s chest and wrapped his arms around Shoichi’s waist. He felt so cared for as Shoichi’s hand cradled the back of his head, his fingers in his blue hair - and Ai, Ai was involving himself in this hug one way or another, too. Trying to reach both Yusaku and Shoichi but Shoichi was hogging Yusaku but Ai didn’t mind.

   “Never - and I mean never - do that to me again.” Shoichi growled. He was angry and sad and happy and relieved all at once. All that really broke through the barrage of emotions that he felt was love.

   “I promise.” Yusaku replied. He hugged back tighter. “I absolutely promise, I - I don’t want to be separated from you or Ai ever again, both of you are my precious partners.”

   “I believe you, Yusaku.” Shoichi consoled him. His head shifted to the left slightly, “And I mean it, Ai, I’m glad to see your back as well. I don’t want you running off either.”

   “It’s good to see you again, too, hot dog man.” Ai mumbled very fondly and with something of a tint of sadness. “And trust me,” he added, “there’s nowhere I’d rather be right now with you two.”

   “Same.” Yusaku mumbled.

   “I’m glad,” Shoichi replied softly and though he didn’t want to, he loosened his embrace of Yusaku so he could see his face properly, his cheeks were red and he looked dishevelled, there were bags under his eyes, “Yusaku? Ai?” Shoichi murmured.

   “Yeah?” Yusaku mumbled.

   Shoichi tilted his head to the side slightly, “Do you want to come live with me?” he asked. “Me and Jin?”

   “I’d love to.” Yusaku replied.

   “Me too.” Ai added on.

   Yusaku hugged Shoichi again. He couldn’t wait to move in with Shoichi and together they could get Ai his little Ignis body back too. It was all happening and Yusaku couldn’t be happier. He had been so depressed and angry since Ai died. Everything else became a blur to him. Lifeless, miserable. He didn’t want that anymore or ever again. So, he was determined to never let go of either Ai or Shoichi ever again and then, like an armory, the legendary spear and shield to pierce and protect and their tentacle monster too, they could go forward and progress. Reconnect and co-link. That’s all Yusaku wanted.

[goddessofmischief]

Blue Monday, Part 3 - Loki x T.V.A.! Reader

Blue Monday, Episode 3: ‘First Times Are Everything’

Loki didn't get you.

He understood you, of course, on a few levels - he knew things that you liked, for example.

You liked craning your neck over stacks of paperwork, making sure your penmanship was perfect and your grammar utterly unreprehensible. You liked setting your hair in intricate braids in the morning, then tying it up in a bun, little curls falling in your face.

Your hatred extended to only a few things... loud people, angry people, specifically. Whenever voices were raised around the T.V.A., you’d excuse yourself, hope to go unnoticed, and leave to finish your work in your room.

But Loki didn't like to simply understand people, he wanted to get them. To know why they did what they did, to the deepest longings of their hearts.

But you... he just could not read you.

He couldn’t, for example, understand what game you were playing. Loki knew you. You had been his best friend on Asgard, even something more than that. And while pretending not to know him, or pretending to not have powers, was exactly the kind of prank you would have played as children, it was so unlike the adult version of yourself he had known.

The you that was gone.

But Loki was determined to understand you. Luckily, he’d have time to.

“L/N!” shouted Mobius, storming into the training room. “Hey, Y/N?” “Yes?” “It’s mission time.” You gulped, grabbing the T.V.A. bomber that was draped over your desk chair and pulling it back on. Loki mirrored your action.

“What’s the mission?” he asked you, jogging to keep up. You were incredibly fast, he knew - agile, and graceful, as well. He filed all of this information carefully away.

“It’s for both of you,” said Mobius. “Somewhere simple. Keep an eye on him, alright, L/N?” “Yessir,” you agreed, giving him a cocky half-salute. “What’re we doing?” “Somewhere in the multiverse, a group of idiots have the tesseract.” “...That sounds right,” Loki deadpanned.

“We need you to get it back, and set that timeline right. Once you’ve gotten it, don’t hold on to it - understand?”

Mobius looked to Loki.

“Understand?” “Yes. Fine. I understand.”

“When you get it back, you need to return it to the village of Tønsburg. They’re Asgardian worshippers. They’ll hold on to it, until Johann Schmidt kills the lot of them in a thousand more years. But until then, it has to be returned. Only then will the timeline be safe.”

You nodded. Loki glowered.

“And,” supposed Loki, “If we were to not return it-” “Then you in that timeline won’t be alive, will he? And Steve Rogers would not fall into the ice and become an Avenger, and Carol Danvers will never have superpowers, and a million other things will fall out of place. No. This is imperative. You will not fail.” You swallowed, still attempting to maintain your composure in front of your newly-christened partner.

“I never do.”

...

Time travel with Loki had been... interesting. As interesting as you would have guessed. He’d been difficult, of course - trying to correct you, show you different ways to use the Tesseract. But in the end, both of you arrived at your destination unharmed.

So far.

“This is Tønsburg,” you stammered, teeth chattering, pulling the black blazer you wore closer to you for warmth. The city looked like it’d been doused in water and then frozen completely. There were no signs of life anywhere, except for a bonfire in the middle of a small circle of houses.

“Nice place,” said Loki, dryly. “And they... oh, I like that.” You followed his eyeline to a large statue of himself, beside a much smaller statue of Thor.

“I guess they play favorites.” “Or they have simply... good taste.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Oh, save your snickers, darling. This is my town.” “Yeah, and I’m still your boss. Remember that?”

“Irrevocably.”

You rooted around in the small satchel you kept with you for a map.

“We’re here, see,” you spoke, quietly. “And the place we’re meant to be... is here, see. We’ll never make it there before light, we’re in the middle of a blizzard, we’ll freeze-”

“Well, I won’t.” “What?” Loki gestured at himself, vaguely.

“...Immortal. Remember? I can easily go on. The mission would be better served by us traveling under darkness, anyhow.” “But you wouldn’t... leave me here?” “Why shouldn’t I?” It was a good question... and one you hadn't really given Loki an answer to yet. You had spent so much time trying to reconcile yourself to his previous mistakes, you hadn’t given him much of a reason to like you.

“Because... because... I remind you of someone. Remember?” “Yes, but you’ve insisted that’s only a small similarity. Right?” “Well, yeah, but... maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s... true. It could be true, Loki, and then wouldn’t you feel bad if you left that person out in the cold?” “That person would survive the cold, love, as she was like me.”

You clutched his arm, feeling as if your legs were about to give out from under you.

“Please... come on, Loki, please.”

He sighed.

“Well, all-right,” he said, finally, and you exhaled. “After all... I’m really very popular here.” ...

You could never have prepared yourself for what came next.

Loki had swept into town, your freezing self shuffling behind him, and though it took some convincing, he now had the entire town under his spell. They’d welcomed you into their town hall, thrown blankets over you both, and insisted you stay the night.

You hadn’t known how charming he could be when he was speaking to someone who wasn’t you.

Which made some unfamiliar feeling (jealousy, maybe) rise up in you when his time was occupied by several women, and a few men. But you didn’t mind being left alone. At least you were warm. Warm, and alone. You could live with that.

“Y/N!”

It was him.

“Loki,” you responded, weakly lifting your hand in greeting. He took it, and you begrudgingly left your pile of blankets.

“This is the leader of the town,” he informed you. “He wants us to bless him.”

“Us?” “Yes, of course. Are you my wife, or aren’t you?”

Immediately after he said that, he must have noticed your confused expression, because Loki whispered, “Play along, or they’ll kick you out. Besides... you’re famous.” He pointed at a carving on the wall.

