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madswonders · 4 years ago

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A Lesson In Romance #11: Actions

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Genre: A little ✨spice✨ and a little ✨action✨

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, brief mentions of alcohol consumption, gun violence, mild (???) dirty talk

Word Count: 2.3k

Plot: Reader keeps getting caught in rom-com situations with Spencer Reid. This time, they pretend to be married.

A/N: I would like to dedicate this chapter to the Classy Restaurant Music playlist on Spotify for capturing the fancy restaurant vibes I needed hahahah

Masterlist | All chapters here!

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"You know, this is not how I imagined coming back here." You said quietly. Next to you, Spencer smiled.

Your eyes were still adjusting to the warm light, a stark contrast to the blue winter evening outside. This was your second time here, technically, but the sensation of his hand on your waist and the cool metal on your left hand made it all feel brand new.

"Table for Mr. and Mrs. Reid." He said to the hostess, calmer than you'd ever seen him before. You didn't miss the way he tugged you closer when he said "Mrs." and despite the truth of the matter, giddy smiles tugged on both your lips.

But it was the hostess' reaction that gave it away for you. When she glanced at your intertwined hands and matching rings with a soft smile, you began to realise why the two of you were chosen for this in the first place. The effect you had on each other was hypnotising.

Sending you and Spencer undercover as newlyweds was probably the easiest decision Hotch has ever had to make. His reasoning came from basic human psychology; people are drawn to extreme events, and while this generally applied to accidents and tragedy, it also applied to marriage and child birth.

In this case, few things would stand out more in a crowded restaurant than a pair of shiny new wedding rings, a large bouquet of flowers, and a bottle of champagne for two. And to top it all off, he had the two of you. Everything else came secondary.

Still, it was strange. Being isolated from the operation only made you more in awe of your team. Even under the duress of three hours, they operated like clockwork; devising a comprehensive undercover mission, building a profile for an unsub they didn't even know, and training an entire restaurant's staff in a handful of hours.

By the time the final pieces fell into place, all that was left was for you and Spencer to carry out the final stage of the plan.

Maybe it was the pressure of having the entire team rest on your shoulders, or this new "character" you had to play, but something felt different tonight. It was like electricity crackled in the air; you felt it when his hand lingered on your back, low enough that you felt a growing warmth in your belly, making you yearn for his touch long after he let go.

Maybe it was the stress from going undercover for the first time that made you trail your gaze down his suited figure, muscled and lean as a side effect of this job. Maybe that's why the image of him standing at the foot of your bed in this very suit couldn't leave your mind, until the physical action of squirming in your seat jolted you out of your own imagination.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Spencer locked eyes with you, his hazel eyes dark under the dim restaurant lighting.

"Just thinking about you." You admitted, placing your hand across the table. He took your hand in his instantly, his thumb tentatively resting on the jewel on your ring finger.

"All good things, I hope?"

"Nothing but good things."

"Well, perhaps I can add to that. You look beautiful." He pressed a soft kiss to your hand, his eyes crinkling playfully when your cheeks turned pink in response.

"How do I know you're not just saying that for our audience?" You whispered, eyes darting to his tie where the mic was hidden.

"If it weren't for our audience, I'd be saying a lot more, love." He replied lowly, and you bit back a thought you didn't want any of your colleagues to hear. You could already imagine them cringing as they listened in on your conversation, and the image made you giggle.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Dr. Spencer Reid?" You accused jokingly.

"When love is not madness, it is not love." He answered simply.

You thought for a moment, before the reference clicked in your head. "Pedro Calderon de la Barca. Interesting choice. You weren't lying about your education in classic literature, doctor." You looked impressed.

"I'm hurt that you even doubted it." He mocked insult, and you grinned.

"No, I'm just surprised."

"Wait until you see my actual surprise." He smiled, gesturing behind you as a waiter appeared carrying two plates in your direction.

"I took the liberty of ordering our food in advance." He explained. When you looked at him in surprise, he simply shrugged. “I figured I should expand my theory beyond breakfast.”

"And here I thought tonight couldn't get anymore exciting." You said, marvelling at the appetisers as they were placed in front of you two.

“You can reserve your compliments for when I guess everything correct, and I will.” He mock bowed.

“You're on." You giggled. "Now, can we finally have some of this champagne?"

Dinner went by smoother than you thought it would, and thankfully for your team listening in, your conversations steered away from thinly veiled flirting to classic films as the food appeared.

Not that it was any easier for you talk about Billy Wilder and Francis Ford Coppola with what was happening in front of you. Spencer had taken to playing with the ring on your finger while you talked, and each time his long fingers brushed against yours, it sent chills down your spine.

But it was when his leg brushed against yours underneath the clothed table that you felt yourself lose grip of your facade. The first time it happened, you even thought it might be a mistake. But after the second and third time, it was clear that Spencer knew exactly what he was doing, even if the innocent expression on his face didn't betray anything.

If you didn't know him better, you would even think that he liked it, teasing you underneath the restaurant table on case, where you couldn't act on it. Instead, you pushed away the thought and allowed your skin to prick with every touch; all the while you sipped on your champagne, taking the chance to observe the patrons around you through the rim of your glass.

Unfortunately, your luck was a little worse in the unsub department, and your concern only continued to grow as your entrées made way for dessert.

Before you entered the restaurant, the team had discussed the best-case-scenario for tonight — identifying and apprehending the unsub quietly before the dinner shift was up. But if you ran out of time, there was always one back-up plan, something that would definitely force the unsub's hand.

The good thing about having two unsubs now was that victimology became incredibly simple to decipher. What you and Spencer had considered inconsistencies at first, were now clear patterns distinguishing each one.

The first one was impulsive but experienced, driven purely by a compulsion to complete his pattern as fast as possible. Despite that, he had the sense to stick to high-risk victims and secluded locations, which made him so hard to catch in the first place.

It was the second unsub that was interesting. He seemed more controlled and calculating, choosing low-risk victims and public locations. The team profiled him as the narcissistic component of the original profile. The more high profile the victims, the more they attracted him.

And now that you’d spent the entire night drawing attention to yourselves, all you had to do was present an easy opportunity for the unsub to pounce — right into the BAU’s trap.

The moment Spencer beckoned you to come closer, you knew something was up. "Listen carefully, love. I'm going to call for the bill, and we're going to go outside. If I'm right about my guess, the unsub is going to be right behind us. Do you understand me?" He whispered into your ear, low and calm.

You made an obvious move to cup his cheek as you leaned back. "Can we go home now, baby?" You cooed. Yeah, you got him.

As you walked out of the restaurant, you intentionally stumbled as you clung onto his arm, letting out a loud giggle. Your gaze fixed adoringly on your date, even as Emily and Hotch called for their bill on your left, Derek and Rossi no doubt already rounding to the front of the restaurant from the back exit.

"Trust me." Spencer murmured as he opened the door for you, and when you nodded, he pulled you into one final kiss for the public. What you didn't expect was for him to move his hand down and squeeze your ass, causing you to let out a loud squeak at the doorway.

If anybody was looking at the two of you before, they were certainly staring now, and the doctor confirmed this with a low whisper. "He's coming."

When he finally caged you against his car, you had to remember not to go overboard for your listening colleagues, but you couldn't help but let out a quiet moan into his mouth as he pushed his leg lightly against your core.

"Sp— Spencer—" You breathed, locking your fingers behind his neck.

"Just hold on a little bit more, love." He muttered, cupping your cheeks with his large hands and stroking your hair. "Just a bit mor—"

You heard the sound of a gun cocking next to you as you broke apart, lightly gasping. A middle-aged man stood in the shadows, waving his gun aggressively. Bingo.

"Get into the car."

The two of you raised your arms warily. "Who are you?" Spencer shouted, moving to shield you from the unsub.

"I said, get into the car!" He yelled. "Starting with you."

"Okay, okay." The doctor conceded, unlocking the car and slowly getting in the backseat. He left some room for you to get in next, but the unsub trained his gun on you.

"Not you, sweetheart. I'm going to finish you right here." He narrowed his eyes at you. "Drop your bag on the ground."

Everything seemed to fall silent as you slowly lowered your bag, and your hidden gun, to the ground. When you stood back up with your hands in the air, the unsub slammed you into the side of the car and you groaned at the sudden impact.

You didn't need to gather your senses to know that his gun was pointed right at you.

"Leave her alone, James." Spencer threatened, already out of the car and levelling his gun at the unsub. All around you, the team moved into the light.

"FBI! James Luther — put the gun down." Hotch ordered.

The unsub looked shocked for a moment as he looked around, finally realising the situation he was in. His expression was unusually calm, and it chilled you to the bone.

"Very, very interesting. Are you a fed too?" He sneered down at you.

"It's over, James. Either you put the gun down, or you don't walk out of here alive." Spencer warned, but the unsub only laughed.

"I should have known that it was too good to be true. It's not often I get such a perfect couple, much less one with a wife this pretty." He drawled, waving the gun in your face.

"Spencer. I'm okay." You ordered through gritted teeth, already knowing what the genius was about to do.

"Look at her, so brave. Are the two of you even married? Or is everything about this fake?"

"I won't say this a second time. Put the gun down." Spencer repeated, cocking his gun straight at the unsub's head.

"T-think about this, James." You reasoned. "If you kill me, they'll kill you, and you won't be able to hear what the press will say about your murders after we expose you. Isn't that what you want? Don't you want to stop living in somebody else's shadow?"

The unsub's grip on his gun slackened. "They're not going to run a story on me. Why would they unless I keep killing?"

"They will if you give us the names and descriptions of all your victims, and we will make sure your face is front and centre for every single one." Spencer added. The unsub looked into both your eyes, seemingly searching for a hint of a lie, but there was none.

"Fine. Looks like the lady lives, this time." He gave up, dropping his gun to the floor and putting both hands on his head.

"James Luther, you are under arrest for the murders of Lucy Patt..." Derek recited his rights while dragging him away. You braced yourself against the car, catching your breath.

"Are you okay?" Spencer rushed over, sweeping you into a hug before you could even reply. You buried your face into his shoulder, tears welling up in your eyes involuntarily as you inhaled the familiar scent of paperbacks and coffee.

"I-I'm okay, baby. I'm okay." You mumbled, not sure if you were reassuring your boyfriend or yourself in that moment.

"It's okay, just let it out. You're safe now. I'm here. You're safe." He repeated, stroking your back as he kissed the top of your head again and again and again until you lost count.

You'd never been so relieved to arrive back at the BAU. Penelope was the first to give the two of you a big hug when you returned, fussing over the small cut on your face and the bruises on your arms, while you reassured her that you'd been cleared by the medics to go home.

"Good work today, both of you." Hotch called out from behind, shooting a small smile at you and Spencer. "Reid, take her home, and take a day off tomorrow. The two of you deserve it."

"You wouldn't be able to drag me into work tomorrow if you tried." You joked, and Spencer chuckled. For the first time, he wasn't about to argue with an order to take a break.

Nor was he about to argue when you asked him to come in to your apartment, or when you asked him to stay the night.

The only thing he wanted after tonight, was you.

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Tag List:

@blue-space-porgs @nobutalsoyes @lady-loves-a-lot @queen-flower @agentcarterisgay @totalmess191 @sapphic-prentiss @oops-all-ajs @spottedzebrasinpartyhats @mellowalieneggsknight @kenny-0909 || @averyhotchner @amesandpineapples @willowrose99

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lilred8220 · 3 years ago

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Well, yet another fic no one asked for😃

I wanted to write this because some time go, I was watching the fireworks when this song started to play↓↓↓

And I just thought how romantic it would be if I wasn't forever alone 🙃 so, I build a story around that. I hope you enjoy it!

P.s. This is a F!MC

I had been so excited for this day! In the human realm, my hometown this time of year had a huge festival ending with a huge firework show. I had asked to go a week in advance but due to being in the Devildom for the exchange program, I couldn't go. It definitely was a disappointment. However Diavolo, seeing me upset and now curious about the tradition, asked all about it and he thought it sounded fun. Thanks to him always wanting to do anything new, he immediately decided to do the same here in the Devildom.

So through the long week, he asked about everything we would do at the event to make it much more fun and quickly get everything ready to make this last second festival. It somehow all came together and it feels almost exactly like the festival from the human realm. The food, sweets and all! Now it was the time to enjoy the festival!

The brothers couldn't understand why I was so excited for this. Though we all went to festivals and saw fireworks, It was just something that I would always look forward to this time of the year and it's just more special this time around. It kinda feels as if I'm sharing something that I love with everyone I care about in a place where I like to call my new home. Hopefully they'll come to enjoy this as much as I do.

"So, this is called an Elephant ear?“ Beel asked, drooling at the large fried sweet in front of him.

I laugh, as I grab a piece before he can scarf the treat whole, "Yeah, it's just fried dough with powdered sugar on it. They usually sell these at any carnival or festival." I pop the elephant ear in my mouth, savoring the amazing taste.

The brothers each had something to eat as we took a break from all the festival games littered around. We all take two picnic benches for the 8 of us, well, us and Beel's giant pile of food he got. Everyone had won something from the games…well everyone but me and Mammon. Mammon was determined to win a game, yet his luck seemed to be the worse for wear today and all the games we'd gone to all ended up with one of the other brothers winning the game. My luck honestly wasn't any better due to playing the same games that the others had won.

"I'm telling ya! Those games are rigged! The people runnin 'em are just a bunch of con artists!“ Mammon yells, clearly frustrated that he hasn't gotten anything.

"Or maybe you just suck lol" Levi says, holding a Ruri-chan plush to his chest.

"Honestly, you really shouldn't be surprised, you were pretty terrible at all those games since you had no choice but to play fair." Satan adds on, which all the brothers nod in agreement.

Asmo laughs, "Well, what do you expect from a scumbag?"

I start to get annoyed as the brothers all start to bash on Mammon. He seems fine on the surface but I've been around him long enough, with him basically living in my room and all, to see all his little ticks. Like when he's excited, his hand gestures are more dramatic, to emphasize his point or how his eyes light up when something catches his attention, like something to make a quick buck. However, right now, with the way his mouth slightly twitches and his hand shoved into his pockets, he's upset. He really only does this when the brothers throw insult after insult at him, like right now.

I sigh as they continue their assault on him. But an idea comes to mind and it'll be easy enough to pull off.

"Does...that all that stuff apply to me too? Since I didn't win anything either, after all..." I say, putting on my best pouting face and looking down at the ground.

Immediately, the brothers started to panic, trying to reassure me that it wasn't true, successfully drawing their attention away from Mammon. I slightly looked up, passed the frantic brothers to lock eyes with Mammon. He stood there for a moment, a bit confused by my sudden comment. I flash him a quick smirk before looking up at the brothers, accepting their apologies. The brothers seemed to relax and drop the topic after that, returning to the food they have. Mammon, who had seemingly understood what my intentions really were, looked at me, with his face slightly flushed, then stared down at his food.

In Mammon's mind, he honestly doesn't know what force sent Y/N here but, she is honestly the best thing that has ever happened to him. At first, he hated the idea of being her guardian due to all of the extra work he was given. But, as days turned to weeks, her treatment towards him was nothing but sweet and loving. It honestly was a huge adjustment for him, since everyone treated him like scum or useless, having her place so much faith in him, even defending him and doing little gestures like this, it makes his head spin. He honestly couldn't pinpoint when it happened, but, his feelings for her drastically changed, he couldn't deny it now, how he longed for her, wanted her all to himself. How he loved her unconditionally.

I smile, quickly finish eating my food then stand up, "Ok! Time to get back to the games!“ I say, excitedly.

"Y/N, I'm glad you are excited but some of us still need to eat." Lucifer says, glancing at Beel and his mountain of food.

"Awww, come on Lucifer, I wanna try to win something before the fireworks start." I plop down again, putting my chin in my hands.

"Well, I'm sure we'll have plenty of time." Lucifer tries to cheer me up, eating some fries.

Mammon looks up at Y/N, upon seeing her upset. He honestly hated seeing Y/N upset, even if for something so small as to wait for everyone to finish eating. He wanted nothing more than to see her smile everyday, it honestly was one of his favorite parts of the day to see her smile so sweetly. He'll do anything to make her happy. He sits up and scarfs down his food before standing up. "Ok, how 'bout this,' ' Mammon gets up and walks over to me, ' ' since I haven't won anythin', I'm gonna go play some more games and I'll meet ya guys later. Y/N, ya can come if ya want to." Mammon starts to walk away, at a slower pace than he usually would.

"Yeah! Ok!" Before any of the other brothers could protest, I quickly got up and hurried over to Mammon. I can hear the brothers stumbling to get up to follow us.

"Hey! Mammon is stealing Y/N!"

"That's not fair!“

"That scumbag..."

I hear some of the things they're saying as they seem to be trying to catch up.

I grab Mammon's hand and start to make a run for it. "Come on!" I glanced back at Mammon, who seemed shocked. He looks back to see the brothers in hot pursuit of us. Getting the hint, Mammon picks up the pace. We high tail it out of there, laughing like a bunch of kids all the while.

Me and Mammon finally stop and I flop on the floor, trying to catch my breath as Mammon puts his hands on his knees.

"I…I think we lost 'em" Mammon pants, out of breath from running around.

"I…I think so…jeez, how…how do you always do this when you get in trouble?“ I wheeze out, my human body not used to running as much as a demon. Especially if that demon is Mammon.

Mammon straightens up, finally catching his breath, "Well, I'm not usually running from ALL of my brothers, just Lucifer mostly."

Mammon reaches his hand to me and after a moment, I let him help me up. He helps me to my feet and when I look up, his face is very close to mine. We stare at each other for a moment before both of our faces turn more flushed than we already were.

His bright blue eyes that have a hint of that golden yellow has me in a trance. When I first met Mammon, it was the first thing that drew my attention, it's honestly something that I always find myself staring at all of the time. They are very beautiful to me and never fail to make me feel relaxed when I see them. But not only that, he is a very handsome man. His rich caramel skin with his pure white hair makes his face stand out even more. He is just so captivating to look at, however his personality is what truly makes him shine. Even if he tries, and fails, to hide his true feelings, he always has his heart on his sleeve, rather if he realizes that or not. He tries so hard to help me or to even make my day brighter when I'm not feeling my best. He even tries to protect his brothers and is always there for them. He honestly is the most caring person I've ever met and I can't help but fall for him because of that.

Mammon looked down at her face, he honestly couldn't help but stare. In his mind, she was more beautiful than anyone he's ever seen. Her beauty not only stopped at her looks but the person she was. She was a true wonder to him, too good to be true yet, here she was, defying all logic. All he wanted to do was look at every detail of her face, her eyes as they shine, her soft skin as the blush covers her face, her parted lips as her breath finally slows down. Mammon was the first to turn away, catching himself now staring at nothing but her lips.

He clears his throat. "W-Well since we're here, let's get to some games!" Mammon says, his fangs flash with his grin.

We made our way to the nearest game booth, both of us looking at the various prizes. The booth in question is a simple ring toss, the bottles are organized by colors which show what size prize you can get. There are the ridiculously large stuffed bears that are taller than me to the very small animal plushies. Scanning all the prizes, one catches my attention, a black plush crow with a yellow tag on it. It was big enough to hold in your arms, it's wings dangled at its sides. It had its beak opened slightly to look like a smile. I glance over at Mammon, who is currently eyeing a plushie of a grimm, that also has a yellow tag hanging off of it. I laugh, thinking of how that plush crow reminded me of him.

Mammon looks at me, slightly confused, "What are ya laughing at?"

"Oh nothing, though I know what prize I want." I smile, looking back at the crow plush.

Mammon follows my eyes over to the plush, he tilts his head at my choice, "Ya sure that's what ya want? There are plenty of things better than that ol' crow."

I nod enthusiastically, "Yeah, I think it's cute, like someone else I know." I playfully push him.

His ears turn a dark red but he laughs, "Well, I know what I want so, let's go and win some prizes!“

We pay the demon running the game and start trying to make the rings reach its mark. However, as in most carnaval games, the rings in question are only slightly bigger than the top of the bottles, making it much harder to win. Not to mention the bottles for the better prizes are further back, making it much harder. As we try a couple times, we don't get much luck and we're running out of grimms to play. However as we reach our last game, even though I end up with nothing, Mammon manages to sink a ring on a yellow bottle.

