#technically since they’re holding hands with their little stripped sweaters

[https-lxtus]

Hi helLo art request

Sherlock looking at a bEE I beg of you please

Also also also also BC interactiion, tEll meeee your fave line from s&co

Honestly a favorite line is so hard to choose, there’s so many that live in my mind rent-free,,, hmmmm, honestly it’s harder because of aforementioned Atrocious MemoryTM

The whole “She wrote Jonk on my cup! I mean, who’s called Jonk? Oh congratulations, what are you gonna call ‘im? Jonk. Yeah! We’re gonna call him Jonk.” Bit Is always in my mind but also moments like “Would you like to hold hands and talk about you feelings” and just moments and interactions between John and Sherlock are all just great. I also do love when Mariana talks to Archie in Spanish, she’s so funny (I do speak Spanish so I get to enjoy those in their full glory pff)

As for your art request;

I hope this is satisfactory, it’s not my best work but yes, Sherlock looking at a png bee featuring Jonklock in bee-themed sweaters and Burt the Bee who I’ve been thinking abt for a little too long ( @fireroll this is your fault /silly)

ANYWAYS, THAT’S ALL, TY FOR YOUR REQUEST 🫶🫶🫶

[orderofthedyingstar]

RECAP: SESSION 11

SESSION ELEVEN

The party continues their journey down Elfslayer’s Run, briefly taking respite in a small rest area a few hours from Whitwood. The head North towards Mirror Lake, where Verrix recalls there being a small village at the edge of the lake. Verrrix struggles to recall why he’d been in this area before, the Voice in his head taunting him with annoying (Jeopardy) music the longer he takes to remember anything, making him completely lose his train of thought. Jun, cryptic as always, has a ‘theory’ that he’s unwilling to share, since he doesn’t feel very sure about it. Verrix (who was definitely eavesdropping) notices a few tell-tale signs that Jun’s casting a spell, but he doesn’t know what or on who.

Rhododendron: “Jun, if I knew your last name - ” 

Jun: “It’s for the best you don’t.” 

Rhododendron: “That’s what you think.” 

Jun: “No, that’s what I know.”

Rhododendron tries to annoy an answer out of Jun for an hour straight, Marlee bopping the back of her head with a book every time she gets too loud. After a while Rhododendron gives up, going over to Marlee to apologize for ‘being a bitch’ to her the day before, and Marlee announces that they’re ‘bro‘s now’, lending her a well-worn book titled Webs of Luscious Silk. When Rhododendron tries asking her about ‘Verrix’s’ book, Marlee warns her that they’ll officially be in a book club if she answers, and that Rhododendron will have to put up with any and all commentary she has about all of her books. When the group stops for a short rest, Rhododendron goes through the book Marlee lent her and finds that it depicts a …strange romance involving a drider love interest. 

They spend the next two days traveling towards the lake, looting an old bandit camp along the way for some supplies and gold. Rhododendron checks in on Verrix’s magic and its tendency for blowback, leading to a few jokes about it’s adverse effects causing Rhododendron to be short. She also tries to get Jun to talk about his theory again, but he says that he wants to hold on to it for a little longer to attempt to be ‘emotionally sensitive’. As the party moves through the more heavily wooded part of Elfslayer’s Run, Verrix takes point on leading them through the woods (21 Survival check) and gets them through it completely unharnessed. They arrive at Mirror Lake, easily the biggest body of water Rhododendron (and only her, actually) has seen - she tries to get Inigo to jog his memory and he immediately responds by stripping down to his underwear and jumping into the lake. He swims around in the lake a little, telling everyone else not to come in because of how cold it is and that he’ll probably be fine because of ‘aasimar stuff’. Marlee immediately heads towards the only tavern in the entire tiny village, cold and bored of watching Inigo swim around. 

Verrix, staring at Inigo’s pile of clothes: “Hey, is that what you meant by ‘center yourself’? Cause I’m not doing that.” 

Jun: “I don’t know, Verrix. It could be really helpful for magic. Could have mystical properties.” 

Rhododendron: “Don’t you trust Inigo?” 

Verrix: “I’m not gonna answer that.”

While Inigo is swimming around in the lake, Jun also reveals that he’s figured out that someone has put a spell on him preventing him from regaining all of his memories; repeated spells layered over and over each other. He expresses doubts that spell will fade on its own, but there might be some restorative magic that might help; Jun hasn’t wanted to bring it up to Inigo without trying to figure out a solution - another problem without an answer. Jun also compares the feeling on the spells on Inigo to Rhododendron’s curse, but is careful not to be too specific around Verrix since Rhododendron still doesn’t want anyone else to know, although Verrix can tell Rhododendron is hiding something from him. The three of them then realize that they haven’t heard from Inigo in a while, and spot him far off in the center of the lake. 

Rhododendron: “Verrix, you should go into the water and get him, it won’t affect you since you’re an aasimar.” 

Jun: “Sounds like a good idea.” 

Rhododendron: “See? When has Jun ever been wrong?” 

Jun: “OH - ” 

Rhododendron: “Hey. Shhh.”

After some half-hearted arguing Rhododendron finally just pushes Verrix into the lake, getting water and sand all over his hair and his cloak. Verrix mopes and makes vague threats at Rhododendron for a few minutes before going after Inigo, who doesn’t want to come back yet because he still has some ‘memory searching’ to do.

Verrix: “This is worse than when I got shot.”

It takes Verrix several tries before he finally manages to convince a very distractible Inigo to come back to shore. Verrix dips cold water down Rhododendron’s back. The three of them (Jun left to join Marlee at the tavern) finally head into the small village town Reflections. Rhododendron asks their two other party members if they’ve found anything interesting in the tavern, to which both of them point out that the proprietor is weirdly obsessed with death: the place is covered in depictions of the Astral Plane and Nahaliel, the god of death and the arcane. Marlee also points out that the tavern looks like it used to be a temple, and she can tell where pews have been removed and the old cleric’s quarters used to be. Rhododendron goes over to the owner, who laughs when Rhododendron points out that the place’s death theme is a little strange for a tavern. The owner, Haley, admits that the place is a family business but her mother and grandmother were both clerics of Nahaliel whereas she wanted to make some money out of the place. Rhododendron asks if Haley has seen any fire genasi around, to which she says that one passed through with a dwarf the other day on their honeymoon and went off into the mountains about a week ago. Before Rhododendron goes back to her table, Haley offers her a small Nahaliel keychain, which she takes.

Rhododendron: “The bartender said that a fire genasi and a dwarf came through here on their…honeymoon.” 

Verrix: “They’re getting married?” 

Rhododendron: “I certainly hope not. No. If after three years of commitment he still won’t - he’s not gonna do it. But that’s besides the point…anyways…”

Rhododendron goes back up to the bar, where Haley offers Rhododendron a quarter of a shot of dwarven ale, putting it in a small vial and giving it to her on the house. The group gets their things together and starts to head up into the mountains, Jun pulling on a huge sweater over his other clothes and complaining that he doesn’t like the mountains. As they head up into the mountains, Verrix and Rhododendron keep pushing each other out of the way to try to prove who’s better at navigating, accidentally sprinting ahead of the rest of their party. Rhododendron tries tracking Umbra as they travel, noticing traces of fire genasi, a dwarf, and several gnolls in the area as well as local wildlife. 

The party spots a cave tucked away in a higher part of the mountains, and after some difficulty on Verrix’s end (resulting in Marlee throwing him up into the cave and straight into Jun) they start investigating the area. They sneak around towards an outcropping deeper in the cave and find a small group of gnolls, and after some debate they decide to leave the gnolls alone, since they technically haven’t done anything to the party.

Marlee: “Marlee ain’t about bloodlust.” 

Verrix: “We could talk to them, see if they’re evil?” 

Marlee: “And then what, bring divine judgement on them? That’s not our job.” 

Rhododendron: “Isn’t it your job?” 

Marlee: “(scoffs) …Sometimes. If you upset Nyvarstra.” 

Rhododendron: “Maybe you should pray and ask?” 

Marlee: “Nah, we’re not cool like that. It’s more like a one-way…thing. Always watching…”

The party creeps back towards an area closer to the cave entrance to get a few hours of sleep, rotating through with a careful watch to make sure the gnolls don’t notice them. During their watch, Rhododendron asks Jun a little about the hag, starting him off on an annoyed rant about the situation and that she should really tell Verrix about it. 

Jun: “You don’t know exactly what - it’s like prophecies, you don’t know what it is until it’s already hitting you in the face with your friend’s blood on your hands! To be, uh, hypothetical.”

Jun tells Rhododendron the specifics of the spell/curse cast on her: a Geas that she cannot act directly against without the possibility of dying. She asks if there’s a way to get rid of the curse, to which he says that there aren’t really many options outside of Wish (Jun: “Short of a miracle there isn’t much you can do to remove it”). Rhododendron also asks Jun about blood magic, to which he says that it is both potent and dangerous, and that it felt like divine energy when Umbra was using it on them - ’a direct link to the gods’. Jun also reminds Rhododendron that he wasn’t able to see into Inigo or Umbra’s minds back when he worked at the Cobalt Keep, and that he’s been able to pick up other aasimar’s thoughts just fine. Jun dodges several other questions before they drop the subject and go through the smut from Marlee book instead, amused and horrified at the ‘interesting’ scene depictions. 

