#middle of the night. i wake up kinda wired and i wake up kinda cold and i wake up kinda tired but i'll just sleep in when im old. see i don | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kainscape · 3 years ago

Note

Really enjoyed the Morning fic you made for Bo! If possible, can I please request one just like this for Asa or Jesse? I just could use all the possible fluff right now~ Thank you!!

A/n: I can’t tell if this one is as good as the morning fic because I kinda just had a random idea in the middle of writing it, but I really like writing for Asa so here you go!

Death do you part ~ Asa Emory

Happiness wasn’t in Asas vocabulary or main emotions. It was drained from him at such an incomprehensible age he never mentioned it to himself. No whispers of joy or happy warmth, just exultation or sinister excitement. Asa wasn’t one to ponder or to think about what lies ahead in the future besides his traps and plans of new specimen to find.

Just like how he didn’t think anything of you when you were still asleep in your shared bed he never came too. Of course it was to be expected hence his return being quite early in the morning. He would’ve guessed around 7:30 to 8:00. The university needed to be stayed at, him finalizing the place to sleep at from his exhaustion. It was the best choice not to drive home in his state, and it made it easier to more access of his work.

You must’ve guessed he wouldn’t be returning home again, which seemed to be more common in the latest month. It annoyed you to no ends, but when it came to Asa and his work force, there was almost no convincing him to take a break. So you settled on heading bed early to meet him at dawn.

The professer walked through the front door, his case full of papers to grade and fix filling it whole in his hand. He kicked the door shut behind him, hearing it settle back in place as he laid down his keys on the end table. It was quiet except the air flow of the AC from the vents.

He travelled over to kitchen table, laying down the case on its side as he slid off his jacket. The temperature from inside to outside was perfect, it was cold and gave him freeway to wear layers in his house while it was humid and unforgiven on the outside.

He signed, a hand running down his face as he tried to rub away the tired feeling that buried within him. It was something he would never try to fix, like he could even attempt to do so. He made his way to the stair case, trudging up each step with a small hold on the railing.

Asa walked down the hall with a small click of his shoes. There wasn’t many creaks in the floor besides the two by the guest room and bathroom, so he wasn’t concerned about waking you.

Even if he did make a loud sound, it seemed there would be no one to wake from the empty bed that laid within the room. He kept his weak grip on the door handle, eyebrows furrowed as he looked around the room. It was dark besides the slight shine from the curtains, and the door to the bathroom was wide open and collecting darkness. Where the hell were you?

His hand slipped from the metal knob, his steps slow as he fully entered the room. He couldn’t have missed you on the second floor, you could be quiet at times but not that quiet. He analyzed your personal items, taking count to see if there were any gone. You were the only person to ever gain Asas full trust, he thought you realized the great importance of just that as he formed conclusions.

He didn’t even want to move from the room, his mind blank as the scenery before him was bare. Maybe he did miss your presence on the first floor, the realization that he was so tired coming into mind. With first ever hesitance, he headed for the stairs, slowly making his way to the living room and kitchen. It’s like he was almost begging you to be down there, wanting you to be curled up on the couch almost half asleep or in the kitchen one your phone at the table.

But you weren’t. Still reaching for that unacceptable feeling that you left him, he traveled to the bathrooms, the pantry, the closet. He ripped open the doors, unhinged more than he’s ever felt. He was desperate to see you, even if it was in the fucking basement. His breath picked up the pace, somewhere in between fast walking down the hallways.

He returned to the kitchen, running a hand through his hair. He was sure that you were here, you were just hiding from him. He ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes with a deep sigh. He pushed down the nagging feeling pulling at his heart, instead focusing on the primal feeling of hunting you down.

He’d rather not feel hurt like this compared to other emotions. The light from the window above the sink showered him, his eyes traveling with the few dust particles in the air. That was until he was forced to focus on the figure in his backyard. He walked up the counter, his hips leaning against it as he squinted his eyes to see closer.

It was you, sticking your hand through a metal wire fence to pet a dog. You were on your knees, resting back on your heels as you smiled. The clothes you must’ve slept in last night were still on, gathering water on the fabrics knees. He couldn’t stop staring, his hands resting on the edge.

You could say it was relief, but he didn’t care as he exited through the back porch door he never used. The sound of the door shutting closed caught your attention as you looked over your shoulder. Asa headed toward you with determination, you calmly petting the dog once more as you rise to your feet.

It was tension that stretched between you two, his hand cradling the back of your head as he observed you. You raised your eyebrows with a smile, happy for him to be this close at such early mornings. You had been sitting on the back porch, taking in the scenery of his beautiful back yard before a simple dog showed up, practically begging you to pet him.

You most likely didn’t hear the car pull up, the modern vehicle quiet. But, here Asa was. Quiet besides the quickened breaths and intensely loud stare. Your hands tested the water, running up his forearm and bicep while the other reached around his waist. It was quite odd, no words spoken from him, actions far from the collector in this moment.

You weren’t complaing, finally deciding to pull him closer. He obliged, pushing you into his chest as he looked across to the dog that resided in the same place. He could almost say he was pissed at this dog for taking away his companion like that. But he insisted on holding you, his chin gently resting on your head.

He couldn’t say what possessed him to hold you in such a random place at an early morning of the day, but he liked it. You hadn’t left him, you didn’t break that trust he never let free. Instead you were simply out of sight, subconsciously hiding from him like he had told himself.

You guys had returned inside the house, you explaining why you were out there as he sat at the kitchen table, cracking open his case to destroy his chance of sleep once more. He would usually travel to his work room, not to be bothered by you or anyone. He wanted to keep you in sight for the time being, wanting his senses to interact with you in anyway.

As he listened to your plans that would probably change throughout the day, he relaxed his face and body, looking up to you. You were rambling as usual, one thing that he grew to seek out when you would converse with him. Maybe it was a smile forming, maybe it was just his lips resting. But either way, he was satisfied for the time being.

Asa hated to admit it, but he actually cared for you, absentmindedly searching for you in simple things. Like how a certain color on an item would remind him of you entirely. It just goes in depth to how.. attached? Connected? He was to your relationship. It made him feel better about himself honestly, the way you loved him unconditionally even after everything you’ve seen him do.

It was the way his first thoughts were to look for you, rather than hunt you down which came later. It showed him how important you were, that you weren’t another common specimen. As he scribbled on the papers, he realized that even if you had left, he would find you. You were his. Thinking that made him, what you could say, happy. It would be like that until death do you part.

#slashers #slasher #x reader #slasher x reader #fan fiction #asa emory x reader #asa emory x you #asa Emory x s/o #asa Emory #the collector x reader #the collector #the collector x s/o #the collection

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phases--ofthemoon · 3 years ago

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PHASES CH. 11

Warnings: Language & mature *spicy* content

Emerson

I practically sprinted to my room once I was up the stairs. My heart was racing. Had all that just happened? I needed a moment to compose myself. I had kissed my share of guys but I had never felt anything like that...My knees still felt weak thinking about it. I paced back and forth in front of my bed. He was spending the night...Was that smart? I mean I did feel buzzed but I think that had more to do with Jacob than with the whiskey. Still it was the safest call. Right?

I glanced at the clock next to my bed on the night stand it was almost eleven now. It was late enough to go just get ready for bed and call it a night. Could I seriously fall asleep right now? Probably not. I felt wired..I needed to relax and take some deep breaths. This is fine. Okay it was way more than fine. I just made out with this gorgeous man. I definitely had not expected this to happen today but I was so happy it did. What scared me though is how insanely perfect it all felt. It was extremely intense and I didn't understand it. Was this like a 'Love at first sight' kinda thing? The little things I had felt when we first hung out were only magnified the longer we were together. Would that continue to happen?

I heard rain begin to hit the roof. Guess we made it inside just in time. I walked into my bathroom noticing my nightgown from the night before hanging on the door knob. I ran my fingers over the soft cotton imagining coming down the stairs to Jacob in just that...No no no. Definitely not. At least not tonight...I felt my face flush at the thought and desire turned inside me. What was this man doing to me? I left it hanging on the door and went to the sink. I grabbed a hair tie pulling hair into a high ponytail as my long curls cascaded down my back and splashed some cold water on my face hoping it would help distinguish this fire inside me. Maybe I needed a cold shower? No. I'm not a 14 year old boy. I am a grown-ish woman and I can restrain myself. Right?

I sighed and proceeded to wash and dry my face and went ahead and brushed my teeth. I grabbed a little travel tooth brush kit from under the sink for Jacob and some extra blankets and a pillow from my closet. I decided to change into some pajamas but opted for a much less sexy option some cotton plaid shorts, a cami and my grey college sweatshirt. I pulled on some fuzzy socks before I grabbed everything and headed downstairs.

I came down the stairs to find Jacob's eyes closed, fast asleep. Part of me of instantly relieved but another part was slightly disappointed. What exactly had I wanted to happen? I quietly set down the pile of things next to him on the couch not wanting to wake him. He looked so relaxed in a deep sleep. I felt bad wishing I had a guest bed for him or even a bigger couch...He had fallen asleep sitting up, his arms were crossed in front of him and his head was slightly leaning to the side, towards his shoulder. There was no way he'd fit on the loveseat if he tried to lay down. I contemplated waking him up so I could take the couch and he could take my bed. Hmm Jacob in my bed...I decided against it not wanting to disturb him.

I turned off the lamps in the living room and put on the little light above the stove so there would be a tiny bit of light in case he woke up in the middle of the night. I turned back to look at him before I went back up the stairs, it was hard not to smile. I quietly closed my door and climbed into bed. What an insane day. I stared out the window with Jacob occupying my mind until somehow I managed to fall asleep.

It was almost 7:30 when I woke up and I laid there remembering last night and thinking if it was a dream. If it was, it was the best dream ever. Stretching I got up and made my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth and take a shower. I wanted to look somewhat presentable since Jacob was in fact downstairs at this moment. The hot water was welcoming on my skin but it didn't have the same exquisite burn as Jacob's touch did. Maybe I did need a cold shower.

I finished up and threw on my pajama shorts, a bra, and my sweatshirt and socks. I let my hair finish air drying like I always did, soft bouncy curls already starting to form. I quietly made my way down the stairs not wanting to wake Jacob if he was still sleeping. To my surprise he wasn't on the couch. I looked around to no sign of him. The blankets and pillow were folded neatly on the couch but the tooth brush kit was gone. Did he leave? No, I was his ride home... I noticed the bathroom door open so he wasn't in there. Maybe one of his friends came and got him? I was actually kinda worried for a second until I walked into the kitchen and through the window I saw him outside. He was standing on the back deck with a cup of coffee, instantly I smiled at the sight of him, relieved he was still here.

I walked over to the to the coffee pot and poured myself a cup and then joined Jacob outside. He was leaning against the railing looking out into the morning, he didn't notice me until I shut the door behind me. He instantly flashed me that beautiful smile of his. "Good morning." He said turning towards me as I stood next to him. "Sorry I fell asleep last night."

"Oh don't apologize you needed your rest y'all did a lot of work yesterday and it was late...Did you sleep okay? I'm sorry the couch is kinda small..." I said.

"I managed." He laughed. "Thank you for the amenities." He smiled.

"Thank you for making coffee." I said returning a smile.

It felt like the most normal thing in the world enjoying our morning coffee together. I shivered a little realizing it was actually pretty chilly this morning and I should have probably opted for sweatpants. Jacob noticed and pulled me in close next to him as his arm draped around me. God he was so warm. I sighed happily and leaned into him enjoying the contact. There we stood coffee mugs on the railing listening to the peaceful sounds of the woods. I could get used to this...

"I had a really nice time last night." He said looking down at me. I felt my face getting hot just thinking about last night...all we did was kiss but damn it felt like so much more.

"I did too." I said looking up at him trying to control my blush, he noticed and a small smirk appeared on his lips. I'd like to kiss that smirk off...

Before I could process what was happening Jacobs lips were on mine, automatically I was kissing him back, the contact from him triggering my body to respond. Sweet and slow quickly turned to hungry and feverish. My hands traveled up his firm chest to the back of his neck and he swiftly picked me up moving us towards one of the chairs taking a seat. Now I was straddling him in his lap and my hands were in his hair. I gasped when his hands touched the bare skin of my waist underneath my sweatshirt pulling me impossibly close to him. My skin blistered under his touch as his hands moved up on down my torso, and I shivered in pleasure.

He broke away his mouth from mine trailing kisses down my neck and a small moan escaped my lips as he gently nipped at my neck. Holy shit. I was the definition of hot and bothered right now. I pulled his lips back to mine and his hand tangled in my now dry hair. I could feel him underneath me and desire pooled inside me. Too many clothes were separating us...I wanted more. Without realizing I ground my hips into his and a low growl escaped from inside him. "Fuck." He muttered pulling away his lips from mine. We were both breathing heavy as we untangled our hands from each other.

"We should probably uhh slow down..." He said in a low husky voice. His hands rested on my bare thighs as I tried to smooth out my hair and fix my sweatshirt.

"Yeah....probably." I breathed. I tried to calm my raging hormones but all I could think about was how good his hands on my thighs felt...my mind drifted for a moment as I stared down at his hands. I could just take him upstairs...no no no. You haven't even been on a date yet...

"Emerson." He said pulling me out day dream. My eyes shot back up to his which were shaded with lust. I swallowed as my heart raced.

"Yes?"

"Hold on." He said as he held onto my waist, I put my arms back around his neck as he swiftly stood up holding me then gently sat my feet down on the ground. Jesus he was strong. "Sorry...my self control was uhhh slipping there..." He let out a little laugh and ran his hands through his disheveled hair.

"Apparently mine was too...I'm sorry that was—I'm not usually like that." I said looking down feeling a little embarrassed. I didn't want him to get the wrong impression of me. That I just attacked men I barely knew. I wasn't a casual hook up kinda person, I had nothing against it all or being physical but for me personally I had always preferred to be in relationship. Until now apparently...I liked him and could see this being a real thing as crazy as that sounded.

"Hey." He said tilting my chin up to him so my eyes would meet his. "You have nothing to apologize for. You're incredible Emerson and I mean...what a way to start a morning." He joked, we both laughed and I felt my embarrassment begin to melt away. He dropped his hand from my chin and shoved them in his pockets, I already missed their presence and the warmth of his touch. The effect he already had on me was a little scary. "I meant it when I said I like you, probably more than I should this soon...but I do." His tone was more serious now. "I don't want to mess this up."

My heart felt like it would burst at his words. "I don't want to mess this up either." I said honestly. I didn't. I liked him too, probably too much. He smiled at my words and bent down to give me a quick kiss his hands remaining in his pockets. Guess he's working on that self control thing. Darn.

"What are your plans today?" He asked taking a step back.

"Well I have to take you home at some point." I laughed. "But other than that nothing specific, why?"

"Well we could hang out some more if you'd like? I could show you around La push some more?"

"I'd like that." I smiled widely at him. "Are you hungry? I can make us some breakfast."

"Starved." He said with a mischievous smirk. This self control thing wasn't going to be easy...

#twilight fanfiction #twilight fanfic #jacob black #jacob black fanfiction #twilight #wolf pack #forks washington #romance

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unimooshi · 4 years ago

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Christmas Fluff Snippet Megapost

(brought to you by your host Mooshi bc I’m stuck at home and wanna procrastinate cleaning my room :) )

Rated: G/Fluff

Relationship(s): Literally as many I can think within the span of 3 hours as they’re all basically 1 paragraph long. Feel free to read whichever ones you want I’m making word soup rn. We smackin’ tonight kings, queen, and royals in between😌😭✨

All relationships can be whatever universe you want, unless stated otherwise. Have a good time

Also please keep in mind that I haven’t read a lot of the comics and have a limited knowledge on the cartoons bc I haven’t watched some of them, but I’ll try my best to write out the dynamic as I see it.

1) Starscream/Optimus (StarPrime) you knew we were gonna start with OTP

“I know you wanted to visit Earth for a small vacation, but did you really have to choose the coldest of Earth months to visit?”, Starscream said with borderline disgust as he stared at the snow at the bottom of their ship, the only redeeming thing about the environment was the setting sun.

He kneeled down and scooped up a pile of snow, watching it crumble away between his digits. His internal heating system kicking into overdrive to compensate, little puffs of steam floating into the air. It wasn’t that it was cold, the issue was how wet it would be. The mess that would be made inside their circuits and the water dripping from exposed wiring made Starscream shiver.

“No, I didn’t have to but Earth has such a happy culture this time of year and I wanted to share that with you. I think you’ll like Christmas. Cheer up, let’s take a walk.” , Optimus planted a small peck on the side of Starscream’s helm and stepped outside, the soft crunch of snow following the Prime.

Starscream reluctantly stepped into the snow and groaned with how much water his sensors were already detecting, “How happy could this holiday possibly be with frozen condensation falling from the sky and getting into your circuits?”

“Well, according to what can be found on the internet, it’s an annual religious festival, but most humans use it as a time to see loved ones and celebrate their love for one another.”, Optimus took Starscream’s servo and interlaced it with his own, removing his battle mask to reveal a soft smile with blue optics to match, “and besides you can take a warm lather in the washracks later while I warm up some energon. I know you like watching Earth movies every once in a while.”

Starscream really couldn’t argue with his conjux and just vented out more heat, the puff leaving a trail of white steam as it floated into the evening sky. If being on a mud ball planet meant Optimus would be relaxed then he supposed it would be worth getting his circuits drenched for. Honestly, doing anything was worth it if it meant his Prime would stop thinking about his responsibilities even for just a cycle.

“Your strobes are blinking by the way.”

Starscream stopped walking and flapped his wings into view then dipped them low, brushing it off.

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t.”, Optimus rolled his optics and laughed, holding his conjux’s servo a little tighter.

———

2) Knockout/Breakdown (KOBD)

“Merry Christmas Knockout!”, Breakdown burst into the Medbay with a clumsily wrapped box.

Knockout nearly dropped his datapad and jumped from the sudden intrusion, his servo switched out for his buzz saw until he saw who it was.

“Breakdown!”, Knockout vented out and transformed his servo back, “Don’t scare me like that so suddenly.”

“I’m sorry, but I just wanted to finally give you this. I knew you just had to have it when I saw it and I really hope you like it.”

“All is forgiven. Thank you.”, Knockout casually tore away at the wrapping and lifted the lid, his optics glowing brighter.

“Well...do you like it?”

“Like it? I love it!”, Knockout unfolded the white stripe vinyl inside to it’s full length, laughing with a full smile, “You always know just what to get me!”

He put his gift down on the examination table and went to go hug his conjux, climbing up a little to properly plant a kiss.

As high as the mood was brought up, it was quickly shot down again.

“Wait, I’m not done with your gift yet.”, Knockout left for his datapad and scrolled through something.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to give me one. Your company is the only gift I need.”, Breakdown tried to comfort his conjux, but Knockout held out a servo to stop him.

“That’s a sweet sentiment, but it doesn’t feel fair if I had my gift before yours is even done and I don’t want you seeing it while it’s incomplete.”

“I’m sure I’ll like it even if it’s unfinished. The thought matters more than what it is. Can you tell me what it is?”

“Are you sure?”

Breakdown nodded excitedly.

Knockout sighed and handed over the datapad, “It’s only about 75% of the way done, but it’s a transcription of that Earth book you wanted to read but couldn’t find an online PDF version of it.”

Breakdown scrolled through the pages of words and felt his frame melt.

“I know it’s not as good as what you gave me but—”

“I love it!”, He lifted Knockout off the ground and squeezed, “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome but watch the paint!”

———

3) Bumblebee/Blitzwing (TFA Blitzbee)

Bumblebee wasn’t one for snow to be perfectly honest. Sure, making snowmen and having snowball fights with Sari were fun, but he mostly did those activities to make her happy as her best friend. The frosty windows on the base served as another reminder as to why he liked to stay inside where it was warm and there was plenty of oil to drink, so it was rather ironic when he started seeing a mech who could make ice and enjoyed just burying himself in the frozen stuff.