"We have a winner!“ the demon behind the booth says, walking over to grab the ring.

"Yeah! This was nothin' for the Great Mammon!" Mammon threw his hands in the air, and I cheered with him, "You did it! You won!“

The demon walks back over to us, "Alrighty, you can pick a prize with a yellow tag. Which will it be?"

Mammon's eyes flick to the plush he was eyeing earlier and he goes to speak, but an announcement rings through the speakers all around the festival, "The firework show will be starting in 15 minutes, marking the end of the festival! So hurry and grab a seat to enjoy the show!“ a cheery voice says before the music from before starts to play again. Mammon looks down at me for a moment before a small smile appears on his face.

Mammon looks at the demon and points at the plush crow, "I'll take that one."

I look up at Mammon, "But, I thought you wanted-“ I get cut off by the demon swift return, "Here you go." The demon hands him the crow plush.

Mammon takes the plush from the demon with his usual bright smile and starts walking off, I quickly follow, still confused. Once I catch up, he looks at me with a blush on his face and holds out the crow to me.

"W-well, there wasn't really anythin' I wanted, so I figured I'd get this ol' crow since ya seemed to want it so bad." He says with his usual bravado, yet it was a bit more shy than normal.

"But, you said…" I start to say as I take the plush but, cut my thought short.

Even though I know he wanted something, that much he's been saying all day, he still got me this crow plush. Knowing how he struggles to do these things and becoming a stuttering mess when it's pointed out, I choose to not question him. Yet, I can't help but love him even more, him knowing that I wanted something as well and that he'll be going back home later with nothing. I'll have to repay him later but for now, I'll just enjoy the rest of the festival with him.

I shake my head and give him a smile, one that shows how much I truly appreciate and love him, "Thank you so much, Mammon." I hold the crow close to myself.

Mammon feels all the air in his lungs escape him. Y/N's smile, the sparkle of joy and something more…intimate in her eyes. Honestly, for a split second, he found himself jealous of that crow, seeing Y/N holding it so lovingly. He wanted, no, needed to show her how much he loves her. If not tonight, it'll drive him insane.

After looking a bit, me and Mammon found a perfect spot to watch the fireworks. We sat on a hill that was a bit further away from the festival and luckily, we could still hear the music playing from one of the speakers nearby. We sat in a comfortable silence, waiting for the fireworks to begin. Which based on the amount of time it took to find this isolated spot, it should start at any moment.

Mammon is resting his arms on his knees as I sit with my legs crossed, the plush crow close to my chest. I watch all the demons in the distance hurrying to find a spot to watch the show as well. Thankfully, none of them seem to look in this direction. So right now, it's just us, alone.

After a few moments, Mammon looks over at me and shyly starts to speak, "H-hey, Y/N?"

I look back at Mammon, noticing his face slowly forming a blush, "Yes?"

"I…I wanted to tell ya-" Mammon gets cut off by the first firework going off.

We slightly jump, but my eyes widen as the firework show starts, "It's starting!"

I watch as the firework starts to make the usual dark Devildom sky shine bright with many different colors. All the while, a familiar song starts to play on the speakers, making this a moment that I want to treasure always. It was a song from the human realm and it was a song that made this moment feel more intimate. I honestly couldn't ask for a better day, I got to go to the festival with all my favorite people and I even had, dare I say it, a wonderful date with Mammon. The thought of going on a date with Mammon makes my cheeks burn but I truly wish that this day would never end.

Mammon's heart starts to pound in his chest, his gaze never leaving Y/N. He watches as her eyes glow with wonder, watching the fireworks as if it were the first time. She never looked more beautiful, more perfect than right now. If he was ever gonna make his move, it had to be now. Mammon opened his mouth to speak but he couldn't find it in himself to break her trance. However, his greed for her attention, her voice, her touch, for nothing but her, was growing. So, he closes his mouth and takes a deep breath. He leans closer to her as his shaky hand gently touches her cheek to turn her face towards him.

When I suddenly feel a light touch on my face, I snap back to reality. Before I can react, I feel my face being turned and suddenly, Mammon leans in, his eyes close and gently presses his lips on mine, like he's afraid that I'll break. My eyes widen, taking a moment to realize what is happening. Mammon, feeling me not move, starts to move away, most likely worried he did something wrong. But, not wanting to lose the moment, I quickly filled in the space he left, pressing my lips a bit harder than he did. Mammon tenses at my sudden movement but quickly melts into the kiss, holding my face with his hands. I place the plush to the side, momentarily forgotten, I place my hands on his chest for support.

The air stills, the world around us starts to disappear. The only thing to keep us from forgetting the world completely is the sound of fireworks and the song playing so sweetly.

I snake my arms around Mammon's neck, then he takes the chance to pull me in closer by my waist, closing the gap between us. Even though he was nervous at first, he seems to have relaxed, even nips at my bottom lip, causing me to gasp. He swiftly slips his tongue in my mouth, tangling it with mine, deepening the kiss. We held each other close, like we were afraid that the other would vanish.

Needing to breathe, we lean away slightly. I'm not sure when it happened, but I managed to end up on Mammon's lap. Mammon seems to also realize the position we're in and his breath hitches.

His hand comes up and holds my face, "I love ya, Y/N."

My heart flutters and I lean into his touch, "I love you too, Mammon. I…I always have."

"Y/N, I care about ya so much and I…I don't want anyone else trying to steal my most precious treasure from me. The thought of it kills me, because I'm yer first man." Mammon stops, becoming more shy, "I w-want ya to be mine and…I'll be yers…if ya want me."

I feel as though all of the butterflies in my stomach would explode out of me. I can't stop the big smile that appears on my face, "Mammon," I hold his face in my hands, "no one could ever take me away. And not only that but…" I bite my lip, feeling a bit bashful, "You already have me. Now and forever."

If Mammon could, his eyes would have hearts in them. He looked at me with such lovestruck eyes, his face is probably the most peaceful expression I've ever seen. I look back at him in awe, honestly have never seen him so happy, like he's on cloud nine.

A smile is plastered on his face, "I promise that I will be with ya till the end of time. I gotta be the luckiest demon in the whole festival, no, the Devildom. But, I guess I did win something at the festival after all." His smile suddenly turns into a smirk, "What do ya say we go somewhere more private and we can continue…this?"

My face turns red, but I nod. We stand up, I grab my plushie so that we can leave when I suddenly hear someone, or rather, some people, running this way.

"MAMMON!"

We spin around, both of us knowing too well who that voice belongs to. Lucifer and the rest of the brothers are running at full sprint in our direction.

"Oh shit!" Mammon yells out, quickly sweeping me off my feet, making a run for it.

Startled, I grabbed on to Mammon's jacket, making sure to not drop my crow plush, "Ah! M-Mammon!“

He looks down at me, " Well, I might get strung up later, but I'm yer man now. I want ya all to myself and I don't know about ya, but I'm not ready for tonight to end." He flashes his signature smile.

I can't help but laugh, as we make yet another escape from the brothers. This is truly the best day I could have asked for.

#obey me #obey me mammon #obey me mc #Spotify

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gusu-emilu · 4 years ago

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(hi nonny, it took me a while to write this ask meme request but here it is! chengning + #15: first meeting. i hope you see this lol)

Follow Your Arrow: Jiang Cheng / Wen Ning

(Cloud Recesses Era, G, 1.5k, No Warnings Apply, read on AO3)

Jiang Cheng and Wen Ning accidentally go to the same spot in the Cloud Recesses to practice archery.

* * *

Wen Ning strings his bow and aims at the waterfall, where a chunk of rock is falling down the cascade, bouncing in and out of the foamy rush of water.

He straightens up. Pulls back a bit more. Lifts his fingers—

An arrow that is not Wen Ning’s zips across the stream. Wen Ning jerks out of posture, and his own arrow goes straight into the ground. The rock he would’ve been aiming at plops in the water with a giant splash, untouched by Wen Ning and...whoever that other arrow came from.

He turns to see a boy standing a few paces down the water’s bank. He wears a scowl that darkens the white robes marking him as a guest disciple of the Cloud Recesses. A single side bang hangs over his defined cheekbones and just reaches his chin. He bears his weight a bit unevenly, as if his leg is injured.

Jiang Cheng, the clan heir whose knee was slashed by the water ghouls at Caiyi Town yesterday. Wen Qing had hopped into his boat to treat his injury. It's one of the last things Wen Ning can remember from yesterday, before the ghouls seized him and his mind went blank.

Although he's familiar with Wei Wuxian already, Wen Ning hasn't talked to Jiang Cheng yet.

Wen Qing has warned him not to talk to disciples from the other clans. But it’s been so lonely for Wen Ning here, waiting around in the corners of the Cloud Recesses, isolated for being too young to attend classes. He can't even see the other disciples, never mind talk to them. Although he doesn't mind quiet time by himself, he’s been itching to fill the space left by Wen Qing’s frequent disappearances. He's used to always having his sister by his side, and now she keeps slipping away to search for some unnamed item.

Wei Wuxian’s bright laugh, gentle nudges, and sheer determination to include Wen Ning has filled some of that empty space. But by scratching the itch for company, the longing has only grown more persistent.

From what Wen Ning has seen, Jiang Cheng isn’t nearly as friendly as Wei Wuxian, preferring to smack away an outstretched hand whereas Wei Wuxian would grab it and tug its owner away on an adventure.

But a shared interest in archery has already helped Wen Ning grow close to Wei Wuxian. Maybe it could work with his shidi too.

Hopeful for a new friend, Wen Ning smiles meekly and waves at Jiang Cheng. He snaps his hand down right away, because Jiang Cheng’s only response is to narrow his eyes sourly, square his shoulders, and string his bow again to aim at the waterfall.

Oh. He's definitely not here to make friends.

Wen Ning turns back to the waterfall, the bow sulking as he strings it. Another rock falls down the cascade, but he can’t focus on it or steady his hands. Not now, with someone right next to him, shooting at the same target and likely shooting him angry glares, too.

Another arrow whirs past Wen Ning. It misses the falling rock.

Wen Ning looks out of corner of his eyes at Jiang Cheng, who huffs and grumbles to himself, pulling a third arrow out of the quiver.

“J-Jiang-gongzi?”

Jiang Cheng draws the bow tighter, its taut string matching the tension in his face. “What?”

“Am I...in your way?” Wen Ning thinks he was here first, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t noticed another person practicing nearby.

Jiang Cheng’s expression softens a bit, but his voice does not. “You will be if you keep trying so hard to let me know you’re here.” He strings his bow with brusque motions—pompous, even. Doing exactly what he told Wen Ning not to—making a show of his archery practice to ensure Wen Ning notices his presence.

He shoots and misses, again. Scowls and huffs, again. This time, his eyes meet Wen Ning’s for a moment, then dart away as if Wen Ning said his shot was bad, despite the fact that Wen Ning barely had time to react to the shot, and even if he did, he’d never insult someone’s archery skills.

A faint flush spreads across Jiang Cheng’s cheeks as he prepares to release another arrow. This one also looks like it's lined up to miss, due to his uneven posture from his injured leg.

“Jiang-gongzi?”

Jiang Cheng whips around to face Wen Ning. His sharp glare is like an arrow of its own, and it does not miss.

Well, this is intimidating.

Wen Ning hesitates, then steels himself and hurries over to Jiang Cheng. “Jiang-gongzi…”

Up close, he’s even more intimidating. Not because of his angular jaw or arrogant frown, but because of a bashful glimmer in his eyes that is very out of place with the rest of his behavior, and Wen Ning is not sure how he feels about that.

“What do you want?” Jiang Cheng says.

Wen Ning looks down at the ground to keep himself from trying to decipher Jiang Cheng's expression, unsure of what lies behind the irritation Jiang Cheng voices so openly. “I…I’m not that great at archery, but...I can help you.”

“With what?” Jiang Cheng's scowl deepens. “I don’t need help.”

“Your leg is injured.” Wen Ning’s words are slow and hesitant. He gestures down at Jiang Cheng’s knee. “It’s affecting your stance.”

Jiang Cheng immediately balances his weight, only to wince at the pressure he’s placed on his bad leg. “I’m not injured.”

“I’ve been sick very often," Wen Ning says gently, "and I had to learn how to adjust my posture to compensate for it.” He finally meets Jiang Cheng’s gaze, a smile tugging at his lips but not quite forming. “I can show you how.”

Jiang Cheng stares at the bow in Wen Ning’s hand. “I don’t need help." He lifts his chin toward the waterfall. "Let’s compete if you’re so crafty. I challenge you.”

Wen Ning takes a step back, his lips parted. “Ch-Challenge?”

“You’ve got the guts to try to fix my stance, but not to compete against me?”

“Well...” Wen Ning clutches his bow with both hands and rubs his thumbs on the leather grip. “I j-just...I get too nervous in competitions."

Jiang Cheng sets his jaw. “Then do it now. If you can compete against just me, you won’t be so nervous other times.”

“But...but...”

Jiang Cheng raises his eyebrows, a little twitch that’s somehow aggressive and meek at the same time. “What? Is there a problem with that?”

“Well, if you’re going to help me stop feeling nervous about competing," Wen Ning says, "then why can’t I help you with your posture first?”

Jiang Cheng looks stumped for a moment, then shakes his head. “I don’t need it,” he says flatly.

Wen Ning thinks back to how he’s seen Wei Wuxian prod at Jiang Cheng with nothing but words and a taunting cross of his arms. Wen Ning crosses his own arms, stands up a little taller, and says, “If you don’t let me help, then I won’t compete against you.”

With a scoff, Jiang Cheng draws his shoulders up and clenches his fists. “Fine. Just do it quick.” After a few moments, he strings his bow and holds his aim steady at the waterfall.

...That was easy.

After backing up to examine Jiang Cheng’s stance from different angles, Wen Ning slowly approaches him. He presses down on Jiang Cheng’s elbow, lowering the angle of his arm holding the arrow. Then he wraps his other hand around Jiang Cheng’s body to grip the underside of his outstretched arm.

As he adjusts Jiang Cheng’s posture, tugging him into the correct stance and sinking his fingers further into white robes, Wen Ning becomes embarrassingly aware of how broad Jiang Cheng’s shoulders are. His whole torso, actually. It would probably feel nice to hug him from behind.

Heat spreads across Wen Ning’s cheeks. He wrestles the thought away, grateful that Jiang Cheng can’t see his face right now.

“Okay,” Wen Ning says, though it comes out more like a choked sound, and pulls away to let Jiang Cheng shoot.

The arrow hits a rock in the waterfall head-on, shattering it.

Jiang Cheng grins, then immediately suppresses the smile and gives a dignified nod. “Not bad.” He lowers his bow and looks toward Wen Ning, not quite meeting his eyes. “...Thanks.”

A hum vibrates happily in Wen Ning’s chest, and he nods back.

“Now are you going to compete?” As soon as Jiang Cheng’s voice rises with that combative tone again, he glares at Wen Ning with the same mixture of sharpness and shyness as earlier, like a sword that doesn't want to swing.

“I’ll do my best, Jiang-gongzi,” Wen Ning says cheerfully and heads back to his spot on the stream’s bank, for once excited for a competition rather than sick with anxiousness.

Maybe archery is a good way to get close to someone after all. Although...for a moment, that had been a little too close.

Wen Ning wouldn’t mind doing it again sometime.

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this story, you can be a supportive sibling like Jiang Yanli by visiting me on AO3!

I’m still taking art/writing requests from this ask meme if anyone wants to indulge me 👀

#mdzs fanfiction #the untamed fanfiction #mdzsnet #chengning #wen ning #jiang cheng #mdzs fanfic #the untamed fanfic #cql fanfic #mdzs #the untamed #cql #ningcheng #jiang wanyin #wen qionglin #emilu fics #emilu creations

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degenerate-yandere · 5 years ago

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Damon & Ray Headcanons

Woo boy this took awhile to get through, but here it is! Some general Headcanons for my boys to lay some groundwork, I plan on doing some fics for them very soon.

Ray has some double-ups from a previous post, simply because I wanted this to be the comprehensive post with all their information in one spot, if that makes sense.

Anyway I hope y’all enjoy! This was partly for the beautiful @ramwrites who wanted some Damon content, and who am I to deny the Queen’s request.

Picrews used: Damon, Ray.

TW: Abuse, kidnapping, yandere, violence, implied murder, drugging, non-consensual touching, stalking, obsessive behaviour, possessive behaviour

Damon:

Attraction + Pursuit

Disgust - an ample word to describe Damon’s initial reaction to these newfound emotions that threaten the fortitude of his petrified heart. Every time you cause his breath to hitch in his throat, he’s reminded of just how damn vulnerable you make him; a highly unwelcomed source of insecurity. If Damon hates one thing, it’s being undermined.

As a result of his mounting insecurity, it can be expected that his infatuation, at first, manifests as resentment. Damon will be especially cruel to you - intimidation, bullying, and public degradation are all outlets of his internal frustration. You’ll think he hates you, and maybe a part of him does. He doesn’t feel guilty, no; this is all your fault, you’re the one who makes him feel this way - It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic.

This torment is short-lived however. It’ll come as an epiphany as he towers over you, looking down at your comparatively fragile form. You are pathetic, but more importantly, he isn’t. Damon’s bigger and stronger than you, so what’s stopping him from simply making you his? He’s quick to surmise that he’s entitled to you. All this stems from Damon’s immense ego; an inflated sense of superiority, and a fragile one at that.

As far Damon’s concerned, you need him as much as he needs you. First-hand experience has shown him just how weak and defenseless you are. You need him to keep you safe. He’ll protect you, he likes to keep what’s his intact - unknowing to the fact he’s the exact thing you need to be protected from.

It’ll give you whiplash how fast Damon’s demeanor seems to change. You’ll be lucky to receive a grumbled apology for his past actions. He’ll loom above you nigh constantly, glaring daggers at any who’d approach you. His intimidating presence is enough on its own to isolate you.

It’s important to note Damon’s utter lack of experience. Sure, he’s had numerous flings in the past, but this - this is different. Romance is an alien concept, and courtship is an incomprehensible endeavor. But he tries - he makes an effort to lower his gravelly voice, relaxing his body language and resisting the urge to belittle you. He’ll bring you odd gifts and trinkets, shoving them into your hands with no explanation other than a grunt. You doubt they were acquired through wholesome means. Damon will grumble compliments, ones that, when accompanied with his threatening voice and vulgar verbiage, are often perceived as thinly-veiled threats. He tries, he really does - but his patience is easily waned.

Any inquiries you raise about his insistence on shadowing you are met with a scoff and a disingenuous insult;

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.”

No matter how many times you ask him, his answer will always be the same - nonchalant and unsatisfactory.

He’ll grow tired if you continue to fear him or try to avoid him. You should be grateful. Damon will resort to threats and manipulation to force you to accept his advances.

Anyone he deems a threat, whether that be individuals he believes might harm you, partners, exes, or even people who simply stare at you too long, will all meet a similar fate - broken, bloodied, and barely recognizable. He likes to take pictures of his hard work, he can’t help but feel a sense of pride as he looks through them. Maybe he’d show you one day, to let you know just how grateful you should be that he’s keeping you safe. There’s a wicked glee he derives from pummeling people for your sake.

Kidnapping is an inevitability; the urge to protect you from those who’d dare to take you away from him, and his selfish desire to own you, will make that decision a definite one.

It’ll be easy - cornering you in some isolated spot late at night, caging you against his built body as he tells you just how long he’s been waiting for this. He’ll overpower you with his abundant brute strength, remarking that the more you struggle, the rougher he’ll be - a promise he makes well on. It’s hard to deny his joy of having you struggle against him, completely at his mercy. It serves as an omen of the life that awaits you.

Post-kidnapping + Punishment

Damon’s captivity is stern and demanding. There is no ’grace period’, no time allocated to allow you to grow somewhat accustomed with the nightmare you’ve been thrust into.

His expectations, as demeaning as they are, are made evident from the beginning. You are to accept his affections, no matter how forceful or rough. You will show him ample appreciation for protecting you, an act which he considers merciful.

Damon is quick to ‘correct your mistakes’, and ensures you never make them again. There’s no restraint, no mercy - but he likes it when you beg anyway.