That looked exactly like you.

Well. You and him.

Together.

Up until this point, you’d been pretty sure Loki that was gaslighting you. But now... well, now, even you had to admit there was some truth to what he was saying.

Maybe the man who played tricks had looked out for you, after all.

No. Nope. You couldn’t believe it. You refused to believe it. You’d stay on your guard.

Better than getting hurt.

“So,” proposed Loki. “Go ahead, Amora. Bless them.” “Amora?” “Yes, that’s your name, isn’t it? My, uh... lady wife.” “Call me a lady again, and you’ll regret it.”

“Refuse to play along, love, and I’ll do even worse.” You groaned.

“Very well,” you said, clearing your throat, and waving your hands. “I, uh... I bless you. I. Amora. Goddess of... um, Irrational Decisions, and...”

Loki was glaring at you. The leader looked deeply confused.

“Irrational Decisions, and... uh... floral arrangements.” Loki brushed you aside, stepping in and doing his own, much more official-sounding, blessing. You had to admit, hearing him say his whole title...

Was kinda cute. And... attractive.

Something you hadn’t really seen before.

Then again... maybe there was something that hadn’t been there before. He did save you, after all, and that had to count for something.

The leader said something quickly in Norse, and Loki nodded, tugging your hand. “Where are we going?” Loki arched his eyebrow.

“To sleep, of course.”

Taglist: gorgeourrific-nerd @suwupremeleader​ @sserpente @tripleyeeet 

[dekalko-mania]

Things That Lurk in the Dark (Pt. 1)

Amity changed the day the portal opened, in more ways than one.

....

As a young child, Danny had an immense fear of the dark, so severe that he had slept with his parents until they'd attached glowing stars to his ceiling and assured him there was nothing wrong. He'd assumed the problem was no longer there, pushed aside by the many other obstacles he'd faced in his past year of ghost-fighting.

He'd assumed wrong, it seemed, when he began to once again see the shadows in a sinister light.

Danny had first attributed it to his increasing paranoia, an overactive imagination fueled by being constantly alert. He was used to seeing things that were not there upon second glance, accustomed to jumping at any figure he saw from his peripheral vision. This was different, he knew, when he found himself knocking on Jazz's door more often, asking if he could sleep on her floor.

"This is the third night in a row, are you sure you're okay?"

His sister asked the question every night without fail, despite only ever receiving a lie as an answer. His nightmares were back, that was his response, knowing all too well that to get them he would have to have slept at all.

He lay awake that night, lulled into a rare sense of calm by Jazz's soft breaths. Maybe if he counted them, like one counted sheep, he could finally rest.

He planned on doing just that, when a familiar humming filled the room, coming from beside his sister's desk. He sat up, head snapping in the direction of the intrusion as tendrils of darkness formed into abstract shapes.

He stared, not daring to take a breath as he waited. Tonight, he would let it be for longer, observe first and then shoot after. As he watched, cold waves of terror creeping up his spine, the shadows formed into what looked like a door.

He had previously predicted they would become something outright threatening, a creature that lurked in pitch black, or a hand creeping out from beneath their wooden floors. This was somehow much worse, a gateway from who knows where, into their world.

Getting on all fours, he crawled forward, reaching out towards the handle. Before he could make contact, it began to jiggle, beginning as a gentle side to side, and rapidly shifting into an aggressive attempt to enter.

Without sparing a thought, he lit a fire on his palms, green and incredibly bright to ward the door away. That somehow always seemed to work, destroying whatever fragile arrangement had made its place near him.

Deciding that sleep was out of the picture, he shifted into a sitting position, keeping his eyes out for any more potential threats. The following morning, Jazz found him that way, both hands set ablaze and drooping eyes filled with apprehension.

....

It had been difficult explaining away Jazz’s worry, even more difficult to explain to Sam and Tucker why he was acting so strangely. He had grown as Phantom, realized that when facing his fears it was better to be strong and fight through them. If he let his guard down, people would be hurt. 

Yet, somehow, after literally facing death, he found himself once again fighting against a childhood fear. It was humiliating, having to admit it, so he kept it hidden as best as he could.  

"Daniel!"

Danny shot up, snatching the arm waving in front of him on instinct, earning a series of giggles from the class. He tightened his grip, realizing that the lights had been dimmed in the time he'd been nodding off. Already, in that short time frame, he was beginning to see the darkness curling into itself like smoke, caressing the walls in unnatural shades. Surely someone had to have noticed?

"What, he’s gonna fight the teacher now?"

"Loser."

Danny took a sharp intake of air, seeing who exactly the arm belonged to. With an apologetic expression, he released Mr. Lancer’s wrist, lowering his head and mustering the most sincere “sorry” he was capable of in his current state.

“It’s alright, I’ve faced worse at PTA meetings,” Lancer grunted, upset but with a kind tone. “I noticed you dozed off. I know educational movies aren’t preffered, but unless you pay attention, you’re going to fail the upcoming exam.” 

“I’m sorry,” Danny repeated. “It’s just, the lighting here is making it hard to stay awake. Could we maybe flip a switch?” 

Danny did his best to hide the tremor in his voice, all too aware that the gaze of Dash and co. were pinned onto him. Lancer, unaware, surveyed his student, face unreadable as he apparently didn’t like what he saw.

In a low mutter, he told Danny to grab his backpack and wait for him in his office. As someone who had been sent there countless times in the past, he needed no direction, quietly making his way out of the classroom with a mental groan at seeing Dash smirk in his direction.

Great, among his cryptic visions he would now have to deal with his long-time bully. 

Danny leaned against the lockers, running his hand along them for stability in the all too quiet hallway. The humming was everywhere, within the walls, under the cracks in empty classrooms. Anywhere scarce of light, they always lingered, the vague figures, never tangible except for the doors. The longer he stared at one spot, the more Danny noticed them.

They had always been there, waiting for him to spot, knobs twisting as the unknown tried to worm themselves inside of him. They appeared to him as Fenton the most, weak human Fenton, rendered useless with limited access to his ghost powers. He’d found himself growing bitter of this half of him more as of late, wishing that he could always carry the confidence of Phantom, the fearlessness. 

He pushed open the office door more aggressively than he’d intended, dumping himself onto a leather chair with a heavy sigh. He inspected the room in his wait for Lancer, fingers twitching with impatience. The man meant well, setting him aside from a situation that obviously made him uncomfortable, but he couldn’t find it within himself to appreciate it just yet.

Maybe he would be more grateful if the humming would stop. He clasped his hands over his ears, overwhelmed by the frustrating noise that never ceased to grate on his nerves. As if taunting him, the sound seemed to travel through the flimsy barrier his fingers provided, emanating from his right side.

Thump, thump, thump

He glanced over to the source, teeth clenching at the old storage cabinet that filled his vision. Its drawers rattled, forcing themselves open, before crashing closed. 

The surreal qualities of Amity were everywhere, strongest in the darkest places. Objects disappearing in the blink of an eye, room layouts changing completely on a daily basis, all things that the residents should’ve noticed. But no one did, not even his family or closest friends. 

He was alone, the only one who was aware of his bizarre surroundings, now stuck in a room with a seemingly haunted cabinet. Danny stood, shifting into a fighting position. 

“Whoever you are, get out of there right now!” 

The slamming stopped, relieving him for a minute, before restarting again with increasing vigor. It was like it was mocking him, the whole town was. 

“Cut it out! I can’t deal with this crap anymore!” He readied a blast, uncaring if he would get detention for the rest of the year. “I’ll give you until three-”

The rattling came to an end, leaving the room quiet except for the ticking of a clock on the wall. 