During Verrix and Marlee’s watch, Marlee gets bored and starts throwing pieces of her bedroll at the wall, where they land next to Rhododendron’s face in a small pile. Marlee lights the pile on fire after she runs out of breadcrumbs, and Verrix puts his hand between the fire and Rhododendron’s face. Their watch is otherwise uneventful, as is Inigo and Rhododendron’s second watch after that. Although during their watch Inigo manages to remember that the cave they’re looking for is somewhere on Lord Grah’s Peak, and that while he feels like he’s known Umbra for a while it still doesn’t sound right to say that they’ve been around since he was a child either. 

After everyone has slept they set off for the area Inigo talked about, wary of the giants that Haley back at the Reflections tavern mentioned. As they travel higher into the mountain range they hear loud crashing noises, and they try to be quiet with the exception of Marlee (Stealth 2), who is freezing in her armor. As the party climbs higher they see two giants tossing boulders around at each other, and they try to figure out a way to get around them without getting squashed. Marlee offers to try talking to the giants, saying she knows how in theory, but none of them feel confident in the plan. Eventually they decide to use Inigo as a distraction, making him promise not to fight the giants without Rhododendron asking him to. Rhododendron and Jun cast Longstrider and Invisibility on Inigo, and he gets the giants’ attention with some surprisingly good flute playing as the rest of the party starts to sneak up the mountain path. As they’re climbing up the mountain Rhododendron spots a crack in the mountain that cool air is coming out of - when Verrix takes a look inside he sees ornate dragon statues lining the walls. The continue further up the path and find a large boulder (the size of a small car) blocking the cave entrance and after a few tries Marlee manages to shove it out of the way. 

The giants start to catch up to Inigo, with Rhododendron and Verrix launching some arrows and Fire Bolts respectively to cover him. Just as Inigo reaches the cave entrance, the giants catch up to the party and snatch up Rhododendron and Verrix in the process. The party gets into an unwilling fight with the giants, Verrix and Rhododendron trapped in the giants’ grip until Jun casts Mind Spike on the giant holding Verrix and the rest of the party wails on the other giant until Jun can set its feet on fire. Verrix completely incinerates one of the giants, and while he and Inigo try and finish of the last giant Rhododendron insists that the (badly wounded) Inigo retreat into the cave with the rest of the party. Jun finally manages to snap Inigo out of his rage by placing him in the center of a Fog Cloud, covering his and Rhododendron’s escape into the cave.

The hall of the cave is lined with statues of Nyvarstra every few feet, which is strange considering its location in a mountain range sacred to Ardrin, god of creation and the Material Plane. Marlee says that she can feel that Nyvarstra has been angered with whatever has happened here, an all-consuming divine anger ‘like when she smites’. She also notes that she can feel the presence of other divine energies but isn’t in tune with them enough to identify them.

Marlee: “What, I can’t be religious and horny? Nyvarstra.”

Despite his reluctance, Jun casts Locate Object and manages to sense that Raz’s amulet of Nyvarstra is somewhere nearby, below them. The party takes a brief break to lick their wounds before continuing onward. They try to sneak through the halls of the cave but keep running into each other. Verrix, despite all of this, manages to spot a trap and gets the party (plus Rhododendron, who extinguished her light for stealth purposes and can’t see) to sneak around it. The hall opens up to a large room lined with unlit sconces and an alter at the far end flanked by another statue of Nyvarstra. They light the sconces while Jun casts Detect Magic; Marlee examines the altar and says that it feels like blasphemous magic was cast here. The table near the altar is covered in old blood, along with other items such as a dagger and bird bones. Marlee also manages to find a small onyx statue of Zelia, the god of war, justice, and sacrifice. Inigo examines the statue and says that something about it seems familiar, but that there isn’t anything about the room specifically that he recognizes. Marlee says that while she thinks there were magical rituals done here, she doesn’t sense anything tied to necromancy or sacrificing people. 

Marlee: “Kinda seems like someone was just trying to get attention. Talk, commune.”

Jun finally manages to uncover a trapdoor beneath their feet, although the hole is too deep to see the bottom. Verrix and Jun tie some rope to the large statue of Nyvarstra in the room and the party climbs down into the trapdoor.

Inigo: “There was a war god up there?” 

Rhododendron: “I mean, he wasn’t just chilling up there.” 

Inigo: “Be kinda funny if he was though.” 

Rhododendron: “No, no -” 

Inigo (laughing): “Fight a god.” 

Rhododendron: “No, no, no.” 

Inigo: “Kind of funny.” 

Rhododendron: “That’s an incredibly terrible idea.”

The party eventually makes it to a split in the hallway and can see sunlight streaming through some small cracks in the walls. They take the hall on the left first, which opens up into a balcony displaying a large valley far below the mountain, the entire valley lined by statues of soldiers facing an ancient set of some enormous creature’s bones. The path on the right leads to a bedroom with some travel equipment scattered on the ground (including Raz’s statue) and a boulder sitting in the middle of the bed. Verrix and Marlee are both kind of creeped out by the boulder, and they start bothering it until the rock monster awakens and slaps the shit out of Marlee. Jun sets the bed on fire, distressing the creature, and Rhododendron uses the distraction to go through all of Raz’s stuff on the floor - it’s a pile of rations, traveling supplies, old hole-filed underwear, and their clerical journal. She snatches the journal and tells the party that it’s time to leave, trapping the boulder-creature in the room.

Inigo: “Did you find everything you were looking for?” 

Rhododendron: “Not really, no.”

Rhododendron is crushed, admitting that they’ve exhausted their only real lead. Verrix and Marlee point out that Raz might have left notes in their journal, but Rhododendron is still too upset about not finding them to really put any effort into it yet. They decide to rest in a safer spot in the cave, and Rhododendron finally leafs through the journal after resting for a while, finding that Raz talks about where they’ve travelled with Umbra and him wanting to head North towards the capital of So’Joh. Rhododendron realizes that there is only one major city (Brackenwood) between here and So’Joh’s capital, and that a journey on the Long Road would take at least a month. Raz also has some brief descriptions on Zelia, the war god, in the journal, and they question Umbra’s connections to the god and their weird obsession with Nyvarstra and aasimar. Rhododendron fills Verrix in on what she’s found out, and that in order to follow them she would have to go to the capital of So’Joh. She also tells Verrix that she doesn’t think Jun will come with them.Verrix and Rhododendron confer with Inigo a little bit, discussing the impending journey on the Long Road and potentially get horses to speed along the journey a little bit. After that, Rhododendron wakes up Jun and tells him that she plans on going to the capital of So’Joh, and is surprised when he says he’s coming along regardless of his past there.

Jun: “So before you head to So’Joh, there’s probably a story I should tell you.”

[bubble-tea-bunny]

satellite

[peter parker x reader]

author’s note: reading you by caroline kepnes inspired me to play around w pov and try something a lil diff in style. had a lot of fun w it and i hope you enjoy! (kinda funny the last time i tinkered w pov it was also in a fic for ps4 peter ha)

word count: 2,929 

It’s Aunt May’s suggestion that it would be good to give my eyes a break from staring at screens so much and for so long that initially gives me the idea to come here, but it’s the conversation I have with a stranger on the subway this morning about the book he’s reading that actually prompts me to stop by after work. I had every intention of seeking out that novel for myself; the description on the back cover about the story already sounded interesting, and the details shared by the man in the black beanie made it even more so. But I quickly realize how easy it is to get sidetracked in a bookstore, and instead of heading straight for crime and mystery, I’m strolling past comics and scanning the titles, first for ones I recognize so I can think to myself Hey, I know that! like we tend to do when we spot something we are familiar with and that little corner of our brain lights up at spotting what is thought to be long forgotten.

The pages of these graphic novels are glossy, smooth beneath my fingers, and the colors are bright and I see myself in several of them slinging webs through a cartoon New York, and yellow boxes in the corner of each panel are denoting the time of day and the current scene’s setting, and big words like BAM! and POW! punctuate every heavy hit and at the end of every strip, all of it is just another day for Spider-Man. I have to admit, it’s sort of surreal having comics about me. Not that they are technically about me. The alter ego in these stories is Nathaniel Patterson and he’s got blonde hair and blue eyes and he’s quite the looker.

I slide the comic with its shiny cover back into its spot on the shelf and I think I turned one of the pages wrong because the pad of my index finger stings like I’ve sliced it. My brows furrow as I check to see if I’m right, if it’s begun to bleed, and the smell of fresh books is strong, but the smell of strawberries is stronger.