Punishments are cruel and severe; Taunting you as he holds the cindering end of his cigarette inches above your skin, allowing you to feel the heat emanating from it as you beg and plead - cut short as he presses it against your flesh. Isolation, food deprivation, impassioned beatings - all serving as painful reprimands.

Behind his anger and frustration lies an undeniable sadistic enthusiasm as he punishes you. Damon loves putting you in your place, he adores holding immense power over you.

Bite marks litter your body, purple patches coat your neck - Damon’s constant, little ‘reminders’ to show you who you belong to. His affection is equally barbaric; his touches leave bruises, his kisses result in bloodied, swollen lips.

Don’t squirm when he forces you onto his lap to place kisses along your shoulder, don’t cry when he tightly embraces you in bed, and maybe he’ll be gentle.

His ego is a possible source of exploitation - worship him, tell him how big and strong he is, confess your adoration, and he may just let his guard down.

If you ever consider escape, pray he never finds you. Damon will yank you by the hair as he tells you just how much you’ve fucked up. A series of harsh punishments follow, to ingrain the fact that you belong to him, that you can never escape him. There’s no painkillers, no warning or care as he begins applying painful pressure to your legs. He’ll ensure you can’t run from him again.

Non-Yandere Headcanons

Damon found work as a bouncer for a few years, until he was abruptly fired for hospitalizing a rowdy client. As a result, he’s resorted to… less than ethical means of income.

Damon’s birthday is on March 27th, though he isn’t one to celebrate it.

You bet this dude has a motorcycle, and he treats it like his child.

Damon is built like an absolute tank - a brick wall of raw, hard power. He’s proud of his stature.

He tastes, and often smells, like booze and cigarettes - indicative of his poor habits.

Ray:

Attraction + Pursuit

Ray’s infatuation, a product of a seemingly inconsequential interaction, is quick to fester into enraptured obsession. He’ll form an emotional dependency, a suffocating need, toward the poor soul he’s latched onto.

He’ll find a desire to satiate his growing obsession, to satisfy the numerous questions about you that weigh constantly on his mind. He can’t approach you directly, the very thought makes his heart threaten to leap from his chest. Instead, he’ll opt to stalk you, just so he can learn everything about you. He’ll become acquainted with your place of residence, rifling through your belongings - perhaps even taking some to keep for himself. You could’ve sworn you had more pairs of underwear.

The more he finds out about you, the more ultimately enamoured he becomes. Ray can’t stop thinking about you. That’s when the drawings begin. They start as idle sketches, cute doodles accompanied by scribbled love-hearts. It isn’t long before Ray is struck with grander inspiration, your likeness becoming a mainstake in his manga. He draws panels upon panels of his love-sick longing; taking you on the romantic dates you deserve, heartfelt confessions of love which reek of shoujo cliche, tender kisses and gentle touches. They line the walls of his room, accompanied by the various photographs he’s taken of you - for reference, of course.

That isn’t the extent of his collection, however. Ray keeps a private stash; the outlet for his more salacious desires. He feels somewhat bad about drawing your perfect form in such disgusting, compromising scenarios, but his filthy needs overpower his consideration.

Ray’s rationality, as middling as it is, only erodes as his obsession grows more unrestrained. He’ll be increasingly emboldened, sending you love letters and anonymous text messages with such detail that they establish…. troubling implications.

His gnawing need for you only grows further. It keeps him up at night, his fingers shakely caressing your clothes desperately hoping it’ll bring him comfort. He wants to rip his hair out sometimes - he just wants to touch you, he wants to love you, he needs you more than anything.

Ray isn’t a violent man, but if anyone threatens his one-sided relationship with you, well - he can’t let that happen. A baseball bat, and the lovestruck conviction to swing it, work wonders at remeding his problems. He doesn’t mean to hurt anyone, he frantically tells himself as he washes the blood from his hands.

He eventually reaches the conclusion that he has to take you. The very thought of you being swept away, abandoning him, is enough to make his decision a certainty. Ray assures himself that it’s what’s best for you - he can take care of you, keep you safe and secure.

Unlike Damon, Ray goes about his kidnapping with significantly more finesse. He can’t stand the thought of hurting you - he’ll instead opt to slip something in your drink, or ambush you with a strong-smelling rag against your nose.

Post-kidnapping + Punishment

You’ll wake up, gagged and handcuffed to his bedpost; This marks the beginning of your ‘relationship’. He’ll try desperately to tell you he won't hurt you, to convince you that he just wants to help you. His fingers seem magnetised to you, itching and yearning to feel you beneath them. The blazing blush across his face, the bashful grin adorning his lips, and the utterly deranged adoration that speckle his eyes betray just how content he is.

He’ll be quick to show you just how much he loves you; flicking through all his artwork of you, reaffirming that it’s all been for you.

Ray is patient, understanding, but completely overbearing. When he sees how terrified you are he can’t help but coil himself around you and mutter reassurances against your skin - even if he’s the very source of your fear

“It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay. I-I have you now, you d-don’t have to be afraid anymore”.

It won’t take long to realize just how needy he is - his touch-starved skin rarely leaving yours. He relishes in your sweet touch, nuzzling against you as his arms wrap around you, his fingers exploring every inch of your flesh. Whines and groans escape him whenever he’s deprived of your addictive touch.

Ray’s insists on feeding you, sitting you on his lap as he plays video games or draws, pulling you close and burying his nose in your hair as he drifts to sleep. His kisses, as rare as they are without your consent, are sloppy and inexperienced - but laced with such a raw, unrestrained need.

Lives for your praise and validation, outright begging for it. His heart swells at any crumbs he can extrapolate. You stared at his artwork? You must love it! You didn’t flinch away when he kissed you? You must want him just as much as he wants you.

Ray isn’t one for punishments, he couldn’t bring himself to willingly hurt his precious darling. If you grow violent or reckless, he’ll simply pin you down and wait out your little outburst.

But if he ever fears you may leave him, or if you ever manage to escape and he catches you - he has no quarrels about doing anything if it means you can’t escape. The thought of you abandoning him makes him completely unhinged. Ray’ll do whatever it takes, even if it means hurting you. He’ll cry and scream, begging you to tell him why ‘you’re making him do this’.

“Y-You can’t leave me! Don’t you get it?! I-I can’t live without you!”

Non-yandere Headcanons

Ray’s birthday is on October 10th, although he never usually has anyone to celebrate with...

Despite his shut-in nature, Ray likes to remain fit. He frequents the gym at his apartment complex (at night of course; less people). He did martial arts during his teenage years, and reluctantly joined his school’s volleyball team. This results in a lean physique comprised of sinewy, surprisingly strong muscles - all the better to restrain protect his darling.

He makes money from his web manga and commissions, as well as working part time at a videogame store. Has a surprisingly good work ethic.

Survives off the college diet of caffeine and ramen - but he’ll try his damndest to change it if his darling is less than receptive of his refined cuisine.

His hygiene… isn’t the best. He’s a firm believer that a shower can be replaced with spraying oneself with copious amounts of cheap, intoxicatingly strong body spray.

#yandere #yandere x reader #tw abuse #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere ocs #yandere oc x reader #oc #ocs #my writing #my ocs #ray #damon #ray x reader #damon x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines

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seven-oomen · 4 years ago

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The way I tend to be | The DILF Club

Happy Holidays to everyone! Have some delicious smut or our favorite DILFS, there's even some plot in this! Hope you like it because I have a universe thought out for this and if it does well, I'll share more!

It wasn’t doing as well on Ao3 as I was hoping for and I’m curious to see if it’ll do better here. If you enjoy it, please reblog, like, and/or comment on it. This is also a test to see if people still reblog fanfiction from me and if Once Upon a Time would do well on Tumblr. Which is my longest and most elaborate fanfic to date.

Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale/Sheriff Stilinski, Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Chris Argent/Sheriff Stilinski, Peter Hale/Sheriff Stilinski Characters: Chris Argent, Peter Hale, Sheriff Stilinski Additional Tags: Sheriff Stilinski's Name is Noah, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Porn with Feelings, Porn With Plot, Cabin Fic, trans chris argent, Bisexual Peter Hale, Alpha Peter Hale, Trans Male Character, Bisexual Sheriff Stilinski, Bisexual Chris Argent, Double Vaginal Penetration, Double Penetration, Breeding, Creampie, Unprotected Sex Series: Part 1 of The way I tend to be

Fate could be a very cruel mistress when she wanted to be. And often she came together with a little vicious thing called irony.

The last year had been crazy. He discovered werewolves, banshees, wendigos, and werecoyotes were real, and so was whatever Kira was supposed to be. Chris Argent, Allison’s father and Isaac’s foster father, turned out to be a hunter, and the little bane of his existence during his career as a deputy, a certain Peter Hale, turned out to be a werewolf. As was Peter’s nephew Derek and his niece Cora. He still couldn’t completely wrap his head around that one.

They’d fought together, protected the town together, and now protected their children together.

That didn’t always go well, of course. One of them was a hunter, the other a werewolf, and somehow he always found himself right in between the other two trying to break up their fights.

A lot, and a lot of therapy for all three of them, had fixed that for the most part.

Still, there were times when he really wished he could duct tape Peter to the ceiling, mostly because the man was still a delinquent with a golden tongue, but mostly just because he was annoying. At least the werewolf was now firmly on their side and had proven that by nearly dying for both the other adults and all of the kids on multiple occasions. He’d really turned a new leaf. Still annoying as fuck, don’t get him wrong. But at least not reprehensible.

It was Peter’s new loyalty and Chris’s new code that had led him to go along with them on this particular mission. A mission to find a lone werewolf kid causing trouble around Mount Shasta. Since it was only two hours from Beacon Hills, he’d agreed to go over with the other two.

Their cover?

They were the chaperons on a school field trip to go skiing on the mountain for a week. Which had been the luckiest of coincidences in the history of coincidences but he’d take it. And since Stiles, Mikey, Malia, Jackson, Isaac, and Allison were all going, well, the rest of that was history.

“Peter, I swear to god if I find your socks anywhere near my bed again I will throw you through this window myself!” Chris snapped, holding up a pair of light blue socks with pink flamingos on them.

Ah. So that’s where his socks had gone off too. He was wondering where’d he left them.

“Those aren’t mine!” Peter bit back, looking so insulted at the mere idea of having to wear said socks that he couldn’t help but be offended at his offense. “I would never wear those monstrosities!”

“Right, I just keep finding random people’s socks in my bed for the last three days…” Chris growled, “You expect me to believe that?”

He bit his lip, wondering if he should admit to being the culprit. Since he was the only other person who had a bed in this room he figured Chris would draw that conclusion as well. But apparently, the hunter really hadn’t considered it.

The werewolf cocked his head to the left and sneered. “I’m not the only one who has a bed here beside you.”

Those fierce blue eyes turned to him and he couldn’t help but smile awkwardly at the both of them. “Yeah, those are mine.”

Peter smirked triumphantly at Chris, his eyebrows raised in a clear; I told you so.

To his credit, Chris pursed his lips and wordlessly handed him the bunched up socks of the last few days. His silver-blue eyes lingering with something that wasn’t quite a glare, but the man wasn’t exactly happy with him either.

“Thank you.” He quickly put his runaway socks into his duffel bag and straightened out the covers on his bed to keep himself busy.

“You owe me an apology, Christopher…” Peter’s voice sang through the room and a glance found the hunter glaring back at the wolf.

“I’m sorry for blaming you immediately.” Chris sighed, straightening out his own bed before checking the equipment in his backpack.

“Thank you,” Peter turned back to him and stared at him rather expectantly. “Noah?”

He had to admit he felt a little bit guilty for what had happened. He sighed softly as he shoved his water bottle, his sleeping bag, and some provisions into his backpack, looking up at the wolf sheepishly. “I’m sorry Peter, I’ll uh-” His eyes flicked to an expectant looking Chris, “I’ll keep a better eye on my socks and speak up when you’re blamed again.”

The wolf smiled mischievously at his apology, his eyes flicking from Chris to himself for a brief moment. “Thank you, now we really need to talk about your fashion choices, because those socks-”

Chris’s laughter followed him out of the room as he grabbed his packed bag and his orange ski jacket and headed out the door.

The trek up the mountain was not an easy one and they only had until nightfall to explore the area. He pulled the black beanie further over his ears and his gloves on a little tighter and looked over his shoulder.

Chris walked ahead of him, his blue ski jacket standing out against the white snow, a red beanie pulled over his ears to keep him warm.

Peter brought up the rear, his red ski jacket and brown beanie complementing one another in a rather surprising way. But if anyone could pull it off, he supposed it was the wolf.

They pushed through the snow and the wind, hoisting backpacks up higher and threading on while trying to find one lonely werewolf kid who needed their help. The wind started picking up as the hours progressed and once the snow started coming down and whipped around them, he realized that they weren’t going to be able to get back any time soon.

With their sight blocked off by the sudden incoming storm and nowhere to huddle they had no other choice but to walk on. He could no longer see where he was walking, only saw the bright blue of Chris’s ski jacket in front of him and before he knew it, he was face down in the snow and heard someone yelling his name.

“Noah!”

Someone picked him up and he felt two gloved hands cup his face. It took him a moment to register that it was Peter who picked him up and was currently cradling his face. He wasn’t sure how the concerned look on Peter’s face made him feel.

It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling, but it was one he hadn’t been expecting. It was warm and tingly. Peter’s blue eyes made him think of the ocean and moonlit beaches with a soft breeze and the soft calls of whales in the background-

“Noah… Are you still on this planet?”

Peter’s words pulled him out of his thoughts. “What?”

The wolf frowned at him and gently patted him over his body to check him for injuries. He swatted at the wolf’s hands to put a stop to it and pursed his lips. “I’m fine, but we need to get out of the cold.”

Peter raised an eyebrow but nodded in agreement, turning back to Chris who had come towards them. “We need to get out of this wind, find shelter!”

“I know!” Chris yelled back, trying to carry his voice over the roar of the wind. “I think I saw a cabin up ahead!”

Chris looped his arm over his left while Peter looped his through his right and together they started tracking up the slope. The silhouette of the cabin quickly came closer with every step and they quickly headed over. They had to let go of each other to walk up the porch and Chris tested the door. It was locked, of course.

“Shit.” Chris muttered, “Look around for a key, usually-”

He started looking under several pots next to the door and found a key under the second one. Though a loud bang told him that they would no longer need a key.

“Or we could kick in the door…” Chris sighed while Peter held the door open for them to let them in.

Chris went in first, drawing his gun from inside his jacket as he checked the cabin room for room. He followed after the hunter, trying to suppress his hands from shaking and his body from shivering as the cold started to set in around him. Some snow had gotten into his jacket when he’d face-planted into the ground and it was creating a wet spot on his clothes as his body heat caused it to melt. The water also cooled down his body, especially in these temperatures.

Peter brought up the rear once more, eyes glowing a bright red as he scanned their surroundings and scented the air. The wolf behind him relaxed after a few moments, closing the door behind him by propping a chair from the little kitchen under the handle so it stayed locked.

“Cabin’s empty.” Peter and Chris said in unison. They walked up to him, frowning as they noticed his shivering, though he was doing his best to suppress it. He felt Peter’s incredibly warm hand against his forehead and couldn’t help but lean into it. He wasn’t sure how hot Peter ran in general, but it was definitely a few degrees higher than Chris or himself. Right now, that was a very welcome feature of the werewolf.

“He’s colder than he should be,” Peter muttered, gently guiding him towards the large fireplace in the middle of the room. “Come on, let’s get you heated up.”

“Did his jacket rip?” Chris asked, looking around for paper, wood, and other items they could burn.

Peter patted him down, despite his best efforts to keep the wolf’s hands off him. Werewolf strength could be quite unfair and if he wasn’t so damn cold he would have complained about the little shit sitting him down and throwing his own red ski jacket over him.

“Doesn’t seem to be but the collar is all wet and against his skin, looks like snow got in.”

“Aren’t you gonna get cold?” He raised an eyebrow at the black sweater Peter was wearing but also pulled the jacket closer and breathed in the wolf’s scent.

“I run a hundred and two degrees on a normal day.” Peter smiled, his face illuminated by the first sparks of the fire that Chris got running. It gave him a warm… almost soft look.

“It’s a werewolf thing,” Chris added, “Their body heat is higher than ours, it protects them from hypothermia, aids in their immunity against disease as well. One of those unfair advantages.”

He chuckled in response, his shivering already dying down now that the heat from the fire picked up and he had an extra layer. “That so?”

Peter hummed in agreement. “As is our superior sense of fashion.”

“Even Derek?” He asked, earning a laugh from Chris.

Peter pursed his lips and squinted his eyes. “Derek’s the exception to that rule.”

A laugh escaped him as Peter sat down next to him, though the laugh died on his lips as he noticed the concerned look Peter was giving the fire. It sobered him up considerably, knowing what Peter had been through, how close he was now sitting to something that had hurt him so much.

“Are you okay?”

The softness of his voice must have drawn Chris’s attention as well as the hunter had turned to look at them, his brow furrowing as he watched Peter’s face carefully. “Peter?”

Chris sat down on his other side, keeping a close eye on Peter while pretending to stare at the fire. Still, he noticed how Chris’s hands twitched in his lap and his eyes kept flicking to the wolf.

For a moment it seemed like Peter was lost in thought, staring into the growing fire with widening eyes. He noticed the wolf’s breathing picking up and his shaking hands. He carefully reached out and laid his own hand on top of Peter’s, startling the other man.

“What?” Peter relaxed at his touch and leaned into him unconsciously. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. It’s just-”

His eyes flicked back to the fire.

He didn’t have to say it out loud.

“Yeah,” He pulled Peter’s jacket closer and pulled his legs up to minimize the loss of warmth. “We can turn it down if you need that.”

Chris frowned at those words, eyes flicking from him to Peter, before slowly nodding in agreement. “It wouldn’t be ideal, but if it’s hurting you-”

“No.” Peter quickly interrupted him. “No, I’m fine. And you both need the fire. I just- I might need a distraction.”

“Distraction?” Chris raised an eyebrow at the word, earning a smirk from Peter in the process.

“Yes, the dictionary defines it as a thing that prevents someone from concentrating on something else. Or do you need a clearer definition, Christopher?”

“You don’t have to be a dick about it, Peter…” Chris looked down at his hands and shrugged. “We all have our own demons we want to forget.”

Peter went a little quiet at that, staring down at his feet while he scooted closer to him. “You’re right, it’s just-” His eyes flicked back to the fire.

“I get it…” Chris’s smile was soft as the hunter reached behind him to lay a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

It was nice, to be wedged between the two younger men and feel their warmth seep through him. He let himself lean back against Chris’s arm and laid his head on Peter’s shoulder. It just felt like the right thing to do in that moment. “It’s okay.” He whispered.

Chris frowned as he noticed the color difference of his gray sweater and trailed a hand over it, stopping at the collar as he felt the dampness. His warm hand trailed down over his collarbone and down his chest until he hit a dry spot. “You’re half soaked, we need to get that sweater off you and get you in something dry.”

He looked down at his body and froze. He didn’t show his bare chest to anyone. Ever. Even while sharing a room with the other two, he’d always gone to the bathroom to change. There were certain things he didn’t want anyone else to know, his past being one of them.

If anyone understands, it would be these two.

A little voice in his head told him. Yeah, it was right and he knew that. But what if they’d look at him differently?

Chris handed him a dark green sweater from his bag, having dragged said bag over with his foot, and gently started lifting his shirt. The hunter stopped after an inch and raised an eyebrow.

He was asking for permission.

He slowly shook his head. “I’ll do it.” And gently peeled the half wet garment from him and over his head. Constantly aware of what his aging body looked like. At fifty-three his best days had passed. He wasn’t as muscled as Peter or as lean and strong as Chris. His chest had a softness to it from all the fast food he’d been eating and he was showing his age with little marks, freckles, and the scars from years of abuse. The most obvious one being the scar on his left shoulder.

He paused for a second, jumping a little when Chris’s hand hovered over the scar. Though the hunter pulled away quickly and looked like he might apologize. Though the words seemed to get stuck in his throat.

“What happened?” It was Peter who broke the silence.

He wasn’t sure what he could say, felt tears prickling in his eyes and for a moment he heard his father’s booming vague voice ringing through his ears. “My father happened, he uhm, I didn’t let him hurt my mother,” He sighed, “and he pushed me through our coffee table.”