“I can’t believe that actually worked.” He relaxed his posture, though only by a margin as he’d learned to never underestimate his luck’s ability to run thin.

“Daniel?” 

He jumped, realizing Lancer must’ve walked in while his student was glaring at the cabinet. He stuffed his hands into his pocket, attempting to seem unfazed. 

“Was that you yelling? I could hear it from the hallway.” 

“Um, yeah sorry. I thought there was a ghost.”

“Is that what it is?” Lancer closed the door, gesturing for him to sit down. “I wanted to talk to you about your behavior lately. You’ve been more taciturn than usual, perhaps it’s due to the increase in ghost activity?”

Huh, so there were some who had noticed something odd, even though it wasn’t to the full extent. Danny thought for a moment, testing the waters. Maybe Lancer saw more than he let on, noted the gradual changes to their city. 

Quietly, uncertain with his teacher’s response, Danny spoke. “I’m fine. Things have just been a little odd lately, besides the ghosts.”

“Well, I have an hour until my next class. Perhaps you can explain it to me,” Lancer leaned forward, showing his undivided attention. “You’ve been doing well this semester, I don’t want us going back to square one.”

Danny thought back to his freshmen year, bombarded with the change of his lifetime, having absolutely no time for his assignments or anything else in between. It was an arduous effort adjusting to his new life, or half life, and he wasn’t keen on losing control of everything he’d worked so hard for. 

“No, I don’t want to either. It’s the changes that are bothering me, I think. Amity.” He glanced over at Lancer’s face, eyeing any changes in expression. 

“I don’t think I follow.” He looked slightly confused. 

At this point, Danny would’ve usually given up, swept the issue under the rug and moved on with his day. He didn’t enjoy sharing his emotions, his burdens, but he just needed to know that there wasn’t something wrong with him, that someone else could see it too. 

“Don’t you ever see...I don’t know, weird things that shouldn’t be happening? Maybe hear noise and see light under a door, but walk in and there’s nothing there?” He steeled himself, looking up to meet Lancer directly in the eye, hoping that the man saw that he was speaking with clarity. “Or have you ever been behind a locked door and felt that someone was trying to get in? Or the dark...that’s where it’s the worst. Do you see any of that?”

“I can’t say I do, Daniel.” Lancer frowned. “And if that was the case, I would say it was the ghosts.” 

“But it’s not the ghosts. I know it’s not them.” His ghost sense would’ve gone off by now. “Entire buildings shift positions at night, there’s this dark fog everywhere. I know it sounds crazy-”

Lancer held up a hand. “I’ll have to stop you there. Nothing is ever too far fetched in this place, and I don’t like my students discrediting themselves before they get a chance to fully speak.” He paused, considering, before continuing with a grim tone. “Look, I know you won’t particularly like this answer, but do you think it possible you’re being haunted? It’s not unheard of for ghosts to become attached to a host here.”

“I don’t...” It wasn’t possible for ghosts to haunt other ghosts, was it?

“Before you decide, I suggest you talk to your parents. I know people your age don’t like to approach them for help, but they’re the biggest paranormal experts in town. You’ll find a solution there.”

Realizing that was the best response he was going to get, Danny slumped into his seat, disillusioned. “Alright, I’ll try bringing it up to them tonight.” 

“Good, and in the meantime, you know my office hours. I’m always open to helping you catch up.”

....

Danny had absolutely no intention of approaching his parents about his findings, confronting them was his very last resort. He remembered the incident with Youngblud, how their first instinct was to scare the crazy out of him, and he wasn’t keen on repeating it. 

Still, Lancer had unintentionally given him an idea, one he was surprised he hadn’t thought of before. If by any chance something was going on in Amity and his parents knew about it, they were sure to have kept data, information that the entire Fenton family was privy to. His parents were unconventional in the sense that their work was not kept secret from their children, all security activated by fingerprints or face recognition. 

It was, he knew, done with the hope that their kids would become just as interested in the study of the paranormal as they were. It was also, what they did not know, partly responsible for contributing to his accident. 

After double checking that his parents were not home, he snuck down to the lab, beelining his way to their work computer. As expected, it was easy as usual to log in, endless arrays of information at his disposal. To an untrained eye, his parent’s work was disorganized, even Vlad had said so. But he knew better, knew his way around their strangely named folders like he was reading the table of contents in a nonfiction novel. 

Ghost profiles, weaponry charts, data on present, past, and future projects, new developments...there. 

He clicked on the folder, apprehensive as it took a moment to load. Once it did, it took only a glance to tell that something was very, very wrong.

Unnatural levels of ectoplasm in the air, measurements at a high of-

Cognitive dissonance experienced by a reported 1 in 10 Amity citizens, signs of-

Missing teen, Ross Lucas, 16 years old, blonde hair, blue eyes, last seen in Amity Forest Reserve-

Polluted lake at Amity Central Park, no side effects reported, but water glows green-

Missing woman, 37 years old, brown hair, brown eyes, last seen in Amity Forest Reserve-

Reported disorientation, home layout changed. Upon further questioning, memory loss is reported, no reminder of filing the report-

Minor detail: green tint to sky at certain points of the day-

Missing man, 22 years old, brown hair, brown eyes, last seen in Amity Forest Reserve-

Poltergeist activity, Amity Police Station-

Missing teen, Jenny Lee, 15 years old-

Missing-

Missing-

-last seen in Amity Forest Reserve

From above, Danny heard the telltale rattle of the front door opening, lumbering footsteps and daintier ones tapping along the tile.

Acting on impulse, Danny shut down the computer, turning invisible and keeping quiet in case his parents approached. Sure enough, he heard them nearing the lab after a minute of rustling. He stood, holding his breath, while the Fenton’s chatter got nearer as they appeared. He noted that his dad carried a briefcase, unusual for a man who preferred his casual attire, one with the Amity Police Department seal along the bottom corner.

After what he had seen, he could only stare at the case in apprehension.

“Let’s handle this before the kids are home, Jack. I don’t want to scare them.”

“Why can’t we tell them? It’s dangerous right now, Mads. Vladdie wouldn’t risk the safety of his god kids for this.”

His mom sighed, plopping onto the desk chair and booting up the computer. “I want to as well. Especially Danny, he’s always sneaking off somewhere. I can’t imagine him leaving, seeing his name among the victims.”

“We don’t have to ask him for permission...”

“You’re right, we don’t. The kids know how to keep quiet.” Maddie went silent, gesturing over for the case. Jack laid it on the table, unlocking it with a quick passcode and handing her a series of documents. She placed them beside her, pulling up a series of weaponry profiles. 

“What I don’t understand,” she continued, “is why he was so adamant about them not knowing. Danny more than Jazz. What could possibly be the issue of keeping them safe?”

“Vladdie thinks ahead. Maybe he was worried they would try solving this themselves. Do you want me to ready the vault?” Upon his wife’s nod, Jack made his way over to the section of the wall behind Danny, waving a hand over a sensor to reveal hidden sliding metal doors. From behind them, hundreds of weapons resided, all of various types. He grabbed two, planting them beside Maddie. “Anyhow, this is one of those rare times I admit I disagree with him. Let’s tell them tonight.”

His wife chuckled, amused at the prospect of Jack disobeying his dear Vlad. 

“That’s rare to hear.” She bit her lip, eyeing the sheet. “What a tragedy. There’s a group that’s gone missing, we haven’t had so many at one time.”

“That’s five people! What were they doing in there?”

“I don’t know, the forest is rumored to have more ghosts than usual. You know how teens are, maybe it was a dare. The question is, how is it possible that our devices state the victims are in the vicinity, but none of them have come out?”