“Come outside my little bee~”

Random sang softly and taunted him from outside the Autobot base. The heat from Blitzwing’s system fogging up the window further. Everyone else in the base had retreated back to their rooms for the night, leaving Bee free to do what he wanted in the living room. At least, he would be if there wasn’t a giant beige and purple bot trying to get him outside.

“No way Blitzbrain. It’s beyond freezing out there. I’m not locking up my servos just so you can eat street snow again.”

Bumble whispered harshly and opened the window, a gush of frozen air creeped their way through the cracks of his frame. His central heating system kicked online.

Random’s glossa slithered out of his intake, “Aww why not?”

“Because it’s gross. And that’s saying something when it comes from me!”

Vrrrr.

“I suppose that’s true.”, Icy’s lips pouted outward as he pressed his digits to his chin. His sharp features standing out in the crisp darkness of the night, “But aren’t you the one always wanting to go out? Why is it so different this time?”

“Because time impossible to drive in snow and I don’t wanna deal with traffic.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“So?”

Vrrrr.

“So why don’t you want to come out here and spend some time away from this stupid base you tiny bug bot!”

Bee held a digit to his intake, “I’m right here idiot, you’ll wake everyone up and then they’ll see you and then we’ll have to fight.”

Vrrrr.

“You’re afraid of the snow aren’t you.”

“What? No. That’s not—I’m not afraid of it are you kidding me? Only sparklings are afraid of stupid things like that.”

“Ok, so you just don’t like the cold.”

“So what if I don’t?”

“Even if you can’t drive, it’s still a nice night for flying.”

Bumblebee’s optics widened, “Flying?”

“Yes. Calm winds, clear skies, no organics or bots in the streets, what more could you wait for?”

“You’re gonna take me flying?”, Bee’s voice rose in pitch and he looked up at his mechfriend with stars in his eyes.

Vrrrr.

“If you keep repeating the same thing I’ll crush you with this wall!”

Vrrrr.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen something go splat!”

Random laughed at his own morbid thought.

“Ok, first of all, don’t crush me. You’re like three times my size, you don’t need a wall. Second, as long as I don’t have to get my servos wet I’ll be there in a nanoklik.”

Bumblebee gave a quick peck before racing away to touch himself up a little for his small impromptu date.

———

4) Megatron/Soundwave (MegaWave)

Megatron was busy. Again.

Soundwave didn’t mind it much as he just worked on his reports, but deep in his spark he really hoped he would’ve made some time to be with him. There was no such luck unfortunately. Soundwave knew his leader was always busy which is what made their small times together all the more special and intimate. Nobody ever saw the side of the warlord that he did and he was quite proud of that. It made him feel special.

>Soundwave.

A private communication line blipped open from Megatron. What convenient timing.

>Yes, Lord Megatron?

>I need you to send a message to Shockwave about the latest export of energon. There will be a delay because of Autobot meddling, but it shouldn’t take more than a couple earth cycles to have everything in order.

>Message received. Will be sent as soon as possible.

>Good. By the way Soundwave, I’ve left something for you in your desk compartment. Consider it a token of my appreciation for all you’ve done staying loyal to the Decepticons.

>Understood. Thank you Lord Megatron.

With that, the line cut off and Soundwave was left alone again in the communication center. His optics glanced over at the large compartment in his desk and opened it. Inside he found a small stack of datapads and one single use datapad filled out.

—

‘To: Soundwave

Silent as a thief in the night

You crept into my spark and took flight

Your visor so full of mystery

Yet take away much of my misery

In war there is treachery

In war there is loyalty

No words could ever be strung to say how much you mean to me

Merry Christmas,

From Megatron

—

A/N: I’m done with this post. Whoop. 4 short stories in one post. This is all I could crank out in a few hours. I didn’t anticipate this day to be so busy for me😭😭. I’ve been hanging out with family and dropping off gifts for friends at their door step. You can kinda tel I gave up at the end and poems aren’t really my thing. I’ll finish the rest tomorrow, so just pretend that whatever I post tomorrow was done today. Tell me what you think and have a nice night. I’m gonna pass out now. Mwah.

AND YES WHEN I WRITE MEGS IN ANY FIC HE IS A MUSHY BASTARD WHEN HES NOT AN ASS HAT AND THATS ON SOFT BASTARDS😌✨✨

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hobiiwan · 4 years ago

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tethered • o.k

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x mechanic!reader

summary: obi-wan returns after too long spent on the battlefield, away from where he’s meant to be

warnings: kinda angsty, alcohol use @ new year’s, fluff mostly

word count: 6k

notes: happy secret santa! @starwarssecretsanta @stars-trash-18 i really hope you like your gift! this is the first time i’ve written anything this long so hopefully it turned out alright! biggest thanks to @lilhawkeye3 for organising this! have a safe holiday, no matter what you celebrate~

If there was one thing you would never understand, it would be why Coruscant was so damned cold. The Galactic City enjoyed warm, balmy weather all year long. The underworld, on the other hand, not so much. The morning chill was the type to seep into your bones, the sort that no amount of layers could shut out, even with the radiators turned to the max. Not that you had much chance to complain, especially not on the days, which were most, spent on a creeper, wrench in hand.

Working occupies your mind. You easily fall back into the same routine you’ve been following for as long as you can remember—replace, tighten, oil. It doesn’t hurt that it pays, nor the fact that it keeps your mind from drifting. To him.

A client pulls into the garage, speeder releasing a puff of ash-grey smoke. Your eyes linger on the doorway.

The underside of the standard speeder became your new sky, replacing the one you didn’t get many chances to see. It was easier not to venture to the upper levels, you learned, knowing the return to the chaos underneath was inevitable.

Still, you don’t spend years in the lower levels without learning a thing or two. It had its charms which, if you kept your valuables close, could be somewhat appreciated. Not much could be said about the sunrise, but watching the street vendors gradually open shop for the day, the glowing signs relighting after a night and the city waking—the underworld had its moments.

Though, it’s best not to overlook the obscure corners. The best thing about living in the underworld was the unpredictability. If you’re handy with a blaster and keep your head down, that is. It keeps things entertaining, on the days where you could afford time off.

Admittedly, a Jedi blasting open your garage door at the asscrack of dawn would definitely equate to ‘unpredictable’.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The man is midway through clambering out of the now-crashed speeder. He turns, only to meet the barrel of your blaster. A shit-eating smirk graces his lips as he brushes the auburn hair out of his eyes and regards you nonchalantly.

“My apologies, miss,” the man says, head lowered in a slight bow, “I must admit, though I do enjoy making an entrance, this isn’t what I had in mind.”

Your eyes scan the man before you. The long, beige robes and the mechanical cylinder hanging at hip-level, clipped to his belt. It doesn’t take a genius to recognise a Jedi, especially when chaos follows. A handsome one, yet a Jedi nonetheless.

Your gaze narrows. “Do you have a reason for crashing into my shop, or is this just more ‘Jedi business’?” The venom laced in your tone is hard to miss. The message is clear - Jedi aren’t taken to well in the underworld.

He huffs, raising a hand to gesture to the steaming, sparking mess laying in the middle of your shop. “I’ve had an accident.”

Your eyes roll without a second thought, “I can see that.”

“I need transportation to get back to the Galactic City as quickly as possible,” he states, voice overtaken by a firm, well-versed timbre. “Would you happen to offer any of the sort?”

Your arms cross over your chest. There would be nothing more satisfying than throwing out a Jedi to the underworld streets with no way back to the surface. He can walk, for all you care, but fuck. You’re short on funds.

Your gaze drifts to your own speeder sitting proudly in the corner as you gnaw your lip hesitantly. The mangled mess he’s brought in is a lost cause—that much is certain. Your pit droid confirms this with a series of beeps, orbiting helplessly around the crash. There’s no way he’ll be getting out on that.

Begrudgingly, you stalk over to fetch the keys to your own vehicle. “It’ll cost you,” you grumble, tossing the keys to which the man catches with ease. “If there’s even a hair of a scratch, I’ll throttle you myself, Jedi.”

The man grins triumphantly, and slides into the driver’s seat. You instantly regret your decision when your eyes meet his. “My name is Obi-wan,” he hums, pulling the speeder out of the driveway, “your speeder is in good hands! We’ll be back in no time.”

Those credits better be worth it.

It’s a few days later, when the sensor over your doorway rings out in a chime you’ve memorised by now. Half of your torso is obscured by a banged-up thrust pod, but the droid at your feet is going crazy.

You hear it before you get to see it, but the spluttering of an engine is unmistakable and you perk up at the prospect of a new repair. That hope, however, is quickly shot out of the sky when you catch sight of the source of the noise.

The grip on the wrench in your hand tightens a noticeable notch as the Jedi brings your speeder to a halt. The layer of painted coating has been chipped away in a long streak along its side, revealing the steel underneath. The navcomp is long gone, a wide, burnt crack singeing across the controls.

Obi-wan grins a sheepish one when your eye twitches, surveying the faulty engine that makes the speeder tilt on its side.

“What am I looking at?” Your voice is disturbingly calm, not even an inkling of what he knows is rage in its purest form to be seen.

Obi-wan inhales as his gaze flickers to the wrench curled in your fist and chuckles hesitantly, “Your speeder, of course. I did say we’d be back.”

“No,” you snap, wrist raising so the wrench is inches from his chest, “my speeder was alive and well when it left my shop three days ago. So, do tell me, Jedi,” you hiss, “what have you brought back?”

The man, indifferent to the weapon directed at him, climbs out of the wreck gracefully to stand before you. “Unfortunately, we got into a bit of an accident,” he says, “but you’ll be happy to know your speeder greatly contributed to the capture of a fugitive of the Republic.”

It takes every fibre in your being to resist the urge to lunge when he nonchalantly reaches up to brush the strand of hair fallen across his forehead.

“I don’t give a damn about a fugitive,” you seethe, “you owe me a new speeder! And double the credits!”

Obi-wan’s mouth opens to bargain, but you cut him off before he even gets the chance to negotiate.

“You know what—triple it!” Your arms cross over your chest and the droid follows suit, ushering the Jedi in the direction of the exit. If looks could kill, Obi-wan Kenobi would be dead three times over in four different galaxies.

He bows his head, gaze sweeping across your garage, “I’m afraid I don’t currently have such funds—”

Your eyes roll in indignation.

“—perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement?”

The wrench goes flying.

The holonews plays distantly in the background while you work, filling up the hollow silence in every nook of your mech shop. Silence is a killer in the underworld; it’s important to let people know there’s someone home—burglars not welcome.

You’re halfway through wiping your hands clean of grease when the blue Twi’lek reporter’s perky demeanor dissolves into a still of a battleground.

Felucia, the woman says, as more holos of piles upon piles of B-1 droids flash across the screen. Your breath catches in your throat and the air in the garage hangs heavy. That’s good news right? Droids in piles usually mean there aren’t as many troop casualties. There’s no mention of a General either, so you let out a breath of relief.

Celebrating early is a curse, because the reporter’s next words steal the air right out of your lungs.

“We have lost all contact with our journalist on the Felucia front, as last transmissions report a sudden aerial ambush. The fates of the GAR troops remain unknown.”

The report moves onto the next spectacle, but you’ve stopped listening. The holonews is wordlessly shut off, and you turn to working in silence, heart clenching painful in your chest, as if the very same battle droids had wrapped their cold, dead steel handpieces around it.

The reporter’s words don’t leave you easily. The fates of the GAR troops remain unknown.

Is threatening a Jedi Master a crime? Obi-wan isn’t sure, but he definitely thinks it should be. You’ve made your rage painstakingly clear and Maker, if he had a credit for every threat you spewed, he would have paid you back by now.

It’s late one night when Obi-wan finds himself in the underworld once more. It’s perpetually dark and most people have retired for the night, save the rowdy chaos stemming from the back-street cantinas.

The neon logo of your mechanic shop emerges as he rounds the corner and he winces at the singe marks on your driveway. He must get around to apologising for that. The sharp smell of paint makes him wrinkle his nose when he walks in, spotting you in the far corner.

“This, here, is R4,” the Jedi says, announcing his arrival, “I suspect she has some loose wiring.”

Obi-wan can’t pretend the way your jaw clenches at the sound of his voice isn’t the least bit amusing. Your turn to face him with an air of annoyance.

“Can’t you see I’m busy, Kenobi?” You grumble, and his eyes drift from the bucket of silver paint by your boots, then over your shoulder to the refurbished speeder he had left behind the last time.

“I certainly do,” he hums, hand smoothing over his beard appreciatively, “it looks good as new.”

You scoff, arms crossing over your chest, “no thanks to you.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here,” he says, nodding to the astromech hovering at his side, who beeps in greeting, “to repay my debt.”

The side of your mouth quirks up as you move closer, regarding the droid, “Is this what you call repaying your debt? Giving me more work?”

Obi-wan’s jaw goes slack, eyebrows raising at the way you and R4 share the same expression, even with one having no facial indicators. Though, he catches himself before the stare you receive from him can be construed as anything other than bewildered. “That was not my intention—” He starts, but you cut him off with a wave and a gratified smirk.

“It was a joke, Obi-wan,” you sigh, leading R4 to the station on the opposite side of the room, leaving the man gaping after you. “Are all Jedi so gullible?”

He huffs and leans against the wall as you do a quick once-over of his droid. You flitter around R4, retrieving all the equipment you need for the impending checks. You look rightfully in your element.

“Were all the mechanics up in the Galactic City unavailable?” You question, eyes briefly flickering up to meet his before returning to unscrewing R4’s bolts. You miss the look Obi-wan shoots the droid who whirs in response.

“Not necessarily,” he coughs and suddenly, the gears hanging on your wall are the most interesting thing in the world, “I just haven’t gotten around to crashing their prized speeders yet.”

Your gaze narrows when you stand, but the menace is absent this time around. “I’ve replaced some of R4’s older wires. She was close to short-circuiting,” you remind sharply, contrasting your fond patting of R4, “and stars, Kenobi, it wouldn’t kill you to oil her joints once in a while.”

“Order received,” the man bows his head sheepishly, dropping the credits on your counter, “though for R4’s sake, you may consider teaching me how to.”

You see Obi-wan out, mostly to bid his droid farewell. “Don’t push it, Jedi,” you simper, “I could still cut your brakes.”

He chuckles at that, reaching a hand up to thread through his hair. Obi-wan grins with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, “then I’ll have no choice but to come back to repair it.”

Obi-wan Kenobi—master charmer of the Jedi Order.

The roof of your garage makes for a good stargazing spot. You use the term stargazing very loosely. The stars, in this case, are the blinking lights of the speeders hovering in the air.

It’s certainly not the nicest spot in all of Coruscant, but it’s yours. The whole building is, at that, which is saying something considering you live in the underworld.

You live close enough to the surface that sitting on your roof gives you a clear enough view of the portal leading to the Galactic City and the minuscule amount of light it brings. The starships lower and rise through the massive ventilation shaft and you catch yourself hoping to see a familiar one.

It’s hopeless, obviously, you’re too far away to see anything, anyway. Still, you can’t stop your eyes from flickering to the traffic leading into the underworld.

Maybe this time it’ll be his ship.

One last look. Your heart sinks. Turning back, you head down the ladder. Alone.

Obi-wan gauges that you don’t despise him as much as you let on about the umpteenth time he visits.

You regard him with a quirked eyebrow and arms crossed over your chest, your default stance whenever he’s around, which is becoming rather frequent, you notice.

“You want me to go up to the surface with you?”

The man nods, hands clasped dutifully behind him. “That is, in fact, what I said.”

He’s dressed, once again, in those beige Jedi robes. His beard’s gotten thicker, you note. It’s been a while.

“What for?” You question, intrigue piquing as you step closer to Obi-wan. It’s been even longer since you’ve been to the city. You tell yourself it’s because you have no reason to be up there anyway, but the thought lingers.

“To celebrate,” Obi-wan shrugs, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the galaxy, “it’s a new cycle.”

You hum, turning back to rummage through your cabinets, the way you had been doing when he had first arrived. “I’m aware.”

Obi-wan remains silent behind you, but he’s relaxed. Almost too relaxed, as he leans against the wall agreeably. We can’t have that, you think.

“Don’t you have certain Jedi duties to attend to?” you hum, tossing an half-hearted glance over your shoulder, only to find his knowing smirk. Gods, he’s irritating. Yet, you let him be.

“According to the Chancellor, I’ve shaken enough hands for tonight,” he answers and his voice is laced with poorly-masked satisfaction, “my evening is open for meditation.”

“—unless you take me up on my offer, of course.”

You shouldn’t. There’s so much work to be done in the garage, but as you look around, everything’s been taken care of. Sometimes, you’re too efficient at what you do. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to spend the end of this cycle not alone, for once.

“That depends,” you chide, but Obi-wan sees through it clear as day. He raises a hand to brush over his chin, effectively masking the smile beneath his palm.

“-I wouldn’t want to keep a Jedi Master from his meditation.”

Hours later, the two of you find yourselves on the viewing deck of a skyscraper. The journey there is a blur, since you spent most of it up to this point marvelling at the city.

It’s so much brighter than you remember.

You can barely tell the time—the sky’s been completely lit up by miles of gleaming lights. The irony is not lost on you—how the Galactic City illuminated is one worthy of the stars while the underworld sees only darkness even on Coruscant’s sunniest days.

The buildings are denser, packed so tight you could easily cross over into the adjacent balcony. You consider it genuinely for a moment, though pressed so close to Obi-wan’s side, the thought dissolves just as quickly as it comes.

The viewing deck extends to a cantina, where you squeeze past the bodies pushing against you until you finally reach the bar.

Obi-wan watches pensively as you fall back against a stool and flag down the bartender. “So, Kenobi,” you swivel around to eye the man who has arrived to hover behind you, “how did a Jedi come to find this place?”

“Jedi business brings us to all reaches of the galaxy and this place happens to be one of them,” Obi-wan replies simply, as if dangling bait in front of you to ask more.Jedi business, he says.

Nevertheless, you take the bait. “What sort of Jedi business?”

Obi-wan’s eyes widen, taken aback. He’s never had to answer that question before— most people he came across were either Jedi themselves, or correspondents. He’s not sure what he’s even allowed to tell you.

“If you tell me, will you have to kill me?” You jest as he takes a generous gulp of his own drink. You don’t suppose Jedi business to be confidential, though with the current political climate, perhaps it has become just that.

It’s obvious he’s still contemplating your question, but you quickly steer him away from work.

“Where do you hope to be a year from now?” You ask, toying with the glass in hand, pondering your own answer while he does the same. Maker, hopefully not on this forsaken planet any longer.

Sure, you’ve been on Coruscant as long as you can remember and most of it has been spent in the underworld, but it stopped feeling like home even before that.

He hums thoughtfully and takes a sip of his own drink before responding. “Still serving the Order, of course,” he says. Obi-wan pauses and the air stills, as if the words unspoken in his throat have tainted it.

“—though I fear I sense impending conflict in our future.”

Your brows raise as his lips fall into a grim line. “Oh? Do tell.”

Obi-wan shakes his head, as if doing so will clear the atmosphere of the words he had spoken. Recently, he finds himself saying more than he means to.

“I just hope peace will be kept in our galaxy. But for now, I think we should celebrate a year gone by.”

A statement you can get behind.

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that,” you grin, downing a generous swing of (what remains of) your drink. You wince at the burn, but stars, if that isn’t better than anything you’ve had in the underworld.

Obi-wan chuckles, a sound nearly drowned out by the crowd of cantina patrons. “You drink to everything.”

You nod, exuberant, before swiping another glass of deep blue liquid off a passing tray. “Cheers!”

Further into the night, your body start to heat up, the pleasant tingles crawling from your fingertips all the way to your chest.

In the dim lighting of the cantina, the edges of your vision go fuzzy and Obi-wan becomes just a bit more handsome, though it’s unclear how much of that is due to the alcohol.