I pause. I glance up and look for the source, and I’ve just missed it. Just missed you. I catch a glimpse of you continuing down the aisles, and you’re blocked from view by the tall shelves and there are no gaps through which to see you because they’re packed so snug with books but even if they weren’t, these types of shelves have a wall in the middle. I contemplate leaving it well enough alone, but the scent of my favorite fruit lingers in the air and it’s strangely strong to still be so apparent, like you’d been standing near me.

So I leave the comics and go in the direction you’d gone, glancing into each section and trying not to be obvious about it, obvious about the fact I’m looking for someone. I read a few of the titles in each aisle, and I’m taking them in, I am, since maybe along the way I’ll find a book I do want, but it’s done half in earnest because it is incredibly easy to get sidetracked in a bookstore.

Then I see you, in the set of shelves across from mine, a table in the space between us with staff picks for the month. You’re in crime and mystery and your nose is buried in a novel. I wonder what you’re reading. You flip through the pages, stop to read a paragraph or three, and flip through some more. When you’ve had your fill of that, you close the book and read the information on the back. It’s been chilly in New York lately so you’re in a sweater, and the sleeves slide over your hands as you grip the novel because they’re too long. You try to pull them up so the fabric bunches in the bend of your elbows, but it doesn’t work and they just droop back down.

For all my efforts of being subtle as I walked through the shop searching for you, I forget it when it’s most crucial, and I’ve stared too long and you look up and you notice me, and my stomach jumps at being caught and I probably seem like a creep. Nice one, Peter. Getting flustered around pretty girls is right up your alley.

I swallow, and I smile slightly to ease the awkwardness and show you I’m not being creepy, I swear, and the heavens are watching out for me because you smile back, lips shining with lip balm you’ve no doubt applied to protect them from the harsh wind outside. And I am melting. I’m melting like an ice cream cone in the summer and suddenly I want to ask what your favorite ice cream flavor is.

Your eyes slide from mine off to your left (my right) just for a second, before they meet mine again, and then return to the book in your hands. I can see the slight curl of your mouth as you turn to the bookshelf in front of you and put the book back, then continue reading the spines until one stands out and you pull it out to do the process all over again. But I’m caught up on what you had looked at fifteen seconds ago, for the briefest of moments, easy to miss but being me (being Spider-Man) has forced me to be more attentive, and I glance to my right (your left) and I see the bookshelf. My eyes slide up higher to the sign. I’m in romance.

My cheeks grow warm and you probably think I’m in this bookstore looking for love like the protagonist of half the novels on this shelf. You probably find it amusing, and I think you might even laugh if it weren’t so quiet in here, and I should be embarrassed but I’m not. I like the thought of making you laugh. Besides, I’m not in this bookstore looking for love. I’m in this store to find a specific book and if anything, love is looking for me. February’s months away and Cupid should be busy sharpening his arrows. Maybe I’m his test run?

You’re still at crime and mystery, still where I need to go, so I go there. In my peripherals I notice you glance at me and your gaze lingers, curious to see what book I’m going to pick up. I read the last name of every author, until I arrive at the one I want. There’s three copies remaining of the book I’d come to this shop for, and I grab the copy in the middle. All the while I’ve been trying to figure out how to start a conversation with you. I had planned to ask what book you’re holding right now, or if you had any suggestions. I would listen and pick up a few of the titles you say because I trust you have good taste.

However, I’m not the one who starts a conversation. You beat me to it.

“A Christie fan, huh?” you begin. Your voice is low so as not to disturb the silence but I can tell even if we were outside or elsewhere, you would sound equally as quiet anyway. “She’s a classic.”

I smile and you are well-read and I’d like to get to know you more. “It’s my first Christie novel actually,” I respond.

Your eyes are bright when you hear that, and I wonder what you know that I don’t, wonder what’s so captivating about Agatha Christie’s books that has your gaze twinkling with excitement for me and what I’m about to experience. You are so sweet. “You picked a good first novel then. Sometimes I wish I could read that for the first time all over again.”

“You a mystery fan?” I inquire, and I’m cringing on the inside because I’ve just asked you this while we’re standing in front of crime and mystery and you are clearly well acquainted with Agatha Christie. But it seems you think my pointing out the obvious is cute and you nod.

“I read stuff from other genres sometimes but I always end up back here. Guess I love the thrill of a good whodunit a little too much.”

You chuckle, and oh God maybe I am like those protagonists in the romance novels across the aisle since I swear my chest tightens a little, enough to be uncomfortable, a twisting and then an unraveling like my heart is sighing. And I don’t think there’s such a thing as loving a little too much because love is love and I’m loving talking to you right now. I don’t want our conversation to end and I wonder if I asked if you wanted to grab a coffee sometime if you would agree. Or maybe we could go out for pizza (there’s a great place in Brooklyn that has $1 slices of pizza the size of your head).

It’s a bit difficult to get any words out; your smile is disarming and there’s a softness in your eyes and you could be your own superhero because to be the recipient of just one or the other is enough to get someone to slow down, but to witness both is enough for someone to stop entirely and cause them to forget what they were doing, what they were about to say. Or maybe that’s just me. But gradually my thoughts come back to me, the fog clearing (though it had been nice while it lasted and are you sure you don’t have any powers?). You’re watching me, expecting me to talk, and I’ve been oddly silent and it only make me more nervous. You probably think I’m weird.

“No such thing as too much,” I finally force out, referring to your earlier comment with the same playful tone.

You smile. Maybe you like weird.

A burst of confidence surges through me and I introduce myself, holding out my free hand. “I’m Peter.”

You shake it and tell me your name, and a brief quiet settles between us again. And I don’t think you want our talk to end either. My hand slides back down to my side and it misses yours already. It’s just you and me and Agatha Christie and if this were a game, this would be the crossroads. Press A to carry on our conversation or Press X to say goodbye or press nothing and leave it to the roll of a dice, the flip of a coin. But I’m not imagining that hopefulness on your face that this—us?—could turn into more, and I don’t want to leave something this important to chance and I sure as hell don’t want to press X.

“Well, [Name],” I continue, and I like saying your name, “would you wanna get coffee sometime? It’d be nice to have someone to discuss this with.” I hold up the Christie book.

“I’d like that,” you reply, and I like you saying my name.

It’s a date and three days later we meet up after work. We go to the pizza joint in Brooklyn because I’d suggested it as an alternative to coffee, if you were up to it, and you wholeheartedly agreed because you wanted to see those pizza slices for yourself. We sit down at the table in the corner, the red and white checked vinyl tablecloth reflecting the glare of the fluorescent lights and Wow, you remark, you weren’t kidding about the size of these slices!

You’re a waitress at a small diner where it’s calm most days. There aren’t any rushes, and the primary customer base is regulars whose orders you have memorized and when you see them, you’re able to carry on your conversation from the last time they came in. An elderly couple eats there every Friday. You had a chat with them today.

“They’re like grandparents to me,” you muse, smiling to yourself as you soak up the extra oil on your pizza with a napkin. “All my relatives are out of state, so it’s nice to have a sense of family like that.”

My eyes are glued to your grin and I think I love you. You thrive on human connection, and you don’t have to seek it out since it comes to you at your job. You didn’t have to seek it out when you met me either, because I was the one to approach. I wonder if you knew that’s what would happen, how the entire situation would play out. Maybe you were confident or maybe you were unsure and were prepared to approach me, and we would have our first conversation in front of romance instead and we would talk a little about romance novels until in a roundabout way we start talking about crime and mystery because like you said, you always have a propensity to end up back there eventually. And even if connections like this didn’t come to you, you’d go out to find them. You’re proactive like that.

The tables turn as you ask what I do, and I explain what Doctor Octavius and I have been working on. I keep it simple so you can follow along, and you’re genuinely interested, and my stomach is doing flips because I am the center of your attention and honestly, it feels nice. Would you please look at me that way forever?

We get so caught up on other topics that it isn’t until I’m walking you home that we finally start discussing the Christie novel I bought. I’d been running around in our few days apart, splitting my time between work at the lab and patrolling the city, but you can bet I spent every spare second I had reading that book. Part of it was in anticipation of seeing you again because I know you’d want to know my thoughts on it and another part of it was because I did find the plot captivating. I often ponder the clues and come up with theories, which I share with you. You listen to them all and you never reveal anything. I ask for hints but you shake your head and laugh.

“You have to solve it on your own!”

“Not even one hint?”

“Nu-uh. Channel your inner Poirot, mister!”

I chuckle. “My French is a little rusty, but I’ll try.”

All too soon we’ve arrived at your apartment building and we are standing in front of the stoop and you turn to face me and have I spied with my little eye reluctance to part in yours? The evening air is cold. We’re bundled in thick coats and a gust of wind ruffles your hair.

“Well…” you start.

“Well…” I mimic. We are both prolonging goodbye.

“This is me.” You motion to the dark brick building, a careless wave to your right (my left) but you’re still staring at me and you smile.

“I guess it is.” I smile too and briefly glance over at the structure before looking back at you. “I had fun tonight.”

“Me too.” You are positively glowing. Your smile and your eyes and your everything is bright and you are beautiful beneath the yellowish tinge of the street lamp. The time since I saw you in the bookstore had dragged on, agonizing and frustrating, all of it a buildup to tonight, a night which has gone by too fast.