“Perhaps they’re being held captive, or maybe, maybe they’ve become...”

Jack didn’t dare finish the sentence, but Danny knew what he meant to say. If something evil lurked within the reserve, a being that wouldn’t allow a human to live, it’s possible their spirit hadn’t moved on.

Trapped within its confines as a ghost.

“I’m holding onto hope that’s not the case. We’ll get them out Jack, we’ve got Amity’s biggest experts joining us in the raid tonight. Vlad himself will be there, it’ll be alright.”

Deciding he’d heard enough, Danny kicked off, uncaring of the clatter of beakers he left in his wake. There was someone he needed to see, a person who owed him an explanation and who deserved the sucker punch of their afterlife.

His parent’s were optimistic, and whatever raid they spoke of obviously included thorough planning, but if there was anything he’d learned about fighting the paranormal, it was that one was not sure if those on the front lines would make it out alive.

He couldn’t allow that, he had placed that responsibility onto himself, and he would be damned if someone else would have to bear it.

[karasimpno]

{Day 06} - If I Loved You | Ushijima x Reader

Pairing: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Gn!Reader

Genre: fluff, tender Ushi-Waka meet-cute!!

WC: 2.1k

Warnings: drinking, mention of a frat party, discussions of L O V E

⍋⋆*❅｡. 25 days of fic-mas mlist .｡❅*⋆⍋

If I loved you words wouldn’t come in an easy way ‘round in circles I’d go —If I Loved You; Carousel (music by Richard Rodgers and lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein)

It was a raucous party at the end of your senior year of college and you hardly knew anyone there.

You’d had a sweet mixed drink with barely any alcohol in it while your roommates who had dragged you to the party and everyone around you was hammering back shot after shot. There was a kitchen island full of booze and someone who had started bartending to boot, collecting an impressive jar of dollar bills as he did so. Downing the rest of your drink, you decided to take a step outside – it was only 10pm and you were already sort of itching to leave.

Closing the front door behind you, you stepped out onto the porch, audibly sighing before you realized: you weren’t alone. 

Sitting toward the bottom of the porch stairs sat a hulking man with shaggy chocolate hair, his back to you. You cleared your throat and he glanced back at you with dark eyes deep-set into his severe features.

“Mind if I sit?” you asked. His eyebrows shot up a little but he gestured vaguely welcomingly at the steps next to him. You smiled and sat on the opposite side of the stairs, even with him, grateful for the cool nighttime air and the break from inside. As you were getting settled, you glimpsed his toned golden skin and distinctively sharp features and realized you recognize the man.

“Hey...you’re Ushi-Waka, right?” you asked. “I’ve seen a couple of the volleyball games.” He peered at you curiously.

“Yeah. Who are you?” he asked, not unkindly. His voice was startlingly deep. You answered him with your name and smiled, taking in the nice spring evening when he responds with silence. Not looking to get involved with anyone new at the end of your college career, you internally berated yourself when you caught your gaze sneaking over to how his hair swept across his forehead, making him look all too casually dashing. His eyes remained focused on the road past the gate to the frat house. Feeling friendly, you decided to try to strike up a conversation.

“You’re really good at volleyball! Your spikes are like...killer,” you offered. He glanced back at you again, as though he were trying to read you.

“Hope you’re not...scared or anything,” he said awkwardly. You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not – he looked pretty serious. His hulking frame stretched over the wooden stairs, exposed calves leaving no muscle to the imagination. You could see why some people might find that intimidating but it did nothing but favors for him in your eyes. You decided it was a joke and playfully turned out one of your pockets.

“Well I’m broke as a joke so what’re you gonna do – steal something from me?” you laughed. “And aside from that, I can take pretty good care of myself.” Despite the rigid features of his face, his eyes on yours were a warm golden color. He didn’t laugh, but continued to look at you. The two of you leaned apart to let someone walk up the front steps between you, the noise of the party surging then becoming muted again as the front door opened and closed with a slam. Maybe it was the sweet drink you had just finished, but the night was nice and you were in a better mood than you were inside, so you took a whim.

“Hey, you wanna get out of here?” you said suddenly. He cleared his throat, a bit too loudly.

“Wait you mean like... uh,” he said, his face faltering a bit.

“Oh! No – no like do you wanna go for a walk or something,” you assured him, blushing a little. “It’s nice out and the party’s loud.” Ushijima had a funny feeling about you. You reminded him a bit of his friend who brought him here, Tendou, with your openness. Normally he’d be hesitant to leave him at a party, but something about your warmth convinced him to take you up on the offer.

“Sure,” he said evenly, rising to his feet, pushing his hands into his pockets. Despite yourself, you found your breath catching when you saw him at his full stature. Even when you stood, you had to lift your chin to meet his eyes. The two of you walked haltingly away from the front door, silently turning down the residential streets toward a park you knew of. He felt like the contradiction of some mighty Greek god, sculpted in intimidating power yet walking almost awkwardly beside you. You made small talk, exchanging your majors, where you were from, and post-graduation plans. His eyes stayed focused on the sidewalk, treating you to a good view of his strong profile. You noted how handsome his slightly-upturned nose was and instantly told your subconscious to shut up with its unhelpful observations. His every step was graceful and controlled.

There was a moment of silence, only broken by the occasional brush of wind through blooming trees overhead. He cleared his throat.

“So...have you ever been in love?” he asked. You nearly snorted, a sharp exhale pushing out of your nose and the corners of your lips quirking upwards. You glanced at his face, biting back a smile, but when you saw his unchanged, stoic expression, you decided he must surely just have the driest sense of humor of anyone you’d ever met.

“No,” you laughed. “I’ve never been in love. I’m not the marrying kind so I can’t just go falling in love with anyone,” you teased. Unexpectedly, you caught a glint in his narrowed eyes which darted over to yours.

“So if I said I’d marry you, you wouldn’t marry someone like me?” he challenged.

“Sure I would. If I loved you, it wouldn’t make any difference what you....” you trailed off, your brows furrowing. Was he being serious? First the comment about being scared of him, then talking about “someone like him”...he seemed like the kind of man to take pride in his physicality. Based on the way you’d seen him play, in fact, you would bet on it. But had someone made him feel different or weird? You felt your heart softening a little towards him.

“How do you know what you’d do if you loved me? How you’d feel?... Anything?” his voice had a soft lilt to it but his face remained impassive as he side-eyed you.

“I don’t know,” you laughed at the bizarre interrogation, but decided to play along. “But I know...it would distract me constantly!” you said mischievously, playfully frustrated. “I couldn’t get a thing done and I’d just sit staring into space, being so in love with you,” you mused, a half-smile on your face at the idea.

“But you aren’t,” Ushijima poked, seemingly serious. You met his eyes.

“No. I just know how I’d be,” you admitted, the playfulness seeping away from your voice as you grew more thoughtful. You’d thought about the idea of being in love tons of times. As much of a hassle as it seemed, you also had to admit you loved the idea of it. You exhaled, suddenly pensive, drawn away by the idea.

“If I loved you, I wouldn’t know how to tell you, that’s for sure. I couldn’t find the words...and I’d try to tell you, but I’d be afraid...and shy,” you seemed to catch Ushijima’s attention at this. Your eyes met again for a brief moment before you jerked your focus away, turning your gaze to the cherry trees framing the park the two of you were entering. You cleared your throat, letting levity slip back into your voice with a smile.

“But I’d let you slip through my fingers and then you’d leave!” you said with a dramatic sigh. “Neeever knowing how. I. felt,” you sing-songed, teasing him. “If I loved you, that is.” You playfully nudged Ushijima with your elbow, inhaling deeply. The two of you walked in silence for a moment.