The room begins to empty, most people pushing their way out to the balcony as time ticks closer to midnight.

“Would you like to watch the fireworks? I hear they’re known to be quite beautiful.” Obi-wan offers, gesturing to the gathering mass.

“I bet they are,” you murmur, chin propped loosely against your palm while your gaze never leaves him.

Amused, he offers an outstretched hand to help you off the stool that you had settled into so comfortably. He half expects you to slap him away and insist on standing on your own, but you take it instead.

Your palm finds his after a moment of contemplation, coming to the conclusion that it would not be fun to trip face-first.

His hand is warm against yours and you really hope he doesn’t feel the way you heat up beside him. This is really against your brand.

Obi-wan effortlessly weaves through the crowd and manages to secure a spot at the very end of the deck, where the bodies are dispersed more loosely.

You lean against the railing, peering over the railing, met with the sight of hundreds of floors below you with balconies overflowing with people.

The knowledge that you blend into the crowd is soothing. You don’t need to be anyone here. Not the grouchy mechanic, so you don’t get taken advantage of. Surrounded this way, you get to be faceless, and it’s something Obi-wan seems to enjoy too.

Coruscant, or as much of it as you can see, is plunged into darkness, save the hologram numbers projected against the walls that tick down with every passing second.

You blink in earnest as the people around you begin to shout. Ten seconds to midnight.

One last glance around you, and you’re really glad you took Obi-wan up on his offer.

You think to tell him, but then the crowd is chanting “one” and the entire balcony holds its breath before it erupts into deafening cheers of celebration.

The grin on your face is hard to erase when the first sparks of light illuminate the sky. All the colours you can think of burst in different patterns, sizzling into thin wisps of smoke—leaving the faintest ghost that they had been there in the first place.

You want to do that too.

Turning to Obi-wan, you find him already looking at you. You stumble impossibly closer towards him, hands landing on his chest as you teeter on wobbly legs.

A look of mild surprise graces his features, lips quirking into a smile as he looks down at you. “Hello there.”

Before you allow yourself to think twice, your fingers reach up to brush the strand of hair constantly falling against his forehead.

Obi-wan’s eyes widen minutely but he makes no move to recoil. You take that as a green light, but maybe that’s just the ongoing fireworks.

“Sorry,” you whisper, leaning just close enough so he hears, “your hair was in your face, thought I should move it so I could see you better.”

He huffs what would have been a laugh if he wasn’t so breathless all of a sudden. Only then, do you realise how close you’ve actually gotten, when the warm air brushes your cheeks.

Perhaps it’s the liquid courage, but something comes over you when your gaze lands on his mouth, so close but far from your own. “Can I kiss you, Obi-wan?”

Obi-wan stills. He knows he shouldn’t. His mind screams to walk away and meditate until you and your damned lips are no longer at the forefront.

Yet, his hesitation doesn’t go far. Blame it on the alcohol if you will, but all his reservations go out the window when you blink at him, waiting with bated breaths.

It’s a new year, he thinks, I’ll regret it tomorrow.

The man throws caution to the wind as he closes the distance.

Obi-wan tastes of sharp alcohol and comfort. Your lips press gently against his, as though your previous boldness had dissolved along with his resolve.

You smile into the kiss when his hand moves to pull you in by your waist. Then, he feels you relax against him when fingers thread through the hair at his nape.

Happy New Year, indeed.

Obi-wan recalls telling himself he’d find it to feel bad in the morning, but it wholly slips his mind when the time comes, not when you look so utterly breathtaking sitting across from him, two cups of caf sitting in the short distance between you both.

You look like bantha shit, put simply. Having managed to lead the way back home, you don’t remember much after kicking your heels off and falling face-first into bed. You imagine you look a sight, though, you can’t muster up the will to care, since all your attention is skewered by the tight ache behind your eyes, narrowly beating out the man in your kitchen.

Squinting over the brim of your cup as you raise the caf to your lips, the heat that runs down your throat ironically soothes the burn left by the Alderaanian alcohol of the night before.

“Stop smiling at me,” you grumble, feigning a scowl at the man slumped so comfortably in his chair, “‘S too bright.”He chuckles at that, head tilting as he regards you, bathed in the warm light bleeding into the room.

His mind buzzes, recalling the feel of your lips pressed against his, but seeing as you haven’t shoved him out so far, he takes it as a good sign.

Your sharp gaze follows him as he tries to gauge your thoughts. Obi-wan is nervous, which isn’t something that can be said often. The man has been trained as the galaxy’s peacekeeper, yet meets his match at the hands of a pretty mechanic.

“I hope you had a good time,” Obi-wan says softly. It sounds as if he’s opening to a goodbye, and your heart twinges with something akin to disappointment. Apparently, it’s all too easy to forget the man you kissed last night is still a Jedi with very real Jedi duties.

You offer a light smile, “I did.” Fingers curling just that much tighter around the weight of your cup, pausing before you continue, mulling over your words, “--we should do it again.”

Obi-wan’s eyebrows raise in amusement, a cheeky grin stretching across his lips. His hand finds his beard, sweeping over as a force of habit. “It, being celebrating New Year’s or--”

He doesn’t get far with his question as you cross over to him and then you’re doing it again.

Months pass. Obi-wan finds himself frequenting the underworld so much that most of his time on-planet is spent by your side, when he’s not occupied with his Jedi duties.

This time is no different. You’ve closed up shop for the day, the sign outside dim as he approaches. He’s been gone for longer than he’d like, sent on a diplomatic mission on behalf of the Republic. When Obi-wan knocks on your door, it’s clear he’s run-down.

His shoulders are slumped when he crosses the threshold, into your arms. You feel him breathe deeply as his fingers gather the fabric at your waist, anchoring himself to you.

Wordlessly, he allows you to steer him, coming to rest at the foot of your bed. His hand never leaves yours.

The air surrounding you is thick with concern as you sit beside him, unsure. You take the moment to give Obi-wan a once over, allowing yourself the sliver of what you had been missing since he had left.

“Your hair’s gotten longer,” you speak, raising his palm to dust a warm kiss against his knuckles, “look how it hangs in your eyes.”

Obi-wan smiles, leaning more of his weight against your side. “Couldn’t find the time to get it trimmed,” he mumbles, words laced heavy with fatigue.

You click your tongue as you tuck the auburn hair behind his ear. “Don’t need to,” you hum, eyes scanning over the thick expanse of hair gathered at his collar, “it suits you.”

It really does. The way the curls cascade down the back of his head, coming to rest atop his shoulders, the same way as the day you met him, makes it difficult to imagine anything else in place of his long hair.

He’s scolded you before for prodding him for a holo of himself with the padawan braid.

“Do you want me to braid your hair?” You ask into the comfortable silence, voice gentle in case he’s fallen asleep against your shoulder. A Jedi skill, he tells you, to be able to rest wherever and whenever.

For a moment, you even believe he is—that is, until he lifts off of you with a nod. Your hand leaves his as you move behind him with excitement.

You kneel behind him as he comes to rest against your front. Your hands drape atop his shoulders, smoothing over the fabric there.“You can sleep,” you lean down, murmuring close enough he can feel your lips ghosting his cheek in a grin.

Obi-wan chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. “Not sleeping,” he corrects, “—meditating.”

As your fingers thread through his hair with practiced ease, you bite back a bemused snort. “Well, I’d hate to keep you from that, Jedi Master.”

Obi-wan sits obediently still as you deftly weave through the compliant strands. The pair of you sit in silence, quiet enough to hear your heartbeat even out with Obi-wan’s steady breathing. Stars, he has really nice hair. The envy is short lived, as you come to end the braid at his neck, admiring your handiwork.

His usual untampered locks now sit neatly in a braid running down the back of his head, a stark contrast to usual.

You don’t need to ask to know he’s long past being awake. Once more, craning over his shoulder, your lips brush against his face, bearded cheek tickling your skin.

“Rise and shine,” you laugh as his eyes flutter open to meet yours. Bleary-eyed, he offers no protest when you pull at his shoulders, shedding him of his outer robes so that he falls back on the bed wrapped in your covers.

Obi-wan goes out like a light. How could he not? If he hadn’t been so exhausted already the feeling of your hands against his scalp would’ve done the trick anyhow.

When he sleeps, you let yourself admire him. With his hair finally out of his face, you get to admire him in his entirety. If you had tried at any other time, he’d chide you for staring, catching you before you had even started.

Eyes shut, Obi-wan looks serene. The usually furrowed brows have relaxed now, making the man look years younger, or how he would look if he would stop working himself to the bone. For the Republic, he says.

Even now, in the relative safety (or whatever comes close in the underworld) of your home, he looks battle-ready. The realisation comes heavy as gravity—knowing this would always be Obi-wan’s normal.

Yet, warmth runs through your chest at the fact that even so weary, Obi-wan chose to come to you. Neither had seen it coming-- the mechanic he’d met after crashing into their shop would become a source of comfort in such turmoil.

Thank the Maker for crashed speeders.

You emerge from under what feels like the hundredth speeder of the day, grease smeared across your arms and sweat dotting your skin. You should really start charging more. Your droid whirs in delight, logging another successful transaction while you wipe off traces of work on a nearby grease rag.

The sun, or what light reaches down there has dimmed, signalling the end of another day. A heavy sigh racks your chest and you catch sight of your reflection in the deteriorating mirror across the room.

You look like a day of work—stained overalls and burnt fingertips, but one part stays the same as it had when the work started. As your eyes drift over the braids pulling your hair back, everything that you had been trying to push back by throwing yourself into hours of work bubbles to the surface.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you avert your eyes.

He’s probably dead. You wouldn’t necessarily call yourself a pessimist, but that’s most likely the case, and it would do you more good to accept it than what you’re doing now; tuning out the news until the briefest mention of the Grand Army of the Republic, dropping everything for the smallest sliver of news, for hope.

Obi-wan hadn’t told you about the clones. It had come as a surprise to most, word spreading that the Republic finally had its own army. You remember watching the new Chancellor Palpatine on the holonews, a pit of unease simmering in your stomach as his words rang.

A clone army.

You don’t see that everyday—or perhaps you will now.

It’s been near a full month of radio silence. If Obi-wan and his troops are alive, the news certainly doesn’t think so. There’s been no mention of any rescue mission from the Republic, which you believe to be rather telling. A clone army—expendable. Jedi, also expendable, apparently.

The best course of action would be business as usual. He has told you that this was his duty, that his loyalty would always lie with the Republic and his role as a Jedi. You understood, but certainly hadn’t expected that loyalty to lead him to his grave.

So, naturally, you close shop for the day. Your customers will survive. The sign on the outer wall remains dim all morning and the light outside doesn’t reach you, hidden away in your bed.

Again, Coruscant is fucking cold. There’s absolutely no rhyme or reason for it and just adds another point in your list of factors to leave the damned planet. No matter how many layers you huddle under, the cold manages to find you.

Most traces of him are gone. The spice that clings to his robes and lingers in the air long after he’s gone has dissipated and you start to wonder if he had ever been here at all.

The last thing you expect is to hear the rapping of knuckles against your front door.

The second the first knock comes, your heart stops, the briefest glimmer of hope wrestling its way up. Barrelling towards the door, it slides open to reveal the man previously presumed dead.

For a moment, you don’t think it’s real. Obi-wan stands in the doorway, robes singed to hell and back, a nasty cut running along his temple and looking like he’s aged ten years, yet you recognise him in a heartbeat.

He hears your breath hitch in your throat when you freeze. His expression is cautious, considering your reaction. He had found his way back to Coruscant all the way from Felucia, yet the distance separating you seems far too large.

“You cut your hair,” you finally say. Gone are the auburn curls that once brushed his collar which is now clipped short, baring his neck. Your shoulders slack before you’re pulling him in by the shoulders, sending him lurching into your chest.

Obi-wan laughs at that, engulfing you in his arms. His grasp winds tight around you and you stand there for what feels like hours but not enough, and all you can think is he’s here.

Obi-wan pulls back, eyes finding yours with a fond smile. “I’ll just have to learn to do your hair now.” He leans in, placing a kiss to the crown of your hair. “You don’t look very well, love.”

“—because of me?”

You huff indignantly at that, pulling out of his hold, “yes, I do have you to thank for a solid month of worrying.”

Obi-wan pauses, eyes flickering over your shoulder. You can tell he takes it to heart.

“Hey,” you murmur, lifting a palm to his cheek, “it would just really suck if you died, y’know?”

He sighs, “I’m sorry I worried you. I tried to find a working commlink but—” He stills once more, shaking his head in defeat. You fill the silence.

“But you were at war, Obi-wan. Commlinks can wait, I’m just happy you made it home in one piece. That’s all that matters.”

The man exhales once more but he concedes with a nod. Knowing he must feel like absolute bantha crap, you usher him to the worn sofa. He watches you flitter around the room, rummaging through cupboards and he can’t help but notice how normal this feels.

Eventually, you bring him a steaming cup of caf, something that seems to flow endlessly in your home and perch beside him on the armrest. The pair of you settle into a comfortable silence. As you lace your fingers between his, you can feel him formulating his thoughts.

“What are you thinking about?” You hum, tapping his wrist. Obi-wan is still, before he whips his head towards you.

“If you asked… I’d stay.” Obi-wan blurts.

The words make you gape and you’re speechless for a good amount of time. He watches you intently, serious as ever.

“Obi-wan,” you begin slowly, “you know I’d never ask that of you.”

“I know that,” he responds firmly, “I also know the Jedi way forbids attachment, that I’d have to let you go. Yet, on Felucia, I wasn’t fighting for the Republic. When we were surrounded by the Separatist droids, I was trying to get back to you.”

Your heart is thudding in your chest, pounding against your ribcage with such ferocity you wonder if even he can hear it. You don’t know what to say.

He leans closer earnestly as his grip on your hand tightens. “I can’t promise things won’t always be this way, but I will always find my way back to you.”

Words have never been your strong suit, this much is certain so you close the gap between you instead, hoping that your lips on his can convey all the emotions cresting from his promise.

When you pull away, it’s because he wipes a tear that escapes down your cheek. “I just hope I’m not the reason you’ll turn to the dark side,” you say with a soft laugh.

Obi-wan nudges your cheek bemusedly, “it’s more likely than you think.”

Bathed in the colourful lights seeping through the blinds, you savour the peace. The morning seems a little brighter and tucked into Obi-wan’s side, Coruscant doesn’t seem so cold anymore.

#editing this was a nightmaRe but i think it turned out okay!!#obi-wan kenobi x reader #obiwan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi oneshot #obi-wan kenobi imagine #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars oneshot #star wars headcanons

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wanderingaldecaldo · 3 years ago

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Tagged by @gloryride, thanks! I haven’t done one of these before, and honestly I don’t put a lot of time into my OC’s backstories – things just kinda bubble up as I need them, so this will be fun! Tagging if they want to play along, but no pressure: @ryyn-strange, @nunyabizu

Valerie

Key: bold - applies, italics - sometimes applies — LIGHT SOURCES SUN RAYS.

effervescent smiles, dandelion puffs, bare feet, beach waves, flowers pressed into books, champagne glasses, rose-gold eye shadow, boho skirts, wire-rimmed glasses, hair in loose waves, kaleidoscope eyes, sunshine in your hair, fire in your soul.

INCANDESCENT BULBS.

crop tops, floral print, dancing in the rain, quiet defiance, hand-knit beanies, rosé, painted bookmarks, marble floors, cirrus clouds against a blue sky, polaroid pictures, hands held, fingers intertwined, flower crowns, baby bluebirds.

STARDUST.

lace bralettes, brisk breezes, jasmine-scented perfume, books with yellowed pages, tracking constellations, sterling silver, violin music, chess games, iced coffee, glittery dresses, high heels, secret grins, midnight meetings, wishing upon a star.

CANDLE FLAMES.

denim jackets, gladiator sandals, braided hair, messenger bags, movies at the cinema, stolen kisses, wax-sealed envelopes, haiku poetry, cherry wood, succulents, fountain pens, jigsaw puzzles, soft tired eyes, hidden smiles, cuddling with someone you trust.

MOONBEAMS.

newspapers, over-sized sweaters, dancing shadows, fleece throws, cutoff shorts, piano chords, red wine, messy buns, embossed journals, a hint of blush dusted across your cheeks, freshly fallen snow, tranquil solitude, burning incense, light hair and dark skin

AURORAS.

combat boots, burgundy lips, infectious laughter, spiral-bound notebooks, pencils used down to the stub, ripped jeans, painted nails, cloud-watching, summer thunderstorms, hiking trails, vinyl records, film cameras, skating on a frozen lake, hot chocolate by the fire.

FIREWORKS.

dancing until the break of dawn, Heelys, being wheeled around in a shopping cart by your best friend, the euphoria of soaring through the air, being excited for what the future holds, group hugs, colorful tattoos, bronzer-highlighted cheeks, hugging a stuffed animal, lifting a child onto your shoulders, space buns, bright streaks in your hair.

— BODY LANGUAGE

DEFENSIVENESS. arms crossed on chest, crossing legs, fist-like gestures, pointing index finger, karate chops, stiffening of shoulders, tense posture, curling of lip, baring of teeth

REFLECTIVE.

hand-to-face gestures, head tilted, stroking chin, peering over glasses, taking glasses off; cleaning, putting earpiece of glasses in mouth, pipe smoker gestures, putting hand to bridge of nose, pursed lips, knitted brows

SUSPICION.

arms crossed, sideways glance, touching or rubbing nose, rubbing eyes, hands resting on weapon, brows raising, lips pressing into a thin line, strict, unwavering eye contact, wrinkling of nose, narrowed eyes

CONFIDENCE.

hands behind back, hands on lapels of coat, steepled hands, baring teeth in a grin, rolling shoulders, tipping head back but maintaining eye contact, chest puffed up, shoulders back, arms folded just above navel, wide eyes, standing akimbo

INSECURITY & ANXIETY.

chewing pen or pencil, rubbing thumb over opposite thumb, biting fingernails, biting lips, hands in pockets, elbow bent, closed gestures, clearing throat, “whew” sound, picking or pinching flesh, fidgeting in chair, hand covering mouth whilst speaking, poor eye contact, tugging pants whilst seated, jingling money in pockets, tugging at ear, perspiring hands, playing with hair, swaying, playing with pointer; marker; cane, smacking lips, sighing, rocking on balls of feet, flexing or cracking fingers sporadically, leg bouncing

ANGER & FRUSTRATION.

short breaths, “tsk” sounds, tightly-clenched hands, fist-like gestures, pointing index finger, rubbing hand through hair, rubbing back of neck, snarling, revealing teeth, grimacing, sharp-eye glowers, notable tension in brow, shoulders back, head up; defensive posturing, clenching of jaw, grinding teeth, nostrils flaring, heavy exhales

— SENSES

SIGHT.

small towns, big cities, six thirty curfews, lights that take the place of stars, blanket nests, light through the blinds as a wake up call, found family, finding a single star in the middle of new york night city, window shopping, watching something terrible and enjoying it, growing numb to the sight of injustice, wilted flowers, faded caricatures, bright, bold colours

HEARING.

crickets and lightning bugs, car engines and a.c. units, a phone call to mum/dad, laughing with friends, jokes that are so bad you have to laugh, the clicking of computer keys, noise cancelling headphones, the sound of silence, muffled music from another room, drumming fingertips on a table, clicking of pens, listening to a clock and swearing the ticks get slower, ringing in the ears, the voice of someone you love, pitch shifted songs

TOUCH.

being held close during a long night, fleeting reassurances, holding hands when you’re scared, brushing fingers through strands of hair, freshly dried clothes, bruises on your knuckles, silk and satin, your favourite pet’s fur or feather, wringing your hands anxiously, snuggles, comforters in the dead of winter, nails against skin, cold metal, leather in summer

TASTE.

coffee in the morning, tea in the evening, bubblegum that lost its flavor, alcohol burning the back of your throat, homemade cooking, no matter what’s made, blood in your mouth, stale air, mint, fresh vegetables, that processed taste of citrus candy, the first meal you cook by yourself that tastes good, foreign sweets, fast street food, bittersweet, sour, spicy, sweet, bitter, too much salt on fries

#text #cyberpunk 2077 #my v #oc asks

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whump-town · 4 years ago

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A Cumbersome and Heavy Body

Chapter Five: They Told Me That The End Is Near

Summary: Stubborn until the very end, Aaron Hotchner isn’t going to go down without a fight. It’s just getting hard to tell the difference between fighting them and fighting the cancer.