You take a slow, cautious step forward and you’re in my bubble but I don’t mind. And you are close, so close, and I can’t breathe because I’m on a tight rope trying to maintain my balance and you’re on the other side, what I focus on to keep from teetering. I wait and you wait and the rest of New York is forgotten. Then you stand on the tips of your navy blue Mary Janes so you can reach up to kiss my cheek.

“I’ll see you later then, Pete.” You say see you later because goodbye sounds too definite, too sad, and you call me Pete because you’re comfortable with me and you like me and on the inside, I cheer.

“See you soon, [Name].” I watch you walk up the steps and when your hand curls around the doorknob, I call out, “I’ll have the book finished the next time we hang out.”

You look over your shoulder and smile. “I’m holding you to it!”

My own walk home is boring without you around. Our night together has reached a close but my night isn’t done yet. I’ll be suiting up once I’m back at my apartment and you’ll be in the back of my mind as I respond to dispatches I pick up on the scanner. I wonder if you’re on cloud nine like I am, if I’ve inspired you to pick out an Agatha Christie from your personal library to re-read. Maybe you choose the novel I’m currently working through so you can experience it with me.

The spot where you kissed me is still warm and you must be born of the sun. Or if not that, then surely you’re a star of your own, and you’re officially my favorite one if only because you aren’t high in the sky too far away but rather, right next to me, and I don’t know about you, [Name], but I can’t think of a more perfect place than that.

[froggonoboggo]

Answer all the OC questions Erika. D O I T

Alright then! lol I’ll do Persedimun Rigas as he is currently in the rp thread I have with my friends🌹 Where in the world does your OC feel most at home? Is there any reason why? If it’s not the place they were born, where were they born? Is there a certain somebody that makes them feel at home where ever they may be? What does home mean to them?

Percy feels most at home on his farm and anywhere in the ocean. He made the farm his own after he had been in hiding for centuries, and as a water dragon, he and the ocean are one. Percy was born up north somewhere deep in the ocean but left when he was old enough to separate from his family. There is absolutely someone who makes him feel at home, and home to him means somewhere he feels safe, happy, and can just be himself without holding anything back.🍄 What are your OCs favourite snacks? Their favourite comfort food which always cheers them up when they’re down? Favourite meal to make? Do they enjoy baking and cooking and are they any good in the kitchen?Percy has a sweet tooth and he’s not picky either, the man will eat about anything you give him. He’s also a big fan of soup, and any soup he can fix up is his go to in order to cheer him up, the same goes for favorite meal to make. He adores baking and cooking and he’ll tell you that he’s alright in the kitchen.

🍁 Where does your OC go when they need to have some time to themself? Would they ever have their own “comfort corner” filled with all the things they like? Do they have a favourite spot outside that feels like its theirs and theirs alone?

Percy doesn’t have many places to escape to, due to needing to keep himself inconspicuous from higher beings, and he doesn’t need to for the most part because his safe place is on the farm. If that place is compromised he disappears into the ocean for awhile.

🍂 Does your OC enjoy hugs? What do they do as a show of affection for: their friends, their family, their significant other(s) or for strangers? Over all what are they like with recieving affection from others?

He adores hugs and will readily give them out whenever it is needed. For friends and family he shows the same type of affection for both. He’s a very touchy guy, lots of pats and jokes, always ready to do something for them. The same goes for significant others actually, but more kisses involved, hand holding, and lingering touches. Does not hold back from PDA. For strangers he’s less involved with the touches. Percy loves receiving affection, and depending on what it is, may become bashful.

🌻 What little things do they notice about people or the world around them that make them happy? What tiny little treasures do they find in the normal every day that makes the world seem a little brighter for them?

Percy is a bit of a cheesy sap, and smiles and laughter really brings him in. The sounds of happiness really strikes him. The soft eyes of his cows, his dog, and the soft pattering of rain calms him.

🌾 Describe your OC through the eyes of someone absolutely head-over-heels in love with them

Persedimun is warm and soft, as well as a big boy who’s chest serves as the best pillow. He’s super goofy, adventurous, caring, and has incredibly kind eyes and gives the best hugs. Percy is a cheesy romantic and its adorable, his hands are rough but they hold what they cherish so delicately and tenderly, with every ounce of love and admiration he has to offer. He’ll hang on to every word you say and will say your voice is one of his favorite sounds.

 💐 How does your OC handle being unwell or forced to rest in bed? Who cares for them and in what ways? Does your OC enjoy being doted on or are they a terrible patient? Reversed: is your OC good at taking care of others who are ill or in need?

He’s not particularly a fan of being sick and he’s usually the one who takes care of himself, since he was a rogue dragon for a long time and he’s also by himself for the most part. He does, to an extent, like to be doted on, though he’d rather do the doting to the ones he cares about himself. He’s an excellent caretaker and usually stays by their side unless asked otherwise.

🌿 What way does your OC show that they care without using words? What way do others show your OC that they’re cared about without using speech?

As stated above, he shows that he cares about someone by always being willing to help them out, no matter what he’s doing or may want to do. Percy likes to take care of people. He also likes to give gifts, things that remind them of someone or he creates something.

🌳 What is your OC’s favourite way to relax after a stressful day? Do they have a favourite book to curl up with? A hobby? Or do they have a nice bubble bath and have an early night to bed?

He draws, paints, or naps, for the most part. If he could, he’d morph into his dragon form, hop into the ocean and sun himself on the surface like crocodiles do. Or he sits under a tree in the field, surrounded by cows and sheep and just looks out across the moors and into the trees, perhaps doodling. Percy’s an artist, and likes creating paintings or sketching, perhaps writing as well.

🌲 How deeply does your OC feel? Are they typically empathetic or do they have a hard time connecting with others in this way? What are they like when offering support and comfort to someone they care for?

Persedimun cares perhaps too much, sometimes. He’s incredibly empathetic and sympathetic, always available to lend a hand and help someone, whether it be an innocent bystander or someone they care about. Him caring about the wellbeing of his people led him to where he is now, shamed and hiding in the middle of Scotland by himself.

🌺 What does your OC do to calm down when they’re scared or after a nightmare? Do they have any special comfort items or need to be reassured by a specific person? How do they handle this if they’re alone?

He usually stays up, gets out of bed and just looks outside and thinks to himself. Or he’ll go outside and listen to the sounds of the night, sit on the porch and just contemplate. He’s not too keen on asking other for help in this situation, and usually deals with it by himself unless they find out. He will accept help at that point, and contact is great at calming him down.

🌸 What are some of their favourite things and why? List as many as you can think of!

Naps, eating, shiny and pretty things, painting, the ocean, rain and storms, cows, being cozy and warm, sweaters, animals in general actually, flowers (specifically gladiolus).

🥀 How would your OC decorate a notebook or journal? What kind of things are written in there? Could you give an example of a nice entry?

If he can, will doodle on the cover and within as well. Would write about random thoughts and rambling, notes about what he’s learned about his curse, notes about his art, things for him to remember and things he does remember because if he’s not careful with his protection spells or forgets to bring his charm, he’ll slowly forget things that he should remember. An example of a nice entry would just be him rambling some random fact he learned today from one of his friends and a silly doodle at the end. 

🌼 Who are this characters friends and found family? How did they meet, how long have they been friends for, could they ever be something more than just friends? What do they look for in a friend or a romantic partner?

Percy’s new friends would be Matteo, Artemis, and Killian, who belong to @sanguinemori @cacticouture and @technologicalnoiz respectively. As it currently stands in the thread, the closest Percy is to any of them is Matteo. They technically first encountered each other in a seedy bar when some werewolf decided to insult Matteo’s sister and Matteo pulled a sword on him. Percy interceded before things got too crazy, as well as the other two. They haven’t known each other for long, but their chemistry is perfect, and there is definitely a chance that they could be more than just friends. 

What he looks for in a partner and in a friend is not much different from each other. He loves to hang out with adventurous people, people who know how to get rowdy and have fun, people who can be as goofy as him and don’t mind that he tends to ramble about things that sometimes don’t matter. And people who care, who are warm.

💫What is your favourite fact about this character and why?

My favorite fact about Percy is that when he became a god he was like “fuck hanging out and hiding in the clouds, I’m staying right here and interacting with my worshippers as if they were family and helping them directly” and I love that because how easy would it be if you were some guy in ancient Greece and you could just walk over and ask your local dragon god if he could make it rain since your crops aren’t getting enough water and he’s like “yeah no problem dude” and then it just happens. No middleman, no catch, nothing, just straight up answered.

☄️ Does this OC deserve better treatment from you? Do you make them suffer just a little bit too much? Be nice to them!

As of right now, his backstory takes the brunt of the suffering, but hey, there’s always room for more >:)

🌠 On a scale of 1 - 10 how Baby is your OC? 

on a scale of 1-10, Percy falls on a 6. He is baby to me, but I’m not actually sure how much baby.