“The cherry blossoms sure are beautiful,” you remarked quietly when he had nothing to say to your hypothetical. “You can smell them in the wind.” He blinked.

“There’s not much wind tonight,” he observed. You furrowed your brows at him then glanced around. He was right, any breeze that had blown by earlier had died down and the air felt almost stagnant.

“You can’t feel or hear much of anything tonight,” he said, in what you would almost call a somber tone. “But I like it. It makes you feel kind of...small,” he mused quietly. You looked at him. He was wrapped up in his own thoughts and it was, you hated to acknowledge it, rather beautiful to watch his brow work through the idea. “When I was younger, sometimes on nights like these, my dad would take me out on our rooftop and we’d look at all the stars.” He glanced up, thoughtful. After a moment, the two of you slowed to a stop, your eyes still trained on his strong features as he gazed at the sky. His irises flicked down and quickly over to yours and you were suddenly aware that you had been staring. You swallowed and looked away at the cherry blossoms.

“I sorta wonder...” he trailed off, then let out a soft laugh at himself. You snapped your head towards his, amused. It was the first time you’d actually heard him laugh that evening, soft though it was. It was sweet. “Nah...” he said with the gentlest smile, and walked over to a park bench.

“What?” you asked, his smile contagious. You followed him and took a seat on the opposite site of the bench, tucking your legs underneath you.

“Nothing. I mean, if I loved you.... God I can just see it. I’d be all weak and reserved. I’d be too shy to tell you either but... I’d be whipped for you,” he was teasing now, you could tell. You could begin to see the glint of his teeth behind his lips. He wasn’t exactly what you would call a flirt, but the idea had sparked his interest. He was hard to read but you found you were enjoying unlocking the puzzle.

You swallowed, suppressing an involuntary smile at the idea of Ushijima Wakatoshi being whipped for you.

“But you aren’t!” you interjected, as he had so diligently reminded you in your musings.

“No, I’m not.” His soft smile shot through you and you quickly reminded yourself that you were just flirting, passing the time on the night of a boring frat party, nothing more. In a few minutes, you’d be heading back to the party and dragging your drunk friends home. His eyes lingered on yours just a moment before returning to the sky. There was a pause and you could swear you heard him sigh.

“But I know what you mean. I can see what I’d be like, if I loved you. The words, the timing would never be right. Even if I was dying to tell you how I felt, I’d be too nervous,” he had returned to his pensive default. “You’d lose interest and never even know that I loved you,” he trailed off. Silence. “Hypothetically, of course,” he added. You found that you weren’t smiling anymore, simply thinking of the idea and watching his gears turn.

“But I don’t plan on marrying either,” he said, his voice gaining a harsher, rushed edge. “My career comes first.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said absently, your gaze returning to the trees around the park as a funny feeling settled in your chest. It was a nice evening. And here you sat, with a man you’d just met, talking about love. It was one of those special moments where the lateness of the hour just made people say things with a certain reverence and weight that they wouldn’t have over casual lunch. He was leaning against the back of the bench, his hand resting out to his side. You noted the distance between yours and his and wondered if they had been that close before.

“You were right,” you started and his gaze shifted to your face, “about there not being a lot of wind tonight. The blossoms are just falling by themselves,” you said, watching them float to the ground. Suddenly, you felt the outside of Ushijima’s little finger come to rest against the outside of yours. You glanced down, then your eyes tracked up to his, which were already on your face, molten gold and almost afraid-looking, despite their ferocity.

“Just their time to, I guess,” you exhaled.

A/n: PLEASE go listen to the Jesse Mueller and Joshua Henry’s recording of this here!!!! This song makes my heart swell and I never thought I’d draw out this side of ushi like this - I’ve never gotten softer towards a character bc of my own writing before but now ushi just stays on my mind 🥺

Taglist: @izagraceee​ @musicgetsmeoutofbed​ @azo-musxas​ @tsumurai

[gothgirlmahi]

Arranged

Thor x Reader

Summary: You knew your parents had arranged a marriage for you, but you didn’t know your husband would be so pleasant.

Warnings: loss of virginity, Thor’s big 🐓

The entirety of your interactions with him had been minimal. Demure glances across the room at dinner the night before your wedding. At a formal and proper greeting of your family. The first time you saw him up close was at the altar. The first thing you noticed was the look of curiosity in his eyes as he took in your appearance. You were covered quite literally up to your eyes, as was the wedding tradition where you came from. Thor had no idea what you looked like aside from a vague outline of your body in your clothes.

But you knew what he looked like. Gods, you knew what he looked like. Soft light hair gently brushing broad shoulders. Long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he blinked. His eyes caught yours and you were startled in embarrassment before looking back to the ground. A deep rumble in his chest had you closing in on yourself. Was he laughing at you? Or just at your behavior?

On the whole he seemed like a jovial man. Kind even. That was all you could hope for in a husband. In time you hoped you would grow to like him, or at the very least tolerate him well enough to have his children, much like your own parents. When the vows were said, you tried not to flinch as his hands caressed your face. He gently pulled your veil from around you, letting it fall to your back. When your face was revealed, he smiled before pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. Even the brief contact filled you with warmth.

The guests in attendance cheered and hollered, startling you even further. Were Asgardians always this loud? Brief eye contact with your parents showed their disapproving gaze on you. Your father’s mouth was pressed into a hard line while your mother gestured for you to smile. You complied immediately and their expressions grew less severe.

Thor quite literally swept you off your feet, drawing a little gasp from you. His arms held you securely under your legs and at your back as he cradled you. Your arms instinctively went around his neck for support as he marched out of the room. The crowd followed to a large hall where your reception was prepared. Servants bustled about as more guests trickled in, serving ale and wine in unimaginable quantities. Thor took you to a slightly elevated table at the head of the room and deposited you in the chair next to his own.

The plate in front of you was immediately filled with food and your glass with wine. Thor’s own plate was filled while his mug was nearly overflown with ale. He took a long sip while you made no move to touch your plate. You were too nervous to eat, instead counting the stringed instruments an interesting assortment of bards were carrying in. Your stupor was broken as Thor called your name.

“You like music?” he asked. His tone was light and sweet like the drip of golden honey.

“Yes, my lord. I play several instruments.”

“Oh? They did tell me you could sing the most beautiful melodies.”

“I was no good at weaving so I had to learn to do something well.”

“No good at weaving? Well that makes two of us.”

You surprised yourself, letting out a laugh at his commentary. Your smile was short lived as you saw your parents approaching the table. They greeted Thor first in respect and then turned to you.

“You look fine,” your mother commented, “you’ve made a well enough bride.”

“Not without the help of countless maids and a dress more expensive than she is,” your father cut in, before looking at your plate. “Do remember to eat up. Make use of those childbearing hips.”

“Yes, father.” You nodded and kept your head down.

They shot you one last glance before giving a farewell to Thor and walking off. You started to pick at your plate, almost angrily spearing a vegetable on your fork.

“Do they always speak to you in that manner?” Thor asked, his voice low and humming with another emotion you couldn't quite identify. You nodded.

“They are my parents,” you justified. Thor let out a huff of breath.

“And you are my wife and soon to be queen of Asgard. If they speak to you like that again, feel no need to hold your tongue, especially not in my presence.”

The thought of speaking back to your parents was abhorrent to you. Something you had never considered. But you nodded anyway.

“Yes, my lord.”

“You can call me Thor. In fact I have to insist.”

“Yes, Thor.”