Word count: 3195

Author’s Note: I’m about to fuck yall all kinda of ways-- buckle in babies cause shit is GETTING FUCKED

Warning: the subject of this fic is cancer and it’s treatment, cursing, maybe out of character (idk, man. hotch is weird)

Welcome to the final show Hope you're wearing your best clothes You can't bribe the door on your way to the sky You look pretty good down here But you ain't really good

She hates everything about labeling his days as “good” or “bad”-- this stupid emphasis on each thing that he does and how well he can perform it. The doctors will ask how he is, nearly expecting to be told something other than like he’s dying, and that always frustrates her beyond words. She can feel Hotch tense each time, looking to her in his desperate attempt to conjure a lie they will believe. “Good” or “bad” and he wants to say “okay” so that they don’t poke him more. So they don’t stand him up in the room and run their hands down his sides feeling for more swollen nodes and inclinations to infections or whatever other bad nonsense will rear its ugly head.

Mostly, she hates how there are “bad” days and there are days that aren’t gut-wrenchingly horrible but they aren’t “good” either.

Tuesday he’d smiled and sat for three hours with Reid. The genius turned on the sofa to face Hotch in the recliner, rocking himself gently as he spoke about anything and everything on his mind. Emily had watched them for a moment from the kitchen, shocked at the painless ease Hotch was sitting with. Enjoying something close to normalcy as Reid doesn’t look at Hotch and see the sickness overcoming his pale skin. Doesn’t see how tired he is or how weak. He’s just Hotch and they’re sitting in the living room talking about quantum mechanics and then attachment theory and diagnosing schizophrenia.

For three hours there is so much normalcy to their chaotic lives. For three hours there is “good” and for the remaining hours after Reid leaves there is something close to right in the middle. It’s fighting tooth and nail over some supplements he’s supposed to have in this meal replacement that tastes like chalk. She chases the fight with vodka and he locks himself in his office to drink the meal replacement in the sort of isolation that affords him endless frustration with no outward consequence. He ends up sitting in there and hoping she forgives him for being such a pain in the ass. He knows she probably will.

Then he does something stupid, something entirely brought on by impulse.

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

He can’t finish the job on his own, the clippers shaking painfully in his grip. His arm hurts and he can’t stand long enough to get the whole thing even. “It’s falling out, anyway.” He tells himself that it doesn’t matter, that he should be lucky he made it to this age without losing it. He tries not to think about it, mostly. To the way that his father used to smile at him and rustle it just to see the strands sit in all kinds of directions. How Haley would curl against him, arm over his shoulders, and brushing the strands as they talk.

But it’s just… hair. Mostly.

And “good” had melted into bad as Emily stood over him, running the clippers through his remaining hair. She’d cried and he had too but he had the free hands to wipe those tears before she could see them. She’s always the strong one, the least he can do is pretend for a moment.

Standing behind him, she can see every bone in his back. His pale skin stretched over each vertebra, like the hard pressure across knuckles clenched tightly. The plethora of scars in various stages of healing-- several from tubes and wires and tests and others from the childhood he refuses to speak of. A canvas with a story right there for her to see. There are no real secrets between them anymore.

The last bit of hair falls and she looks at what they’ve done. “You’ll have to wear a hat,” she tells him. She steps out of the tub, using his shoulder to balance herself. “I always thought you had a weird-shaped head but now I know.” There’s nothing abnormal about his head, she’s just thinking about how cold he always is. That at least now he’s got an excuse to wear a beanie inside and how he’ll look like a dork with the assortment of color and variations Garcia’s going to knit the second she catches wind of this.

She offers him her hands so that he can stand too and it’s a testament to their proximity that his shirtlessness isn’t strange. She’s watched his skin ease apart under the pressure of a scalpel. Sat beside him on the bathroom floor, head on his shoulder as the night moved on but they both knew he’d be back here all together too soon to get up. The scars are nothing to the vulnerability that he’s shown her.

Standing she… she sees the protrusion of his collarbone. Of the harshness, the invasion of the central line snaking into him. It overcomes her and she pulls him into her. Throwing an arm over one shoulder and around the other, pinning him against her. “I love you,” she whispers turning her face into his neck.

Her warmth seeps into him, in every place that her skin rests against his. The desperation in her tone makes him smile, the way that she holds him. He’s empathetic to her pain but it feels good to be held, to be loved like something someone is terrified to lose. “You know,” he says. “I kind of figured. You’ve stayed around too long for someone who, supposedly, hates me.”

She laughs. How many times had she gone out of her way to mumble “I hate you” at him? For waking her up to make her go back to bed so that she doesn’t spend her whole night on the floor as miserable as him. To have something to say in the face of the scary things that happen, when he squeezes her hand too tight or when he’s that numb calm she knows is no good.

“I do hate you,” she sniffles.

He laughs. An actual laugh. “Good,” he replies, wrapping his arms around her. “Good.”

Wednesday he makes her French Toast with a black beanie pulled down over his ears, one she’d seen only in the winter to stave off the threat of the ear infections the icy fingers of the wind give him. They talk while they eat and it’s a truly monumental thing to be shared between them-- a meal.

There’s something about sitting there and watching him perfect some glorified egg bread that annoys her. Knowing that likely, tomorrow this will be like a slap to the face. A taunt to see him now and then. Today he will the Aaron that she knows. The Aaron that peers over her shoulder while she’s trying to do things, baiting her into pointless arguments with his bad French and even worse German. To the Aaron who walks soundless and who grins when he turns up silently behind her and makes her yelp with a jump.

She watches the ease in which he takes to his french toast bleed away like the color in his face until lunch brings one of those meal replacements and he can’t do it. Then she finds the french toast she thought he’d eaten in the trash where he’d purposely tried to cover it. Knows that next week they’ll find the meal replacements didn’t work and do something else to his poor body. Cut another hole, insert another tube.

She hears him fall that night.

After hearing him laugh loudly over some stupid thing she’d said.

After playfully fighting with him over stealing one of his sweaters-- he has so many it’s not going to kill him to let her borrow one.

After just sitting with him on the couch for hours listening to music and sitting in the dark.

She hears him fall and, worst of all, she hears how hard he tries to cover it up. The sound is not as distinct as it should be with no crash that rattles dishes or a harsh thud. A stumble, really, a softer thump as he leaned into the wall for support but found none.

“Aaron.”

He’s sitting up against the wall, shoulders sunk in and head hanging. When he looks up she sees the blood pouring down his face, the tears pooling at the corner of his eyes. “...can’t stop it.” He coughs, wiping at the blood across his lips. “It won’t stop, Emily.”

She runs to the bathroom, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and not thinking twice about manipulating his face in her hands. One hand holding the back of his head while the other dabs the blood up. “We’re supposed to go to the hospital when this happens,” she reminds him. He’ll need platelets or something invasive but more than likely he’ll be submitted to an hour-long wait in the E.R. to be told it was the right thing to come in but altogether unnecessary.

He groans, not in pain but in the general theme of the awfulness he knows will ensue if she makes the decision they will be going to the hospital. To the cold beds and the wheelchairs.

“Water and bed,” she says, instead of what he’d thought would be her asking where his shoes and coat are. She smirks at him, knowing what he’s thinking and seeing the surprise written across his face. “We’ll tell them Tuesday about it,” she assures him. Tuesday when they’re probably going to tell them he needs to come back in another day. When they see the supplements aren’t working and he’ll probably need something invasive and painful. Then they’ll deal with the nose bleeds popping back (and that cough she’s noticed but has let convince himself she hasn’t noticed).

“Bed,” she says again when the words seem like they haven’t processed.

“Bed,” he repeats thickly, her fingers clamped over his nose thickening the nasally quality of his voice.

They shuffle down the hall, Emily’s fingers curled around his hip and his arm over her shoulder. Heads bent in towards one another. He whispers an apology, feet hardly leaving the ground, and leaning on her a little too much. He imagines the beginning. When he’d laid on his bed, thinking about her and thinking about his father. The way the cancer had eaten his father away and he can see in the mirror, he watches closely and knows the same thing is happening to him.

His father had done what he can’t-- ended it.

It had been Aaron who found him. So strange to see such a violent man seemingly… peaceful. His memory is a patchwork of things, his childhood full of too many greys of undetermined moments, but that sight. Seeing his father’s lifeless body in the high-backed office chair he’d spent so many waking hours in has been unforgettable.

He can’t do that. He won’t make Emily see that or leave that sort of memory for Jack. It’s important to him that it be like this.

“You have to sit up.” She props him up on pillows, ignoring his complaints. The blood has slowed and there’s nearly no point in wiping it away. He just watches her, vacantly staring back as she tucks the blankets around his chest. “Sleep,” she instructs, kissing his forehead. “Do you want me to stay?” He knows she will. She’ll sleep right here beside if he asks but… no. He’ll be okay.

It snows.

He watches it from the only window in his room, she’d pulled the curtains back before she fell asleep. He sees her and her giant shadow with the yellowing light from the street pouring in, eating out the deep consuming darkness looming over him. Until today he’d only ever suspected she was dragging his office chair into his room but he’d never caught her, always waking up after she’d moved the chair back and gone back to her own room. Leaving behind only the three deep dents in the carpet where she’d sat for hours. There had been so many nights he’d spent sitting and watching Jack sleep as a baby-- some irrational fear that the baby would stop breathing in the middle of the night and so long as he was watching Jack would keep breathing. He needn’t ask silly questions, he knows she’s using the same irrational approach.

Clenching his teeth he tries to bite down against a cough breaking out, afraid to wake her some such peaceful slumber. He pulls himself upright, curling down as his temples throb, and his body shakes violently beyond his control. A goal in-sight-- the water on his nightstand and getting Emily back to bed-- he powers through it and overcoming the weakness of his body feels so satisfyingly familiar. To days when there was pain but no cancer and he loves the triumphant that washes over him.

The water is warm and stale, left there by Emily yesterday when she’d forced him to take his medicine (even though he thought he’d throw it back up and he had). It kills the ache of his throat, dry and bitter, and he clears his throat softly to take the rest away.

“Emily,” he whispers. Moving his lips cracks the dried blood on his face he grimaces as he smells the thick scent of the blood. “Emily, get up.” He won’t leave her to sleep in this chair all night. He’s made the mistake plenty of times, knows it’s no good. “Come on,” he touches her arm, palm against her bare skin. She jumps his touch is so cold. “Sorry, sorry--”

She really sees him and jumps even harder. Yelping in shock. “Oh! Oh, God!” She wraps her arms around her chest, breathing quickly, startled. “Fuck Aaron,” she shouts. “You scared the shit out of me!”

He rubs his nose, tries to dislodge the blood.

“Is-- Is something wrong?” She pushes her hair back from her face, “are you okay?”

God. He’s hurt her irreparably, hasn’t he?

“Nothing.” He offers his hand, even if the hand trembles visibly enough in the low light. “Nothing, I promise.” She takes his hand, allowing him to guide her up. “You shouldn’t sleep in that chair,” he informs her softly but still with that distinct fussiness to his voice.

She looks back to the chair and up at him, “I guess I’ve finally been caught.”

He smiles. The first time he’d put two and two together he was angry. Overly frustrated, seething over something so… sweet. She’d sat with him through the night, watching him sleep, just trying to be close and he’d been mad. Not now, though, now he can see how tired he is. He can feel her hand still clutching his. “It’s okay,” he shrugs. “It’s late, let’s go to bed.”

She frowns, brows crinkling as she looks around them in confusion. Sleep riddled brain torn between the rational thought that concludes he’s right, she should go to bed, and the worry she’d felt hours ago about leaving him in this room. She’s not sure what to do now, which thought to travel and act upon.

“Do you--” he looks down at the thrown back covers on his bed. Remembers this wouldn’t be the first time she’s slept in that bed beside him. Likely more than just the memories he can think of now, unprompted. He blushes, embarrassed he even had the thought but she looks down to and nods.

She doesn’t want to leave him alone.

He doesn’t want to be alone.

They start side by side, neither entirely comfortable. She falls back to sleep first. He can feel her breath even back out and within a few minutes she turns over towards him, her hand resting over his wrist. He looks back to his office chair, the giant back of the old thing. She’s so afraid to lose him, they all are. He can feel it in every little thing that they do. How Dave lingers a little more after each visit, hugs him a little longer. The way Derek looks at him, how close he stands. Even in Spencer and Jack who soak up his attention like flowers to the sun. Turning and facing him, finding him wherever he is to enjoy just one more moment. Hanging on to his every word.

He wakes soaked in sweat, shaking as Emily talks to someone rushed, too quickly to sound anything but frantic. Afraid.

He opens his eyes as a sea of red flushes through the room, the shrill of an ambulance breaking up the serene silence the snow has muffled the Earth with.

“Aaron?”

She’d woken to him struggling to breathe. Both had turned over in the night and while she’d turned toward him, he’d turned away from her. Her arm over his hip, her head against his back, they were nearly welded together. If not for the proximity-- his arm pulling hers closer, her leg in-between his, she likely wouldn’t have heard him at all. But she’d felt him jerk in his sleep, fighting his body for air.

And he wouldn’t wake up.

“Aaron?” she calls a second time. She should go open the front door, let the EMTs in but she’d seen a sliver of his eye. His cheek is cold against her palm but she cries, tears streaming when he opens his eyes. When he turns his face into her palm. “There you are,” she beams. His eyes slide back shut. “Stay awake,” she asks, her nerves getting the best of her and she shakes him. Pleased when his eyes open back up and find her. “Stay awake, don’t you want to see the snow?”

The stretcher is cold and he mourns the loss of his thick comforter but the drugs flooding into his blood makes him loose, pliable. He doesn’t fight being taken from his bed, even if he longingly looks back for it. Lets them strap his legs down place an oxygen mask over his face. The snow means nothing to him. He hates it, honestly, but as they step outside, Emily tossing his winter coat of him like a blanket, he looks up at it falling down on him.

Her hand slips away and he looks back for her, confused. She stands in the street, face turned to the fat snowflakes falling around her. All the light coming from street lamps high above her head. He’s reminded of a lifetime ago. When she’d gone against his orders and gone to investigate Michael’s death with a ferocity he hadn’t seen coming. When she’d avoided his eye and said she’d understand if he wanted her badge and gun after that little show. She’d forced his hand, made him call the Vatican, and consider his own allegiances. To when they were two very different people than they are now-- younger, naive… alone.

She catches up to them, slipping her hand back into his. Her fingers freezing cold as they curl around his. “Don’t you love it?” she asks. She looks back out, watching until the doors shut behind them and all she has is a tiny window.

He doesn’t but she does.

She looks young, weightless.

In a way, yes, he does love it.

@laiba-the-person, @emily-hottie-prentiss, @unionjackpillow, @clockedstar, @baumarvel, @blakeprentiss, @qvid-pro-qvo, @aaron-hotchner187, @ssalavellan, @lazyhater

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #david rossi #derek morgan #spencer reid #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau #tw cancer

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ag-celestina-gorillaz · 4 years ago

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Daisies and Daffodolls Day 17: Book Series

Sorry I've been MIA a lot. I've been busy doing sewing stuff (next photo challenge I'll prepare a few weeks in advance). But anyways, I took a pic of Celestina in what would be her meet outfit. Celestina's story is different in many ways than other AG characters. For one thing, she's my Gorillaz OC as well, so her story involves some Gorillaz lore as well, and her story starts at age 11 in middle school in 2016 and goes to at least 2020 when she's 15. Basic outline, Celestina is a cheerful creative girl living in Orbitz Ohio. She was raised by her mom Sharon and her stepmom Mia, (they got married in 2015 when gay marriage became legal in the US), and her dad is Stuart "2-D" Pot, the lead singer of the British band Gorillaz. In her story, Celestina faces many changes, such as her Mom starting a new paramedic job, her dad returning to England to reunite with the rest of Gorillaz to record Humanz, as well as starting her first year in middle school. I'm actually planning to write a whole book, maybe more, about Celestina, and post the chapters here on tumblr. I think I'll go ahead and post the first chapter here as a preview, but I'll post the full story later, maybe with illustrations.

Summary - It's the year 2016, and Celestina is starting her first year of middle school. While she's excited for a fresh start of the new year, she's also nervous. School uniforms, more classes, more teachers, and new classmates. Unfortunately, the school year starts out on a sour note, she barely shares any classes with her best friend, and in homeroom class, she gets paired up with Lucy Phillips, a cold, aloof, yet mysterious, new girl from Britain. Meanwhile, things aren't easier at home either, her dad ends up returning to the UK to reunite with his fellow band members to record their next album, and her mom begins work at her new paramedic job. But when Celestina begins to get close with Lucy, the new girl's iciness starts to melt, and they both learn they have more in common than they thought.

Celestina's Family and Friends

Celestina Damon - An excitable 11 year old girl starting her first year of middle school in the year 2016.

Sharon Damon - Celestina's mother, a practical, but cheerful, lady. She starts working a new job as a paramedic.

Mia Lucci - Sharon's wife and Celestina's stepmother, a funny and kind woman, she's always there when Celestina needs advice. She runs and works at The Leaning Tower of Pizza pizzeria with her twin sister Gina.

Stuart "2-D" Pot - Celestina's father, and lead singer of the British band Gorillaz. He isn't quite wired like other people, but in his own 2-D way, he's very deep, and he's also got a big heart. Despite the troubles that come with being a long distance parent, he loves Celestina immensely and tries to be in her life as much as possible.

Kailey Green - Celestina's next door neighbor and best friend since childhood. A smart and sweet girl, if a little awkward. A self proclaimed theater nerd. Often gives Celestina the nickname "Lessie".

Lucy Phillips - A new girl in Celestina's homeroom, who's family arrived from Britain. She seems mysterious and comes off as cool and guarded, but in reality, she's a little shy, and becomes much kinder and sweeter once you get to know her.

Chapter 1

New Year, New School, New Hope

The alarm clock on the bedside table chirped on and on as Celestina Damon slept in, nestled in her soft, pastel colored, blankets. She was dreaming a wonderful dream; Celestina, rocking a sparkly, purple, galaxy print dress, was singing in front of a sold out crowd on her first performance. Fans in the crowd were holding handmade signs and cheering her name. Here she is posing for pictures with fans! There she is signing autographs! She finishes her last song of the show, wishing the audience a good night. The crowd erupted into a thunderous roar of applause, fans shouting her name "Celestina! Celestina! Celestina! -"

"CELESTINA!!! WAKE UP!!!"

That did it! At the sound of her mom's voice, the young girl jolted up from her bed with a start. "Gah!" she exclaimed. Her wavy blue hair was messy and needed brushing, and she was no longer clad in galaxy print, but rather, blue and white pajamas with panda bears printed all over. Celestina ground the sleep out of her eyes and smashed the "stop" button on her alarm.

"Okay, I'm awake Mom!" said Celestina, slightly irritated. Her mom chuckled.

"Hey, if I let you have your way, you'd be asleep until lunchtime." laughed Mom. "I told you not to stay up too late."

"I didn't stay up late!" Celestina protested, "I'm just, not used to waking up this early." She was kinda right. Today was the first day of the new school year, after three months of staying up and sleeping in later than usual, it can be hard to get back on a schedule.