“Jesus…” Peter whispered, gently squeezing his right shoulder in comfort.

“I’m sorry…” Chris muttered, rubbing his own scarred hands in discomfort.

“We all have our own demons… Right?” He shrugged and put Chris’s green sweater on, quickly figuring out that the fit would work but was on the tight side as the edges of his sleeves stopped a little too high on the wrist. It was also a little on the short side at the middle.

He sighed. “At least it’s dry.”

Peter bit his lip and looked like he was having great difficulty with keeping his laughter contained. “It doesn’t look that bad…”

Chris wasn’t as kind and snorted before trying to cover it up with a cough.

He glared at the younger man but smiled after a minute or two. “Thank you, Chris.”

Chris let his eyes roam down and grinned. “You’re welcome.”

He laid his head back on Peter’s shoulder and pulled Chris closer for his warmth.

“So neither of you is going to distract me then?”

He didn’t know why he found that statement so funny but he couldn’t help but laugh at the annoyance in Peter’s voice. He felt Chris smile against his shoulder as the hunter laid his head down on it for a second.

“How do you propose we do that, Peter?” The hunter lifted his head and leaned in just a bit, just inches away from Peter’s face.

The wolf answered Chris with a smirk. Gently putting a finger under Chris’s chin to pull him closer. “I have an idea, it’ll also keep you both warm.”

“Will it now?” Chris’s smooth deep voice send a shiver down his spine and made his cock twitch. He swallowed rather heavily in response.

God, he wanted Chris to command him in that voice, to tell him to take off his clothes and put his ass up in the air and-

“I think someone likes the sound of that voice…” Peter purred into his ear, the wolf laid a finger under his chin and lifted his head to face Chris.

“Do it again.”

He stared into Chris’s silver-blue eyes, warmth traveling down his body and stirring in his loins as the hunter smiled deviously.

“Hmm, what do you think sheriff ?” Chris purred the last word, he couldn’t help the little sound of desperation that escaped him. A sound that he echoed as Peter leaned in and gently nipped at his ear.

“I think he hates it.” Peter grinned against his cheek and slowly started nipping his way down his jaw and to his neck. “I think he might want us to stop.”

The wolf paused and he growled in response, reaching behind him to cup the back of Peter’s head and pull him back down. “Don’t you dare, Peter.”

Peter laughed in response and gently pulled him into his lap before continuing his lovely assault on his neck. He moaned happily and wiggled a little to get more comfortable and rub his ass against the growing bulge beneath him. Peter’s laugh dissolved into a moan.

Chris smirked at them, slowly trailing his hands up Noah’s thighs though he stopped just short of his groin, a silent question in his eyes. He nodded enthusiastically, too occupied to answer due to Peter biting the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck without breaking it. “Fuck me…”

Peter paused in his marking efforts, growling into his ear as he forced him to focus on Chris by grabbing a hold of his jaw. He felt Peter’s nails gently scratching his skin. “Oh, I think Christopher might have a better idea.”

Chris’s hand traveled up and cupped his cock through his pants, gently rubbing and stimulating the hardening member. He in turn squirmed in Peter’s lap and felt the Alpha’s clothed cock press against the cleft of his ass.

“Does he now?” He moaned softly.

Chris scooted closer and placed a leg on each side of his lap, sharing a passionate kiss with Peter before he turned his focus back on Noah. Chris pulled him up a little by the collar of his borrowed sweater and for a moment he thought the younger man would kiss him as well. Chris leaned in but stopped just short and smiled. “I’m gonna ride you both at the same time.”

As hot as that sounded, his brain short-circuited for a moment. He paused and blinked, cocking his head to the left as he tried to figure out how exactly that was going to work. “How is that gonna fit, we don’t have lube.”

Chris chuckled in response and gently lifted Noah’s hands to cup his ass. “You’re just gonna have to get me wet enough.”

Wet enough? He was missing something here. Not that he was complaining, Chris’s ass was phenomenal.

Peter took pity on him. “I think he doesn’t know. Maybe you should show him.”

The absolutely feral grin Chris gave him made his breath stutter.

“Let’s have some fun then.”

He felt Peter smile against his neck, the Alpha going back to his assault to suck a few more hickeys into the sensitive skin. That was gonna be a bitch to hide from Stiles, Mikey, and Liam but considering that every touch sent electricity through his body, he wasn’t going to complain much.

Chris opened his own pants but didn’t slip them down. Instead, he zipped down Noah’s and continued his teasing touch.

A soft squeaky moan escaped him as Chris’s hand rubbed him through the fabric and slowly massaged him to a throbbing erection. Peter in the meantime had started rubbing himself against his ass while continuing his assault on his neck and even his shoulders. He was gonna be bruised and sore by tomorrow, that was for sure.

“He’s pretty when he’s marked up,” Chris commented as he slipped his hand inside Noah’s underwear and wrapped a hand around his hard cock. The other man stroked it slowly, keeping his touch light and gentle as he worked from the sensitive head to the base, and then slipped him out of his restraining clothes as he worked himself back up.

“Pretty down there too…” The hunter remarked, smiling as he studied Noah’s cock for a moment, fingers tracing over the thick veins down to his balls.

Peter let out a delighted moan behind him, one that he echoed as the wolf made him grind down on while Peter thrust up. It was a goddamn shame they didn’t have any lube because he really wanted that thick cock to wreck his ass right then and there. But Chris clearly had a different plan.

The hunter guided one of his left hand from its place on Chris’s ass up to his own mouth, offering him his own fingers with a firm. “Suck on them, get them wet.”

Processing that command took him a second but he caught on quickly and started sucking on his index and middle finger. Bobbing his head up and down and swirling his tongue around the digits until they were coated in his own saliva.

Chris gently pulled Noah’s fingers free after a few moments and guided his hand down Chris’s pants. His mouth opening in a little ‘O’ when his fingers didn’t brush over a hard cock but instead found soft curls and a wet cunt. Oh, that made a whole lot of sense. His cock twitched excitedly and he couldn’t help but grin and lick his lips as he slowly started rubbing the soft folds and sensitive clit. Using his wet fingers as lube to ease his way.

Chris’s breath hitched as he circled the sensitive little nub and applied varying amounts of pressure. He enthusiastically met him for a passionate kiss, causing Peter to groan, followed by a desperate moan once the wolf caught on what they were doing.

He heard a zipper behind him opening and felt the brush of Peter’s hand against his ass. Knowing Peter, he was practically drooling while jerking himself off as he watched them make out.

“Fuck that’s hot,” Peter whispered.

Chris grinned against his lips and leaned back, watching both of them with a hungry leer. The hunter leaned back and pulled away much to his dismay. His wet hand dropped to his side and he held it up to get a quick taste of Chris. He felt Peter practically vibrate behind him as he let out a hungry moan.

Chris came back quickly with one of the sleeping bags, zipped it open and laid it out on the floor before he took off his pants and commanded him in that silky voice, “Lay down on your back.”

The command made him shiver and he scrambled quickly to do the hunter’s bidding. Laying down on the sleeping bag. He was rewarded for his quick action by a gentle blow on his cock and the hunter’s questioning gaze.

“Please…” He begged softly, squirming at Chris’s burning look. God, he wanted Chris to ride em like he stole em and talk dirty to him until his toes curled and he came screaming their names. Judging by the hungry smile the hunter sent him in return, his fantasy might just be fulfilled tonight.

“Please what, sheriff ?” The hunter’s voice vibrated through him and he noticed Peter shuddering as well. The wolf’s breath ragged and his cock leaking precum.

“Oh for the love of God, Chris if you don’t start sucking me off-” He moaned as Chris licked a path from his balls to the tip of his cock before deep throating him in one smooth move, effectively cutting him off.

The hunter hollowed his cheeks and slowly worked his way up, making his toes curl as warmth exploded through him, and his heart hammered in his chest.

He felt Peter settle, one knee on each side of his head, and looked up to see the wolf was offering him his own hard member. He smirked and lapped at the leaking head, moaning at the slightly bitter but not unpleasant taste.

“Turn your ass around Chris I want to taste you,” Peter growled.

Chris demonstrated just how flexible he could be by putting a leg on either side of him and raising his hips in the air without hitting him in the process, his lips never leaving their attention to his cock.

Peter’s appreciative moan had him shivering in response. He continued his worship of the wolf’s member with short licks to the head and worked his way down to the heavy balls, taking each in his mouth and rolled it around on his tongue before working his way back up.

He heard Chris moan, long and filthy above him, and watched as Peter’s enthusiastic licking, sucking, and tongue fucking of Chris’s cunt was met with equal enthusiasm as Chris fucked the wolf’s face. He felt the hunter’s legs contract and shudder after a few minutes, gasps escaping Chris as he came hard on Peter’s tongue. He even felt some fluid hit him on the chin as the hunter squirted his juices over them, much to his surprise and Peter’s delight.

“I hoped you could still do that.” The Alpha growled, playfully biting Chris’s ass without breaking the skin and slapping his other cheek.

Chris pulled away from them and took a few strides and deep breaths to come down from his high. Then grinned and swayed his hips as he walked back to them and smoothly straddled him.

“Oh, I can do far more than that.” The hunter chuckled. “What do you say?”

He groaned softly and quickly nodded his consent. “Please…”

Peter growled in response, red eyes glowing as he walked around them to sink behind Chris. “Why don’t you ride us, sweetheart?”

Chris smirked in return. Gently grabbing a hold of his cock and guiding him into the hunter’s tight wet heat. He nearly came on the spot but managed to hold back just enough by focusing on a spot on the ceiling and letting out a slow breath to ground himself while Chris slowly got used to his length and girth. He wasn’t the biggest or thickest guy, and thankfully neither was Peter or this was never gonna fit, but neither of them were exactly small either and Chris would need to adjust to each of them.

After a moment or two, the hunter slowly raised himself and moved his hips in slow, long strokes until he slid in and out easily and Chris could pick up some pace. His toes started curling and the warmth in his belly started pooling slowly, gradually building with each thrust and stroke until Chris pulled up enough to keep only the tip of his cock in.

He hadn’t even noticed Peter coming closer until the wolf aligned the head of his cock against his own as he slowly pushed the first few inches into Chris’s cunt beside him.

“Fuck…” He moaned, eyes rolling back into his head as Chris slowly sank on both of their cocks. They rubbed together in the tight wet heat of Chris’s cunt and he could feel every pulse, throb, and twitch coming from the wolf’s cock.

Chris paused once he had them both down halfway, his chest heaving with every breath and a large grin on his face. The hunter leaned over him, sinking himself further on Noah’s cock but forcing Peter’s further out. Chris then grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head, checking over his shoulder to see if Peter was on board, who grinned in return.

The moment Chris started moving, riding him like a prized stallion, Peter pushed his hips up every time Chris pushed down. Rubbing both their cocks together, lubed by Chris’s juices as the entire lengths met and rolled together with each thrust.

A string of moans and desperate little sounds left his throat as he surrendered to the warmth and feelings of pleasure that surged through him with every move. He felt it intensifying with each stroke, each move. Amplified by the wet sounds of Chris’s cunt and his little moans of pleasure, Peter’s growls and harder thrusts and by the twitching and throbbing of the wolf’s cock besides his own.

He managed to hold out for several minutes before his toes curled, his body convulsed and heat exploded in his loins. His cock twitched and pulsed as he came hard and in long spurts, while Chris continued to ride him and Peter continued to thrust in beside his twitching cock.

It didn’t take long for the wolf to let out a long moan and join him. Their cocks twitching and throbbing together as they came deep inside Chris and filled him with their cum. He felt Peter slump forward, held up by Chris as the wolf shuddered his last wave of ecstasy.

Chris continued to ride them, though the movement of his hips was greatly reduced due to Peter’s weight on his back. Milking them for every last drop they had. Only when they were spent and Peter was practically napping from exhaustion did he let them slip from him.

The hunter gently maneuvered Peter from his back to lay him down on Noah’s right, furthest away from the fire and rummaged through his own backpack for wet wipes to clean them up.

“Now that was a distraction.” Noah grinned, pleased when Chris winked at him.

It took a minute for Peter to come back to them with a dopey grin. Watching with interest as Chris did his best to clean them and himself from all traces of their fucking. Pouting a little as the hunter pushed out as much of their cum as he could and wiped it away.

“That’s a damn shame…” Peter muttered. “We tried so hard to breed you.”

Chris merely chuckled. “Wasn’t gonna work anyway, I’ve been on testosterone for sixteen years and have an IUD. The odds of you knocking me up are astronomical.”

He couldn’t help but frown at Chris’s words, for tempting fate was never a particularly good idea. But on the other hand, the hunter did have a point on how unlikely it would be. They weren’t the youngest, Chris was on hormones, and if he also had an IUD. What on Earth were the odds then? They couldn’t be high to begin with, even if in the best circumstances.

So he scoffed and pulled his pants back up. Peter did the same and Chris located his and put them on as well. Another sleeping bag was pulled from somewhere. His jacket was put up near the fire, on the back of a chair to dry further. And Chris laid down next to them on the sleeping bag to hunker down for the next few hours until the storm died down.

At least they were warm, comfortable, and utterly sated for now.

He dozed off knowing that their dynamic had shifted. Yes, he still wanted to duct tape Peter to the ceiling. And Chris could still be a jerk when he wanted to be. But at the very least, this was the start to a very fun beneficial rump for all three of them. Whatever else fate wanted to throw at them, they could only wait and see.

So what do we think? Do we want more of this universe? Do we want more DILF smut? More Chris/Peter/Noah?

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bramblepeltao3 · 4 years ago

Text

Woooaaaahhhhh Part 4!

After a very long hot shower (And the water here smelled different. Not bad just...different) Del was slightly less full of jumpy angry anxiety. She did as she was asked. She kept quiet about what happened, went with Aranea’s story, and kept herself from screaming at every person who she saw between the crownsguard station and the shower.

At least she had her own room. Right next to Prompto of course, in case he needed her. It was large, and had a lovely bed with soft blankets, and everything smelled like lavender. So at least she had this, she thought, as she wrapped herself in the very plush fancy towel and opened the door, walking into her room through a cloud of steam.

“P...Princess…”

“LOQI!” Del screamed, noticing the man standing right in the middle of her room. “What the FUCK are y- I AM NOT A PRINCESS!”

“This came for you, I only wanted to make sure it was delivered dire-”

“I’m naked, get out!”

“And I wanted to apologize for the trouble you experienced this afternoon. If I were there-”

“We’d be dead if you were there, now please, GET OUT!” She took the package from him and retreated back into the bathroom.

She waited for the sound of the door to open and close again, but it never came. She was going to amass a body count before this trip was over, she could just feel it.

“Lady Delphia. I wanted you to know...His Highness showed me the photos he took on the train. And, well, with both of you so close together...I don’t know why no one else seems to notice.”

And then there was that blessed door clicking sound.

Just breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale! It’s easy. Just. Breathe.

She didn’t know which was worse: that Tumult was observant enough to see the obvious or that he was taking the completely wrong point from it.

She walked back into the sleeping area and, satisfied no perverted shitheads were hanging out, opened the package. It was exactly what she expected: the dress promised by Marigold. There was a small handwritten note on top of the blue, floral print dress.

‘You seem like the practical type. This one has pockets!’ She pulled out the dress which had a bit more flair to it than she would’ve liked. But the blue was pretty, and the floral print was subtle, and fuck if it didn’t indeed have pockets.

Del carefully got dressed, but found herself unable to really get that zipper up, and resigned herself to asking someone for their assistance. This was a palace. There were people here to do that. That was fine, right? Like, it was their job to pull the zippers up on idiot doctor’s dresses for them.

“Knock knock!” She heard a voice call from the door accompanied by an actual door knock.

“What is it, Aranea?” Del asked as the woman helped herself into the room anyway.

It appeared she also received her new dress. A very lovely, very glittery black gown that hugged all of her curves. Paired with matching opera length gloves, her hair tied back in a very elegant bun, and incredible chandelier earrings, Aranea looked like she belonged in this world. She looked beautiful.

She whistled. “Now that is more your style, Doc. Here, turn around.”

Del pulled her hair over her shoulder while Aranea zipped and clasped the dress. “A-line definitely works for you, especially with this sweetheart neckline. You look like an adorable college co-ed looking for the perfect Jimmy or Henry to dance three feet apart from and have you home by eight.”

“I really don't get you.” Del sighed. “Like, was that a compliment? Was it an insult? What-” She turned around, arms dropping heavily at her side. “Can you just say you think I look stupid?”

Aranea blinked, placing her hands on her hips. “Why would I say that? I think you look cute.”

Del immediately shot her eyes to the floor, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“Hey. We went through some rough shit back there. And I know the last thing a grumpy introvert like you wants to do is get back out there and put herself on display. But I need every pair of eyes I can get tonight.” Aranea said before taking a lock of Del’s hair in her hand. “You weren’t seriously planning to go with wet hair, were you?”

“I-” Del grabbed her hair, hands clamping it all against her neck. “It’ll air dry. It’s fine.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen how your hair looks normally. Come on, Lemon Tart, let’s have a few minutes of girl time.” Aranea took her by the hand and led her out of her room, down the hall, and into her own. Del let her, reluctantly.

And that’s how she found herself sitting in the other woman’s bathroom, letting her meaneuver her hair into a braid and put some weird smelling lotion on her face.

“Alright, what color do you usually wear?” She asked, opening a small bag packed full of cosmetics.

“I...I don’t kno-...I don’t wear makeup and frankly I think it looks...really stupid. On me. It looks bad-”

“You’ve never had someone who knows what she’s doing before. Here.” She fished out a few small bottles and brushes and placed her ungloved hand gently under Del’s chin. “This will make those green eyes pop.”

Del closed her eyes and hoped this would be over quickly. She hated makeup. She hated jewelry. She hated putting things in her hair. She hated anything that caused the act of getting ready to take longer than absolutely necessary.

But there was something so...gentle about the way Aranea ran that brush over her eyelids. The absolute trust she had to put in her when she applied that liquid eyeliner, and the blush. She rubbed it in with her thumb and it felt...intimate. Weirdly, comfortably intimate.

“Alright, now the final touch. Too much red would flush your skin, so let’s do something a little more pink.”

She placed a small brush into a glass container and started to slowly, purposely paint Del’s lips. Finally, she placed everything back in the bag and grabbed a hand mirror.

“Look at you, you’re going to have those Lucian boys flocking to your side.”

“I can’t think of a worse scenario.” Del sighed. But damn...she did look kinda hot. Aranea was right, she just needed someone who knew what the fuck they were doing.

“Let me put this into a better perspective. We both need to be attracting attention in there. The Marshal assured me they were taking the highest precautions at this thing, and I believe he believes that. But we need to have our own guards up. So while we’ve got all eyes on us, our eyes are on Shortcake.”

Del frowned. “So we’re...drawing the focus away from him?”

“Less people hanging around him and keeping attention on him, the easier it’ll be for me to spot if anyone is a little too interested in him. Make sense?” Aranea asked with a smirk.

Right. Draw the attention of people who otherwise wouldn’t care about Prompto save for social climbing or networking. Make it easier for the shield to keep tabs on who really wanted to be within his circle.

“Yeah. Alright I guess I can...be...this,” she gestured at herself, “for one night. For Prompto.”

“Knew you’d say that.” Aranea stood up straight, pulling Del to her feet as well. “I’ll be the sultry seductress dream girl, you play the girl next door fantasy, we’ll have plenty of tall dark and rich hanging around.”

They made their way into the sleeping area, where Del caught a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror. Funny. She’d always hated the idea of herself looking like this. Painted up, dressed up, it felt too much like the life she was almost doomed to live a long time ago. But this...this felt kinda...nice?

“One more thing.” Aranea took her hand and slipped something onto her wrist. “Pretty, right? There’s a tracking device in it. Shortcake’s got one too. They let me keep track of you two wherever you are.”

Del frowned at it. “Ok, Prompto I get. But why me?”

“Those gunmen were after you. That was made very clear based on where they were aiming. That’s another reason I want you surrounded by hungry suitors all night. Less opportunity for someone to pull something. But don’t worry, between myself, the Marshal, and poor little love struck Loqi I think you’ll be safe.”

“Eugh.” Del shuddered. “Can we maybe not acknowledge that weirdness going on?”