The rest of the reception was enjoyable. Your parents refrained from making another appearance. The music was upbeat and happy. And Thor was so nice.

Even with your mind slightly hazy from the wine, you found yourself drawn to him. He asked questions about you and about things you liked. In turn you asked him about himself and he gave you unbelievable stories from other realms along with nice anecdotes from his childhood. Something about him was bright and jovial. You would envy the energy he gave off if you weren’t there to receive it.

As the night came closer to its end, guests began to steadily trickle out. One of your ladies came to collect you and get you ready for the night. Thor let you go with a kiss to your brow and a promise that he would see you soon. You were pulled quickly to your chambers where a group of women awaited you.

The women undressed you and pulled you into a hot bath. They spent the time scrubbing your skin raw and rubbing oils onto you. Your hair was thoroughly washed and scented with sweet perfumes. As one of them dried your hair, the others began dressing you. An ornate nightgown, silk in texture with the neckline so scandalously low you sought to cover yourself even in the presence of women who had just seen you naked. It was all so new and moving so fast, your mind couldn’t keep up.

By the time they were done, every inch of you was soft, supple, and floral smelling. Ready to be bedded for the first time. Your nervousness about losing your maidenhood had been persistent for weeks. You had heard plenty of tales of how bad it could be. Your husband would take you as he pleased and you’d have to work through the pain. It was just the way things were done.

The women brought you to another room. When you asked where you were, they said these were Thor’s chambers and he was inside waiting for you. Sensing your hesitation, one of the ladies gave you a gentle pat on the arm and a smile. It didn’t do much to soothe you but you carried on through the door which they shut firmly behind you.

You made your way into the bedroom and your breath caught in your chest as you spotted him. He was on the bed, barely dressed. His top half was bare and his lower half was covered with a light pair of trousers. At the sight of you, he hopped off of the bed and strode toward you wearing a lazy smile.

The sight of him was magnificent. Everything about him seemed so large and capable. The ideal specimen of a man. He stopped halfway on the path to you and held out his hand. Your eyes were drawn to the shapely muscles on his extended arm.

“Come here, sweet girl,” he beckoned you over. You flitted over in a daze to dutifully take his hand. His other hand held your face below your chin.

“Are you ready to consummate our marriage?”

You saw his eyes dip briefly to your cleavage and you stared at the floor.

“Yes, my lord. My body is yours.”

“I’ve told you to call me by my name, dove. I can feel your hands shake. I understand you’ve had a long day. If you are nervous, you can lay in my bed tonight and we can consummate tomorrow.”

You were shocked at the offer. Although kind, it was unnecessary. Now was as good a time as any.

“No. I’m sorry. I’m just—I would like to do this tonight.

His eyes fell to your breasts again.

“Can I undress you?” he asked. You nodded, shaking a bit. Thor pressed a kiss to your hand and continued to kiss up your arm and to your shoulder. He stopped to press another kiss below your ear before reaching down to the hem of your gown.

The whole time you stood stock still, trying not to shake in your nervousness. Thor pulled your gown off quickly, leaving you naked and exposed in front of him. He took a look at your body and let out a contented little sigh.

“You are beautiful.” To your surprise, he picked you up and carried you to the bed with long strides. When he set you down, you immediately laid back and spread your legs like your mother told you to. You weren’t entirely sure what would come next, but you knew what your role in it would be.

You were here to give heirs to your king, forge an alliance between kingdoms and create a legacy your parents would be proud of. There were girls far less lucky than you in much worse circumstances so you tried to calm yourself with the thought that things could absolutely be much worse. Besides, you were meant to be queen. A queen couldn’t be shaking with fear every time her husband tried to bed her.

Thor ran his hands gently up your thighs.

“I know you’re nervous. You have my word I will not hurt you.”

You blinked and stalled when thinking of something to say in reply. Instead your eyes were drawn to how he was laid between your legs, still with his trousers on.

“Aren’t you going to get undressed?” you questioned with a tilt of your head. He smiled and pulled your legs over his shoulders.

“Soon.”

He ducked his head down and licked you. Your eyes shot open in alarm. All you could do was lay back, mortified. You had heard of things like this but to have it done to you was something different. He continued pressing soft licks to your clit before eventually using the broader area of his tongue to swipe over you. Your thighs almost clamped around his head but he held them open with strong arms.

Your embarrassment began to melt away slowly. A warm feeling of arousal pooled in your belly. Moans and gasps left your mouth at the feelings he stirred in you. You moved your hips against his face and he let you grind against his tongue. 

A stacking pressure accumulated in your lower abdomen. A tense string inside you about to break. The unknown feeling filled you once more with nervousness. Your thighs trembled around his head and you tried to push away from him. Thor pulled you even closer than before and latched onto you, sucking hard. 

The mounting fear in you subsided and devolved into screaming pleasure. Your body was wracked with the sweetest tremors while he pushed you through the sensation. You laid limp and panting before him when he was done. The noises he managed to get out of you had you hiding your face in your hands. 

You knew you shouldn’t feel embarrassment at being exposed and vulnerable with your husband but you couldn’t help it. Everyone had told you the whole affair would hurt and your best strategy would be to lay still while he used you. Your mother said everything would hurt and there would be blood, but you were wet and it certainly wasn’t from blood. This was something so different. Something you weren’t prepared for. Thor was making you feel very good. 

Your arousal dripped onto the sheets and Thor’s face was covered in it as he looked up at you. His lips curved into a smile as he took in your debauched figure.

“Do you want me to do it again?”

And you were lost, trapped in a manic lust for him, begging him to touch you again. Begging for his mouth on you. Thor looked intrigued by your begging and a lewd smiled graced his face. Voracious want was present in his eyes while he lowered his mouth back to your most sensitive parts.

Your back arched in pleasure from the sudden sensation, still barely off of the high from your previous orgasm. Thor held your thighs steady, pressing a heavy tongue into you and biting your lower lips gently. His mouth covered your clit, breathing softly before latching on again. In efforts not to scream, you covered your mouth with your hand. Thor looked up at you from his position between your thighs and moved to pull your hand away.

The pulsing heat between your legs was too much to bear. The noises he pulled from you were loud and undignified but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. All you wanted was him touching you. He pressed a finger at your entrance and slowly pushed in, letting you adjust to the feeling.

It was amazing.

You spent time hovering just on the edge of another orgasm, deliriously begging him for more more more. He pushed another thick finger in you and you cried out in ecstasy. With his mouth on you and his fingers quickly going in and out of you, you could hear how wet you were. Finally he pushed a third finger inside of you. There was a burning sensation as he scissored his fingers inside you, but it was soon replaced with much better feelings.

The tension inside of you broke again, leaving you writhing and screaming in pleasure. They could probably hear you halfway across the palace but you didn’t care. Thor took his time before he let up. Making sure to draw out every bit of pleasure he could from you. By the time he pulled away, you were hardly able to move your legs.

Thor stood up from the bed and your eyes followed.

He began to undo his pants and you watched as he undressed. You bit your lip as he was revealed to you. His member was thick and curved, leaving you desperate to see what else he could do. Thor climbed over you, slotting himself between your legs and putting his lips to yours. The air was hot and sensual as he pressed his tongue to your lips and you granted him entry. Your mouths molded together in an intimate kiss.

Your lips fell open in a gasp as Thor pushed into you. Although he had given you a taste with his fingers, there was still just so much of him. The two of you moaned in unison as he bottomed out inside you and held himself there.

“P-Please move,” you begged him. He looked down to see your eyes black with lust, mirroring his own. With a groan he pulled back and slammed into you again. Then again. And again.