"Fair enough," said Mom, "but I can't always be around to make you wake up, especially now, you understand?" Celestina nodded. What her mom had meant was that she just got hired to work as a paramedic at a new ambulance company, which meant that some days she had to go in early. Unfortunately, it also means that she would come home later after working many hours, some nights possibly after when Celestina was supposed to go to bed. Luckily, today was only her orientation, which wouldn't start for a few hours, so her Mom could drop her off on her first day of school, but she was still dressed in her work uniform, black boots, navy blue pants with lots of pockets, and a wine red shirt with the ambulance's logo embolized on the left breast, and her curly blonde hair was tied up in a long ponytail.

Speaking of uniforms. Not only was Celestina starting her first day of school, but it's the first day of a new school, specifically, middle school. Okay, so technically this school is a combo middle and high school, so not only does she have to deal with the 7th and 8th graders, but also all the high schoolers as well. And all the students have to wear uniforms. Actually, the uniform itself wasn't that bad, it was pretty cute, the top was a rich shade of purple with a white collar and ribbon, and a white pleated skirt that fell below the knees, had a "sailor suit" sorta look to it, kinda like what an anime character would wear. All the same, Celestina couldn't understand why she just couldn't just wear her regular clothes to school, you know, like everyone did in elementary school. Sigh, another change to have to get used to. Mom caught Celestina eyeing her uniform.

"Well get dressed, hon." said Mom, "And come downstairs for breakfast. I think Mia made some chocolate chip pancakes!" Mmm, just the thought of those pancakes made Celestina's mouth water.

"Okay, you win." laughed Celestina, giving her mom a hug. "I'll be down in a few." After Mom had left the room, Celestina got dressed, brushed and pulled her long wavy blue hair into a ponytail, using a hairband with two pink poofballs on it. Before she left to go downstairs, she looked toward the corner of her room, and saw Scratchy, her fluffy gray bunny, stirring around in her cage.

"Hey there Scratchy!" she cooed, giving the bunny little pats. She then slipped a little chew treat for her to play with. "Be good while I'm at school, okay?"

The young girl grabbed her backpack, filled to the brim with school supplies, and headed downstairs to the kitchen. The aroma of chocolate chip pancakes and maple syrup filled the room. Mom had seated herself at the kitchen table, eating her small stack of pancakes, and Mia, Celestina's stepmom, was busy flipping the pancakes at the stove. Her mother, Sharon, and Mia have only been married for less than a year, but Mia has lived with Celestina and her Mom her whole life. They probably would have married sooner had it been allowed before last year! Mia is a pretty lady, tall, tan skin, and shiny dark brown hair, and she's a great cook. Her and her sister Gina (Aunt Gina to Celestina), run a pizza place called Leaning Tower of Pizza.

"Pancakes, comin' up!" shouted Mia to Celestina. Mia still spoke with a New York accent, despite the fact that she's been living in Ohio for at least 15 years. She served the girl her pancakes before sliding her own onto a plate. Celestina took her breakfast to the table and poured on the sweet maple syrup. She cut a piece and took a bite, mmmm, was so good. Her smile fell slightly looking around the room. She couldn't get used to the empty space at the table.

"What's wrong?" asked Mia, noticing Celestina's frown, "Don't you like chocolate pancakes?"

"I LOVE them!" exclaimed Celestina. "I just wish Dad was here to have some." Mia and Susan exchanged a look of understanding.

"You miss him don't you." said Mia. Celestina nodded.

"Yup!" said Celestina. It was actually more than that. She paused a bit, trying to think of how to put it into words, "I mean, I dunno, I guess I'm also a bit worried, you know, about him leaving again." Celestina's eyes looked down at her pancakes. Talking about stuff like that always made her uneasy.

Celestina's dad, her whole family life in general really, was, well, unusual to say the least. For one thing, her parents weren't married when her mom had her, in fact, they split up shortly before Sharon found out she was pregnant. Whatever, no biggie, there are lots of kids whose parents are like that, people who have children before they got married, or had kids and didn't stay together. However, it was even more complicated in Celestina's case, because her mom is American and her dad is British, meaning it's harder for her to see her dad on a regular basis because he lives so far away. Also, her dad is famous. Celestina's father is none other than Stuart Pot, better known as 2-D, the lead singer of Gorillaz. Yes, that 2-D! It's been awhile since the band did any songs together though, the last album, Plastic Beach, was released when Celestina was 5, but a couple years before that, something else happened, and that's what worried Celestina. For a short while after Celestina was born, 2-D would often call the house to say hi, sometimes even visit. But after a visit that Dad made sometime when she was 3, he had gone on a trip somewhere, and suddenly vanished. Her mom tried to keep calm around her when she asked where Dad was, but even as a kid, Celestina could kinda tell that her Mom was worried about him. The sudden release of a new Gorillaz album didn't help either. At one point, her Mom told her stories that 2-D and Murdoc Niccals, the band's foul mouthed, green skinned, bassist, were taken by pirates and trapped on an island called Plastic Beach, an island in the middle of the ocean made of garbage and spray painted pink. Looking back, Celestina wasn't sure if this all really happened or if this was something Mom was making up, but she knew something happened that made her dad unable to contact her for awhile. Shortly before Celestina was 8, her dad had called her on the phone for the first time in years.

"Celestina, is that you?" said 2-D in his thick Londoner accent, "You sound so big! How old are you now?"

"I'm gonna be 8, Dad!" answered Celestina proudly, "I'm a big kid!"

"8!? Wow! You really grew up!" exclaimed 2-D, Celestina could hear the tears caught in his throat. "I've missed you so much!"

After a brief vacation, or "holiday" as her dad called it, in Guadalupe, he visited Celestina and the family for the first time in a while, right in time for her 8th birthday. And since then, he had been able to keep in better contact, and came to visit Celestina in person more often these last few years, as if to make up for missing out for those last 5 years. She even got to fly with him to England one time and met her grandparents, David and Rachel Pot, for the first time at the amusement park that Grandpop had owned. This year, 2-D stayed in the guest room for a few months, he was able to keep Celestina company during the summer while Sharon was taking paramedic classes, and Mia was working at Leaning Tower. 2-D had been helping Celestina with her budding interest in music, teaching her how to play her new blue Melodica, a small keyboard with a flute-like pipe in it. When they weren't practicing, the father daughter duo would watch scary zombie movies, or listen to some older Gorillaz songs on Celestina's old CD player. On June 23rd, the whole family, and a few of Celestina's friends from school, celebrated her 11th birthday with a bonfire cookout in the backyard. It was a wonderful summer.

But all this fun and excitement of summer had to come to an end. It was now time for school, and just as well, Dad left to go back to England, rather suddenly at that. Somehow, one of his old band mates, Noodle, the guitarist and the only girl in the band, (and Celestina's favorite band member, next to Dad of course), ended up getting back in contact with him. Apparently, the band was getting back together to make a new album called Humanz, which would be released sometime next year. Like always, Celestina was sad to see him leave, but she was also worried too, maybe because a part of her is scared he would go missing again.

Sharon put a comforting hand on Celestina's shoulder. "It'll be okay," she reassured her daughter, "He said he's gonna text us when he arrives to meet the others. Plus, he said you can visit him during spring break."

"I know," nodded Celestina. She finishes up her pancakes, thinking about everything going on. Mom's starting a new job, Dad's going back to England, I'm starting a new year in a new school, and we have to wear uniforms! So far so good, she thought sarcastically. She rinsed her dirty plate in the sink and slipped on her black flats to meet Mom out in the car.

"Are we taking Kailey today?" asked Mom. Kailey Green is Celestina's best friend and next door neighbor.

"No, Mrs. Green wanted to take her this morning," answered Celestina, "but she's picking both of us up after school."

"Okay, good," said Mom, "let's get going, you don't wanna be late," she checks her watch "and neither do I!" she laughed. Celestina gave Mia a hug goodbye.

"Have a good day at school, rockstar." said Mia lovingly. "I'm coming home from Leaning Tower about an hour after you get home from school, okay girlie."

"'Kay 'kay, I got it." smiled Celestina. She gives Mia a fist bump, complete with a little explosion sound effect.

"You have a good day at school," then she turns to Mom "And good luck with orientation Sharon." Mom gives Mia a loving kiss on the cheek.

"Bye honey," said Mom grabbing her keys. "I should be home by dinner tonight." Celestina and her mother wave goodbye to Mia before getting in the car. As Sharon drove on to the school, Celestina sat in her seat nervously, her breakfast doing flip flops in her stomach.

"Are you doing okay back there?" asked Sharon, looking at her daughter in the rearview mirror.

"I dunno," she answered. "Honestly, I'm pretty nervous. Middle school sounds kinda scary. All these classes, new teachers, ugh, no recess, school uniforms," she grimaced. She had so many thoughts, so many "what-if's", that they started coming out one after another. "What if I don't like my teachers? What if me and Kailey don't have any classes together? What if all the classes are too hard? What if I get bullied by the older kids? What if -"

"Celestina!" said Mom suddenly, "sweetie, sweetie, it's alright." She took a deep breath before continuing, "I know this isn't something you want to hear, but I kinda know how you feel. I was nervous starting middle school when I was your age. And, if I'll be fully honest, I can relate to how you're feeling right now. I'm a bit nervous starting this new job."

Celestina looked up in surprise, "You are?" she wondered. "But you said you were excited." Mom gave Celestina a loving smile.

"And I am," answered Sharon, "But I have so many mixed feelings. I'm worried I won't be good enough, I'm worried the boss could be a jerk, or that I won't like my co-workers. So many things can go wrong. But," she paused before continuing, "There are also good things I'm looking forward to as well. I'll be able to use the skills I worked hard learning in all these classes, I'll be able to help people, I'll be bringing home a little more money, which means we will be able to go out more often." she said with a smile. "It's normal to be scared and nervous, it's okay in fact. But you also have so many good things to look forward to. Yes you have more classes, but you get to have more classes you enjoy, like music and art. And even if you don't have any classes with Kailey, you'll always be able to see her because we're neighbors. If you're having a problem, whether it's classes, mean kids, or even a mean teacher, you can always come to me or Mia. I just want you to know, even if the bad things do happen, there are also a lot of good thing to come, I want you to remember that." Celestina thought over what her mom had said. She did have a few good points.

"I did hear that the music department puts on a school musical every year," said Celestina, feeling a bit more hopeful, "And there's all these fun clubs". Sharon's eyes lit up.

"See, there you go!" said Mom.

"It just seems like so many things are changing at the same time." Celestina admitted, "it just feels so fast, I feel like I can barely take a breath."

"I know, it sucks, it really does." said Sharon in an understanding tone. "The funny thing is, is that the only thing that never changes, is that everything changes."

"That's so confusing to think about!" said Celestina laughing.

"Ah, but that's the truth," said Sharon with a chuckle. "But you know what else will never change?"

"No what?" asked Celestina.

"I'll always love you," Mom answered warmly, "The same goes for Mia, and for your dad, we will never stop loving you. You are our child, and nothing will ever change that."

"Aw mom, I love you too!" she exclaimed. At that moment, Celestina's cell phone chirped with a new message. Oops, better silence it before class, she thought, making a mental note. But seeing who the message was from made her smile.

"Ooh I got a text from Dad!" shouted Celestina in excitement. The text read "i made it to studio 13 in london. about to start recording for the new album. I miss you already, but i'm happy to be home again. russ, noodle and murdoc say hi. say hi to your mum for me. love you little panda bear." Celestina smiled at the mention of the special nickname her dad gave her. Attached with the message was a picture. It was a group photo of the whole band in what looked like the inside of a recording studio. Celestina had yet to meet the other band members in person, but she knew who they were from the music videos and interview clips on YouTube, and from a few stories from her dad. There was Murdoc Niccals, the band's bassist, and probably the biggest troublemaker of the band. He has an odd scrunched up nose, and green skin and black hair, sorta made Celestina think of the Gangreen Gang from The PowerPuff Girls. Then there was Russel Hobbs, the drummer, a heavyset black man from New York, with bright white eyes lacking pupils, a result of being possessed by a demon when he was young. He seemed to be the voice of reason in the band, and when he speaks in interviews, he has a gentle voice. Then there was Noodle, the guitarist, and the only girl in the band. Celestina almost didn't recognize her at first, she's so used to seeing her in the music videos back when she was a kid or a young teen, and now she's a beautiful grown up woman! Noodle was not much older than Celestina is now when the band released their first album, and according to her dad, when they were first looking for a guitarist, Noodle traveled from Japan all the way to England, in a FedEx delivery crate, and gave such an epic explosive guitar solo, that the band ended up giving her the part on the spot. Celestina likes to imagine that if they were the same age, she and Noodle would be great friends. And in the middle of the pic was her dad, 2-D himself. He's tall and wiry, the tallest of all the band members in fact, he has spikey blue hair, and due to two separate car accidents (which were Murdoc's fault), he lost his front tooth, and his eyes were injured, they now look like blank black circles. Murdoc gave him the nickname 2-D because his black eyes made it look like he had "two dents'' in his head. Surprisingly, her dad liked that nickname, at this point, the only people who really call him Stu anymore would be Nana and Grandpop, as well as Sharon and Mia. People would often describe her dad as, well, not very bright, sometimes saying he's thick and calling him names like "space cadet", but Celestina doesn't like any comments like that. To Celestina, her dad has his own 2-D way of thinking, and his creativity with making music is where he shines the best, and he's got a kind heart. In the attached picture, all four band mates were smiling (even Murdoc), and that made Celestina happy, seeing her dad and his old friends all back together.

"That's great!" said Mom, "What does the message say?"

"Dad said he got to England safely, he's excited to work on songs again, and that he loves and misses me, plus he sent a pic of him and the rest of the band." said Celestina. "Oh yeah, Dad says hi, and so does Russ, Noodle, and Murdoc."

"Aw that's awesome!" replied Mom, "See, I figured he would make it there okay. How do the other three look?"

"Murdoc is as green as ever," Celestina replied with a laugh, "Russel pretty much looks the same, but Noodle looks so different! She's a grown up lady!"

"Yup, I believe it," said mom with a chuckle. "Oh man, I haven't seen her since you were a baby, she was still a teenager then. Grown up so fast, both of you." she said with a sigh. "It's good they seem to be doing well." She paused, thinking, "I got an idea. We're almost there, why don't we take a few back-to-school pictures of you when we get there, and you can text them back to your dad?"

"Ooh I'd love that!" said a delighted Celestina. She was quiet for a bit before continuing. "Hey, I know I was sad before with Dad leaving, but, well, it's also really cool that the whole band is back together and they'll make more songs again."

"I know, I can't wait to hear them," agreed Mom, "but like I said earlier, it's okay to feel sad about missing him. Just don't forget that there are also a lot of good things to look forward to."

"I understand," answered Celestina. Mom had just pulled up to the school. There it was, Orbitz Public School. Mom was lining up to park at the entrance where the middle school classes were. While Celestina had seen the school many times when going on errands with her mom's around town, today the building somehow seemed larger and more intimidating. Her breath slowed down and her hands grew sweaty the closer they got to the entrance. Mom had found a parking spot and Celestina nervously left the car, carrying her backpack.

"This place is way bigger than South Lincoln," remarked Celestina, referring to her elementary school. Sharon gave Celestina's hand a comforting squeeze.

"I know it's scary," said Mom. "But you got this." Even though Celestina was still nervous, she somehow felt a bit better with her Mom hyping her up.

"I got this!" repeated Celestina.

"You're the star of your own stage," encouraged Sharon, "You knock 'em dead!"

"I'll knock 'em dead!" repeated Celestina, feeling pumped. "Oh yeah, let's get that picture taken to send to Dad" she remembered. Celestina and Sharon walked around to find a spot with good lighting in the courtyard.

"Ooh, we can take one here," said Celestina, handing the phone to her mom. She struck an adorable Sailor Moon style peace sign pose in her new uniform with the school in view in the back. After the picture got taken, she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder.

"Huh," said Celestina, before turning around to see her best friend, "Oh hey there Kailey!"

"Hi Lessie!" greeted Kailey, using the nickname she used for Celestina since they were little. Kailey was wearing the same purple and white school uniform that Celestina was wearing. She kept her short brown hair in her natural curls, and her red square glasses framed her blue eyes. The giggly girls greeted each other with a hug, before realizing that both their moms were standing by with their phones.

"Smile you two," said Mrs. Green. Both girls smiled for the camera with their arms around each other.

"Perfect!" exclaimed Sharon before handing Celestina her phone back. Celestina then quickly sent both the pics to her dad with a special message.

"So glad you made it home safely Dad. Mom and Mia say hi back. Today is me and Kailey's first day of school. Can't wait to see you again, and maybe meet the rest of the band (even Murdoc lol). Have fun recording. Love you lots! We got this!"

Shortly after she sent it, her dad replied with another quick "I love you", and Kailey got Celestina's attention.

"C'mon Lessie," said Kailey, "We still need to get our schedules."

"Oh my, that's right!" exclaimed Celestina. "We gotta get going!"

The girls gave their Moms a quick hug and said goodbye, and headed into the school. Celestina still felt a bit nervous, but she felt a lot better than this morning. She headed inside the front doors of the school with Kailey, walking through the purple and white crowd of students, feeling determined to take on the day no matter what happens.

"Celestina, you're on!"

#american girl fan character #american girl oc #celestina damon #gorillaz #gorillaz oc #american girl #american girl doll #gorillaz fan character #daisies and daffodolls #long post

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johnnys-green-pen · 3 years ago

Text

Summer of 51′s #6 - Sleep

More fic! This is just something short and simple in which Roy spends a few moments musing about his job the people he works with and Johnny and...

mostly just Johnny, really.

(shippy, but in a piney and SFW kinda way)

[AO3 Version Here]

The thing about being a fireman, the thing about those 24 hour shifts, was that you ended up getting to know your coworkers much more intimately than the average person. There was no way to avoid seeing them being human more often than necessarily comfortable - ambling out of bed in their underwear in the morning, with morning breath and morning voice and a brain that was, at best, half-working before the first cup of coffee. Or the second. Or the third.

(Sometimes Roy got the feeling that some of their brains never truly approached anything that could be classified as ‘fully working’, but that was neither here nor there)

He’d heard Cap talk about the world’s weirdest grocery lists in his sleep, and Johnny about being late for exams and Marco about something incomprehensible involving socks with teeth or something like that. He’d seen Chet drag himself towards the washroom in the middle of the night, gracelessly scratching his ass and picking his nose and barely managing to not run straight against the door frame. He’d seen nightmares, bad ones, and he’d seen people tell the wake-up tones ‘just five more minutes, mom’.

(Thankfully never Cap, and never on the radio, though wouldn’t that be a way to start the day…)

Usually all this errant humanity was pretty easy to ignore. You got used to it after the first couple weeks, and Roy in particular hadn’t really had to adjust after his time in the army, anyway.

Except…

Except for Johnny.

Naturally. Always against the grain, that one, always making his life so much more complicated than Roy could’ve imagined.

Always so human, so vulnerable.

And that, essentially, was why he was sitting at the top end of his bunk now, his legs drawn up to his chest, letting his gaze wander until it inevitably ended up resting on his partner again, wondering… wondering what? Even Roy himself wasn’t entirely sure.

They’d had a long, hard day, one of those that had seen them scale buildings and dive into the deceptively cold waves of the Pacific and cram themselves into strange holes in the ground (well, Johnny had been doing the cramming, but Roy had been the one who’d ended up having to dig him out when the whole thing had caved in on him), and Roy was still too wired to even consider falling asleep.

Johnny, for once, hadn’t had any such qualms; he’d practically fallen into bed the second Cap called lights out, and had been fast asleep in a minute or two.