Aranea let out a laugh as they crossed to leave the room. “Not exactly returning those affections, I guess?”

“I have known that dipshit for a very long time. His delusions of self grandeur are only surpassed by his creepy level of nationalism. I’m good, thanks.”

“Hm.” Aranea hummed as she began to open the door. “So what I’m hearing is I still have a shot?”

Del’s eyes went wide.

Aranea made a gun shape with her hand, finger barrel pointing at Del’s head, and made a mock motion of pulling the trigger. She smirked and walked out into the hallway.

Why. Don't. People. Just. Say. What. They. Mean?!

“Prompto! Time to head out, are you ready?” Aranea asked, standing in front of the door next to hers. She frowned when there was no response.

“Are you sure he didn’t already leave?” Del asked, a little hopefully.

“The tracker says he’s in there. Bet he’s having trouble getting all those buttons done right. Prompto! Doc and I are coming in.” She announced before opening the door.

Inside, there was no one.

“Shit.” Aranea whispered, walking to the nightstand where a matching bracelet to Del’s was sitting.

Del felt her throat begin to close up as she looked out towards the balcony door, wide open, and no one in sight.

---

Prompto was sure something was very, very wrong with him. Maybe he was having some kind of reaction to his medication or the water here had something weird in it. That had to be the explanation for why he agreed to just climb on to the back of the Prince of Lucis and fly.

Like, actually fly. The Prince of Lucis could fly, in a weird indirect way.

He’d just shown up on the balcony outside his room, seven stories up, like it wasn’t a big deal at all, sparkling with the remnants of magic.

“Wanted to say hi, you know, outside of the whole ceremony and everything.” He’d said. And Prompto, completely not used to being alone with people his own age, just kind of stumbled out to stand with him.

“How did you-”

“I warped.” He said with a smile, like it was obvious.

So they stood there, in the warm afternoon air, talking about magic and warping and -somehow- the conversation turned to his favorite topic.

“No way, you like Assassin’s Creed too?” Noctis asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah! It’s only like the best franchise in modern gaming!” Prompto couldn’t believe his luck. He’d never met anyone else who played video games. It was his favorite hobby, and not just because for a handful of years it was the only thing he could bring himself to do. “It would be so cool to be an assassin. Uh, not like, a really real one. Heh. Just like, getting to climb or jump or glide anywhere you want? So cool.” Prompto said wistfully. To sneak out of his room back home and see anything he wanted was an ongoing dream of his.

And this trip was the closest thing he had to fulfilling it so far.

“So why don’t you?” Noctis asked, leaning against the balcony railing.

“Well, for starters, I can’t exactly zip through the air like you can.” Prompto laughed.

He straightened back up. “Do you want to?”

And that was how Prince Prompto, heir to the vast Empire of Niflheim, found himself losing his lunch in the bushes outside the Lucian Citadel.

“Shit, sorry Prompto. Guess I should’ve warned you it takes some getting used to.” Noctis said, stifling a laugh.

“No way! That was so much fun!” He smiled despite how green his face must have been. “Should probably just take the elevator on the way back, though.” As much as he wanted to do that again he wasn’t sure his stomach would approve. Or his doctor.

Noct pulled out his phone and made a distressed sound. “Well, we’re both about to be late. Ignis is going to kill me.” He held his hand out to Prompto to help him back up. “I’m sure if we stroll in together it’ll be no big deal.”

Prompto took it, and after making sure his evening attire did not betray their activity, agreed with Noct’s plan.

“So…” Prompto started as they began their walk through the courtyard. “Who’s Ignis?”

“My advisor. I’ve known him since I can remember. He means well, and I know he’s just looking out for me and my future but his nagging can get really annoying.” Noctis huffed, stretching his arms behind his head.

“Oh, I totally get that. My doctor is super overprotective. At first it was really nice having someone care that much, but sometimes it’s like I breathe a little wrong and she wants to run a whole diagnostic to make sure I’m not dying!”

Noctis laughed, and it sounded so nice to Prompto’s ears.

“What about your shield? She looks pretty tough. She come from a family line?” Noct asked.

“Nah. She’s been in the military since she was super young, and then one day she just told my father, ‘I’m Prompto’s shield.’ Like, no question! She just made that claim and that was it! I’m really glad though, she’s always been like a sister to me.”

“Sounds nice. Mine is a huge ass who can’t seem to keep a shirt on.”

Prompto snort laughed.

“His whole family has been my family’s shields going way back. So, not much of a choice for any of us. He’s cool, though.” Noct’s face fell into something more neutral as they approached the stairs leading back into the palace. “Man. This is going to be so boring. Wanna ditch and go play video games?”

He did, more than anything else ever in his life he wanted to hang out alone with Prince Noctis. But slightly more than that, he wanted to not be the cause of an issue that might lead to all out war between their dads.

“We should probably at least make an appearance.” Prompto said carefully.

“Yeah…” Noctis sighed. “Bet we can find a way to make it more interesting, at least.” He said with a wicked little gleam in his eyes.

Prompto was completely out of his element. And it felt so cool!

---

“What do you mean, Prince Noctis is missing?” Cor said, actually feeling a few more years being cut from his lifespan.

“As I said, he simply left his room without alerting or informing anyone of his intentions. This isn’t the first time he’s done this but it’s certainly the worst possible time that he could.” Ignis, poor long suffering Ignis, rubbed his eyes under his glasses.

“Has Gladiolus been informed?” Cor asked, hoping beyond hope that at least his very responsible student might have a handle on this.

“Indeed, and his response was, ‘I told you so’.” Ignis punctuated the statement with little quotation marks by his head. “I had hoped beyond all hope he would actually take these proceedings seriously.”

Amazing. After everything that already happened that day, now Noct decided whatever arcade cabinet or fishing pond he felt most like visiting was more important than ensuring a lifelong peace with their biggest enemy.

“He’s probably just asleep in a tree somewhere.” The Prince could seemingly sleep anywhere, at any time. It was a life skill that Cor envied. “Inform the Glaive we have a code Stray Cat. Level Calico for now, unless we have evidence it’s something more serious.” Calico stray cat: Noctis is missing but he’s probably just dicking around somewhere. Find him but don’t panic. Black stray cat: Noct is missing and assumed in danger. Orange stray cat: Noct is most definitely in danger.

Again. Regis’ idea.

“I will do so at once, Marshal.” Ignis gave a slight bow and ran off to deliver the message. He was a good kid, both him and Gladio. Wonderfully dedicated crownsguards and the exact sort of responsible needed to ensure Noctis made it to his reign alive. And still, still he managed to get himself into trouble.

“Gladio.” Cor said into his switched on ear piece.

“I’ve got the crownsguard sweeping the perimeter. Glaive are searching outside the Citadel. We’ll catch that cat, Sir.”

“Nice choice of words. I’m going to check in with our guests.” No one else should have to deal with that headache. Cor made his way to the seventh floor, right where he left them. Prince Prompto’s door was ajar, with no one inside, but the balcony door was also wide open.

Not good.

“Gladio, bad news-”

“Good news Sir, the cat’s in the bag. And he brought a little yellow puppy with him.”

Cor laughed, shaking his head with his hands on his hips.

Teenagers. Of course they’d sneak off to get into trouble together. At least it implied they were getting along, which really was the whole point of this thing. He could only be so mad about it all. He turned to head back to the ballroom, ready to take his post for the evening.

Until he was struck with the realization that Prompto’s attendants probably realized he had gone missing. And they didn’t have the benefit of knowing he was okay.

“...shit.”

---

“This place is a FUCKING maze!” Del screamed as the two made their way down yet another hallway. Everywhere they walked service staff seemed to flee from their presence. Of course they did. Everyone here hated their guts and everything about them so why would anyone try and help?

Fine! She had thought. We’ll just find Cor. Whatever. This is his problem now. Her ego meant nothing compared to Prompto’s safety. So off they went, ready to find the Marshal and make sure her brother was safe. There was only one problem.

Neither of them understood enough of the Lucian language.

They all spoke the same common language, sure, but each Kingdom still had their own stupid written language because neither wanted to go through the hassle of changing out hundreds of years’ worth of fixtures and Del hadn’t thought to stick that piece of academia into her mind because in what world would she have to know the difference between a bathroom and a library in the Lucian Ciatdel?

Well...apparently this one!

“You know what’s a universal language? Pictures. Just...put a little picture of a toilet on the sign. Then there’s no confusion! What’s in there? Oh! A bathroom! OBVIOUSLY!” Del was quickly losing her mind, and Aranea’s silence was just making it worse.

“Doc.” She finally said, grabbing her arm. She turned to Del, put a finger to her lips, and carefully walked them both through a door and into...the kitchen. After a quick scan of the perimeter she set her sights on a supply closet and somehow, maneuvered both of them into it, closing the door behind them.

“What-” Del tried to ask but Aranea put a hand over her mouth.

“Listen.” She whispered.

After a few very quiet minutes passed, Del was ready to tell the shield exactly what she thought about being shoved in a closet while Prompto was still missing, when they heard a door open., and several pairs of footsteps.

“I can’t hear shit in there, so what the fuck is with this?”

“You tell him what you told me.”

“I got strict orders, directly from the kid’s doctor. She said this needs to go in his meal. It’s medicine, you know their Prince is sickly and all. We’re doing it in here so as not to cause a scene. It is absolutely vital he gets it. Understood?”

Del’s eyes went wide. Aranea was narrowing hers in suspicion. Del shook her head. No, she hadn’t told anyone jack shit about medicine. And he certainly didn’t have any medication that needed to be dropped into his dinner.

This was poison. They were trying to poison Prompto.

“Alright. I’ll mark it special, make sure it gets to the right seat.”

After some shuffling and footsteps, the two carefully left the closet and quietly made their way out to the hallway.

“Listen, Doc-”

“I didn’t tell anyone shit about putting medicine in food.”

“I know. So either you’re being set up, or Insomnia is. Either way, the search for Shortcake just got a lot more urgent.”

A quiet ding grabbed their attention, and the two realized there was an elevator around the corner. Finally. They took off sprinting to catch it, barely managing to do so, and simply selecting the ground floor.

“How big of a scene do we need, here? Who are we going to tell?” Del asked. Aranea seemed to know exactly how to approach every scenario, and Del was about to mentally collapse so she was more than happy to let her take control.

“Tumult will see it as the Lucians attempting an assassination. If we call out the kitchen workers they’re going to set you up for the fall, and no one here has any reason to trust you wouldn’t.” Aranea said carefully.

“Cor knows, he’d vouch for me. He knows I’d never do anything to hurt Prompto.” Del said, trying to resist the urge to bite at her still nicely painted lip.

“Why?” Aranea snapped.

“Huh?” Del looked at her frustrated features.

“Why does the Marshal know that?” She asked.

Shit. SHIT. “Because...well like, I’m a doctor! Come on, I’m a doctor and a great one, I’d never hurt any of my patients!”

Aranea opened her mouth to respond but before she could make a sound, the elevator doors opened and there he was. Standing next to the Lucian Prince.

“Oh thank the Gods.” Del sighed, abandoning any amount of professionalism and rushing over to hug the Prince. “Don’t scare us like that, dude, we thought something terrible happened!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean- Wow you guys look really pretty.” Prompto nervously said with a smile.

“I’m guessing you're the shield?” Aranea stated, looking up and down the teenager standing behind the princes.

“That would be me, yeah. And these two thought it’d be great fun to goof off and get every glaive and guard in the city looking for them.”

Prompto looked at the ground in embarrassment. Noctis seemed pleased.

“Prom here wanted to have some fun. I thought I’d be a good host and show him some.”

Noctis laughed. Prompto’s face turned very red.

“So are we going to this borefest now, or what?” Prince Noctis asked his shield.

“I’ve got something I need to talk to you about.” Aranea nodded her head towards Gladiolus. He nodded back at her.

“That dress looks really good on you, Del!” Prompto said, trying to change the subject from his sudden irresponsible disappearance.

“Thanks,” Del smiled down at him as they began to follow the Lucians, “it has pockets.” She demonstrated by sticking her hands in them. She felt something in the left pocket. A piece of paper. She carefully retrieved it, no bigger than the palm of her hand, and quickly read the message scribbled on it.

‘Del-We need to talk. Meet me at the bar. C.L.’

C.L. Cor Leonis. We need to talk. Yes. Yes they did. And she already had a well practiced script of exactly what she planned to say to his stupid moron face.

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orangeoctopi7 · 4 years ago

Text

Every Little Past Frustration

: Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 :

Bill watched through the eyes of a hundred eye-bats as the truck carrying his quarry barreled down the wooded back roads of Gravity Falls. The flock was closing in, despite Sixer's erratic blaster fire and manic driving. Of course, just as soon as it looked like Bill’s victory was in the bag, the Mystery Shack came into view on the horizon through the trees. The demonic triangle growled with rage and willed the flock to fly faster. He was not letting his bargaining chip get away!

The cloud of eye bats descended on the truck. Maybe Bill’s luck was changing. The idiots had just left Four-Eyes lying in the truck bed unprotected. Bill didn’t know much about humans and the protection laws they used to try and keep themselves alive a little longer, but he was pretty sure that was a stupid thing to do even if you didn’t have otherworldly forces chasing after you.

Unfortunately, the eye-bats weren’t strong enough to turn someone to stone yet. They still hadn’t absorbed enough of the Nightmare Realm’s power. But they did have this nifty tractor beam ability, which came in handy since they didn’t have any hands or claws to speak of. A few of the eye-bats got in close enough to start lifting the scruffy hillbilly out of the back of the truck. He started thrashing and yowling in panic.

“I TOLD YOU, YOU’RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE UNTIL I GET WHAT I WANT!” Bill crowed triumphantly. True, since he was back in the Nightmare Realm instead of possessing that time traveling loser, the only one who could hear him was Four-Eyes, but it wasn’t any fun if Bill couldn’t brag to someone.

“!Votmzrig ivskrx oory! Taht rebmemer ot tnaw t’nod I! Niaga ti ees ot tnaw t’nod I! Gnimoc si mlaer eramthgin eht…” McGucket howled.

Of course, every time Bill spoke directly to Fiddleford’s mind, the nerd had to go and be a drama queen about it! It was honestly the main reason the demon had continued tormenting the guy over the years. It wasn’t like Bill got anything out of it, he couldn’t possess the old coot or coerce him into helping the rift along. It was just hilarious to see how he reacted. Some mortals and the Nightmare Realm just didn’t mix.

Four-Eyes’s clamoring got the attention of the rescue team sitting in the truck cab. Shooting Star fired her grappling hook out the back window and snagged onto the old inventor’s overalls. Meanwhile, Sixer leaned almost half-way out the driver’s side window, blasting down the eye-bats that had been carrying off his friend; Question Mark struggled to keep them on the road while the driver was otherwise occupied.

Bill roared with volcanic rage as the truck veered around the corner, into the long driveway leading up to the Mystery Shack. They were almost to the barrier! He was not going to lose this bargaining chip, not after everything else that had gone wrong over the past few days.

The remaining eye-bats clustered around the open windows, trying to squeeze inside and block the view of the road. The truck careened through a few advertising signs, but stayed on course for the Mystery Shack. Maybe, if he blocked their view long enough, he could make them crash into the wall of the Shack and break the line of unicorn hair, disabling the shield spell.

But luck was not with Bill this week. The breaks squealed, and the truck skidded to a stop just inches away from the gift shop entrance. Sixer threw his door open and laid down some blaster fire to cover Shooting Star and Question Mark as they carried Four-Eyes inside. They were within the barrier.

“GGGGRAAAAAH! COME ON!” Bill conjured a glass just to throw it at the wall in frustration. “WHAT IS WITH THIS TIMELINE!? DECADES OF PLANNING, AND IT’S JUST ALL THROWN OUT THE WINDOW BECAUSE WHAT? PINETREE AND SHOOTING STAR ACTUALLY TALKED ABOUT THEIR FEELINGS!? EUGCH!”

“DiD tHeY gEt AwAy, BoSs?” Hectorgon asked, noticing his boss’ temper tantrum.

“THE ONLY REASON THEY GOT AWAY IS BECAUSE I’M STUCK WORKING WITH SUB-PAR LACKEYS!!” Bill steamed. Hectorgon took the hint, scurrying away.

It really was a shame that good pawns were so hard to come by in Gravity Falls. Since the original plan of taking the rift from Shooting Star didn’t pan out, Bill had to start improvising. And hey, he was an ageless being of pure energy. He could do that. But the mortals available to him in Gravity Falls were just so lame!

Wendy, the Cool Girl, had seemed promising. She was smart and strong, and best of all, the Pines trusted her. Unfortunately she was a little too smart. Bill had known convincing her to smash the rift was a long shot, but she would have been a real asset, had things worked out. As it was, she was a nice distraction.

Toby Determined had definitely just been a distraction. The guy was about as competent as a leaky paper cup. But he’d actually gotten most of the Pines family out of the house, so that part of the plan, at least, had worked. They’d even left the Big Mackerel in charge of guarding the place! It seemed like the perfect opportunity to try out his new pawn, Preston Northwest. Bill had been sure Stan would take the bait, but no! Everyone in the Pines family had to do the opposite of what was expected this week. And Preston was such a priss, he’d rather just make vague threats and drive off than actually do what Bill asked him to and get his hands dirty!

Unfortunately, possessing Preston wasn’t possible quite yet. The guy was too business savvy to make a deal on a handshake. It all had to be in writing with him.

The only other viable pawn in town was Lil’ Gideon, but he didn’t exactly have easy access to the Shack right now. Sure, Bill could break him out of prison, but it’d take a lot of effort, and it’d draw a lot of attention. Not just from the Pines, but from the Time Paradox Anomaly Avoidance Squad. There were a lot of perks to possessing a time traveler, but they came with the inconvenience of having to watch his step whenever he used them.

Bill sighed as he watched Sixer through one of his effigies still left in the Mystery Shack. Now there had been a good pawn! That rare balance of competence and gullibility, of intelligence and naivety, really did only come around once in a generation! So eager to please, so desperate to prove himself, so willing to just go along with things and not ask too many questions. Too bad Four-Eyes had to blunder his way into the portal on the test run. If Bill hadn’t had to tip his hand early, he might have brought the party to Earth thirty years ago. Ah well. Fighting Sixer all these years certainly kept him entertained.

For now, Bill was going to have to make due with his current pawns. Speaking of which, his latest puppet was trying to make a break for it. Bill popped out of the Nightmare Realm and into Blendin’s mindscape. The bumbling time traveler was about to pull out his time tape and jump into the future.

“AND WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?”

“Y-y-you can’t do this to me!” Blendin stammered. “I-I’m a time officer! I h-have rights!”

“OH, SORRY, MY MISTAKE!” Bill said sarcastically. “WHY DON’T YOU HURRY BACK TO THOSE JERKS WHO CONSTANTLY MOCKED YOU FOR LOSING GLOBNAR TO TWO CHILDREN. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN YOU’D BE EAGER TO ADD ‘GOT POSSESSED BY MY BOSS’S WORST ENEMY’ TO THE INSULT LIST. THAT IS, IF THEY DON’T LOCK YOU UP FOR AIDING IN THE END OF THE WORLD!”

“I-I’ve escaped the infinitentiary before!” the time traveler protested.

“YEAH, SURE, THEN IT’LL JUST BE LIFE ON THE RUN WHILE TIME-BABY PUTS OUT A DIMENSION-WIDE MANHUNT FOR YOU! FACE IT, BLENDO, YOUR BEST CHANCE OF SURVIVAL IS WITH ME!”

Blendin opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to come up with a good comeback, or rebuttal, or any reason to refuse Bill’s offer, but he apparently couldn’t think of one. Finally, he just hung his head in defeat and held out his hand. Bill smiled with his one eye and grabbed it, taking possession of the time traveler once again.

“THAT’S MORE LIKE IT! NOW, LET’S GO FIND A LADDER AND AN AK-47!”

* * *

The flock of eye-bats dispersed once Mabel and Soos got McGucket within the barrier. Ford breathed a sigh of relief. That had been too close. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if Bill had tried to bargain with Fiddleford’s life for the rift.

Thankfully, McGucket’s incoherent screams had stopped once he was safely inside. The old inventor looked exhausted, but relieved, like he’d just outrun a raging wild animal. Ford locked eyes with him, and for a moment, he could have sworn a hint of recognition flickered on Fiddleford’s face. But then, the fatigue caught up with his old friend, and he passed out in Soos’s arms.