💦 If you as the writer could erase one traumatic event from this OC’s life what would it be and why?

His rebellion caused a whole string of traumatic events, just one after another, but I’d take away him losing his first friends, where they were captured, stripped of their godhood and are now being tormented. Percy didn’t deserve to lose them, and there could’ve been a very high chance they all made it out alive. The man would probably be in a better place if he still had their support.

God this is a lot, sorry about this but those are all the asks Aary XDD as you requested! I had a lot of fun doing this!

[punkdaddylouis]

quatre: you fit me better than my favorite sweater ♡♡

here comes chapter four :D for whoever cares to read...

♡♡♡♡

"See you tomorrow, Hazza!" Jade, his colleague at Velvety Roses, waves goodbye to Harry as she and her other friend Leigh-Anne descend from the dressing room with their forearms linked, leaving Harry alone in the room, still dressed in his casual clothing.

He smiles contentedly as he sits down and shimmies his bag off of his shoulder, focusing on the mirror and his reflection on it, switching on the yellow light bulbs that are placed along its frame.

He doesn't have any circles under his eyes tonight, it seems; no trace of the tiredness and exhaustion that used to always be prevalent in his system, maybe the full-nights of sleep that he's been getting lately has finally began to pay off.

Harry smiles to himself, knowing that his improved sleeping schedule is very much a derivative of who he is spending his nights in bed with. Harry's been feeling giddy and ecstatic lately, and since he doesn't want to jinx it, he opts for keeping it to himself. The whole thing.

Yes, he hasn't told any of his friends yet about Louis; the unmarried man he's been sleeping with for over the past two months now. Gemma and his mum are the only people that he even decided to inform about this matter, and Harry thinks he'll let it stay that way for now—for as long as he can manage, really.

The only problem is, he and Louis aren't even official yet (technically). Sure, they text every day, talking about their lives and their favorites, and basically anything that crosses their minds, but other than that, neither of them have deemed to put a label on what they are. Not explicitly, anyway.

To be honest, I immensely despise marmite chicken.

Really now ? But they're brilliant ! I'd love it if you would cook me some actually, mon amour ;) xx

Ugh, Lewiiiiiiiis. But okay :) anything for DADDY

No , but seriously ?

Seriously. But you know whattttttt?

What , baby ? :)

I wanna be the Coney Island queen...

Oh , but you are !! :)

But like, I kinda wanna live there, see. I wanna build a house near that place, I wanna be able to visit it any time??

Well ... babe , again , you will :) just you wait and see ! ;)

Huh. What do you mean 'just wait and see?' :o

Louis.

LOUIS?

Daddy! :/

It has been nearly three months since they first met, like officially met—nearly three months since Harry went over to Louis' place for a proper introduction.

After Louis' returned from his trip to Paris back in mid-July, they've gone out on posh dates, well, that's what Harry calls it, and they still regularly go out whenever Louis' free. Louis has taken him to extravagant restaurants around LA, bought him flowers and offered him joyrides downtown, and whenever they got back to Louis' mansion in Beverly Hills they'd have mind blowing sex that would make Harry feel like he's walking on air for days.

They call each other when they're not together, having decided that they didn't want to limit their communication to just texting, visit the other when one is working and the other isn't, and just, they can't seem to get enough of one another—it's almost like they're over-infatuated teenagers that are undeniably in lust with their brand new crush and it's addicting. Louis has been painting different versions of Harry relentlessly, and Harry has been basking in Louis' talent and open devotion to him. It's the type of infatuation that's more like a whirlwind and Harry wants to swim in it forever.

When Louis is gone to destinations for work and Harry is unable to visit him, Louis usually brings home souvenirs or postcards when he returns.

"So, hey, I was at work tonight and I heard this song on the radio and thought of you. Just thought I'd call you up and share the news," Harry rasps over the line, grinning madly to himself, talking about an 80's love song he heard from the radio.

"That's cute, baby," Louis replies in a fond voice, sighing on the other line. "I'm actually signing some papers at the moment. Exhausting, if you ask me. I'm glad you called, just what I needed. Thank you."

Harry hums, nodding despite the fact Louis doesn't see him.

And then after a beat of comfortable silence, "God, I wanna see you, Lou," Harry confesses, groaning. "Miss you."

"I know, baby," Louis agrees softly, his tone near-cooing. "But I have to finish with this, though... Hmm. How about I take the first flight Friday morning and hop on a plane to get home to you, oui? And then before you even wake up the next day I'll be on that bed of yours, sucking you off so good you won't even know how to breathe proper. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like a plan..."

"Mhmm. Glad we agree."

It's been set in stone that Louis will be painting every version of Harry that he can possibly dream up—which Harry feels so special and beautiful—and so he dresses up for the older lad to have his figure translated on the canvases, articulately painted on by various paintbrushes and oil paints.

They do this a lot, even though it's only possible for them to do it when Freya's not around. The lass parties a lot, and it has only made more sense to Harry that she and Louis didn't really share a lot of things in common because, apparently, she was adopted when she was a teenager and had a difficult time throughout her past. Now she's rebelling, and her actions only worsened when her dads parted ways years prior. She's more fond of Phil, Harry now understands—that guy who broke Louis' heart by cheating. Harry isn't really that bothered by any of this, now that he knows...a little.

Taking out his outfit for his tonight's performance, Harry immediately strips off his casual clothing and then slips on a new pair of tight women's jeans and his new pink floral sheer shirt he bought from YSL. He fixes his hair as he looks at the mirror, ruffles it a few notches, and then slips on his trademark headscarf, some of his curls sticking out. He decides to leave them be. For the final touch, Harry puts the clip-on earring (a cross design, because he and his sister have got an affinity for cross and it's their thing now), the one Gemma got him last week, and he's finally done by wearing his sparkly boots.

Harry slips out of the dressing room to see if his mate, Ed, has already finished with his own performance on stage, but when he sees he is only halfway through his last set, it gives Harry a few more spare minutes to relax in the dressing room.

He sits yet again on his stool, tapping his fingers against the chipped wood of his vanity. He didn't have an incoming text from Louis when Harry checked it early on, and he wonders if there is one now. He isn't unlocking his phone to find out though, he's too anxious to do so. In the end, Harry just picks up the lipstick straying in his reach and applies some on his lips, completing it by pursing his plump lips together. And Harry wants to giggle as he stares back at his own reflection, because fuck if he doesn't look great. Louis will totally bend him over his desk later on tonight, he's sure of it. Harry grins wickedly at the thought, feeling himself blush at the image entertaining his mind.

~*~

Harry's got five songs in his set list for the night, all will be played by Ed, who is his backup guitarist, and he's ready to perform as soon as he steps on the stage, the spotlight focused solely on his figure, playing glorious shadows with the contours of his body.

This is what Harry loves doing, he has always loved it, but now he's loving it even more—especially now he's got inspiration. Harry puts on his most charming smile, knowing Louis has promised to be in the audience tonight, wanting to give his best. He's picked out his most favorite songs he has spent days rehearsing over and over again, and he's determined to show his daddy what he's worthy of.

The room is dimmed, Velvety Roses once again filled with men and queer folks, the majority of the crowd being bikers and drunken travelers from either the south or up north.

Harry grips his personal microphone, the green taped below visible to the audience, his gaze searching the crowd for a certain man with the fiercest persona he's ever been acquainted with in his entire entity. The one man that's actually made him feel sexy and fuckable by just being stared down by him. The one man that can give him one piercing, icy gaze racking over his body and make him feel weak in the knees. The one man that can make him either bend over a table and beg to be fucked or drop down to his knees in a millisecond flat, mouth wide open so his throat will get gagged, mouthful of thick, hard cock. Louis fucking Tomlinson. His man, his painter, his Frenchman fresh from Paris, who always smells of expensive perfume, always is adorning Rolex watches on his wrist and loves driving him places with his black Mercedes Benz.

Harry licks his lips just as his eyes stop directly on him, finally; there, right there. Louis is seated on a stool by the bar, wearing what Harry can make out to be some royal blue blazer and trousers that match, his soft fringe brushed up, revealing his forehead, aviators perched over his nose and covering his dominating blue eyes, a flower pinned to his suit's breast pocket, probably an indication he's just gone to some event and went straight from there to see Harry without bothering to change. And fuck—fuck he looks good, is the thing. Daddy looks so fucking god-like, a fucking modern-day James Dean. And Harry's so weak for him; so, so weak for him.

Has seemingly noticed he's been looking, Louis raises his hand holding a pint and commemorates a toast to Harry. Harry just nods, face instantly numbing with heat, shoulders sagging into submission. Yep, Harry the usually confident and notorious harlot is a downright submissive when it comes to Louis, and yes, it's insanely ridiculous.

"Good evening, boys," Harry greets over the crowd, his voice echoing all over the dingy ole bar. Wolf whistles and loud whooping erupt from the audience, men of different sizes and colors clapping enthusiastically. Harry smiles his best, batting his eyelashes in a flirtatious manner. "How's everyone's night so far? If there's any newcomers here, please kindly stand so the veterans can welcome y'all."