Your thoughts were hardly coherent. All you could think about was him and how he was making you feel. He thrust into you, hitting spots you didn’t even know you had. Pushing you further into madness as you kept trying to get closer to him.

Without a thought, you wrapped your legs around his waist, grinding your hips against him. He followed your lead, slamming into you at just the angle you needed. You didn’t know where to put your hands, alternating between squeezing the sheets between your fingers and taking your nails down his back.

The bed shook with the force of his thrusts. His hand reached out to latch onto the headboard and he went at you even harder. Your back arched off the bed and you pled with him for more, more, more. Every time he pushed inside you, his skin brushed against your clit perfectly.

Thor pressed kisses along your neck, moaning his own pleasure into your skin. His body was hot against yours while he groaned your name in a way that made your legs shake.

His touch pushed you into delirium, a frenzied euphoria you’d never encountered before. Absolutely filled with him and you body had a sense of completion. Like this was how you were meant to be. In raptures of paradise while he claimed you. You’d surrender to him forever if it always felt this good.

Your orgasm made your whole body jolt, your back arching your chest closer to him and your hips pushing against him in desperation. His name left your mouth in light gasps which turned to screams when he didn’t let up, chasing his own orgasm. When he came, he pushed himself as far as he could inside you, staying there while his seed filled you. Your legs twitched from aftershocks of pleasure at the feeling of him dripping out of you.

Thor pulled out of you, which left you feeling strangely empty. You recovered when he pulled you to lay on his chest and held you in his arms, engulfing you in his warmth.

Out of all the things you expected for tonight, this was not it. But if this is what your married life would look like, you were sure you’d be alright. .... Author’s Note: Someone contact the authorities — a man called Thor STOLE my HEART 🤳🏼👮🏽‍♂️🚨🏃🏼‍♂️♥️

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 26

The sun had set long ago and they were all crowded around a card table in Louise Brooks apartment, the radio playing “Side by Side” by the Paul Whiteman Orchestra. Sipping a glass of bourbon, Louise was humming merrily along, but Nelly’s lips were set in concentration. She wasn’t a good bridge player by any measure, but the important thing was that she was getting better. They were in no danger of hitting a grand slam, but Buster thought they might be able to get a small slam out of the game. Keeping his eyes on their cards, he tilted his whiskey glass to his lips, emptying it. 

“Top you off?” said Louise.

Buster looked at Nelly, who raised an eyebrow. “Not tonight,” he said, and saw Nelly’s shoulders relax. He kissed her behind the ear and saw her cheeks redden in the lamplight.

George laid down a seven of clubs, Buster threw in a five of clubs, Louise put in a four of diamonds, and Nelly swept the trick for them with a six of diamonds. George had a good poker face. Louise’s was skilled simply by virtue of the fact that she was usually in a good humor whether her hand was bad or good. Nelly needed to work on hers. She straightened her expression as if hearing his thoughts. 

He’d been living a double life for years now, but with Nelly in the picture, it had lately become a triple life. Buster One was the gay host always ready for sport, drink, and good company. The quiet man left in the gay fellow’s wake was Buster Two, who never forgot that Lady Luck would decide someday to be done with him, and maybe soon. Buster Three was content to spend afternoons and evenings with his girl in her small apartment where she watched him work out gags for Snap Shots and sat patiently as he gave her bridge lessons. She found him pleasing in bed, and never complained that the only dance floor he led her across was her living-room carpet and their only orchestra the tabletop phonograph he’d bought her. As February gave way to March, his routine of visiting her apartment two or three days a week for a couple hours at a time seldom changed. Twice he’d taken her for a drive into the Valley, although that was always risky in case someone recognized his car as he left town and got to wondering about the girl in the passenger seat. Last weekend they’d had their first bridge game with George and Louise, the first time anyone else had seen them together. Nelly had had the time of her life. 

Buster Three couldn’t help wanting more, though. He longed to take her to a picture or have her on his arm during a premiere or benefit, dressed to the nines. He imagined her warming his bed at night, swimming laps in his pool in the morning, and playing bridge games in the billiards room on weekday afternoons. He was finding out that a mistress was a funny thing that way. The more you got of her, the more you wanted.

He stroked her back as she looked over at his hand, deciding which card to play next. They could take at least five more tricks by his count, which would put them at eight. Whether Nelly would spot them was the question. They were playing for a nickel a point. He’d wanted to do quarters, but Nelly had complained about how bad she was and insisted on a lower bet, so he let her have her way. 

It was now getting close to ten o’clock. He knew they’d have to wrap the game up in the next half hour if he wanted to be home by midnight. It was the first time he’d stayed out so late with Nelly and not told Natalie where he was going.

“Just Molly and me,” Louise sang in a soft, idle voice, examining her cards. “And baby makes three. We’re happy in my blue heaven.”

Nelly yawned and he rubbed her back. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you home soon, sweetheart,” he said in her ear. 

Nelly responded with a smile and he was gratified to watch her discard a three of diamonds in the next moment. He was pretty sure he could take the trick with a Jack of diamonds if neither George nor Louise played the Queen.

They left the apartment at a quarter to eleven, many nickels richer. Louise kissed Nelly goodbye on both cheeks. It made Buster happy to see the girls get along so well.

“How’d I do tonight?” said Nelly, as they walked through the darkness toward his Lincoln town car, holding hands. 

“You’ll be able to play pro soon at the rate you’re going.”

She squeezed his hand. “Don’t tease.”

“Well okay, but we can start playing for quarters any day now.”

“Maybe dimes,” she said, laughing. “Maybe.” Another big yawn hit her. 

“Don't fall asleep yet, you hear? I have things in mind for you.”

“What kind of things?” she said. From her flirtatious tone, he had a pretty good idea that she already knew.

“Let me take you home and I’ll show you.”

Though she was falling asleep on her feet by the time he parked on Genesee Avenue, she allowed him to walk her inside, persuade her onto the couch, and lift up her skirts. That gave her a second wind and she joined in the excursion with enthusiasm. When they were done and he’d buttoned his trousers back up, he watched her wander around the apartment in nothing but her garter belt and stockings, getting ready for bed. Apart from the nudie show, which he enjoyed tremendously, he found he’d missed watching her take down her hair and return from the washroom wearing it in braids, her cheeks shining from scrubbing her face. Tonight the routine was the same except that she was in the buff. He grinned, looking forward to having something to think about on Monday morning when the tedious conversations about Snap Shots resumed with the M-G-M brass and his surplus writers.

After Nelly had brushed her teeth, he followed her into her bedroom and watched her get into underthings and a pink sleeveless nightgown with ivory lace at the bodice. 

“Sticking around to tell me a bedtime story?” she said, giving him an impudent smile. 

He swatted her derrière in rebuke as she climbed into bed and drew the covers over her. “Sure. What’ll it be?” He sat on the side of the bed. 

“I don’t care. Surprise me.”

“Once upon a time Charles Lindbergh flew over the Atlantic to find the prettiest girl in the world.”

Nelly giggled. “Oh, is that what his flights are about?”

“He gets to England. Nothing worth seeing. Same story in France and Italy and Indonesia.”

“Indonesia’s not in Europe.” Nelly was laughing, but her eyes had also closed. 

“Who’s telling this story?” he said, tapping her shoulder. “So he gets back in the airplane, flies all the way across the Atlantic again. Gets to New York. All the dames he sees look like dogs practically. Well, he gets back into the airplane again and he commences to visit every state he can, Pennsylvania, Florida, Mississippi, Tennessee. You name it, he visits it. It’s no good. He never saw such ugly girls. Any how, he’s running low on fuel for his airplane and he decides to make a stop in Chicago.”