Dipper, who had been keeping watch from the window, rushed over to them. “Oh my gosh, are you guys ok?” He asked, taking in everyone’s battered appearance.

“I think I might’ve cracked a rib.” Soos said nonchalantly, as though he was talking about a paper cut and not one of the most painful injuries he could still walk on.

“Come bring Fiddleford into my room; I’ll examine you both.” Ford instructed.

Dipper followed them in as they laid Fiddleford on the couch. A quick glance over found no serious injuries that needed immediate attention, although the old inventor definitely looked like he needed a few good meals in him. Next, Ford had Soos pull his shirt off, so he could properly check his ribs.

“Luckily they’re not cracked, just badly bruised.” Ford assured the handyman after a few moments of careful prodding. He handed Soos a small packet of some medicinal cream. “This cellular-regeneration optimizing salv should allow you to heal within the hour. I assume you can apply it yourself.”

“You got it, dawg.” Soos took the packet with a salute and left for the bathroom.

“Er, alright…” Ford wasn’t quite sure what that response meant, but it sounded like an affirmative.

“What happened?” Dipper asked once Ford finished his examinations and just sat down, watching his friend anxiously.

“Your sister was there for it all. You can ask her.” Ford replied simply. He was trying to let the boy down gently, but the kids really were better off without him.

“Oh, O-ok…” Dipper left reluctantly, casting a glance over his shoulder as he closed the door.

* * *

“And so we skidded into the parking lot next to the gift shop like something out of Nagoya Burnout!” Mabel concluded her dramatic retelling of their rescue mission.

“Aw man, I wish I was there!” Dipper complained. “Although, I did get to see Stan psych out Preston Northwest. That was pretty gratifying.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Mabel pulled out her cell phone. “Pacifica called me while we were at the dump, but it wasn’t a good time, so I hung up on her.”

“Huh. We got a call just before her dad showed up, but Grunkle Stan told me to just let it go to voicemail.”

Mabel checked her inbox to find several missed messages from Pacifica.

“Hey you asked if my parents were acting weird earlier?” The rich girl’s voice crackled from the voicemail. “Well, my dad just asked the chauffeur to take him to your shack. Last time he wouldn’t even ride there himself, he made ME go! ...Omg he’s packing a briefcase of money. I’m gonna have to call you back.”

The next message continued Pacifica’s panic, “When I asked him what he was doing he just said he was going to make a ‘business transaction’. Mabel seriously, call me back! I am freaking out!”

“I think he’s going to try and buy your house? Either that or maybe your uncle deals drugs? None of this makes sense to me. Just call me back already!”

“Mabel! Pick up! Why aren’t you answering!?”

“Uugh, fine! I’m calling your house!!”

“Oops.” Mabel grimaced. “I guess I should call her back.”

“Do you think her dad is actually working with Bill?” Dipper asked worriedly.

“I mean, I know he’s a shady rich guy and a bad parent, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of person to make a deal with a demon.” Mabel reasoned. “But maybe Bill came to him disguised as Blendin, like he did to Toby, and offered him technology from the future or something?”

“Maybe.” Dipper agreed. “I can’t think of any other reason the Northwests would try to buy out this place. I know Stan’s made enough to support himself and run the portal, but the Shack can’t be that successful compared to all the Northwest’s businesses. I’m just worried about Pacifica. Her parents are already the worst. If Bill is controlling them, who knows what they’d do to her?”

Mabel pulled up Pacifica’s contact and started calling. Her crazy rich rival picked up on the second ring. “Now you pick up!? What happened!? My dad said Stan pulled a gun on him!”

“Sorry!” Mabel apologized, “I was on a rescue mission, I had to be stealthy!”

“And Stan only pulled a gun on him after he made it clear calling the cops wasn’t an option!” Dipper defended.

“Why didn’t you just text me?” Mabel asked.

“And leave a written record that I was trying to warn you guys?” Pacifica scoffed. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

“...Your parents go through your texts?” Dipper asked warily.

“Yeah, don’t yours?” Pacifica asked, clearly not seeing anything wrong with the practice.

“Nevermind all that!” Mabel interrupted, “We wanted to make sure you’re alright!”

"What? I'm fine. You two are the ones living with the guy who pulled a gun on my dad!"

"After he threatened us!" Dipper repeated.

“Not in any way that would hold up in court, I’m sure.” Pacifica said, and Dipper swore he could hear her rolling her eyes.

“Anyway, we called because we’re worried about you!” Mabel broke up the argument.

“Why would you be worried?” Pacifica asked. “Guys, I’m just grounded. It’s not like my parents have me locked up in a dungeon or something.”

“We have reason to believe your parents are fraternizing with a dream demon.” Dipper explained. “Or at least your dad is.”

“Um… you’re joking, right?” the rich girl huffed a weak laugh.

“Don’t freak her out, Dipper!” Mabel elbowed her brother.

“But it’s true!”

“Hey Pacifica, sorry, Dipper’s being crazy paranoid.” Mabel forced a laugh, “But seriously though, you should keep an eye on your dad. And like, if he gets yellow eyes or something, you should just leave.”

“What!? What the heck is going on, you two? Is this another ghost thing?”

“Well I mean, it does seem like Bill’s main way of getting things done in our world is possessing people, so that’s kind of like a ghost…” Dipper answered.

“Who the heck is Bill!?”

“He’s a dream demon who wants to end the world.” Dipper explained bluntly. “But he needs something in our house to do it.”

“Are-are you serious?” Pacifica asked incredulously. “You’d better be serious right now, because if you’re messing with me I’ll come over there and buy your uncle’s filthy tourist trap myself!”

“I��m dead serious.” Dipper assured her. “What do you know about that creepy tapestry in the alcove just to the left of the grand staircase in the main dining hall? The one with the triangle eye on it?”

“Ugh, that ugly thing?” Pacifica groaned. “Mom can’t talk dad into throwing it out because it’s a family heirloom or whatever. Once I inherit this mansion, it’s going in the trash where it belongs!”

“Haha, Bill belongs in the trash!” Mabel giggled.

“So what, is Bill the guy who made the tapestry or something?”

“He’s the one on the tapestry.” Dipper corrected. “He’s the triangle eye.”

“I told you, if you’re messing with me--”

“I’m not messing with you! I know it sounds crazy, but this is a matter of life and death!” Dipper said earnestly.

“Ok, ok!” Pacifica backed off, surprised by Dipper’s sincerity. “I honestly don’t know anything else about it, though. Just that apparently it was a gift to Nathaniel Northwest when he founded the town.”

“Which we all know he didn’t do.” Dipper reasoned. “So where did it actually come from?”

“How the heck should I know?” Pacifica retorted.

“Could you maybe ask your dad about it?” Mabel proposed.

“I guess. He might find it a little suspicious if I suddenly seem interested in it though.”

“Could you at least take a picture of it and text it to us?” Dipper asked. “I didn’t think to take a good look at it while I was there, and I only remember a few vague details.”

“Ugh, ok, but you’d better help me find a good way to explain why I sent it to you once my parents find out.”

* * *

Dinnertime rolled around, and Ford still hadn’t left his room since the rescue party returned earlier that afternoon. Dipper was beginning to worry. Despite his insistence that he could live off of his nutrition pills for another three years, Ford always made a point to join the family for dinner. Even though the old researcher wouldn't admit it, Dipper was pretty sure it was because he got lonely spending all his time in the basement. The fact that Ford was absent as they dug into a plate of Mac'n'Cheese left Dipper wondering if something was wrong.

"Hey, uh, Mabel? Did Great Uncle Ford seem upset when you guys found McGucket?"

"He did seem pretty sad, but I don't think he really had time to be upset. We were busy running from Bill."

"Of course he's upset. He's finally seen first-hand how his old college buddy has become the self-proclaimed local kook." Stan said without looking up from his dinner. "Just give him some space, kid, he'll be fine."

Dipper wasn't in the habit of listening to Stan, so as soon as he finished eating he dropped his plate in the sink and snuck down the hall to Ford's room. Thankfully, it wasn't locked.

Ford looked up at him with such a dead-eyed stare when he stepped in that the boy suddenly wished he had listened to Stan.

"H-hey… um… we, uh, missed you at dinner… heh…"

"I'm otherwise occupied." Ford said quietly, not looking the boy in the eye. "Don't worry about me, I still have plenty of nutrition pills."

"Oh, uh, yeah…." Dipper scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "... That's not what I'm really worried about though."

Ford tensed. "Has there been a new development with Bill?"

"Uh… I mean, Preston Northwest did come by here and try to buy the Shack, but Stan scared him off, for now…. Oh! And Wendy wanted to know if you would help put up a barrier around her family’s house if she got some more unicorn hair.”

The old researcher nodded. “It will take time. It would be safer for her to stay here until I’m able to assemble another barrier spell.”

“Oh, ok, I’ll let her know.” Dipper shuffled his feet. “So, uh, how’s McGucket?”

“He needs rest.” Ford watched his friend’s sleeping form carefully, still refusing to meet Dipper’s gaze.

“Um, are you ok?”

“Don’t worry about me.” Ford reiterated shortly. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to your sister about now?”

“...Mabel told you we weren’t going to stay, didn’t she?” Dipper fretted. “...Are you mad at me?”

Ford finally turned to face him. “Of course not, my boy! If anything, you should be mad at me.”

“What, why?” Dipper asked in confusion.

“I came between you and your family. I got you involved in my problems. I put you in danger. I shouldn’t-- you shouldn’t-- you’d be safer if you kept your distance from me.”

“But you are my family!” Dipper insisted. “And I was involved with Bill before I even knew who you were!”

“Because you found my journal. I still started you on that path.”

“Well, technically, I guess.” Dipper admitted grudgingly. “But that wasn’t your fault!”

Ford scoffed and looked away again, obviously not convinced.

“If you and Mabel already came to your own decision to return home, then you must have realized on some level that I am a toxic influence. I don’t understand the thoughts and feelings of other people. I’ve hurt every person I’ve ever been close to.” The old researcher watched the slow rise and fall of Fiddleford’s far-too-thin chest. “You deserve better than that. You deserve better than me.”

Dipper was dumbstruck for a moment. He never would have guessed that his Great Uncle Ford, the Author of the Journals, would feel this way. And it felt so wrong, because this wasn’t the way he viewed his uncle at all. Didn’t he know he was Dipper’s hero? Deserve better? Ford being Dipper’s uncle, and actually liking him and spending time with him, was better than the boy had dared to hope for.

“That’s not why we decided to go home!” Dipper insisted. How had Mabel put it? She made it sound so simple. “It’s not like we don’t want to stay with you. Now just isn’t the right time.”

“Not now… and not ever.” Ford said glumly. “It’s… it’s for the best.”

“No it’s not!” the boy blurted. “I know a lot of the people you care about end up hurt, and I know you have a hard time understanding why other people do things sometimes, but that doesn’t mean you don’t understand other people’s thoughts and feelings at all! That doesn’t mean all you do is hurt other people! I know because you were the first person this summer who understood me!

“I love Mabel, but we don’t see the world in the same way. That’s a good thing most of the time, but sometimes when I try to talk to her about the paranormal, she just dismisses it as me being paranoid, or ‘dumb nerd stuff’. And don’t even get me started on how hard it is to talk to Stan about that stuff.

“When I found your Journal in the woods, it wasn’t just an exciting mystery that fell into my lap. It was like finding validation that all the weird things I saw actually mattered. I think that Journal helped me get out of trouble just as often as it got me into trouble. And as the summer went on and I read more and saw more, it was like I was getting to know you, even though I still didn't have any idea who you were. I knew I felt a connection with whoever wrote it, so I started trying to figure out who it was.

“Yeah, I got in a little too deep and got in trouble at a few points, but that just made it all the more amazing when I finally found out that the Author was you, and you were my family, and I wasn’t just imagining that we had something in common! And somehow, impossibly, you’re even cooler than I ever imagined because you’re more than just paranormal mysteries and cryptograms that take me ages to decode! You like to play the same games I do, and you actually take my theories and stuff seriously instead of just laughing it off or telling me I’m paranoid! And… and…” Dipper slowly became painfully aware of how long he’d been talking without any response from Ford, who was still turned away from him. “And you’re really important to me, ok? I know we’ve known each other for less than a month, but I just can’t accept a future where we can’t hang out anymore, ok?”

Ford didn’t answer for a long time. He just stared down at McGucket’s sleeping form. But if Dipper watched closely, he could see his uncle just barely keeping his breathing under control.

“You’re a very intelligent boy, Dipper.” The old researcher finally croaked. “Why can’t you see the evidence lying right before you?”

Dipper looked down on McGucket's prone form, then to his uncle, who was just barely containing his grief.

“You may have hurt McGucket, but you can’t completely blame yourself for the state he’s in now. And you obviously still feel bad about what happened, and you’re doing everything you can to help now. If you ask me, that’s not toxic.

“I know you’re scared of hurting the people you love again, but just cutting yourself off from everyone isn’t gonna help, even if it seems like the easiest option. I think you just need some people who love you back and are willing to help you learn to be better.”

Dipper decided to take a risk and stepped forward, tentatively hugging Ford around the waist. His uncle tensed for a second at the unexpected contact, but his rigidity crumbled after a moment. The old researcher dropped to his knees and hugged his nephew tightly.

“Thank you, my boy. I didn't realize how badly I needed to hear that.”

#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Dipper Pines #Stanford Pines #pacifica northwest #My Writing

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spectralscathath · 5 years ago

Text

Queen, Knave, King

fair Game Week, Day 6: Atlas Ball/Mantle Battle

Clover Ebi is in love with a dusty old Qrow. He knows it, Elm knows it, even Robyn knows it.

Let the cards fall where they may.

Ao3 Link

Elm spotted Branwen as he skulked around the edge of the Schnee grounds, snow crunching under his shoes in the silence as his cape fluttered behind him, the cold winds bracing and biting at her cheeks.

She shrugged to herself and walked over, giving Vine a wave to let him know she was going off on her own. He gave her a simple nod back, drawing a smile from her. It was nice to have such simple trust with her close friend.

Most people usually assumed they were a couple, which was something that Elm didn’t mind, exactly, but she knew Vine was as utterly disinterested in romance as she herself was. It just wasn’t something she felt. She’d rather have a close friend to watch her back then a lover, and that was that.

Before Vine had joined the Ace Ops, that friend had been Clover. The two of them had just been specialists that Ironwood kept pairing up, his flexible weapon and clever mind pairing well with her sheer sturdiness and ample strength.

It had been an excellent distraction at first, to apply her Huntress skills again with an entirely new element, and this time with someone who had luck on his side almost all the time. Much less likely he’d go the way of her old team. That had been reassuring.

Somewhere along the line, she’d started feeding him. She couldn’t help it, cooking and baking were just as much in her blood as being a warrior was. Unlike the friendships of team SBLE, formed through four years of battle and school, Clover’s friendship was found over shared meals and stories of a world beyond Atlas.

So, when she’d seen her friend steadily falling head-over-heels for a grumpy spy with a reckless defiance and a dour attitude, of course she knew it was her solemn duty to make sure her friend wasn’t going to get another scar on his ironically unlucky heart.

“Hey! Branwen!” She called out as he migrated from the grounds to striding along the top of the garden wall, steps light and balanced with his hands in his pockets.

He glanced at her and raised a brow, shifting his weight so he didn’t fall as she jogged over. “You after something, Ederne?”

She put a hand on her hip and looked up at his perch, taking another moment to deliberate on her plan of attack. “You know, you’ve been here for ages now and I still haven’t gotten a chance to even talk to you.”

“Been busy,” he drawled, shrugging at her.

“Hanging out with Clover, yes, I’m aware,” she grinned brashly, watching as his hair puffed up a little bit like an actual bird’s.

“What’s it to you?” Oh he got huffy. Guess he didn’t like that.

“Nothing much, I just want to talk.” She toned down her volume a little bit. Not everyone was as gung-ho as she was.

“About Clover?” Qrow glared at her, and were his cheeks a little pinker or was Elm imagining things?

“Maybe. But also just in general. I’ve seen reruns of your team’s Vytal Festivals. You were pretty impressive in your Academy days.” So was she, considering she had the winner’s trophy still on her shelf at her place.

Qrow gave her a suspicious look before he sat down on the wall, one leg dangling down as he used his other knee to prop up his elbow. “You’re a tournament fan?”

“I have the boxsets,” she admitted without a trace of shame. “You’re not?”

“I watched the one my nieces were in and that’s it. Except for when it was on in Vale when Ruby and Yang were kids, then it was a big family outing.” He waved a hand dismissively. “What’s your angle?”

“No angle.” That got a scoff. “Clover’s a good man to have watching your back out in the field. A good friend off of it as well.”

“Thought you Ace Ops didn’t do friendship,” he rolled his eyes at her.

“We’re not schoolkids, it’s not like we’re a clique,” she smiled patiently, like she had when team RWBY had said the same. “It’s a job first, and the job comes first, out on the field. Sometimes tough calls have to be made, or sometimes you lose people.” She knew that one firsthand.

“Yeah. Friends don’t usually work for me anyway. It’s best when I work alone.”

“Because you’ve done so much of that recently,” she couldn’t help a grin, and the glare that he shot her was downright malevolent.

“It’s different when his semblance can protect him.” Qrow snarled defensively. There was something under that, though. Something guilty and unspoken, like there was an end to the sentence he hadn’t tacked on.

“It can do that, yes, just as mine prevents me from being knocked down, but is that really all there is? He’s a good guy, and he’s worth making a connection with.” Well, this was something of a shovel talk, so she may as well bring it full circle. In for a penny, out for a pound. “Just… don’t string him along and hurt him. His luck can’t protect him from everything.”

She reached an arm over her shoulder, patting Timber affectionately with a cheerful grin that showed one too many teeth. “And if you do hurt him, as in, maliciously, your ass is dead. No pressure, though.”

Qrow snorted. “You think you can take me on?”

“I think I’m the woman who jumped off Atlas City and walked away whistling.”

Qrow blinked at her, looking almost impressed. “Huh. I have a friend in Patch you’d probably get on well with.”

“Introduce me some time when the CCT goes up,” she chuckled. “Just do what you think is best for you. And if that’s Clover, treat him well, okay?” Because Clover kept tossing Qrow the soppiest looks when he thought no one was looking, and even last night over their weekly dinner at her place he’d talked non-stop for twenty minutes about how ‘utterly gorgeous’ Qrow apparently was.

Which, valid, she didn’t get it, but hey, it made Clover happy. That was what mattered.

Qrow was still making some grumbly squawks of what was probably denial at her, and she shrugged them off with her usual unshakeability. “Anyway, good luck~” She singsonged as she walked off, and the next words thrown at her head was definitely an insult.

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

“Robyn, something came up! Qrow and I are going to be late.” Clover’s voice rang tinnily in her ear with the sounds of combat and gunfire in the background, the earpiece hidden by her hair as it squeaked uncomfortably. She held back a wince as she walked down the alleyway, technically searching for survivors but really walking around as the perfect bait for one little scorpion, slightly homicidal.

Damn. Sure, she wanted to beat the everloving shit out of Tyrian on her own, but she knew that it was smartest to have back-up on this fight, as much as it stung her pride.

Looks like she’d just have to manage until Boy Scout and his boyfriend showed up.

She hoped they were dating, at least. She and Clover barely talked anymore, not since she made a Mistake, big capital letters. Even her ego had to concede that particular clusterfuck that had destroyed their friendship had, yes, been her fault.

Still, she recognised what Clover In Love looked like, especially his showing off. She wondered how much of his posturing out in the tundra had been to try look tough in front of her and how much of it was him posturing for that goth twunk.

While he’d not taken her hand, a fair response after everything that had gone down between them and their partnership, she couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if she’d finished her interrogation with ‘do you have a crush on someone right now’ like some teenage girl at a slumber party.

Her semblance, at least, never lied. Not the part she let herself use.

The rest? That didn’t lie either, but she wasn’t ever going to do that to someone again.

She wondered if the caped Huntsman with the hobo scruff knew how lucky he was. Clover was at heart a genuinely decent person, dumbass goody-two-shoes need to follow the rules aside, and his loyalty to Ironwood had actually turned out to be founded in common sense and actual loyalty instead of blind military obedience.