Johnny was beautiful when he was asleep. He was always beautiful, but it was easier to see it like this, when he was holding still, without any of that needless posturing and that larger-than-life Gage Charm. Just Johnny, his partner, his best friend, at ease in a way he rarely was when awake. Sometimes, it seemed like Johnny’s every waking moment was a constant negotiation with the rest of the universe - ‘who am I and who are you and where does the one thing start and the other one end’. A constant back and forth of ‘am I too much’ and ‘am I good enough’, bumping up against the edges of common sense and society and a billion other things Roy himself navigated without a second thought. Sometimes he wondered where Johnny got all that energy from - it seemed like an exhausting way to live, constantly reinventing the wheel.

It was also mesmerizing. As beautiful as it could be hard to watch. Just as beautiful as Johnny like this, all languid, long, lean lines, the flickering city lights outside the station throwing soft, fluttery shadows across his face, making his lashes look even longer, his lips even more graceful.

(His steadily growing hair even more fluffy - which wasn’t exactly following regulations, but Cap hadn’t bothered complaining so far)

The rest of the world tended to look more vulnerable when asleep, without a way to control the way others perceived them, when any awake masquerading became useless. Johnny somehow managed to be just as vulnerable awake as he was asleep, just in a different way, the constant, never-ending subtext of “I’m here, I exist, please love me” Johnny tended to project in everything he did replaced by an almost visceral and deeply unsettling sense of fragility - his unrestrained, almost frantic energy while awake could make it entirely too easy to forget just how human he was, just a bundle of bones held together by a handful of ligaments and sinews and some frightfully lean muscles.

He’d kicked off his blanket at some point, and even through his undershirt in the dim light, Roy could see the sharp lines of his ribcage and his hip bones.

He shook his head and got up to grab something to drink - nothing good would ever come of Roy thinking about Johnny’s godforsaken hip bones, and he felt like he desperately needed a distraction. Maybe it would help. It probably wouldn’t, but at least he could tell himself he’d tried.

And indeed, the few minutes away hardly helped. If anything, they just gave him the opportunity to stand in the dark, empty rec room and wonder what would happen if Johnny were to wake up now and go out to look for him.

Nothing.

That’s what would happen, even on the probably-not-so-off chance that his feelings weren’t unrequited, because they were at work and because Roy was married and Johnny’d pigeonholed himself as a habitual skirt-chaser so thoroughly that he’d probably dump the love of his life just so he didn’t have to shop around for a new defining personality trait.

(Johnny really was a walking paradox - Roy would never be able to understand how somebody so clever could be so mind-boggingly stupid sometimes)

By the time Roy finally made his way back into the dorm, Johnny’s blanket had slipped to the floor entirely, and his friend had obviously started to get cold, curling in on himself and wrapping his slender arms around his chest, and the surge of misguided protectiveness that hit Roy was laughably strong and just as pointless.

He gave in to it, though. He could allow himself that much.

He picked up the blanket, untangled it as quietly as he could, and then, very slowly and carefully so as to not wake his sleeping partner (or, perhaps worse, any of the other guys), draped it over Johnny’s sleeping form before climbing back into his own bunk.

He didn’t look back over at Johnny - he’d given in to his silly little crush more than enough already.

And so, he missed the way Johnny slowly uncurled as he started to warm up and finally blinked awake, those long, long lashes quivering as he looked into the dim light. Johnny noticed the blanket, which he knew hadn’t been anywhere near him earlier, and fondly looked over to Roy, a tiny, secret smile playing at the corners of his lips.

He’d never bothered putting a name to that warm, fuzzy feeling he got whenever Roy did something like this and he wasn’t about to start now, half-awake and exhausted and in the middle of the night, but the blanket was warm and cozy and he felt alright, despite his sore arms and the nasty combination of sea salt and dirt that still clung to him despite a good, long shower, and that was just… really nice.

Maybe he’d figure out how to tell Roy that, one of these days.

#emergency!#summer of 51's #johnny gage #roy desoto #fanfic #penworks

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scribbling-stiks · 4 years ago

Text

AAR- XXXII - Packing Up

BOOM

Russia sits up at the noise with his eyes wide. The sky rumbles and the rain sounds a lot louder now. Russia stares around in the pitch black and hears someone whining softly across the room.

Another flash illuminates the room through the cracks in the curtain and he sees one of the kids sitting on one of the mats, curled up in a blanket.

"Who is there?" Russia asks quietly. The sky roars outside, loud enough to shake the walls.

"Is everything alright?" Russia asks.

A small whine replies. and then there is quiet except for the storm outside. Russia keeps his eyes trained on the figure, trying to figure out who it was in the middle of the room, and he feels his heart pounding in his chest.

'Is that one of the states?'

Then a quiet voice rings out.

"Can I sit with you guys?" Michigan asks quietly.

Russia's breath returns to him.

'It is one of the states.'

"Yes," Russia replies. Quiet shuffling slowly approaches and he hears someone sit down next to him in the blankets.

"Sorry," Michigan says quietly, "I just don't get much stuff like this...I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," Russia says softly, and his eyes begin to droop.

BANG

'That didn't sound like thunder.'

Russia tries to look in the direction of it, but can't see anything. Then he hears a small crack and his head whips around to see Michigan's face illuminated by a toxic green and a blur of green waving in front of him.

"What is that?"

"A glowstick," Michigan whispers, slowing his hand down enough for Russia to see it clearly.

BANG

The door rattles violently against what sounds like metal and wood.

Russia gets ready to stand up but Michigan grabs his arm and pulls him back down.

"Don't. Dixie and Fin already barricaded the doors," Michigan whispers, "they said that we shouldn't investigate if anything happens."

Russia nods and sits back down. America sleepily snuggles back into him, mumbling under his breath. Russia gasps a little in surprise and Michigan laughs quietly into his hands. America loops Michigan into the embrace and effortlessly pulls the kid in between them. Michigan squirms a little and sighs.

America leans his head against Russia's chest and Michigan just kinda shifts to stay comfortable.

"Has he done this before?" Russia asks curiously.

"Yeah," Michigan admits quietly, looking away, "...it's kinda why I wanted to sit with you guys."

Russia nods along, trying to ignore the booming thunder and intermittent flashes from outside.

"Dad hugs you if you're near him while he's sleeping," Michigan mutters as if trying to distract himself from the pounding outside, "and he doesn't wake up as long as you're not loud, so a lot of us... it's just easier than asking, you know? He doesn't mind most of the time, we just can't go inside if the door's locked."

'We don't have doors now anyway.'

"Are you okay?" Russia asks quietly.

"...I'm just-"

BANG

"-a little freaked out."

"Everything is alright. Whatever is outside will not get in," Russia promises, warily watching the door.

Michigan hums. The banging stops soon after and Russia begins drifting off to the rhythmic sound of the rain. His eyes droop, and he's out like a light.

When Russia wakes up again, the sounds of the storm had tapered off sometime in the night and now the silence is filled with the chirping of birds outside. A few rays of sunlight stream in through the gaps in the curtains.

Russia yawns and notices the goosebumps covering his arm.

'It's cold.'

Russia is about to sit up to stretch when he notices Vermont leaning against him and Michigan tucked under both his and America's arms. Russia smiles, briefly wondering what woke him up when he feels the children shifting. He closes his eyes again and pretends to still be asleep while the two kids slowly stand up and wander back into the middle of the room before collapsing together into piles of blankets.

Once they leave, Russia shivers.

'The heaters must have stopped working last night.'

Russia opens his eyes again and sees some of the kids signing to each other or reading, all of them wrapped in blankets and sitting close together. Around their faces are puffs of mist as they exhale, and the small clouds disappear into the frigid air.

Russia grabs a blanket, fuzzy and red, and reaches forward with a blanket shielded hand. He grabs America and pulls him in close. He drapes the blanket over the two of them and pulls America into his chest. America hums softly but doesn't pull away. Russia tangles his legs around America's and America wraps his arms around Russia.

The goosebumps disappear and Russia sneaks his arms under America's shirt and around his back.

'Like a space heater,' Russia thinks with a smile.

Russia tries to get as close to America as physics would allow and with the heat, America gives off, Russia melts into him. America shifts, but Russia chalks it up to America just moving in his sleep until America purposefully nudges Russia's cheek with his forehead.

"Hi," America mutters with a tired smile.

Russia stiffens a little, startled, and pulls America in protectively. After a moment, America's voice finally registers to his sleepy mind and he relaxes a little, sighing into America's hair.

"*Good morning,*" Russia mutters.

"You're being pretty cuddly. Something wrong?"

"*I'm cold,*" Russia whines.

America giggles quietly. They quiet down and Russia basks in the fuzzy feelings. Russia shivers a little when America rubs warm hands against his cool back before relaxing completely into America's hold. America props himself up, pulling Russia up with him. Russia smiles lazily.

America pulls his hands away and Russia feels a little disappointed, but curious as to what he's doing. America signs something to New York, who gives a curt response with sharp and swift movements.

'It fits his attitude.'

Russia opens his mouth to ask, but America put a finger over his mouth to shush him. America looks back up and signs something else. New York nods and prods at New Jersey, signing with the same motions, as if to pass on the message to him. New Jersey huffs and crosses his arms and New York scowls. The two have a silent argument in hands and New York comes out smug. New Jersey gets up with a pout and brings some paper and a pen to America. America takes it, sighing something that Russia assumes is in thanks and he begins to scribble something on it.

"Some of the kids aren't having a good morning. What happened yesterday and the stress of all this has them a bit wired," America writes, "They should be okay as long as they don't get overwhelmed."

Russia nods in understanding.

America tosses the things into the blankets before grabbing Russia by his midsection and pulling him close. Russia smiles and leans into the motion and warmth. America leans his head up and peppers Russia's face with feathery kisses, silent and light.

Russia closes his eyes and smiles. He nuzzles into America's shoulder, and America hugs him tightly. Russia feels his heart swell inside his chest and he grins. He kisses America's cheek, and America turns to face him with a smirk.

"You missed," America mouths.

Russia's eyes widen.

"*What?*" Russia mouths, baffled.

America turns away, pouting a little, before leaning up and connecting their mouths into a short kiss. Russia relaxes a little and America puts his head back on Russia's chest. Russia kisses America's hairline.

"*I love you,*" Russia mumbles, his eyes closed.

America pecks his chin, and Russia notes with pride that his face is pink. Russia looks up to the rest of the room when the shuffling grows louder. He sees the older states encouraging and helping the younger kids to pack up their supplies. Russia sits up and America tries to pull him back down. Russia shakes him off and shivers. The cold air hits him as he lets the blanket slide off his back.

Tennessee looks up at him with a smile and walks over with Russia's thicker(better) coat, now with a subtle stitch keeping the front together.

She signs something before handing it over. Russia wants to express his thanks but doesn't know how. He looks at America to help. America takes Russia's hand and guilds it upward. America opens Russia's fingers and shows Russia to press the fingertips of his hand, open-palmed, to his chin, and then bring it down in a small arc.

Tenessee smiles before waving and walking away to help Rhode Island and Delaware fold up the mats and tuck them into the protective plastic cases. Russia dawns the coat and shivers at the cold material. Normally he wouldn't need anything nearly this thick, and memories of colder winters with less protective clothing flit through his mind.

'I am still recovering,' Russia reminds himself, trying to get rid of the shame staining his heart, 'this is okay. I need to stay warm.'

Then something suddenly covers his eyes.

He freezes.

Pitch black.

So dark.

Cold.

Quiet.

Too quiet.

The quiet shuffling of children contorts and memories flash through his mind. Fear grows in his chest. Waiting for the horribly sharp claws to find them. Waiting for that sniffing monstrosity to tear them to bits.

"Russia?"

The cloth over his eyes is quickly removed and he takes a deep breath, trying to blink away the memories of the pitch-black alcove, the darkest black he'd ever seen. He inhales deeply and stares into a bright patch of sunlight on the ground.

"Rue?" America calls again. His tone is quiet and filled with worry and guilt.

Russia can't think straight enough to respond, just trying to soothe his panic. Blood roars in his ears and a static fuzz fills the space in his mind where his thoughts should've been. He fights to show himself that he's okay.

'Light,' Russia reminds himself, 'there is light here. I am okay. There are birds here. I am okay.'

He takes a deep breath in through his nose and slowly out through his mouth. His racing heart calms down slightly and the noise around him slowly fades back in and he forces his muscles to relax. He can finally tear his eyes away from the patch of sun to look around the room. Everything regains its colors and he hears the footsteps and muffled, childish giggling from the kids sitting around the building.

'I'm okay,' he reminds himself.

He swallows back the panic creeping up his throat and watches Iowa and Montana try to start a game of tag with some of the other states. The mental fog recedes and he starts moving again. He very quickly notices his back is sore from being so tense, but he decides to ignore it. The states begin tearing down the makeshift curtains and bathe the building in sunlight.

Russia sighs and rubs his face.

"*That was not fun,*" Russia mutters.

"What'd you say?" America asks very quietly from behind him, his fearful undertone causing Russia to turn all his attention to him.

"Stars?" Russia asks, concerned.

He turns around to see America sitting up on the remaining blankets, half wearing his jacket, staring down at his lap. Russia follows his gaze and sees America forcibly crumpling the fabric of his hat in his lap.

"Can I have this?" Russia asks gently, pointing to his hat.

America gives a forceful nod before shoving out in front of him. Russia takes hold of it and America lets go and retracts his hands. Russia examines the fabric and catches America looking up at him as he did so, a horrified look on America's face. Russia doesn't see anything other than a few wrinkles that would indicate anything had happened, so he puts it on and quickly adjusts it.

"I didn't break it, right?" America asks quietly.

"No, you didn't," Russia replies calmly, "but why did you have it?"

"I... I was trying to put it on over your eyes," America says reluctantly, his eyes going to the floor and his hands bunching up his coat, "but when I did, you froze and weren't answering me. I took it off but I didn't know what else to do."

'That's why it got so dark.'

"I'm sorry Rue. I don't know why or what I was thinking or anything. I just did and you..."

"The quiet and dark just reminded me of the tunnels," Russia explains evenly, leaving the 'I panicked and almost had a full-blown flashback,' part unsaid, though America seemed to pick up on it none-the-less.

"I'm so sorry. I-" America rambles, his face falling.

'He looks like he's about to cry.'

"It's okay, Stars," Russia says gently, "you didn't know. I didn't know."

"I won't ever do it again!" America blurts out, "I promise. I won't scare you like that again. I don't ever want to do that to you again. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Stars," Russia says, "and that's all I can ask. We're okay. Everything is okay."

America growls and swipes at the few tears on his face.

"God, I just scared the s*** out of you, and you're comforting me. I'm sorry. Are you okay?" America rambles, grabbing Russia's hands, and Russia feels his heart shine, "your hands are still shaking. D*** it. F***. I love you. I'm sorry. We aren't in the caves. There's sunlight outside. We're okay. We're out."

The reassurance fills Russia with relief and he smiles brightly. America smiles back while looking at him, but when America looks away, his face falls. Russia's heart melts.

"Stars," Russia coaxes, "don't be sad. It's okay"

"Okay," America mutters, still staring at the floor.

Russia tilts America's chin up and their eyes meet. Russia lets his eyes slide shut and he leans in and captures America's mouth in a tender kiss. America leans in and kisses back, throwing his arms around Russia's neck. Russia wraps his arms around America's back and pulls him forward.

The two pull away and America stares up with enough fondness to fill an ocean. Russia felt like his heart couldn't take any more of America's cuteness. Russia stands up and pulls America up with him.

"Let's go," Russia says with a smile.

America grins and drags Russia by his arm around the building, packing things up and violently shoving things into the trunks of the cars and under the seats after the truck beds are full.

Russia smiles, just enjoying his time with his favorite person.

Table of Contents

#rusame #ch russia #ch america #statehumans #countryhumans

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kingsten · 4 years ago

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CELINE: So often in my life I’ve been with people and shared beautiful moments like traveling or staying up all night and watching the sunrise, and I knew it was a special moment, but something was always wrong. (...) But I’m happy to be with you. You couldn’t possibly know why a night like this is so important to my life right now, but it is. I think this is a great morning.

JESSE: It is a great morning. Do you think we’d have other mornings like this?

@cir ——— 14.) The timeline in which they took a chance they didn’t in canon.

Brian traces the silver band on Peter’s ring finger.

It’s an unpretentious piece of vintage work with an engraving of a mostly worn away rose. Peter shifts, pouting even in his sleep from the sunlight hitting his face. Brian watches quietly, curious of what Peter’s reaction will be when he wakes up. Brian can hardly remember most of what transpired the night prior but it’s coming back to him in hazy fragments but mainly the crumpled 77$ receipt from a wedding venue with their vows messily scrawled out on the back is the main indicator that last night was not a dream.

Peter, after sleeping in for a few more minutes stirs again. He groans, rubs his eyes with his hands then freezes in that position. Brian holds his breath as Peter pulls his hand away to inspect the cold metal while still half asleep, half hangover. It takes a minute for the significance to register then his eyes cut suddenly to Brian who holds up his own hand to show off the near identical ring on his own hand.

———

“We met at a party” Peter states but Brian shakes his head. “or it was the cafe?”

“I think it was in that one class— remember?” At least that’s when he thinks is the first time he saw Peter. “Business fourteen something. I showed up for three classes but couldn’t understand french so I dipped.” Jae’s eyes roll so hard the wired frames slip down to the bridge of his nose and he slides them back up. “I don’t care about how you met I just want to know why you got married? Who the fuck gets married after knowing each other half a year?”

“Actually, we’ve known each other five months and a half. I know because we met after Peter’s birthday and— ” Jae and Peter both give Brian a hard look and his voice falls but he finishes his thought. “and It’s...uh, now... december.” then sits back in his chair. Jae holds the look longer than Peter before he turns back to his cousin and shakes his head. “RIP to your taxes.... have you even told your mom yet?” It’s a valid question and Brian’s ears perk up though he doesn’t expect that he has given Brian hasn’t mentioned it to his own parents either.

It’s a bridge they’ll cross once they get to it.

Now, regardless of the time and date of their technical first meeting. Brian likes to think that their official meeting was in the metro, while waiting for the last train to come. He remembers this clearly because it was the first time he’d seen Peter outside of the cafe or rather, to be more specific, without a laptop in front of his nose. Sure, even in this case it was tucked safely beneath his arm to be opened on the chance that there’s a free seat available.

“What are you always working on?” Brian asks, sitting down without invitation in the seat across from Peter. The fact Peter is distracted enough by the question to leave his laptop closed is a small victory in Brian’s book.

“Excuse me?”

Brian is used to Peter’s blunt speech. In the cafe he quietly says his order then goes back to being silent unless he’s on a business call. The lonewolf silent type is kinda Peter’s thing even when in the midst of a group of coworkers. But there’s something about him that catches Brian’s attention and he’s been working slowly to chip away at that outer exterior by bringing him extra sweets on the side in an effort to get to that other side of Peter that Brian’s yet to see but knows is there. And tonight he’s got a few minutes to kill. They’re not exactly strangers— at least not by Brian’s definition. They both have a few stops before they part ways. What better time than now? “Are you a business man? My dad is always working on finance stuff on his laptop too.” Peter remains silent. Brian takes it as his sign to continue. “He owns a shop. A cafe bookshop in Jersey.”

“So you are American.” Peter speaks up and it catches Brian by surprise. “I thought you might be Canadian.”

The fact Peter thought about him makes Brian grin a little before he nods.

That’s the subject that breaks the ice and gets them to talk, so much so that Brian misses his stop but pretends that he’s getting off at the same station as Peter where they both get off then talk even more. Brian’s able to draw out interesting thoughts and commentary from Peter and vice versa. Things like what Peter does on his laptop to discussing their biggest fears, observations of their surroundings and their shared experiences of being only children are brought up. They even touch on the topic of love and how it impacted Brian’s recent breakup and Peter’s long past break up.

It’s in the middle of that that his phone vibrates, cutting them both off mid-sentence.

“Oh, I’ve kept you for too long.” Peter says apologetically as he glances around their surroundings, uncertain of what time it is but Brian shakes his head. “Honestly, I could’ve stayed on that subway until...forever. I like talking to you.” He says before taking another glance at his phone. “It’s just. There’s this thing I promised a friend that I’d— “

“It’s ok.” Peter interrupts. “It’s late and we should both head home.”