“Mmm,” said Nelly. Her lids were beginning to twitch. 

“While he’s there he goes and sees the sights. He takes an elevator up to the very top of the Tribune Tower. Guess who he meets on the top, top floor?”

Nelly sighed. 

“Miss Nelly Foster, that’s who. That’s how he found the prettiest girl in the world.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. She gave a vague smile at the caress, but otherwise was out like a light. “G’night, sweetheart.”

He collected his jacket and locked her front door with the key she’d given him, which was in his pocket more often than not these days. It was half past midnight by the time he made it home. He half-expected Nate to be waiting in the sitting room or at the foot of the stone staircase demanding to know where he’d been, but the house was silent and dimly lit; he stubbed his toe on his way to the kitchen to see what Caruthers had left in the refrigerator.

Standing in the kitchen eating cold roast and cold cooked carrots from a priceless bone china plate a few minutes later, he was back to being Buster Two, bewildered that this could be his life. Buster wasn’t half bad at Shakespeare. The problem was that Nelly could barely recite her lines without laughing over his sober-faced version of Olivia, who spoke in a high, breathy voice. “Stay,” he would say, “I prithee, tell me what thou thinkest of me,” and clutch his hands in front of his heart so earnestly she would be in stitches. 

“That you do think you are not what you are,” she’d answer, giggling. 

She had a feeling he was trying to cut her up on purpose, but the straight face never faltered. After a half hour of practicing, Nelly called it a day. She would just have to learn the lines on her own. Buster seemed content to set aside the little green Arden Shakespeare edition of Twelfth Night. He drew his legs onto the sofa and put his head in her lap. She ran her hand through his thick dark hair as he closed his eyes. “You’re burning the candle again, Olivia.”

“Hmmph,” he said.

“Auditions are next Monday night. If I get the part, you’ll have plenty of time to help me rehearse my lines, I guess. The play doesn’t open ‘til the second week of June.”

Buster opened his eyes. “About that.” His brows were pinched.

“What?” she said.

“I’m leaving for New York on the seventh,” he said with a grim expression. 

“Oh.” She’d known in an abstract way that Snap Shots took place in New York, but somehow she’d failed to imagine that Buster might shoot on location. Knowing now how he had traveled in order to film Our Hospitality, The General, and Steamboat, it was a conclusion she should have come to. “How long will you be gone?”

Buster sighed. “July. If I’m lucky.”

“How long have you known?” she said, wondering why he had waited to bring it up to her. 

“Awhile. Before we started going together. Guess I just thought the day’d never get here.”

“I’ll miss you,” she said frankly, as she combed her fingers through his hair. 

“I know,” said Buster. “I’ve been thinking about how to get around it. Maybe I’ll send for you at the halfway point or something. You ever been to New York?”

“Not once,” she said. She briefly considered the practicalities of traveling all the way across the country while trying to keep her job at United Artists and, if her tryout with the Los Angeles Players Company was successful, star in a play at the same time. She was also thinking of his wife, who would doubtless accompany him. Buster, always so honest and hopeful when he built castles in the air, plainly had not thought of this.

“Well, I got some good news, anyway. That was the bad news. Wanna hear it?” He looked up at her so earnestly that she couldn’t resist bending her head to kiss his mouth. 

“Of course.

“I just rented a place just outside the M-G-M lot. A bungalow. Figured it’d save me some time going home every day. Plus you could stay the night. I got it all worked out.”

“Oh?” It sounded risky, but her stomach fluttered at the idea. 

“Sure. I’ll pick you up and take you there after dark. We get up before the sun comes up and no one’s the wiser. I can get you over to United Artists in the  morning.”

The scheme was more than a little hairbrained, but to Buster’s credit it worked. For two weeks before he left for New York, Nelly spent Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday evenings at the bungalow. It was actually a double bungalow with separate entrances, the other half belonging to Edward Sedgwick, Buster’s new director, who used it as an office during business hours. Sedgwick’s half was always dark by the time Buster ushered Nelly through the door after nightfall, though. Buster’s side of the bungalow was a combination dressing room and gymnasium. The dressing room occupied the first room and contained a stove, refrigerator, and worktop so Caruthers could whip up meals. Like Sedgwick, he too was always gone by early evening, but left a hot dinner for two ready, never asking (or so Buster said) why he was cooking for two. The second room held weight equipment, a rowing machine, a punching bag, and other exercise equipment. Nelly had learned a few weeks back that Buster’s splendid physique was not the result of pratfalls, but of dedicated training. Off the gymnasium there was a small washroom, and at the back of the house a little bedroom with a double bed, a nightstand, and a chair. It was here that Nelly would fall asleep next to Buster, waking up more often than not in his arms.

The alarm clock would ring at a rude five a.m. and Buster would reach over her to silence it. Sometimes they would make love. Other times, Buster would fall back asleep and Nelly would watch him, letting him seize a few extra minutes before reluctantly shaking him awake again. Although he had every outward appearance of boundless energy when he was around her, she could tell in the droop of his eyes and the redness that occasionally invaded them that he was always tired. It was no wonder. There were bridge games with Louise and George Marshall, often stretching until midnight, and when there weren’t bridge games, he was practicing songs on the ukulele while she studied her lines, having recently gotten the part of Maria in Twelfth Night. In spare minutes, he’d tell her about baseball games, meetings with the M-G-M bigwigs, and lunches with other stars. He didn’t seem to have a second of his day that wasn’t filled. 

One subject he didn’t discuss was his wife and children. It was as if that part of his life didn’t exist, though Nelly knew that he must spend time with them. At first, she hadn’t wanted to know about Natalie because it would have curdled her with guilt to think that she was monopolizing another woman’s husband. Now she didn’t want to know because her feelings for Buster had strengthened. She could almost convince herself that if she didn’t acknowledge that other part of his life, the fairytale that was their time together could stay in place forever.

And it was like a fairytale, even the ordinary parts, like Buster stumbling out of bed so he could go into the front room and make coffee. She loved his sleep-mussed hair and bare feet, the bleary way he groped for his pack of cigarettes and lit the first one of the day, how he would shrug on a dressing gown over his underthings—if he was even wearing underthings, which was never a guarantee when they were sharing a bed. While he was thus occupied, she would get dressed for the day and throw on a dab of lipstick and a quick brush of mascara. As the coffee percolated and Buster dressed, she’d make breakfast, either wheat cakes with eggs or steak and eggs. They always kept the curtains drawn, and if any early-morning peddler knocked on the door to attempt to sell Buster vegetables, soap, and any other number of commodities, she would creep to the back door and leave Buster to turn them down.

Despite their precautions, spending the night at the bungalow still felt dangerous. Nelly knew it would take only one pair of unfriendly eyes to spot them and the jig would be up. Buster, she thought, was much too casual on this point and she always made him double-check that none of his neighbors were peeping out of their homes as she hurried into his car between six and six-fifteen-a.m., depending on how long she’d let him sleep or whether carnal matters had preoccupied them for an extra ten minutes. Even so, it was hard to stay nervous with his cheery attitude. He had only to throw her one of his beautiful smiles, upper teeth straight and gleaming, and she would be set at her ease again.

Notes: Is this chapter too sentimental? Be honest. 

I should warn you that because life is hectic right now for me, I’ll probably go down to an every-other-week update. I was away this weekend and got to working on Chapter 26 when I returned, only to discover I needed to add just two sentences to it. -_- Sorry for the delay.  There are some anachronisms here and there will be in the future. Louise Brooks wasn’t in the States at this time. I think I did get the timing on the bungalow right, though. The opening part of the second part of this chapter takes place around March 24th.