She wondered where his boyfriend stood on the whole Salem matter. Did he know too?

Well, he fucking did now.

She walked along, forcing herself not to look up at the rooftops of the alley around her. She was believed to be a main target for Tyrian, because of her ties to Mantle and especially the fact that she was alone now.

Tyrian was a predator, apparently. He’d want to skew things in his favour, and he probably thought a little bird all on her lonesome would be such an easy hit.

Robyn’s lips twisted into a vulpine smile, teeth flashing. Careful, Callows, this little birdy had fangs.

She heard boots land on the ground behind her and whipped around, her crossbow up and a bolt nocked and loaded. Tyrian Callows stood behind her, a mechanical stinger weaving almost playfully through the air behind him. He spread his arms in a theatrical gesture, brows furrowed with anger despite his smile.

“Robyn Hill!” He announced, crazed yellow eyes focused on her own. “You have such an impact on this city, it’s not what I would have expected from such a sweet-faced vixen like yourself.”

She loosed the bolt at his head, baring her teeth in a threat as he dodged it, an amused cast to his features. He was fast. Damnit. “If I’m so sweet then why do you want to kill me?”

Tyrian cackled at that. “I can’t have you bringing your hope and wonder everywhere you go, that just wouldn’t do!” He caught the next crossbow bolt between his fingers, faking a hurt look. “I find it… disappointing.”

“Well, I’d hate to disappoint.” She shifted her weight, ready to move the second he came at her. She missed her longbow. She would have liked to use it to beat him to death. Maybe Clover could steal it back from the military for her, if he wasn’t busy mooning over that scruffy weirdo.

Tyrian snapped the crossbow bolt in his hand. “Oh I know, my dear vixen. Are you waiting for your dearest friends to arrive?”

Robyn shifted uncomfortably at the possessive undertone to his nickname for her, her crossbow ready. Catch this one, bitch, go on. “So you figured it out.” That apparently wasn’t the only thing he figured out either. Fuck.

“Do you think I’m a fool?” He laughed, pressing a hand to his chest. “Why, Robyn dearest, I’m hurt! No, the pretty bird and his kingfisher got held up by the General’s own bots. The good Doctor made sure of it.”

That explained the gunshots. “Guess I’ll just have to beat you myself then, Callows.”

His chuckles faded into a wicked smirk, his eyes glowing purple for a moment as his blades extended on his wrists, shaped like a scorpion’s pincers. “You missed my blades at your rally, but worry not. You will never escape me now, my dear.”

He charged at her, laughing as he blocked every bolt she shot. He slashed at her and she jumped, her boot landing on his head as she used him as a stepping stone before she landed in a combat roll.

Her next crossbow bolt was knocked aside by his tail as he turned to face her, smile plastered on his face. She set her jaw in determination, lavender eyes hard as steel. Clover and his boyfriend better hurry the fuck up.

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

Clover tied up a bunch of Atlas bots, leaving them stuck for Harbinger to slash through them like butter. He looked around for any others and let out a breath he’d been holding when he saw no more.

“Qrow, come on, we have to go.” Robyn was fighting Tyrian alone and like hell was he going to let her do that alone. She was good, but from what Qrow said, Callows was better.

Qrow pulled his scythe from a bot and nodded, following him along. “You think they figured out she was bait?”

“I’ll bet.” He flung Kingfisher at a rooftop and reeled himself up, aiming to use them to get the drop on Tyrian. “That’s likely where the robots came from.”

He missed Qrow’s mutter of ‘just like Beacon’ as he aimed for where Robyn was meant to be, trusting that Qrow would be hot on his heels. They worked well together. Trust was a logical conclusion.

That was what he told himself but according to Elm he was not subtle nor did he have any intent to be. He liked Qrow, quite a lot, and he was fine with that.

Also he was going to take that moment where Qrow made a luck joke to him earlier this evening and run with it because that was a potentially very good sign.

A good sign that he could think about later, as he heard the sounds of a fight up ahead, filtering up the top of an alley into the Mantle air, and sped up.

He skidded to a stop at the rooftop in time to watch Robyn land a vicious hook into Tyrian’s face, knocking him back just enough for her to wind up for a kick to his crotch. Tyrian’s tail hooked around her foot, before his hand glowed with a strange purple light.

Clover tossed Kingfisher’s reel down to snag on his wrist, yanking his hand out of the way as Robyn rallied and tossed a punch into his throat. Faster then even Clover could react, his other hand skated across her arm with that same purple energy, her lavender aura shattering to pieces as the stinger wrapped around her leg constricted.

He heard the sound of cracking bone all the way from the top of the building, saw the tip of the stinger extend, and yanked with all the force he could manage to get the bastard away from his old partner.

He saw a blur of red and brown-grey drop past him before Qrow’s heel hit hard against the side of Tyrian’s head, Tyrian’s tail flicking to toss Robyn against the wall before he turned all his attention to the new player in the arena.

Clover jumped down, taking one glance at Qrow to judge the situation. Qrow’s gorgeous red eyes locked on his as the other Huntsman gave him a smirk, before turning his attention to Tyrian with a dangerous growl. “Miss me, Callows?”

Clover tuned out Tyrian’s gleeful response as he ran over to Robyn and crouched, looking her over for damages. The impact against the brick wall at the end there had caused her hair to fall loose from her usual ponytail, much more like the flyaway mess he recognised from Academy days. “Robyn, status report.”

“You’re late,” she grinned toothily at him, sitting up. Her long coat was missing, likely shredded in the fight if the tattered fabric on the ground was any indicator. Her left leg moved with the motion and she winced a bit, looking at the damage. “I’m fine, go help your boyfriend.”

He decided not to even bother telling her Qrow wasn’t his boyfriend as right now they were on a timer. “I have a small field kit, let me see your ankle first and if he stung you, then I’ll go beat his face in.”

“Fighting for my honour now, Biceps?” She chuckled, blowing her hair out of her eyes.

“Who says it’s for you?” He paused when he noticed a skinny red tail, tipped with white, poking out of a cut in her trousers, thin and limp and raggedy looking. “You shaved it?”

She shrugged at him, looking a little wistful about it. “Faunus don’t run for politics, Clover. Half of Mantle still hates them. If I want to make real change, it had to be done.”

“I know, Robert.” He nodded and focused on getting the supplies, rolling up her pant leg and whistling at the damage. The skin was already darkening with a ring of bruises, her shin noticeably caved in. The puncture wound was just under her knee, sluggishly leaking a mixture of violet and red.

He heard her swear when she saw it herself and then she spat out a filthy curse when he gave it a small prod. “It’s fucking broken, don’t touch it, dumbass!”

“Do you want to do your own field dressings? Because I’ll let you,” he snarked at her, tossing a glance over to where Qrow was using Harbinger as a reversed blade, curved around his forearm, almost like he was holding a tonfa, and used it to block Tyrian’s blades.

“Just hurry up and splint it and shit.” Robyn gritted her teeth. “Distract me by telling me how long you’ve been dating five o’clock shadow.”

“We aren’t dating.” Yet, he added to himself.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me. Clover, what the fuck.”

“I’m working on asking him out.” He splinted her leg and she let out a sharp bark, the sound catching Tyrian’s attention. He charged at them before Qrow’s hand landed on his stinger tail, right under his telson, and yanked him back into their fight.

“Do it now, right now, after you beat that sicko, or else I’m telling him about the Haddock Incident.”

“Don’t you dare, Robert,” he dressed her sting and sat her against the wall. “Call a medic and a prison transport, we’re taking him in.”

Robyn grinned and raised her crossbow. “I got one arrow left, just for him. We’ll see him smile after that.”

“I’ll make sure you get the shot,” he knocked his knuckles against hers, careful not to touch the bare skin of her index finger. Some wounds went deep.

He pulled Kingfisher from his belt and cast the line forward, catching it on Tyrian’s tail as he yanked him back long enough for Qrow to land an uppercut and a shotgun blast right to his midsection.

Tyrian glared darkly at him, face twisted in a snarl as his eyes glowed like stars in the dark. Clover only had eyes for the genuine smile Qrow shot him, tinged with adrenaline and full of trust. He met that gaze with confidence, resolution setting in the furrow of his brow. Time to end this.

“Tyrian Callows, you’re under arrest.”

--------

I’m partial to Fox Faunus! Robyn, yes.

#Fair Game #fairgameweek2020 #Clover Ebi #Qrow Branwen #rwby #Also Elm and Robyn are here and they have OPINIONS on Clover's love life #Tyrian's here as an overdramatic punching bag #my writings

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petglue9-blog · 4 years ago

Text

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Names of blossoms are amongst numerous other usual English words which came into English from French in the late middle-ages, the reason for which is discussed in the 'pardon my French' beginning. In much of the expression's common usage the meanings seem to converge, in which the hybrid 'really feel' is just one of domination/control/intimacy in return for payment/material reward/safety/protection. Using the expression as a straight insult, where the significance is to examine an individual's parentage, is found, but this would not have actually been the beginning, and also is a much more current retrospectively used definition. dachshund - short-legged dog - the dog was initially a German breed made use of for hunting badgers. Words appears to have pertained to England in the last 19th century. cop/copper - police officer - Some recommend this is a phrase from 'Constable On Patrol' however this is a retrospectively applied description.

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Keep in mind that a wind is described according to where it comes from not where it's mosting likely to. Sailing 'by' a South wind would suggest cruising essentially in a South instructions - 'to the wind'. box and die/whole/hole box and pass away - see see 'entire box and die' feasible meanings and beginnings listed below. Bars and also drinkers familiarized this method as well as the customized of alcohol consumption from glass-bottom flagons began.

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jcmorrigan · 5 years ago

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Right, since you asked me questions about my f/o, I'll fire some at you now! 1. Favourite place to go with them 2. How do you care for them when they are ill and vice versa 3. Had any playful arguments that you look at and go 'what were we doing??' I'll slide these over here and be on my way ;3

All right! So, as a reminder, I have three (3) romantic f/o’s - XR from Buzz Lightyear of Star Command, Tony Dracon from Gargoyles, and Giovanni Potage from Epithet Erased. And for this exercise, I am going to answer all three questions FOR ALL THREE OF THEM! (If you’re following me for something other than selfship and you don’t wanna see me ramble for three pages, please block the tag “selfship” now)

1. FAVORITE PLACE TO GO!

I hadn’t realized until I thought about it, but it always seems to come back to a rooftop in the city. You think I like city lights or something? I do. I love city lights. I love cities.

Anyway, with XR, I decided right away that our favorite planet is Trade World, seedy underbelly and all. We can kill time there forever (and probably waste all our money on stuff that isn’t important). I haven’t written it yet, but one of the ideas I had for writing us was that after the big love confession, we’d have our first date on a rooftop restaurant there and watch the lights come on as the sun set, at which point I very sappily draw a connection between my love of city lights and XR’s eyes.

As for Giovanni, I have this whole oneshot about our first kiss that revolves around us trying to find the most perfect and fittingly dramatic place for it, and I ended up putting us on a rooftop at the edge of town where the Sweet Jazz skyline would be our background in all its luminescent glory. I imagine we’d go back up to that building again and again to talk about things if we’re not chilling at home or a base of operations. Just watching the night.

Then for Tony? I admittedly hadn’t given it too much thought, but I immediately got an image of us on, guess what, a rooftop, but of a skyscraper in downtown NYC. Now, Gio and I had to break onto ours by scaling the fire escape ladders; Tony would bust locks and we’d just take the stairs up from the inside. And that’s where we slow-dance when we want to be alone. Bring up a whole portable stereo and a mix of the schmaltziest love rock-ballads (think, like, REO Speedwagon or Journey). Come to think of it, I actually don’t know whether he’s made the connection that the Gargoyles operate out of the Eyrie, so we would definitely look at the freaking castle above the clouds and go “Next target” without knowing the law and order of the town that plagues our existence roosts there.

I’m also working on an AU that is compliant with my “Taking Back the Crown” crossover universe, and in that one, I’m thinking I’d be polyamorous with all three. While I haven’t picked a favorite spot, I do know that particular s/i would live in Twilight Town, and since Final Fantasy is piecemeal AU’d into KH logic (whereas none of those three are from canon KH worlds but it’s an easy crossover gateway so their worlds would just be intact), I actually have this design that Rabanastre from FFXII would be the capital of the nation Twilight Town is in and a few hours’ train ride away, and the four of us just LOVE heading over there and probably scaling some rooftops.

2. CARING FOR THE SICK!

Let’s start with me, in general. I’m a huge hypochondriac. I fear germs. I’m not really that good at taking care of sick friends/family, but for a romantic partner, I’d try to step up my game. I’d be on call. Now, if they were just ordinary sick, I might see if they’d be okay staying home while I got work done, with the caveat that I have my phone on me and can answer whenever. They’re stricken with debilitating nausea and can’t leave the bed? I’ll play hooky. But I’ll try to keep a reasonable distance whenever possible (chatting with them from across the room, where I am planted in a chair that is far away from the bed) and use a surgical mask and gloves whenever approaching. Yes, that may sound heartless, but I still wanna be available to bring them whatever they need, just with my armor on. And I’m not me unless I’m a raging hypochondriac who thinks she’s coming down with what her boyfriend’s got every five seconds. The exception, of course, is XR, who I envision would get sick as a visual gag of having a “computer virus” and exhibit all the symptoms of a head cold without actually being contagious.

Tony is low-maintenance and insists he doesn’t need to be babied, so he’s not gonna even ask me for that much except company. Giovanni and XR are both absolutely complainers and going to whine at me every five minutes, which will inevitably make my heart melt.

As for when I’m sick…

XR loves playing “nurse” (kinda like I had him in this oneshot where I sprain my shoulder) and will get me everything I want. This is for somewhat selfish reasons so I will talk up how great of a boyfriend he is when I’m sick. Also, there’s a good chance that any medical supplies he brings me might be “borrowed without permission” from Star Command’s med bay. He WILL bring me illegal narcotics, and I WILL turn them down. He’ll also call in sick to work himself to take care of me - and also because it gives him an excuse to not turn in to work. We’ll likely end up binging shows cuddled up together if I’m not sleepy or too nauseous.

Tony isn’t all that attentive; he knows I’m a grown-up and can mostly handle myself. If I’m seriously incapacitated, he’ll watch over me, but in most cases, he’ll take off to get his own work done, same philosophy as me: call me if you need anything. He’s not gonna rush to bring me things, but he will do smaller gestures - brushing my hair back if I’m asleep before he leaves, etc. After business is taken care of, if I seem stable and not contagious, he’ll assist me in setting up on the couch with blankets aplenty on one end while he sits on the other, and really, all my f/o’s know that when I’m sick, I just wanna binge TV shows, so that’s what we do.

Giovanni freaks out. He also wants to get me everything I need, but he’s kinda not used to taking care of sick people, so he’ll be running around like a headless chicken asking me if I need various medical supplies that don’t at all apply to the kind of illness I have (such as a splint or a tourniquet). And soup. He will bring me so much soup. Hey, he’s good at making it, so I’m not gonna complain. He also does unfortunately think cuddling will make things better, and want to sit in bed next to me or kiss me for reassurance. I tell him over and over and over that that’s just gonna get him sick. Less than 24 hours later, he’s caught what I have, and I’m just “GEE, I WONDER HOW THAT HAPPENED.”

3. PETTY ARGUMENTS!

XR and I are built on petty arguments. He fulfills my fantasies of a relationship based on tsundere rivalry. We will find things to argue about for fun. This is how we get our kicks. I call him a dumbass, he calls me a narcissist, we don’t mean it (…mostly). He once caught me singing and dancing, thinking I was alone, and taped it and circulated it as a meme. He thinks it’s hilarious if I trip and fall. Conversely, I think it’s hilarious if he runs into things when he’s not looking where he’s going. I keep a running record of stupidest spelling mistakes he’s made and will trot them out whenever appropriate. At the end of the day, though, we set it all aside. Don’t let anyone know we’re actually nice to each other behind closed doors!

Tony and I basically argue about one petty thing: the fact that he CANNOT DRIVE. Is there canon precedent to this? Not really, except for the fact that his henchmen always seem to be driving the getaway car. But I have it in my head that the people in our operation who should be driving are me, Pal Joey, and Glasses. The person in our operation who should not be driving is Tony. Guess which one of the four asks most often to drive? Yeah. And sometimes he wears us down and we have to deal with him nearly killing us by driving 20 mph above the speed limit. IN DOWNTOWN NEW YORK. THE POLICE CHASE HASN’T EVEN STARTED. If there is one thing that is the subject of our married-couple spats, it is THIS.

Arguing with Giovanni is more of a minefield because we both have a habit of pretending we’re not sensitive about certain things until one of us rags on that certain thing and then it explodes. I have a oneshot idea, may or may not write it, in which he insults my “nerd glasses” like he always does with Sylvie, and I’m legitimately hurt but trying not to show it, so I engage in a rivalry argument with him that lasts all day, up until he jokingly says that I have delusions of grandeur and I just say “Well, at least I don’t think I’m qualified to be captain when I’m not” about myself when I realize that my lack of filter made it sound like I insinuated he wasn’t qualified to be captain, at which point he will actually start crying and insist to me that words hurt. Everything’s made better when we sit down and have an honest talk about what we said that hurt each other and then hug it out.

#selfship #electric love #xrach #death by cupcakes #i'm at soup!#four of hearts

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irenedonati · 5 years ago

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Why Wanlov the Kubolor's "Swim" is the most relevant piece of content we have experienced in Ghana in a while and why we should talk about it.

Wanlov The Kubolor, Ghanaian rapper, songwriter, producer, video maker, and performance artists recently released a new video and a song called “Swim."

I don't want to spend too much time talking about who decided, for instance, to report the content on Instagram because their susceptible soul was insulted by the nudity portrayed in the video. Can we blame people for not understanding? Or should we blame a system that keeps brainwashing people through religion and politics so they do their dirty job for them of silencing any voice that sounds too loud?

I realized that we shouldn't draw more attention to ignorance: as Eckhart Tolle says — “Whatever you fight, you strengthen, and what you resist, persists.” So I am not going to spend time strengthening ignorance; I will spend time on what deserves attention, strength, and power.

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I have admired Wanlov's work for many years, way before we connected in real life, and now I am able to understand him more as well as explore his energy. I consider him a friend and an ally in the fight for human rights, especially LGBTQ and women’s rights.

I feel Wanlov’s work is becoming more profound and even more fascinating. I recently had some long conversations about him with a friend who is a performance artist. We started tracking analogies that helped me explore the beauty of Wanlov's work and message.

After days of research, thinking, and re-writing from different angles, I realized that we could compare Wanlov’s work to many performance artists who used their bodies to make political statements. I am not comparing to validate. Wanlov doesn't need validation. It is however quite interesting to realize that artists from very different backgrounds and circumstances have ended up using a similar form of expression for related messages or fights. Again, I am not comparing to validate but to show how far from mental freedom those who keep finding offense in a meaningful artistic expression are.

Even though it's an unusual type of performance I watch "Swim" and I think "SOMETIMES DOING SOMETHING POETIC CAN BECOME POLITICAL AND SOMETIMES DOING SOMETHING POLITICAL CAN BECOME POETIC," which is text from the inspiring work of Belgian artist Francis Alÿs and is a poignant description of "Swim".

"A compulsive wanderer, Francis Alÿs is known for his in-depth projects in a wide range of media including documentary film, painting, photography, performance, and video. Many of his works involve intense observation and recording of the social, cultural, and economic conditions of particular places, usually conceived during walks through urban areas".

Even though it's an entirely different performance, "Swim" is something poetic that can become political. It's also indeed political and still incredibly poetic: the statement of swimming naked in an ocean of plastic in a country that is very good at having politicians taking selfies with celebrities, but can't seem to solve fundamental issues like the filth on our streets and shores; to the tone of the voice pronouncing the lyrics; to the music.

I could stop here and you would already have enough to think about.

But I want to go deeper because Francis Alÿs performances are not directly comparable to Wanlov’s, if not by intention. Pushing an ice block through the streets of Mexico City until it melts might look extremely different from swimming naked in plastic or walking barefoot everywhere around the world, but is it that different?

Is Wanlov's use of his naked body different from Ana Mendieta's use of her nude body?