There are four or five newcomers who stand, earning greetings from others, and Harry spends that chance to look at Louis across the bar yet again, catching Louis watching him intently while sipping on his beer. Harry winks at the older man, before proceeding to speak over the mic. "So, tonight folks, Ed here, you guys know him. He is gonna be my guitarist. And of course, as per usual I'll be singing five different songs for you all."

There's another round of bustling and applause, but when it dies down, Harry takes that as his cue. Ed starts plucking, strumming the first notes.

And so Harry closes his eyes and starts with the first verse, already quite into the moment. "Blue jeans, white shirt. Walked into the room you know you made my eyes burn. It was like, James Dean, for sure... You're so fresh to death and sick as ca-cancer..."

~*~

Harry tries not to squirm as Louis nibbles on his left ear. He fails anyway, giggling madly as he scoots away from Louis' reach. "Look so beautiful tonight, baby," Louis murmurs softly, smiling from the driver's seat. "Earring looks perfect on you, too, maybe I should buy you a whole set."

"Really now," Harry challenges, cocking a brow at Louis mischievously. He's lighting a cigar, putting it in between his lips.

"Oui, chéri. You look pretty in them," Louis insists as he nods vigorously to get his point across, turning onto a street and honking at another car. They're on their way back to Louis', with Louis driving them both in his car number three, as Harry marks it. He's got six of them, so it's best to just be naming them by numbers. Harry sometimes goes to work without bringing his own car, knowing Louis will fetch him in one of his exuberant vehicles.

"Fine, fine. Thank you, babe, but that's a no," Harry responds after his giggling fit, blushing red. He thinks nice try with Louis even suggesting buying him things. Don't get Harry wrong—he believes Louis' only being sweet and nice at the same time for spoiling him, but. Really. Louis spends ridiculous amounts of money on him, despite the money usually going towards dates and free rides, free food. Perhaps buying him something every once in a while is good, but not this soon though. Louis has literally just bought Harry a new cellphone, he doesn't need anything else.

Shaking his head at the thought, Harry exhales the grey smoke and makes a face after realizing they're suffocated inside the car.

"Are you sure? But you'll definitely look wonderful in other designs, Harry," Louis presses on. Harry shuts him up by leaning over and kissing his open mouth. Louis moans in response, and before he can even kiss back, Harry pulls away and sticks his tongue out, teasing Louis and making him make that gaping, surprised look he's giving Harry, and then takes another drag from his cigar. "Tease you are, doll. Keep it up and daddy won't fuck you tonight," Louis tells him.

Laying back, Harry puts his legs up and rolls down the window next to him, letting the brisk evening air swell against his face, grabbing a stick of gum and starting chewing. He lets his smoke join the fluttering wisps of wind as he ignores Louis' threat altogether; knowing full well, not he nor Louis actually believes that bullshit. "So, where were you before you went to VR? You look pretty fancy to me, wearing that suit and everything." He gestures with his hand to give emphasis to what he's pertaining to.

Humming, Louis stops at a red light and thrums his fingers against the steering wheel, glancing at Harry. "Was called in to have a meeting with the rest of the gallery insulators just this afternoon; discussed a few things, mostly about the blueprinting of the place... They needed me in a tux, I gave them matching suits." Louis smiles again, removing his aviators and wearing them to Harry, catching Harry off guard a bit. "Did you like it?"

Harry bites his lip, keeping himself from breaking into a fully wide grin at that. "Like?" He breathes out, fixing the glasses over his nose and pecking Louis' hand. "I love it, Lou. Truly," he says honestly. "How was the meeting, though?"

Louis shrugs. "Alright."

Harry nods.

The ride doesn't take long now, the two of them laughing about absolutely nothing and every little thing mentioned, and before Harry can even finish his third cigarette, Louis' pulling him inside the house and is backing him up against the wall, hungrily going for his jaw and nipping at his skin, the chance that Valeria could be lingering by the kitchen doorway be damned. Harry laughs as he has the need to drop his cigarette stick on the floor's tiles, hugging Louis with his right leg and letting their groins grind.

"Honey, don't you think we should..." Harry starts but sooner trails off, just as Louis lets out a low mixture of growl and moan, letting go of Harry and then dashing up the stairs, looking back just to signal Harry to follow him.

Harry does as he's told, taking two steps at a time as he ties up his hair in a bun.

Once they get to Louis' room, Harry is bent over the bed with his arse poised upwards into thin air in record time, Louis lingering behind him, probably admiring his pert bum from behind, given the fact he's not even touching Harry but just breathing on his exposed hole. Harry groans and squirms, whining his protests at all of the impatience that's swirling in his abdomen. "Sshh, baby. Just... let daddy look at your beauty for a little while more," Louis whispers huskily, obviously hot but is refraining in the name of casually admiring someone's ass. Jesus.

Hot in the ears, Harry swallows as he wiggles his ass a bit, face smashed against the plush pillows on Louis' bed, hands clutching the sheets as he waits it out. He can feel his muscles retracting at each fan of breath Louis lets out that hits his cooling skin, feeling his dick already forming a semi. And fuck, Harry needs Louis to do something.

"Please..." He pleads, word muffled by the sheets.

"So, so beautiful, baby. So pink, that hole of yours. I love it. If only I can paint you looking like this. So loose, so submissive for daddy," Louis recites, tone of voice clearly enticed, and wow. He really, surely makes Harry feel so admired—treasured—and cherished. And no man has ever... not in this level of, not this way, considering he'd always been just a fuck. Harry's heart feels as though it will fucking explode, just thinking about the possibility that he may not be anymore.

Writhing on the bed, Harry untangles his legs from the duvet and spreads his thighs for Louis' sake of better access. He hears the older man hum in appreciation as he does just that. Harry thinks he's ready. Like so damn ready.

Moments to their silence, eventually so, Louis grabs on Harry's arse cheeks and slaps one of them, making Harry hiss in both pleasure and striking pain, pushing forward and sheets-clenching. Louis yet again lets out a low growl, and then he's suddenly sticking his tongue across Harry's sensitive rim, tasting him, spiky stubble against meaty flesh.

Moans and multiple incoherence escape Harry's lips just as Louis' started properly eating him, tongue lapping across his hole and nibbling, thin lips against tingling pink skin. "Oh, jesus fuck," Harry suppresses in a low voice, breathing heavily in and out. Louis rewards him with another spanking at that, making him yet again yelp and writhe responsively, consistent currents of arousal coursing through his veins and going directly to his untouched cock. He can feel himself leaking and it's driving him fucking mad.

"Tellement bon pour papa," Louis murmurs against his puckered hole, eager tongue pushing in and out, hot breath fanning and rendering goosebumps on Harry's exposed arms.

"Louis... Louis..." Harry chants in loud squeaks, "please, daddy... just... please..." Harry doesn't really know what he's begging for if he's honest, but with situations such as this one, he can't seem to help murmur words out of his mind. It's ridiculous. They are ridiculous. But Harry thinks they fit anyway.

And so it goes. Louis continues to eat him out, hand spanking his ass again and making him moan loud, before going for his completely hardened dick between his thighs, and then pumping on it fast. Harry feels wrecked quite already after that, can't stay still, pushing and pushing his ass toward Louis' face for more, more, more. Louis gives it to him, he's a non-difficult negotiator when it comes to giving anyway. He may be is born to give.

After a few more thrusts, Louis frees him for just two seconds and then quickly flips him over, spreading his legs wide. Harry's so dizzy with pleasure he can barely see straight now.

And until it all gets blurry from there, being the only thing Harry is remembering is that of Louis fucking him hard without the use of condom and only lubricant, leaving him limp and pliant in contentment afterwards, cleaning him up off come and the both of them sleeping the night off, cuddled up in heavenly soft bundles.

He also remembers Louis kissing the top of his head as he spoons him from behind.

~*~

By the time Harry stirs awake the next day, he finds himself curled up in a ball, strong, tattooed arms wrapped around his torso, soft snores being pressed against his nape. Harry allows it as Louis' still deep in his slumber.

Harry ever so slowly takes Louis' arm off his body and presses his feet on the ground, stretching his arms wide and then padding across the room. Harry gets in the bathroom with nothing on, switches the lights on, and borrowing a toothbrush from Louis. He brushes his teeth to get rid of the staleness that formed overnight, washes his face with cold water, and then takes a morning wee.

When Harry leaves the loo, he sees Louis' still peacefully sleeping, so that gives him more time to himself.

He sits on his rumpled side of the bed, and gives into the urge to look at Louis' sleeping figure next to him, and to just like, admire what he's like. He stares for a bit before the thought occurs that watching Louis sleep is weird and creepily intimate, considering they aren't even official. The realization brings a stinging feeling in Harry's stomach. For some reason that he can't define.

Speaking of, Harry should probably cook them some breakfast.