Brian nods. “Yeah. I’m sorry for interrupting your evening. I know you said that you had work to do and God, It’s so late— I’m sure you haven’t eaten yet.”

“No, no, no it’s alright. I don’t eat after 7.”

“Is that like a french culture thing?” Brian asks, curious. He doesn’t get it but he can begrudgingly respect it. It tells him Peter’s very disciplined or likes schedules which he could’ve guessed. Peter laughs, and it still strikes Brian how much his whole face changes with it even as he shakes his head. “Doesn’t everyone do that?” Peter replies, eyes still warm. Brian almost forgets to answer the question. After a beat he finds his words. “Oh,uh, I sometimes wake up at like 2 AM to make ramyeon. Don’t tell my roommates but it’s the only time i don’t have to share with them.”

“You should get going then. Is it your roommates wanting to know where you are?” Peter comments, nodding to Brian’s hand when the phone goes off repeatedly. “It’s the group chat. Nothing important.”

Just Jae asking where the fuck is Brian. Kate wondering why the hell hasn’t Brian shown up yet. Angelina wondering when more drinks are coming and the inevitable: who is going to kick these people out of the house after their social filters take a nosedive after the clock strikes midnight in, roughly an hour to thirty minutes.

Yet, Brian is still hesitant to say goodbye. Peter doesn’t move either and it’s almost as if he’s waiting for Brian to make the first move to end their time together.

“So there’s this party over at my place tonight. I — I say that like it’s not going on right now but you should come over and we can have a few drinks, talk about uh what did you say you’re reading Fred....?”

“Friedrich Nietzsche.”

“Wait, like, for fun?” Brian has to take a minute to let that information sink in and almost reconsiders his previous invitation because frankly he can’t think of anything more boring than Nietzshe. Peter shifts his weight, waiting for Brian to get back to the point. ”Ok, maybe we won’t talk about that but do you want to go? I’m sure by now you’ve figured out I’m not a psycho.”

"What if I am?” Peter smirks. Brian gives him a once over, standing back like he’s truly considering the possibility then leans in close, too close. “I don’t know what if I’m into that?” Peter grows quiet again, blinking a few times and uncertain of what Brian’s about to do before the other leans away again.

“Come to the party with me.” Brian turns up the charm voice low, warm and inviting. ”It’ll be fun.” Peter knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s clear by now that he’s hinting for him to at least stay the night. He could say no, tell him that he’s not interested in parties but then he gives a small nod and the rest of the night moves in a blur. That tends to happen when Brian is involved. Time seems to blur from one minute to the next in the way that:

One minute they’re in the park, then the vague familiarity of Brian’s place — loud music, flashing lights, pushed closer by a crowd of dancing people. And a few drinks in it’s Peter who breaks the tension between them and throws caution to the wind when he kisses Brian.

Time and everything else moves entirely too fast after that. Some days they both have to take a seat and remind themselves that it’s ok to go slow, but it’s hard when the clock is ticking down and they both know Brian graduates in December and after that? Where do they stand?

Six months after their chat on the subway they wake up in some shit hotel in Vegas. Bed hair, hung over, admiring the vintage silver on their ring fingers together that Brian picked up for cheap in a pawnshop in L.A. Peter, who always finds ways to surprise Brian is more calm than he anticipated. Brian takes advantage of the slowing in time to make Peter laugh just to see his face transform in that way that made him infatuated before they move onto the next chapter.

It is the start of many good mornings.

#cir #i got the idea for this randomly #obv based of before sunrise but i wanted to write you fluff since i haven't written fluff for them in so long #idk why i just love the idea of them getting hitched in vegas during a road trip or something right before brian is supposed to graduate and #go back to margate in the canon timeline #and they just move fast but like fall in love just as fast

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surveys-at-your-service · 4 years ago

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Survey #298

“i don’t like what i am becoming / wish i could just feel something”

Do you have sensitive skin? Very. Do you wear necklaces or earrings more? Just my tragus piercing, really. I only ever wear a necklace sometimes if I'm taking a "nice" picture. Rings or bracelets? I currently don't wear any bracelets, but I do always have one ring on. How many toilets are in your house? Two. Is your current crush younger than you? By just a couple years. Are you a lighter complexion than your father? Yes; he's very tan, especially his arms from being a mailman. Ranch or barbeque sunflower seeds? I don't like sunflower seeds. Do you know the first five books of the Bible in order? No. Do you have a pet fish? Nah, they're not my thing. Do you believe being gay is a choice or a "disorder"? Neither; I believe it's a genetic mutation. It defies biology and the very motive for life, but I always say that a mutation does not, in any way, equate to "wrong." I am extremely adamantly pro-gay rights and bisexual myself, so I can't shit-talk it. What are some of your favourite sounds? Crunching leaves, rain gently tapping on windows, windchimes, birdsong... mainly nature sounds. There are others, I'm just blanking right now. Are you a warm weather or cold weather person? Cold, 100%. What time do you wake up? What for? This spans over a massive gap, honestly... I can wake up as early as 5 or as late as 9:30. Most often, it's pretty early, and I call that my "trial" of being awake, lol... because I will almost without fail go back to sleep for a couple more hours. Hell, that happens even if I sleep on the later side. Do you ever listen to music to fall asleep to? I used to do that in middle and maybe some of high school, I think; I'd fall asleep with my iPod on and earbuds in. I haven't done that in a very long time, though. Could you spend the rest of your life with someone who had bad taste in music? ... Yes? Their taste in music has nothing to do with them as a person???? Do you still talk to the person you fell hardest for? No, and it's best I don't. Have you ever wanted to get drunk and get your mind off everything? Yes, and that's how I found out I'm far from a lightweight. I wasn't going to drink more than I actually wanted to drink just to get wasted. Did you love playing hide and seek as a kid? Yeah. Who is the last child you held? My youngest niece. Have you ever woken up not knowing where you were? Maybe for a few moments after my surgery? I don't really recall. When is the last time you made the wrong choice in anything? Every fucking day when I decide what to do with my time. What is the most interesting thing in the room you are in? My snake, I guess. She's a champagne morph ball python. When washing your hands, do you wet your hands or put soap on first? I put on soap first. When was the hardest you ever cried? What was the circumstance? Probably when Mom literally dragged me home after I tried to walk to Jason's to talk the night of the breakup. I lost my fucking mind. Which gift cards do you have in your wallet? I don't think I have any. Coke or Pepsi? Coke. I hate Pepsi. What is better: cute smile, or amazing eyes? A cute smile. What song are you listening to? "Drilled a Wire Through My Cheek" by Blue October is on currently. Name your best friend(s): Sara. Do you know any mechanical stuff about cars? Nope. Last night you felt? I wasn't suicidal, but still kinda wanted to die lmao. Do you still watch Disney channel? No. How do you like your eggs? I only enjoy them scrambled, and preferably with cheese. What’s your all-time favorite song? "False Flags" by Massive Attack. If you could be any TV character, who would you be and why? Idk, I don't watch TV enough. Maybe Donna from That '70s Show. Very strong and independent, outspoken, and not to mention she has great taste. I find her to be a good female character to look up to. Do you ever come up with really good ideas for stories or movies? Do you do anything with them? Yeah; I'll try to integrate them into RP characters and plots. What sort of things do you post on your Tumblr? Vintage photos, screen caps, girly things? It's a Markiplier cesspit lmao. Sometimes I'll reblog shit I find funny. I've been very inactive on it, though. Have you ever had a dream that you couldn’t shake, even for days after you woke up? Oh yes. When was the last time you felt like a nuisance, or unwanted? Recently, I'm sure. When was the last time your dreams were crushed, or at least hindered? I dunno. How’s school going? I'm not in school. Are you angry at anyone right now? Myself. The last person to say they loved you? Mom. When is the last time you laughed hard? Hard? I'm really not sure. Are there any words on your shirt? No, it's just a blank black tank. Does it take a lot to make you cry? NOPE. Do you tell your parents everything? No. Do you get bored easily? I'm bored to the point of thinking being dead would be more fun at some point almost every day. I have anhedonia badly. I'm honestly starting to think I've over-medicated to a numbing degree so am trying to wean off some things. Have you ever burned someone's picture? No. How long was your last nap? Maybe three hours? I was really, really tired, though. Can you name the last time you felt happy? Probably when Sara and I talk-talked for the first time in a while. When was the last time you played with sidewalk chalk? Oh, I have zero clue. Probably not since I was a kid. Do you have friends obsessed with World of Warcraft? Bro wtf don't @ me. Have you ever punched a hole in the wall? No. Have you ever told someone you hated them? The only time I've seriously said that was to my dad before we reconciled after the divorce. What was the color of the bridesmaid dresses of the last wedding you went to? I actually don't remember... Favorite thing to do on Facebook? See The Memes. Do you wear flip flops, regardless of weather, all the time? I SAID don't @ me. What is in store for your future? I both do and don't want to know. Have you ever seen a live bat? Yeah. I adore bats. Do you chew on straws? No. Do you have any trophies? Yeah. Who’s the last person that creeped you out? Some guy who walked into the store I was at with Mom, continuously looking back and forth. Would you believe an ex if she/he said they love you? Well, that would depend on the person. Have you ever been kissed in the rain? Yeah. Anything exciting happening soon? My half-sister and her kids are visiting tomorrow and staying for a few days. It's a surprise for Mom. Do you keep a diary or journal (offline or online)? You could say these surveys kinda are. I don't have a designated "diary," though. When was the last time you took a painkiller? What was it for and did it work? I had womanly issues a few days back, and yeah, it helped. Have you ever had to go and rescue someone because their car broke down? When was the last time that happened? I mean, I've driven /with/ Mom to do so. I myself don't drive. What’s one sweet/candy you miss from your childhood? Is this item something you can still buy or has it been discontinued? Y'all remember Baby Bottle Pops??? 'Cuz I do, and I love those fuckin things. I still see them sometimes in gas stations. When was the last time you used some kind of moisturiser? A few days back for my hands. They were painfully dry. If you’re under lockdown/stay at home orders at the moment, are you struggling or managing okay? A bitch is s t r u g g l i n g. Has anything positive come out of the pandemic for you? Fuck no. Do you wear a watch? Is it analogue/digital? Does it it have things like a step-counter in it? No. Do you have any gifts from Christmas that you still haven’t opened or used? Not used, yes. Well, then some things are still in their boxes, but they're unwrapped. Do you know how to tie a tie? If so, who taught you? No. Who was your last missed call from? Did you ring that person back? Some number I didn't recognize, so no. When was the last time you had some kind of problem with your internet connection? Is this something that happens often? A few days back. It has occasional instances where it'll go out but come back on shortly. Do you have a favourite celebrity chef? No. Do you prefer pizza or pasta? Pizza. Have you ever volunteered anywhere before? What was the reason behind doing so? Once at PetSmart when they had dogs to adopt out, which was for school volunteer hours. I spent time with them, giving them attention and taking them outside. I also had two other animal-related volunteer days, but each was only a few hours because my fucking weak-ass body couldn't handle them. Have you ever been truly obsessed with something? What was it and how did you come to feel that way? I have an incredibly obsessive personality; I could probably name near on a dozen or so things I've been genuinely obsessed with. I don't know what it means to love in moderation. Some are/were pleasant obsessions, some aren't/weren't. Does it bother you when people turn up at your house without asking or waiting to be invited? Yes. Are you taller or shorter than average height? I'm the average for an American woman. Do you have any family members whose beliefs or ways of life completely embarrass you? YUP YUP YUP YUP. Are you scared of heights? Yes. When was the last time you lost something of great sentimental value? Did you ever end up finding it again? I don't know. Have you ever injured anyone in self-defense? No. What food do you find to be the most filling? Is this something you eat a lot of? In relation to its portion sizes, oatmeal or eggs. I can't have a whole lot of either. I wouldn't say I eat either a lot, but oatmeal is more common. Have you ever heard people talking badly about you behind your back? Did you confront them about it? Yes, and in at least two instances. Do you consider “home” to be the place you were born, or is it somewhere you create for yourself? I consider it to be my childhood home; not the one I was actually born in, but only because I was way too young to remember and we only lived there like, maybe two years into my life. Have you ever experienced having to leave your home due to a fire, or due to the threat of fire? No, thankfully. When was the last time you felt you were in a dangerous situation? When we had a serious tornado warning Christmas Eve. Yes. In winter. Are there any superstitions that you believe in? Which ones and what are your reasons for doing so? No. Are there any series of books/films that you never finished - either because you got bored of waiting or just lost interest? Oh, I'm sure. I Wouldn't say I lost interest in a lot though, I just wasn't interested enough, like for The Hunger Games. Which theme park is your favorite? I haven't been to nearly enough to know. Like, just one. Do you eat healthy? I try to be, at least. Though I've been doing very poorly about it lately because I'm a emotional goddamn eater and am having a very hard time. Do/did your parents fight often? They're divorced for a reason. Do YOU fight with them often? No. Would you say that you're respectful? I hope so. Are you a fan of Green Day? Yeah, I love them. Would you rather have 4 kids at one time or never have a kid? Jesus Christ, never. I don't want any anyway. Do you think 'friends with benefits' relationships really ever work? No. Do you or have you ever known a drug addict? Yes. Do you turn off the water while brushing your teeth or leave it on? I always turn it off. No reason to waste it. Do you have any nieces or nephews? Lots, if you include my half-siblings. Are caterpillars more cute or disgusting? I tend to find them cute. What's your homepage when you bring up the internet? Google. Was the last book you read for fun or was it for some type of assignment? It was for fun. Have you ever dated someone you met online? Yes. Would you go on a date with someone right now if they asked? Depends on who's asking. Do you own any band tees? Oh, I have lots. Off the top of my head, some that I frequently wear are Metallica, Otep, and Korn. Do you know someone who wears a wig? No. Have you ever kissed someone under fireworks? I don't think so. What kind of dressing do you eat on your salad, if any? I strongly prefer the Olive Garden kind, but I also enjoy ranch. What genre of music do you listen to the most? Metal of some sort. Have you ever dated someone who was way overprotective of you? No. Do you personally know any cops? No. How many different colleges have you gone to? Three. How much stress can you handle? Not much at all. How confident are you in achieving your dreams? I ain't got the slightest clue by this point in my life. What is one thing you thought you’d never do but have done or are doing? There's a lot of things, most bad, some good. Do you have to take medication for any mental illness? A lot. Do you like looking at pictures? It depends on what's in them. Specifically pictures from my past, that's usually a big no. Do you believe the dead can have connections with the living? I guess in very vague ways. Which family member do you get along with the most? Well, define "get along with." I by far have the strongest relationship with my mom, but we fight sometimes. As for who I stay on the most stable ground with, that's probably my dad. Would you ever be able to become a vegan? I know I couldn't, but I'd love to. How did you meet your newest friend? Who even IS my newest friend... Have you ever watched the show Teen Mom? What did you think about it? No, and I think it's an awful fucking idea for a television show. Put a spotlight on and money into teen pregnancy, yeah, that's a genius plan. Are you old enough to remember MySpace? Yeah. Do you think you’ll be a good mother/father? I wouldn't be. Do you have trouble deleting your text messages? I don't need to. Is there something that you haven’t told anyone that you actually would like to tell someone? No. Have you ever been called a tease? Yeah. Do people ever make fun of your religion or lack thereof? No. Do you say/do things a lot for shock effect? No? What was the last compliment you gave a guy? I probably told my nephew Ryder he was a good brother. Was one of your grandpas in a war? Maybe? Idk. I never knew either well at all. Have you screamed in a pillow before? Yes. What do you like more, acoustic or electric? Electric. Have you ever ordered something off a commercial on television? No. What's worse, having someone mad or disappointed in you? Disappointed. Do you still consider Pluto a planet? Yes. Didn't they reinstate it as one, anyway? Right now, are you at a high, leveled, or low point? What's lower than "low?"

#survey #surveys #questions #questionnaire #lyrics: ''i am machine'' by three days grace

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thiswasinevitableid · 5 years ago

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#5 Sternclay please? SFW or NSFW, doesn't matter to me. Thank you!

I went NSFW, minor CW for light D/S and a brief mention of suicide.

5 Should I update my outfit again? I think they like my new boots but the cape didn’t get the reaction I was hoping for

“Okay, I want your honest opinion.” Barclay turns towards the communication screen.

On the screen, Indrid Cold raises an eyebrow, “My honest, unvarnished opinion?”

“Yeah.”

His friend throws his silver haired head back and cackles, the kind of supervillain laugh that makes Barclay jealous, “Oh, oh my friend, that is the most absurd get up I have ever seen on any hero, villain, anit-hero, supermodel, or psuedovillain.”

Barclay sags, “that’s kinda what I figured.”

“I mean, the tight black tank-top? The black pants? Those boots, goodness, did you get rid of your modified hiking boots?”

“No. Pretty sure he liked those.” He mumbles.

“Ah haaah.” Indrid tents his fingers, leaning forward with a grin, “still pining for your man in black, I see.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Barclay, I doubt changing your outfit is going to bring him over to your point of view. And what happened to the trans-pride patterned flannel top you got for the last time? I recall you being proud of how it flattered your physique?”

“He didn’t even mention it.”

“Wasn’t he chasing you off government property at the time?”

“So? He’s commented on things like that before. Uggggh.” Barclay slumps down in his command chair, “How did you get the Ranger to move things to the next level?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”

Barclay stares him down. Indrid stares right back.

Finally, his friend sighs, “My wires got crossed during a fight and I kissed him instead of headbutting him. Not one of my prouder moments. Though it has decreased the number of fights in my life and increased the number of orgasms.”

“Don’t think that’ll work. No offense to the Ranger, but Agent X is all business. I try kissing him, he’ll taze me or some shit.”

“Well then, you’ll have to get creative. Perhaps...oh drat, he’s early.”

Barclay’s about to ask who when a crash echoes offscreen.

“We should catch up again soon, Barclay.” As the feed goes dark, Indrid turns and shouts, “You green-clad nuisance, I just had that door fixed!”

Barclay shuts off his end of the communication, stands and stretches as he regards the security feeds from his cameras scattered through the woods. Being fifty miles from the nearest town was supposed to make him feel safer; lately it makes him the frustrating combo of lonely and paranoid.

Then again, does it really count as paranoia if Agent X is always on his tail? The man is intelligent, and has government resources behind him. If he wants to find Barclay, Barclay has a bad feeling he’ll be found.

Worse, he suspects he wouldn’t mind being found.

That’s part of why he’d called Indrid. Yes, he wanted feedback on his new look, but Indrid is one of the few people he trusts to understand his situation. They each chose cryptid aliases (Mothman and Bigfoot). They fell into villainy through similar channels; Indrid from being chased out of towns with (usually figurative) pitchforks one too many times when he was just trying to help, Barclay because he’d learned to survive mostly on his own and grown tired of seeing certain kinds of evil rewarded while things that didn’t even count as evil were harshly punished. But Indrid also understood what it meant to get a crush on the very person who was hunting you.

He knows the affection is one-sided. Agent X is the put-together, cultured, cosmopolitan; Barclay is not (were you to ask his friends, they would argue that being tidy, well-read, and widely traveled shakes out to the same thing).

The elevator ride from his underground hideout to the main cabin is brief. Another ding in his villainy score is that he really loves his rustic, cozy home, and only uses his fancier tech for work. What’s the point of a suite in some skyscraper? You can’t even have a proper back porch.

Maybe he should start a fire in the fireplace, or read that stack of food magazines he has squirreled away. He could reheat dinner too, homemade green onion pancakes and bao for one.

In any case, he’s not going to get anything serious done tonight, as he doesn’t really scheme in the way his fellow villains do. His actions are a tad more impulsive, in response to the government or certain corporations doing corrupt shit. Besides, the forecast calls for a snowstorm, and he’d rather not get stranded in the woods.