Picking up his underwear off the ground, Harry quickly slips it on, and then, seeing as his overnight clothes are all somewhat dried off of the work's worth of sweat, Harry disregards them and just goes straight to Louis' closet and plunders it for something he can fit into. He chooses an oversized jumper in the end since it's the only thing that can wrap around his bigger frame. It's a lavender colored one and is tremendously cute, and it's large enough that it stops on his thighs and leaves his underwear out of plain sight, creating sweater paws with how long each sleeve is. Harry happily sneaks out the room wearing just that, and then he travels down to the kitchen, meeting Valeria halfway there.

"Hi!" Harry greets her cheerfully, waving a hand and dimpling, leaving Valeria no choice but to swallow down her French and say Hello back, accent exceptionally thick. Giggling at the sound of it, Harry proceeds to the kitchen and drags the old woman with him, linking their arms together enthusiastically, as though they've been the best of buddies for years. It is the first time Harry hears Valeria's laughter bubble from her lips, asking how last night had went—casually too! Well, Harry's just as proud and vocal as he tells her about everything, from his performance to the ride back home, minus the awesome sex, though. Because he's kind enough to spare her those details.

When they reach the kitchen, they both help each other make pancakes and tea, Valeria willingly giving Harry the details as to where things are around the massive place, and as to how does Louis like his breakfast each morning in 'the Mademoiselle Valeria way'. Harry's just really happy he gets along with the housemaid, no matter if she's only that; a housemaid.

Two sunny side ups, a few sausages and mountains of perfectly browned pancakes later, Harry and Valeria take the trays full of food with them and soldier back up the staircase, taking their time strolling along the long quiet hallway, and then stopping at the door to Louis' room.

It's Harry who hip-checks the door open to reveal a still sleeping Louis by the bed, only now that the man has changed positions. Harry nods at Valeria as she beckons to place the tray by the bedside table, and then she leaves with a kind smile right after that. Harry, on the other hand, places the tray he's holding on the other bedside table where Louis lies near, leaning down to whisper in Louis' ear.

"Mon amour," Harry coos, attempting French. It causes him to laugh when Louis pries an eye open at hearing him say that.

"Bonjour, chéri," Louis rasps, smiling tiny at him. Harry smiles back, his heart pounding drastically in his chest at how blue, blue, blue Louis' eyes are as he looks back at him, especially when the sunlight is hitting his face like this, softly contoured eyelids and nose and cheekbones presented like magnificence at its best. Harry aches to touch him, feel the stubble that, yet again, left rashes on his pale, sensitive bum and thighs—serving as a reminder just how sensational Louis Tomlinson truly is.

"Made you breakfast, Lou. Heard pancakes with the side of eggs and sausages are your favorites..."

"Ooh," Louis muses in excitement, chuckling lightly. He sits up slowly after a while, and Harry immediately busies himself bringing the trays over to the bed, placing each in between himself and Louis, laying the food down. "This is so lovely, Haz," is what Louis says as he takes his first bite out of three layers of pancake, chewing happily. "I didn't know you can cook! I'm so used to French and Italian cuisines, but this," Louis stops to take another large bite out of a sausage with a piece of egg, before finishing his sentence with a mouthful, "this is good."

Seeing the bright smile painting Louis' lips as he eats, Harry can't help smile to himself as well as he looks down on his own food-full of plate, mentally patting his head in victory at his success of having Louis' clear as day stamp of approval at his cooking skills. He thinks perhaps he'll cook for Louis more in the future... like, just to see that wonderful, handsome smile again. Especially the part where Louis' eyes are crinkling at the sides, cheeks dented with hints of dimples and pinks. And Harry never even knew Louis has dimples. That's news. Amazing news.

After they're done eating, Louis sets their trays aside and pulls Harry back in bed with him, nuzzling his face against Harry's exposed collarbone. "Glad you loved the breakfast I cooked, Lou."

"Mhmm," Louis hums in affirmation, pressing a soft, lingering kiss on Harry's throat. "Was so good, baby. I'm impressed."

"Valeria helped me a bit. She's a very nice woman," Harry says softly.

"She is, she is. Been working under me since my twenties."

"Really?" Harry drawls, grinning down at Louis because of the new information, imagination kicking in as he thinks about a young version of Louis, already posh and oh so lovely with less wrinkles and brisk skin, fringe softer and probably always kept lying against his forehead, being served by a French younger Valeria, early discovery of his talent in painting on the works. And then there's the thought of a younger Louis in French style clothing next, suspenders and tight trousers hugging his thighs and legs probably, flat vintage shoes with his ankles out, beret or potato type of hats atop his head, long and thick black eyelashes cascading shadows over the hollows of his prominent cheekbones. And damn—damn if Harry's not so fond of him; damn if Harry's not so drawn in his daydream he actually forgets just how he's literally holding the older version of the same Louis he's imagining inside his head.

Harry's just...he just really feels blessed to have met Louis amidst his laid back lifestyle.

He can still remember how things had went for him before all these. He used to sleep with different men each night, going home with them after a night spent working at VR, and then leaving first thing in the morning with not so much as a greeting, credits left unspoken despite a previously good hell of a fuck.

It's different with Louis though; it's a whole different story when it comes to the old Frenchman, it seems. This one, Harry actually enjoys spending time with, has so much fun with, has several laughing moments with. Harry never did that to any man he'd ever let either fuck or touch him from the past. Just Louis. And it's only Louis, too, that he's ever confessed how he wishes he could just forget his job and fly to New York next, make rounds in Coney Island, build a house near there and then spend the rest of his life visiting back and forth and spend time making memories at the Boardwalk.

Call Harry a child, call Harry juvenile, but it's what he's always wanted. Living nearby Coney Island will always be in his Bucket List, and he'll always be proud of that optimum. There are many things Harry likes. One of which being dressed up. And then there's the freedom of wearing lipstick, wearing head scarves, wearing earrings, prancing gracefully, having his hair grown freely, singing songs for men, painting his nails various colors and all that...

But there are more things Harry wants done, and if only he can go to Coney Island...

"You look perfect in my clothes, sweetheart, maybe I should let you wear them all the time," Louis suddenly tells Harry, breaking him from his heavy thinking.

Harry smiles down at Louis' grinning facial expression in a lieu of compensating, fireworks exploding for the first time ever since they looked at each other this close and this serene; Louis looks like the sun, Harry decides, and Harry is the moon. Louis' moon. The one running after him, but not being given a chance by the universe itself anyway. It's gonna be exhausting, it's the inevitable, but Harry the moon will do anything just to get to Louis the sun in any way he can either way, so there really is no point of discussion.

"Well, I love being in your clothes. They smell just like you. Makes me feel safe wearing them," Harry tells Louis honestly.

Louis laughs lightly, tapping Harry's chin. "I am glad, baby doll," he says, voice a bit groggy. Harry leans in and captures Louis' lips, closing his eyes at the instant bliss it gives, sucking at the man's bottom lip much longer, before letting go of it with a flourish. "Say, what do you feel about going out of town, Harry?"

Harry opens his eyes. "Mmhm, where to?"

Wiggling his eyebrows, Louis grins widely. "You know... to the city that never sleeps? I am not working for a week, so I thought maybe... you might want to ask that boss of yours for a leave of absence, so—"

"Yes!" Harry squeals, not even letting Louis finish his sentence, excitement bursting through his veins. He's so excited about going he has just lost all traces of finesse. "Yes, yes, yes, Louis! Oh, my God!"

Laughing, Louis flips them over and Harry goes along with it, laughing too. And then they're rolling uncontrollably as they hug each other, both of them ending up lying on the floor. Harry hurriedly scrambles up to his feet just as he's recovered from his excitement, straddling Louis' hips and leaning down to snog him senseless. Harry feels so ecstatic he's afraid he might just burst from it.

[what-is-sibling-test]

from 'RittenhouseTL' for all things Timeless https://ift.tt/2NNf3dL via Istudy world

visnjicpreston: For @hilariousness142 Live and Love [Garcy Prompt] [AN: Disclaimer: Fictional...

For @hilariousness142

Live and Love [Garcy Prompt]

[AN: Disclaimer: Fictional portrayal of some blood and injury. Medical descriptions may not be 100% accurate.]

“Oh my god.” Lucy’s hand flies up to her mouth involuntarily, and the other reaches out to Garcia as he stumbles out of the shadows of the tree line. A dark red bloodstain on the right side of his white shirt is spreading quickly under his fingers. He takes her outstretched hand in his free one as a reaffirmation to her, but relies a little to much on her to steady him to make it believable. She hesitates, freezes. She doesn’t know what to do.

“He stabbed me. He’s dead now.” He fills in. He must see the blood drain from her face, because he squeezes her hand. “I’m fine, Lucy. Let’s get back to-” He cuts himself off with fit of coughing, and a trickle of dark blood spills from his mouth.