After settling on the couch he picks up the top magazine, a travel issue.

Twenty romantic getaways off the beaten path

Hmmmm, would Agent X like the beach? Or is he more of a mountains guy?

He should read a different article

8 recipes to cook for a special someone

What the fuck, this is supposed to be the travel issue, not the valentines day issue.

After sorting through the pile, he grabs the Halloween issue from last year and heads upstairs. He needs to sleep, only partially because sleep might keep him from daydreaming about his arch-nemisis.

The black boots come off and he sets them in his closet. Hops onto the bed and stretches out.

Somewhere in the middle of a fascinating article on cast iron pans, he falls asleep.

When he wakes up, his arms are trapped above his head and someone else is reading his magazine.

“I’d been meaning to read this issue. Their writing is always excellent.” Agent X looks up, smiling mildly.

“Glad I could help. Now help me back by untying me.”

Agent X sighs, “You know very well I can’t do that.”

“So what, you break in here just to read my shit?”

“Of course not. Actually, I didn’t choose to come this time.” he stands, producing a slender, silver device from his sleeve, “In fact, I’m being reassigned.”

“Wait, how the fuck is that even a thing? You’re a ‘hero’ you pick your enemies.”

“No, I’m a government agent. And they’ve decided that you are not nearly a large enough threat for me to keep chasing you. Never mind that I devoted years of my life to the endeavor.” Barclay finds the bitterness oddly flattering. As the agent talks, Barclay moves his hands; there’s a reason he taught his security AI ASL. The mirror behind his enemy flickers to life, showing him a video feed of the Snowspeeder Agent X used to get there.

“They were going to assign me to chase The Mothman, but his nemesis is….very territorial and they decided that was not a wise move.”

Barclay can’t help snorting out a laugh.

“This isn’t funny.”

“Trust me, that bit’s hilariou-oh shit” he registers the solemn look on Agent X’s face, “Are you supposed to fucking kill me?”

The tricky thing about a nemesis who wears glorified sunglasses is that it makes his face hard to read most times, but right now he looks horrified.

“No. I, I was allowed to decide how best to handle you as a threat, and I do not believe you’re that dangerous. So I’m just going to install a tracking chip in your spine and be on my way.”

“Like hell you are.” Barclay curls in defensively, signs “destroy.” In the mirror, the snowspeeder silently explodes.

“Barclay, please, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“Don’t fucking tag me like some wild animal then.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

Barclay growls, “That’s been your line for three fucking years. You’ve got choices, agent, we all do.”

“You’re right. And you could have chosen something other than a life of crime.”

“Don’t act like you know what I choices I was given. And don’t come any closer with that thing.”

Agent X takes a half step before Barclays feet connect with his chest, sending him clattering into the dresser and the tracker pen under the bed.

“Shoulda tied those too agent!” With all his might he yanks on the cuffs snapping the wrung of the headboard.

“Is this really how you want our last interaction to go?” Agent X stands, nightstick coming free from his belt.

“Nope.” Barclay charges him, the agent sliding gracefully out of is path. Just as they pass, Barclay spins, cuffs connecting with the agents hand.

They glow green, accepting the fingerprint.

“Damn it.” The Agent turns on a dime, launching at him.

“Three years, agent, I know your gadgets as well as you do. Sorry about the speeder.”

He points at the mirror and Agent X glances away momentarily to look.

“Shit.”

“Yep. Have fun getting back on foot. If you stop fighting, I can loan you a snow-cat.”

Agent X turns the stun function of his nightstick on in response.

“C’mon really?!” Barclay growls, pounces before the agent has a chance to react, and hurls him into the mirror.

It shatters, and the agent falls, crumpled and clutching his arm, to the ground. Barclay straddles him, pinning him on his stomach, immaculate black suit ripped in the back.

“Okay, let’s try this again: You’re going to stop attacking me, break that tracker thing in half, and then I’ll give you the keys to something that can get you out of here.”

“I can’t, I cannot fail this mission.”

Barclay does his best, wicked smirk, “In that case, I get one more thing for all the trouble you’ve caused.”

With that, he rips off Agent X’s mask and goggles.

The face beneath them is better than he ever envisioned: sharp cheekbones, blue eyes, movie star handsome in every way.

His gaze is unflinching, enraged, and when his fingers curl minutely Barclay grabs his hand and pries it open.

In the center is white, cylindrical pill.

“Is this...fuck, is this a suicide pill?”

“Yes. Now give it back.”

“Not a fucking chance.” He stands, crosses to the window and chucks the pill out into the night, “Christ, agent, do you really think I’m going to torture you?”

When he turns back, arms crossed, the veneer of Agent X’s expression cracks, and he presses his face into the floor with a shuddering gasp.

“It’s p-protocol. If, if my identity is compromised.”

He wants to be moved by the tears in that voice, but he’s still pretty pissed.

“You’d swallow a pill for them, just like that. Shit, they really do brainwash you guys.”

“It’s not that.” The agent raises his head, spits out blood, “I still have family. If an enemy knows who I am, they could go after them for leverage. Ending my own life keeps the people I love safe.”

The fight goes out of him and he sighs, “Look, I’m not gonna go after your family, I promise. I won’t share your identity either; I know you’ve probably figured out the identities of people I care about and haven’t ratted them out. Consider this a thank you for that.”

“They’ll terminate me anyway.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“That’s protocol.”

“Fuck protocol.”

The agent giggles, the sound increasingly hysterical, “I’m quite the triple threat; in one move I lose my job, my safety, and my purpose. I guess I live on your floor now.”

“I’m not gonna make you live on my floor.”

“Your holding cell, then.”

“Uhhhh” Barclay rubs his arm, “I don’t have one. It’s not like anyone besides you has ever tried to infiltrate here.”

“Please tell me you have a guest room.” The agent is still hiccuping laughs.

“Yeah. I can fix it up real quick for you.”

Agent X sits up, wincing, “You’re really letting me stay?”

“I mean, yeah? No way I’m sending you back to people who we know will kill you. I know you think I’m a villain, but I don’t really want people getting hurt. And I respect you as an adversary, not to mention I actually kind of like you, Agent X.”

“Joseph.” The agent slowly drags himself up onto the bed. “It’s just Joseph now. Joseph Stern.”

“Don’t seem like there’s much ‘just’ to you, Mr. Overachiever.”

Joseph tries flipping him off, only to flinch when he moves his arm.

“Good lord, I thought that wasn’t a real mirror, why is there so much glass in my skin?”

“Uh, you know how when you drop a cell phone and the screen kinda-splinters and you can get bits of it in your fingers? That’s basically what happened to your back. Uh, sorry.”

“It was in self defense.”

“Will you let me help? I got lots of first aid stuff.”

Joseph nods and Barclay hurries into the bathroom to grab one of the two dozen med kits scattered around the house.

“On your stomach.”

The other man rolls over, and Barclay gets to work on his back. Joseph remains stoic the entire time, until Barclay begins dousing the cuts with disinfectant, at which point he hisses.

“I know, I hate this shit too. Dunno why people are always inventing new torture devices and interrogation techniques, this’d do the trick on most people I know.”

“Very true. It’s alright, pain is deserved when you fuck up as royally as I did tonight.”

“Hey, none of that, okay?” Barclay says gently, easing the tatters of Josephs shirt off, “That pain isn’t a punishment, it’s something I’m doing to keep you safe and so you can heal. You don’t deserve to be hurt, Joseph. And I’m sorry for all the times you ended up that way because we fought. I know it comes with the territory, but that doesn’t mean I can’t apologize.”

Silence as he finishes bandaging that well-developed back, and as he cleans up the debris from the fight and the aftermath.

“In that case” Joseph murmurs, “ I’m sorry too. For, well, for any time during the last three years where I hurt you.”

“Apology accepted.” Barclay sits down on the bed, facing his guest, who turns his head to smile weakly at him.

“What happens now?”

“No clue. I can heat up some dinner, and there’s lots of books here, and some movies. Even got a couple of video games for when friends visit. Or you can sleep, if you want.”

Joseph gives him a curious look, “I meant to ask, is this what you wear at home all the time?”

Barclay blushes, “No, uh, I was just trying out a new costume. Usually wear, like, my flannel shirts and stuff.”

Joseph cautiously rolls onto his side for a better look. A prolonged, hungry, better look.

“What do you think?” Barclay keeps his eyes fixed on the headboard and not on the lines of muscle on Josephs stomach.

“I think you look like you should be cruising the Folsom Street Fair looking for some gym bunny who’ll call you sir.”

“Is that a...good thing?”

“Yes.”

When he meets those blue eyes, their pupils are wide.

Barclay chuckles, “You gonna call me, ‘sir, babe?”

“Only if you want me to.”

The bed dips as shifts to be next to Stern, “Nah, but I’ve been dying to fuck you since the Pipeline Incident.”

“Lord, Barclay, that was a year ago. But the answer is yes.” Stern tries to sit up, but Barclay rests a hand on his shoulder, kissing his cheek.

“I just patched you up, babe, so how’s about we keep this simple for tonight?”

“Oh, okay, uh, how should we?” Stern is blushing, head dipping in slight deference, and it’s the most gratifying goddamn thing Barclay has ever seen.

“Get those pants off, lay on your stomach, and put your ass in the air.” He sits back so Stern can obey, which he does as quickly as possible.

“Good boy.” Barclay rumbles, sitting behind him, “Shit, all that superhero training makes for an amazing ass.” He rubs it possessively, Stern moaning softly at the touch.

“Thank you.”

“Think it’ll look even better with my handprints on it?” The question is breezy as he drags a nail along the right cheek, waiting for Sterns permission.

“Yes.” Stern whispers into the pillows.

Barclay swats the right side, “What was that?”

“Yes!” Stern cries out, wiggling his hips in response.

“Much better.” He hits four more times, two for each side, Stern yelping with delight at each one.

“Now, let’s get one thing straight,” He grabs Sterns hips, pulls his ass against his crotch, grinding slowly, the pants for his definitely not for work anymore outfit just tight enough to give excellent friction from the movement, “I get the feeling you get off on a little pain. And I sure as hell like watching you squirm from it. And” he smacks his left side, for fun, “I bet you think you deserve this.”

Five slaps, fast and with more force behind them.

“Yes, yes, Barclay, please.”

“You’re right, you do. But not because you deserve to be hurt, or to suffer. You deserve to feel good, Joseph. And the second this stops feeling good and you start using it as punishment, I stop doing it. We clear?”

“Crystal.” Stern whimpers at the next slap, and Barclay bends forward to loving kiss a line up his throat and nuzzle his cheek.

“Good boy. You okay to touch yourself--hah, that answers that.” He laughs as Sterns right hand disappears beneath him and his mouth parts in a moan.

“Fuck, Barclay, I, I’ve, nhhnn, I’ve wanted this so long.”

“Me too babe. God, Joseph, you got any idea how fucking incredible you are?” He finds an angle that lets him continue rutting against his ass and kissing his neck and face without touching his injuries.

“No, perhaps you can say more?” Stern grins

Barclay growls, delivers a particularly hard slap, “Oughta make you stop jerking off since you’re fishing for compliments but, fuck, babe, you look so goddamn hot when you’re moaning and twisting around under me, shit, I love hearing your voice, and your smile makes me forget my fucking name and fuck, fuck, yeah, ohyeah.” He tugs Stern close as he comes, keeps pouring out increasingly jumbled praise as Stern tenses in his arms and comes across the covers with the most erotic sound Barclay has ever had the good luck to hear.

“Lord almighty I needed that.”

Barclay chuckles, guides them both down into a comfortable cuddle, “Glad I could help. You hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Okay, lemme rinse off and I can make us dinner.”

By the time he’s out of the shower Stern has stripped and remade the bed with clean covers, and takes his hand as they head downstairs. Barclay reheats the leftovers and makes them tea while Stern reads to him about fifty of the best new restaurants in the west.

The next morning, the FBI’s villain control division receives word that Agent X has been killed in the line of duty.

Three weeks later, they learn that Bigfoot has a new partner: the man in black.

#sternclay #agent stern/barclay #TAZ Amnesty #superhero au

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slutinacan · 5 years ago

Text

Black Sheep

envy adams x fem!reader

Warnings: kinda suggestive, not too heavy. (Sorry) ((kinda out of character for my kind of blog (((uwu horny sideblog))) but i just felt like writing this idk)). Swearing. A droplet of angst in the beginning but iT DOESN'T LAST TOO LONG I PROMISE.

Prompt: You've seemed to make it away from the heaviness of the group's troubles with Ramona's evil exes, and in an angered fit after getting in a brief argument with Scott due to his sheer recklessness, allowing not only himself to be put in danger, but everyone around him, you clasp Wallace's hand and race downtown to a local venue in high annoyance, only wanting to get away and enjoy the night away from all of this havoc in a flood of rock bands. Of course, everything starts out fine, as it always does, but as soon as an unexpected guest performer arrives onstage, you begin to receive more attention than expected.

Note: I'm aware that there is a shit ton of magical realism in this entire franchise, especially in the movie seeing as it was derived from a very vibrant comic series, so I'll try to incorporate as much of that in it as I can, promise. I'm not very good with magical realism/fantasy yet but I'll give it my all! Enjoy!

---

"You know what, Pilgrim? Fuck you." You let out an angry breath after his previous remark, tears flooding into your eyes.

You stood with nothing but sad anger running through your system, watching his face slowly cloud down into regret at his words, the room physically deflated at the broken atmosphere.

"I get that you want to be happy, and I am in full support of that, I just want you to be happy, Scott. But, when it comes at the cost of the people who want nothing but the best for you? Your friends? The people who have had it up to here with your shit but have always loved you too much to ever mind it because that's what pals are fucking for? You're too reckless. You always have been. Keep your head screwed on right for once and fucking look at what is in front of you, Pilgrim. Wake up." You ranted with a huff, fist clenched tight.

Scott made a move to step forward and take your hand, his own eyes teary, but you pulled back. Making a move for the door you grabbed your keys, and coat, without even taking the time to listen to his pleas. Your insides were boiling hot with rage but the exterior of your body stung cold with bitten ice that practically chilled the room below average temperature.

"Wallace. You want a ride or not, nerd." You asked, stepping outside and already finding yourself halfway to your car already as the wind kicking beneath your feet only accentuated your angry swiftness through the bitten evening.

With that, Wallace sprung up from his seat, grabbing his jacket, house key, and scarf. Ramona let out a quiet scoff of disbelief towards the brown haired boy, seeing as he was actually following you. Though, he gave nothing but a shrug to the group with a small, apologetic, look in return; then, he was out the door after sending one knowing look to Scott that said it all: When we get back, you're fixing this. All you, guy.

---

"Tickets please." The front attendee asked, his voice bellowing in your ears, breaking through the burning ice and sadness clouding your senses, chipping away at the practically frozen armor you guarded yourself with. Falling back into reality, you maintained your focus.

"Oh yeah, sorry, here you go." You refocused on his outstretched hand, placing both your ticket, and Wallace's into the presented palm. He tore off the stubs, grabbing two identification wristbands, and handed you both which you took with a small thank you.

Wallace took notice of your form, chilled and quiet. Soft and small and entirely too timid to be considered normal. You looked present but as if your brain was drifting far, far, away from the current scene. He nudged you with his elbow, sending a reassuring smile as you were cleared to enter the venue, being the lucky few to get there first at that. That alone chipped away at the frosted armor encasing your haunted form once again.

"Look, hun," he leaned against you reassuringly as you two snagged a spot near the front, his hands deep in his own pockets seeing how unusually cold the night was. His muscles tightened up to constrict any warmth in his body and keep it there, now feeling the bitter, unwavering, depressive, frost radiating from you.

"I think you were totally right back there. He's been really reckless as of lately, more so than usual, and yes, it has put a damper on things and, yeah, it has put his loved ones in danger. Also, yeah, its not really an ideal situation at all, completely unruly in fact. It is completely messy and depressing and unfair and it has put everyone he knows, we know, in harms way-" "Wallace is this supposed to be helping me? Because, I love and appreciate you and all, but you are absolutely shit at pep-talks-"

The two of you paused seeing the room already crowded with punk teens, adults, and misfits of the kind all murmuring and diving into their own conversations as the lights dimmed, one spotlight on the host of the venue who stood in the middle of the stage. He was all that could be seen, the light focused on his warm yellow jacket and his matching scarf. He was usually very peppy but seemed just as cold as everyone else on this frosted evening, legs visibly trembling as the ice chilled his scrawny form.

"Welcome everyone! Thanks for coming out tonight, we're real excited to show you what treats we have in store tonight because boy do we have a surprise." He grinned through his chattering teeth, tossing a thumbs up.

You watched intently, not as phased as all the screaming teens beside you had been. You toned him out. In fact, you toned everyone out. The host, Wallace, the screaming crowd of one hundred around you, all became muted. Your eyes honed in on the silhouettes that could not be identified in the shadows behind the current announcer. It seemed as though your concern for everything began to wear thinner and thinner as the cold night caressed your face to numbness, the fortress of ice around your body stilling the need to express, slowing you down and leaving you haunted.

You felt as though you could only bring your eyes to move, watching as the once obnoxious host started backing up off stage into the sidelines. You followed his mouth, watching every shaky trace of a pronunciation through chattering teeth mouthed something that visibly brightened the room and completely tore through your brain as the crowd began an uproar of excitement.

"Please welcome, The Clash at Demonhead!" His lips touched together slowly to form the words and you watched every second of it until he ran offstage, your eyes darting to the main portion of the venue to see the lights flicker on into a warm orange and red hue. Wallace, the crowd beside you, was long forgotten and you stood still among the chaos, relapsing the events that occured throughout the day. You shut your eyes to block it out, and reopened them to meet burning hazel. Your bitter, iced, armor suffered a severe blow at that, those hot eyes tearing right into your chest.

(Oh yeah)

Hello again

Friend of a friend

I knew you when

Your eyes were focused on one thing, the blonde who stood tall and confident in the middle of the stage, bright, pouty, red lips clouding your vision as she sung the opening words strictly, her own eyes on you.

Time moved faster and faster yet it felt like she was all you could see. A flame huddled in the cold dark, chipping further and further at you. You stood still, enjoying the music at that, but only standing to watch her while the excited chaos ensued around you as the music picked up.

She only broke your gaze to dance around the stage, completely strong in her movements and unwavering under the still present ice within the evening. She remained untouched.

During a small instrumental breakdown she strutted closer to the edge of the stage, right where you stood. You watched her, all of her. Her mouth and the way it moved as she sung intimately into the microphone, the way her warmth enveloped you and brushed across your paled face, completely melting any icy exterior you had left, any fight you had left.

Send you my love on a wire

Lift you up, every time,

everyone, ooh,

pulls away, ooh

From you

She was face to face with you now, on her knees in front of you like a panther while her aura burned into you unforgivingly. You gave in, sending a small smile and nodding your head along with the music which contrasted your haunted, frozen, stilled persona from before. You let go, and gave into the warmth. You were sure that there were tons of fans seething in jealousy and in simultaneous excitement seeing her so close to you, and of course they were probably screaming and jumping into chaos, but she was all you could see. With the next few lyrics, you mouthed the words along with her.

Send you my love on a wire

Lift you up, every time, everyone, ooh, pulls away, ooh

It's a mechanical bull, the number one

You'll take a ride from anyone

Everyone wants a ride, pulls away, ooh, from you

She smirked widely once the song slowed, then leaned forward and just managed to catch your mouth in a heated kiss as the lights faded into darkness. You melted completely, kissing back with fever at how overwhelmingly, comfortably, numbing the warmth was. She grabbed your collar, pulling you close so her mouth was at your ear.

"Meet me behind the venue in 20"

#envy adams #scott pilgrim #scott pilgram vs the world #lets go lesbians #gay #brie larson #brie larson imagine #brie #larson #love #lesbian #romance #ramona flowers

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