“Garcia!” He takes a gargled breath, gasping for air. “Wyatt! Rufus! Help!” She calls out, tearing off her period-appropriate jacket and pressing it to Garcia’s side as he sinks down into a sitting position at the base of a tree. They’re close to the Lifeboat, but maybe too far away for the others to hear her yelling at the top of her lungs. “Please stay with me Garcia.” She can only hope someone who knows what they’re doing shows up soon.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, draga.” He laughs. Her heart breaks at his attempt at a joke while he’s critically injured after pulling a sleeper off of her. She regrets listening to him when he told her to run, even though rationally she knows she wouldn’t have been much help. He reaches up and cups her face, his other hand helping hers to staunch the bleeding. “Just don’t die on me.” She humors him, even though she’s sure he worry is very present on her face. Please don’t die. I love you, I need you, I love you, just stay alive.

He was losing blood, her jacket was already turning red, and he was breathing strange. “My lung. Collapsing.” He manages to half grunt half gasp out. His face said it was becoming painful to talk.

Lucy’s brain is in panic mode, and she frantically calls for the Wyatt again. He would know how to fix a stab wound. And apparently a collapsing lung.

As if on cue, Wyatt bursts into the clearing with gun drawn and Rufus hot on his tail. “Ah, hell.” He tucks his gun away and crosses to where Garcia lays incapacitated.

“Let me guess,” Rufus manages a semblance of humor though clearly nauseated. “Heroically saving Lucy at your own risk.”

Garcia manages a partial smile before again coughing and spluttering up more blood. Lucy suppresses a gag. “He said his lung was collapsing.” Lucy tells Wyatt, who’s currently cutting away the fabric of Garcia’s shirt, though it’s almost a question. Despite everything, she’s hoping for good news.

Wyatt grimaces at the wound, pressing Lucy’s jacket back on the bleeding. A sickly feeling forms in the pit of her stomach, her hopes for good news crushed. Garcia looks pale, and sweat is beading on his brow. It almost hurts her to watch how much pain he’s in. He keeps his eyes on her, like she’s his lifeline, so she doesn’t look away. She doesn’t look away when his eyes fall closed either.

“Rufus, help me carry him. Lucy, keep firm pressure on the wound. If you don’t, air will get, his lung will collapse, and he’ll die. We have to get him to a real hospital.”

Under normal circumstances, Lucy would correct him; he meant a modern hospital, not ‘a real’ one. However, the semantics of time travel aren’t exactly on the forefront of her mind. Her adrenaline is on high, especially at the prospect of the man under her hands being close to death. He can’t die. She hadn’t told him. She hasn’t been able to so much as kiss him on missions. The claustrophobic panic of a closing door, a lost opportunity, of loss before gain is rapidly setting in.

Garcia’s face twists in pain as Rufus and Wyatt help him to his feet. “I’m sorry.” She’s not sure exactly why she’s apologizing. The only thing she knows is that Garcia has to be okay. She needs him. “Stay with me. Focus on my voice.” She doesn’t know if any of what she’s saying is helpful, but she repeats it anyway.

The hike to the Lifeboat is unbearably long. It feels like hours by the time the get back to the safe house, and days by the time they get Garcia to a hospital.

Lucy hasn’t seen him since he got to said hospital, and Denise denied her visits for twelve hours. (It had started at twenty four, but Lucy had managed to talk her down through tears and a lot of yelling.)

“He needs time, Lucy.”

“I have to know he’s okay. I have to talk to him. Please.”

“He has a hemothorax, it’s going to take some time for him to be settled. We should give him space.”

“He was stabbed because he pulled a sleeper off of me, I’m not waiting twenty four hours!”

Lucy had only even changed and showered when Jiya had literally helped her strip down and get into the shower. She had hid away in Garcia’s room, though it was technically their room since she hasn’t bothered to start sleeping alone since they left the bunker. She wrapped herself in one of his sweaters and tried not to cry. I love you. Please be okay. I need to tell you.

Now, sitting on the couch after being alternately comforted by everyone, she stares blankly at the dark tv screen and counts down the minutes. Garcia made it through successful surgery, which Lucy knew through Denise’s updates, but her nerves are frayed nonetheless. She hasn’t even eaten.

With ten minutes left on her given time frame, Lucy stands in front of the safe house door. Out of her peripheral she sees Jiya stop momentarily, looking on with concern, before stepping quietly away. At eight minutes, Denise shows up and escorts Lucy out of the safe house.

Lucy doesn’t even bother to look out the car window as they drive. She just loses herself in her thoughts. She wonders how Flynn, the time terrorist she didn’t understand, had become her Garcia, the friend and confidant who trusted her, understood her, and cared about her more than anyone else. At some point she had realized he loved her. And while once she would have been put off by the idea, considering how her heart had been crushed in the not too distant past, she now found it comforting, and safe, and wonderfully exciting.

Exciting is not the word she wants to feel right now, as the hospital comes into view. Her mind clears away the thoughts as she waits for Denise in the empty waiting room that smells like chemical cleaner.

“You can go see your husband now.” A nurse steps into her line of sight. “He’s been asking for you. He might be a little out of it because of the pain killers, but otherwise he’s doing ok. Room 316.” Lucy doesn’t even blink at being referred to a his spouse. After so many missions, she falls so easily into the role. She smiles, though it doesn’t reach her eyes and it falls from her face the second she turns down the hall.

She nearly collides with Denise in the hall in front of the room, just narrowly managing to slide past her and open the door. She ignores Denise calling her name, entered the room, and stops short. The door swings closed behind her, with a slow whoosh of air and a click.

His hair is a mess, sticking up in various angle. She notices the edges of angry bruises peeking out from the neck of his hospital gown, on the right side of his chest. His eyes flicker open at the noise. He smiles softly. “I told you, you weren’t getting rid of me that easily.” Lucy can hardly find the wherewithal to laugh. Maybe she would have been able to find humor in the situation before she loved him, but now it was too terrifying of a thought. Hot tears fall involuntarily from her eyes, and she moves to side of his bed. His smile is replaced with a hard line, and he takes her hand in his. “What are the tears for?” He sits up slowly, and swings his legs over the side of the bed, face contorting momentarily in pain.

“You almost died.” She whispers artlessly. Her voice is raspy, probably an effect of both tears and shouting at Denise, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” He shrugs. She hears the silent ‘won’t be the last’ on his tongue, though for her sake he holds it back. “It’s okay. I’m the grunt, I’m supposed to take the hard hits for you.”

She drops his hand, sending a jolt of pain through his face, and shakes her head, taking a halting step backwards. “But you aren’t. It’s not-” She tries to take as a deep a breath she can manage and squeezes her eyes closed. “You aren’t just a grunt. I don’t want you get yourself killed for me.”

“Lucy, I will never regret protecting you.” He cuts her off, and her eyes flicker open. “If it comes at my expense then so be it. You are so much more valuable than me.”

Her heart drops to her stomach. “Would you stop?” She can’t help but raise her voice, even if it feels like sandpaper in her throat. “I need you. Do you understand? I can not lose you.” It’s probably the closest she’s been to saying it.

“And I can’t lose you either!” He stands up rapidly, making a pained noise at the movement, at which she winces. It isn’t a secret, she knows how he feels about her. But he isn’t getting that she feels the same. Swallowing it down, he brings his fingers to his eyebrow in frustration. “I understand that you don’t want to lose a team member. But Lucy, my death is not consequential to the missions.”

“It’s consequential to me, Flynn! It’s not about the damn missions and you are not just a team member!” His jaw tightens when she uses his last name, but his expression softens as she continues. “You are valuable to me, I need you, and I can’t- I won’t lose another person I love.” She hadn’t wanted to say it. At least not now, not like this. But one second it was threatening to tear itself out of her chest and the next it was simply there, in the open. A tear, then two, fall from her cheeks, leaving imprints on his sweater that she’s still wearing from earlier. “I don’t want you to die for me, Garcia.” She whispers. “I want you to live for me. So please, just shut the hell up, and live. I want you to live. I want-” Her voice falters, and she lets it hang in the air.

Garcia stands still for a long moment, while she tucks her face into her hands and cried. For a moment, she thinks maybe he disappeared. But then she feels firm arms come gently around her, tugging her to sit on the bed. And he just holds her. No questions, no revelations, no clarifications. No confessions. And she’s surprisingly grateful for that. Grateful that he just holds her, his hand tucked into her hair while he presses his lips to her head. He whispers gently in Croatian, she can feel the reverberations of his voice, and though she doesn’t understand, she knows he understands now more than ever.

“Lucy, I promise. I will do whatever it takes to live for you.” He finally speaks in English, as her ragged breathing shudders to a steadier pace. She nods visibly, holding back another surge of tears, and she twists her hands into his.

“Lucy, I want to ask,” He prompts her later, while she lays carefully next to him on the hospital bed. He takes a breath to speak, holds it, and releases it. A nonverbal 'nevermind’.

Lucy turns to him, props herself up, and presses a light kiss to the corner of his lips. “I meant it.” Her voice is shy, but determined, and she appreciates her vocal chords finally cooperating with her. “I love you.” She smiles, finally feeling hope, and control over her life, for the first time in a while. “I love you.” She repeats, just for good measure.

“I love you, Lucy. I have for a long time.”

“I know.”