Ana Mendieta is a celebrated Cuban-born artist who used her body as a statement for her entire career. Body Art is an expression that has always forced "the audiences to partake in oftentimes violent, jarring, shocking, or unimaginable experience, asking its viewers to consider the role they were playing in the dark and uncomfortable spaces between innocent bystander and culpable voyeur."

Ana Mendieta started using her body to make statements about the political abuse of bodies of women and about rape. She used her naked body in contact with water, earth, and other natural elements (including blood) to express her pain and her rage and to denounce sexual abuse/violence.

Is it that different from what Wanlov keeps doing in the fight for women’s rights and gay rights?

The reason why we are disturbed or moved by naked bodies in a non-sexy or non-pornographic state is that they represent the vulnerability of human nature. And we don't want to be vulnerable because vulnerability is considered a "feminine or gay issue:" Naked men are supposed to send dick pics or show their sexual power ( the wrong way ).

Wanlov is swimming naked in a polluted ocean. Wanlov is making his body look more feminine with clothes and makeup to dissolve gender roles. Wanlov is not afraid to show his naked body in a non-sexual way. People will whisper: "He must be gay," or comment on social media “Stop being gay.”

Is he so different from artists like Ana Mendieta swimming naked in her "Ocean Bird" performance? And is Mendieta applying male facial hair on her face different from Wanlov using makeup and jewelry and clothes to deconstruct gender?

Untitled (Facial Hair Transplant), Ana Mendieta, 1972 Source: Galerie Lelong

Wanlov: backstage “Mr. Casanova” 2020 - Shooting in Madrid w/Alvar Alonso

The "vagina has always expanded opportunities to unravel the feminine mystique and multiple voices as a loud and reverberating denouncement of the traditional male gaze." But this was 20, 30, 40, 50 years ago when this work could simply not be produced by a man.

We have now learned that the intrinsic definition of gender is an issue. So can’t a man use his body to make a similar statement and, at the same time, help to protect the over-sexualization of female bodies, which is an unintentional consequence of some expressions of the feminist movement?

Can a vulnerable male body be leveling the playing field and help to break gender barriers? I have no doubt that Wanlov’s body is carrying a feminist message.

We are recently learning that a body is no more the expression of gender. Trans women and men have taught us that you can be born in a body and not be what that body supposedly represents. In this scenario, Wanlov's sexual life and orientation shouldn’t be the subject of the conversation.

Still, somebody always tries to make it the only part of the conversation so that we don't focus on the critical message.

I am even more keen to believe that Wanlov's work is genius and authentic because of his spontaneity and because, like many true artists, he does it because he feels it, not consciously thinking of all the layers that I am now deconstructing.

"Swim" is offending people because it's telling us in a raw and familiar way that we are bystanders and voyeurs in the destruction of the Ghanaian shores, nature, forests, and with them, the people, the cultures and the dignity of many human beings.

And so it's easy for people just to dumb him down as the weird guy who walks barefoot and without underwear and showed his penis on TV, so they convince themselves that he's not a great artist, but just a controversial lunatic. I find it funny (non-literal please) that we still think we have to use the adjective “controversial” to define artists. All artists should endeavor to be controversial enough to spark a conversation. Or should music artistes simply be “yes” people?

What about being barefoot as an artistic expression? Being barefoot, besides being part of almost all traditional cultures (definitely apart from the Inupiats), is a symbol of innocence and pure energetic exchange with the earth. There's a reason why saints, gurus, and spiritual leaders are usually portrayed barefoot.

And let’s not forget the children as well. I think Wanlov's inner child vibrates very high.

The same people who are offended by nudity will never understand that walking barefoot is not an action supposed to make them laugh. In a recent conversation with Wanlov, he randomly said something that almost blew me away and sparkled the idea of Wanlov being a Synesthetic artist.

Could it be that his walking barefoot and continuously experiencing the world with an uncovered part of his body is transferred in his art in a synesthetic way?

Are his music, poetry, performances result of sensations that travel through the constant contact of his skin with the earth?

Is he a sort of superhuman because he's been able to feel and experience the world in ways that we ordinary human beings cannot?

But being myself a believer of energy exchange with the Universe, I find an act of extreme courage the ability to allow yourself to feel so much, especially in a world where desensitization and detachment are a new way of surviving. Preservation at a maximum level is what is guiding individuals who hide behind ridiculous concepts of self-care and self-expression to justify any selfish and stupid act.

Is this form of body art telling us that our level of detaching ourselves from the Universe is indeed creating monsters and destroying human interconnections?

Is he so different from artists like Regina Jose Galindo and her work "Quien puede Borrar las huellas," in which she walks barefoot whit his feet soaking in blood to criticize Guatemalan violence coming from the misconception of morality and gender?

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Why is Wanlov's use of his body barefoot with makeup and female clothes and jewelry not awarded and glorified as the Galindo one at art Biennales, as the men who uses his body to criticize the abuse on women and members of the LGBTQ community in Ghana? Is it because he's not a woman? Is it because he's not gay? So he has to be considered funny or weird or crazy?

And I could write for another day if we decided to start talking about his music, his lyrics, and his music videos.

Because Wanlov comedy is Monty Python's deep. I hardly laugh for more than a couple of seconds, and, after a couple of seconds, I squeeze my face, and I think "sheeeit that was deep."

If I have to draw another parallelism, imagine Dave Chapelle barefoot, in a skirt, with makeup and jewelry sending low blows to politicians, religious leaders, foolish humans, and useless institutions.

And using Pidgin English to dignify a language that could unify the African population, being at the same time hilarious but extremely serious.

My point: you have not seen anyone like this. And that’s why the way this Ghanaian artist is underestimated is highly disturbing.

I wish we lived in a world where people had the chance to be more receptive to something different and not classified in categories created to make us feel comfortable.

Being attacked for saying truths people don't like to confront and not conforming to what I’m expected to say as a woman in the presence of men and “bosses" has cost me professionally and emotionally. I feel slightly deformed by the systematic punishment put in place via a very subtle system of oppression perpetrated equally by men and women. I had gone into hiding because I felt my courage and vocals chords shrink. So when I see a fellow human being with the courage to keep their voice loud and stay principled no matter what, I can't avoid feeling deep admiration, gratitude, and love.

Thank you Emmanuel Owusu Bonsu aka Wanlov the Kubolor. We need more people like you in the world, and we need more people in the world to know about you.

( Thank you, Guildor Gallo, for the conversation that inspired my words. http://guildor.com/ )

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ontherockswithsalt · 6 years ago

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The Fortunate Fall

aka I Don’t Know Why I Wrote This.

A/N: Hey, was a highschool!Joble AU missing from your life? No? Well here’s one anyway lol. This is the first part of a two-part short story (a two-shot?) that I felt like writing.

This one’s in Noble’s POV and I appreciate that his ass needs saving no matter the universe. Language warning applies. Word count: 1,821

“It's just fucking stupid, that's all,” I complain.

Jamie glances up at me from the spiral notebook on his lap as I pace his room.

“What, you think I'm an idiot? You think I'm not gonna graduate just because of some paper?”

“I didn't say that,” he maintains. “Mr. Craig said that.”

“Yeah well Greg Craig can suck my dick,” I mutter, glancing up the tower of Jamie's CDs sitting next to his stereo.

I hear his mumbled “Nice” from the floor behind me. “What do you normally do?” He wonders. “Bullshit your way through your assignments, or do you actually read?”

“There's something to be said for the art of bullshitting,” I argue. “It'll probably get me farther in life than understanding Paradise Lost. You like Radiohead?” I turn and hold up the jewel case for OK Computer.

He lifts his gaze once more. “Yeah.”

I look at him and consider it for a moment. Not what I would have guessed.

Jamie only turns his gaze back down for a second before it self consciously finds mine again. “What?” He exhales a soft laugh.

“Can I put this on?” I propose, feeling the curve of a persuasive smile at the corner of my lips.

His cheek twitches a little before he returns a faint shake of his head. “Sure. And then this draft is back on you, alright? I'm almost done.”

“What do you think so far?” I question as I eject the disc and switch it with my pick. “You're awfully quiet.”

“... A flawed contradiction of a villainous hero,” Jamie recites. “--The Devil glorifies freedom but remains the prisoner of his own ego.”

His voice with my words makes some kind of heat flicker in the pit of my chest that I tell myself to ignore while I concentrate on finding the track I want.

“Did you write that?” He asks. “Or was that Amy?”

“What do you mean was that Amy?”

“Isn’t she your girlfriend?” He murmurs. “Thought she wrote all your papers for you.”

I swallow hard, reaching up to scratch the back of my head while I turn around. “She's not my girlfriend. We broke up a long time ago.”

“Oh.”

I shrug. “I wrote it. Is that so hard to believe?”

He lets a moment -- filled only with the mellow hum of the dreamy song -- hang there before he shifts back against the side of his bed. “It's pretty good.”

Breathing out a quiet laugh, I lower my weight to join him on the floor. “Pretty good.”

“I mean compared to some of your horseshit I had to read earlier in the semester.”

My brows pull together, half offended, half amused that Jamie would attempt an insult when we hardly know each other. Outside of forced tutoring sessions at the library, and this particular time, at his house, we run in completely different circles.

I scoff but a smile surfaces on my face anyway. “Look, I know this shit. I just have better things to do.”

“He knows it, but he had better things to do,” Jamie echoes. “Cool, maybe they'll print that on your diploma.” He glances down as he crosses out a line on the notebook, then writes something in the margin. “You know it doesn't make a difference when it comes to your transcript, don't you? Whether you don't understand and can't do the work, or you do know and just choose not to work, either way, you fail. So if you can do the work, why let yourself fail?”

“Believe it or not, not everybody cares about their fucking transcript.”

“Then what's the point, Noble?” He shrugs, tossing my notebook to the floor before he stretches back. “I mean why even show up to school at all? Why are you here wasting my time?”

“Your time?” My eyebrows raise.

“You think I don't have better things to do? You have one AP class, I have six. And varsity track. And I work. And somehow I've been in charge of making sure your ass graduates.”

“It's a heavy burden, huh?” I quip. “What, am I supposed to have sympathy for you?”

“I don't want sympathy.”

“You think any of that matters ten years from now?” I narrow my gaze at him. “AP classes and your transcript and how far up your teachers’ asses you got in high school?”

“I don't know. Look me up in ten years and we'll see.”

Adjusting, I scoot down to rest on my side, propping my head up on my hand and I have to laugh. “I will. I'll call you when I get out of rehab and see how you're doing.”

A reluctant grin grazes his face, pulling at his cheek and it amuses me. He shakes his head. “Good to know you have a plan.”

I study his face for a moment, the way it changes with his smile as he glances away. I reach out for the pen that he dropped and tap the end on the notebook. “So what's the verdict? Good enough?” Then I slide the pen behind my ear.

Jamie glances over at me and tilts his head. “I made some corrections. I think you need to expand on your argument in a couple of the paragraphs.”

“But overall--” Then I blink up at him from where I lay across the floor, my eyebrows jumping with a convincing grin. “Thumbs up?”

Another huff of amusement blows out from him. “You need an A on this paper to bring your grade up.”

“Yeah.”

“It's not there yet.”

A frustrated grunt escapes me and I turn to roll into my back. Reaching over, I undo the top button on my rumpled white uniform shirt that I'm still wearing before I manage to sit up.

“I know you have better things to do,” He reminds me. “But--” Then he picks up the notebook and tosses it in my lap. “Don't just drop it. Because it's good. Get it done, alright?”

With a bored nod, I grasp the notebook and slowly get to my feet. “Awesome.”

Jamie shifts to stand up and without a thought, my arm reaches out. His hand clasps mine and with a flexed tension in my forearm that he matches, I tug him upright. From his own momentum, his chest collides with mine before he works his way a step back.

I swing my hand out to smack the side of his arm but somehow, damn that got my heart all hot.

“Ah… I'm gonna take off,” I announce before I bend over to retrieve the beat up paperback.

We make our way downstairs, through his big, quiet house. His kitchen glows, warm and dim from a single lamp on a far counter and I glance around for signs of anyone else. I know Jamie has a few brothers or sisters or a few of each, I can’t remember. But I know they’re all older and out of the house.

I hear shifting and movement from a room across the way and figure his parents are still up.

“Jamie?”

“Yeah mom.”

“You wanna come in here?”

I glance over at Jamie and point a thumb to the door, shooting him a hopeful look that I can just slip out.

He wordlessly reads it and shakes his head before tipping it toward the adjacent room, giving me a murmured, “Come on.”

Leading me to a study, he stretches into the doorway and I peer in from behind him to see his mom and dad sharing sections from the newspaper between two arm chairs.

“This is Noble Sanfino.” Jamie introduces with a quick gesture over his shoulder.

“Hi, Noble,” his mother smiles.

I see his dad lift his chin over the paper before he folds it closed. “Sanfino,” he echoes with this contemplative note that I definitely don’t miss.

My mouth is suddenly parched and I swallow hard standing just opposite this imposing man who everyone knows is some big deal police captain or Marine or both. I don’t know, but I’ll pass on divulging any more information. Instead I silently summon some kind of will that he isn't able to figure out the joint I smoked on my way over here… And the other one in my pocket.

“Uh, yes,” I confirm. “Noble. Nice to meet you.”

“He's in my English Lit class,” Jamie explains. “We were working on a paper.”

“Is that your Nine-Eleven outside?” His father questions.

I clear my throat. “Yes, sir.”

Blinking hard, he merely responds with a nod. “Quite a car.”

“What's the paper on?” His mom cuts in.

“Um, Paradise Lost,” Jamie pipes up. “John Milton.”

“Oh boy,” she retorts and reaches out to take the section from Mr. Reagan.

“Felix Culpa,” his father muses.

His wife hums a soft little laugh as she folds the paper. “The fortunate fall, huh?”

The fuck?

Jamie drops a hand hard on my shoulder and starts to turn me out of the room. “Exactly,” he mutters. “It’s pretty brutal. Come on.”

I manage a some semblance of a goodbye before I head to the door in the kitchen. With a simple see ya later, take it easy exchange, Jamie sees me out, closes the door between us and I blow out a heavy breath as my hand dips for my car keys.

Out on the driveway, I tug open my black Porsche and sink inside. There’s a heat along the back of my neck, in my throat that I can’t get to go away. Cops make me tense in general, so it’s no surprise that Jamie’s dad gets me all uptight, just sitting there. But it’s something else.

Something about Jamie’s quiet confidence in class. He has this way of making everybody feel like an asshole. But when I’m alone with him, he elicits some kind of… calming honesty from me and it’s like he doesn’t even try.

I struggle with what that means for a moment. Why I go home and wish I could keep talking to him when up until this year, I’d never bothered. Like maybe there’s some other tie I have to him that I can’t remember.

With a shake of my head, I push my key in the ignition and twist my wrist to start it. But I’m only met with a gritty, unpleasant rattle and I let go. A brief wave of dread dips through me and my brow furrows at the unfamiliar noise. I stretch my fingers and take hold of the key once more, turn it and the engine fails to come alive, stuttering a hopeless scratch once more until I release it.

“Goddammit,” I whisper and sink back against the leather seat.

My gaze flicks over to the book on my passenger seat, then the brick house in front of me. Drawing a deep inhale to my chest, I push open the driver’s side door and sigh, “Quite a fucking car indeed.”

...part 2 for another day...

#jamie x noble #highschool!joble au

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naxatras-coreli · 6 years ago

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The Artistic Resistance.

The reference material used to fabricate this essay is present in the end of the same. In the age of the digital reproduction of the works, the possibility in which the flock of an artist or the followers of a drawer can make them fall in the massive reproductions of his works is very strong, this due to the contact that can be established with any difficulty between both parts, it is just needed for one or the other type of works producer, to receive plaudits for its works the “oh, look what a nice drawing you have made” kind of plaudits be them mediocre (in the beginning or with years producing them) or be them already above (barely) the mediocrity, for them to look to increase their scope through the productization of their works, this implies making them without personality by the excess of their quantity to appeal to the natural state of the flock (the lascivious content drawers), with lascive relative content using the aesthetism in a more shamelessly way than their counter part, and the other ones with the aesthetism and the simplicity of theirs to hook them. Consequence of this they sell themselves to the market’s demands and their process of productization initiates causing that their works lose all quality that made them (supposing that they started with one) unique or original, they cede to their flock and to their consumerist mentality and they cede to the pressure of the market’s trends.Those that do not draw lascivious content fall into the mediocrity and go to the way of the popular and the masses to want and look for the aesthetist (by the ease of their production and consume), they go and focus their works to that kind of content, being examples of this aesthetism things like very saturated colors, eyes with unnecessary details and with very saturated colors, exaggerated facial expressions, general aesthetic abuses and appellations to the natural state of the flock in a controlled or subreptitious ways but not less aesthetist for this. This with the objective of the easy applause and the vacuous impression. The aesthetist can be defined without any problem as the artistic demagogy because with exaggerated and easy to produce elements that want to apparent (to the flock) being content of real significance when they are only looking for an easy impact. While its content turns more and more popular this ones start to turn static in the development of their skills, and this effect gains more force as the numbers of followers increases and the apex of this is absolute statism because they do not have a real motive to move ¿why I would make a bigger effort to make something more complex if the people that, knows, does not stop saying that my work is good? The vacuous claps of their followers bogs them in the mediocrity. This same clapping by its quantity and reception infuse them with vanity because they claim the term artists to describe themselves (term in his past positive definition), when they do not exhibit any quality of them and believe that since they are artists they are privileged and can live without any responsibility either for them or for their followers, claiming nonexistent virtues as a result, and therefore falling into vanity that only poison their heads. But the more affected by the productization of the works are the drawers of lascive content, this ones, de facto, are centered in mass producing due to the nature of their products, there is really nothing that a character in intimate interactions can convey more than the core of the product that is the provocation of the onanism of flock which is worth nothing of merit or intellectual effort, they put the money as their leitmotiv of movement to produce and at the same time they will say as much prattle as they want to defend its works as art but the things that they say and the ones that they show are two distinct universes, teems a lot the fallacy of false analogy or the fallacy in general, in their rhetoric to justify their works as art and like they sound “reasonable” create an obfuscationist resonance in their flocks by the not so strong criteria of them making them to accept without reasoning what they say even being this very ridiculous, vulgar, or directly misólogist. These work according to the market to which they give in for the greed and praises of their herd, and it is mandatory for them to catch up with the new trends that the herds dictate, according to their tastes, whose rarity increases as time progresses, see aesthetic abuses increasingly shameless, taking advantage of the widespread ignorance of the flock over art, increasingly strange fetishes, like the lascivious content of fictional species or machines, and as the desires of lascivious content of the vulgar are strong and increase this because their mediocrity, apart from eliminating the reason for them, makes them enter into their natural state that emulates the animal-instinctive behavior that makes them put the feelings in place of the intellect reflecting not a greater empathy, but a reduced reasoning falling into accepting anything without even questioning whether what they accept makes sense or not. By this natural state and they infused liquid consumerism nature, they force them some without realizing (this for following them and say that what the make is good), others more directly (this for giving them money being this the crux of the production of this kind of content), to produce more faster as much works as possible, works which would have a function strictly directed at onanism removing any quality apex due to its speed of reproduction and production (a note in this section is that one of the many qualities that characterize this class of subjects is the sluggishness, so despite producing fast if they had an adequate number of followers this would force them to produce even faster creating a greater mediocrization and an adoption of the market mentality, more marked with all its consequences), but not only their works (iterations), are condemned to be reproduced en masse, also their characters (and those of others) would have to be produced quickly, only that the speed in characters would be reflected in their design rather than their frequency ( since not many can make an original character with a coherent background, even a badly one), a design without personality that is very attractive to the vulgar and has exaggerated attributes for a much greater scope, but by focusing his character designs to the production and reproduction causes them to be treated as products, ergo without respect. Exhibiting them as merchandise in all kinds of acts where they can be exploited to squeeze as much benefit as possible, believing that by having brought them to reality, this would de facto give them the right to act as gods with them, without giving them something of space of action and without showing respect to them, having taken them out of the unreal (that is to say that they have passed from the nothingness, the not thought, to the knowable for being only an idea and then the tangible, to be able to be perceived by the view), is not a valid handle to do with them anything, since if they are done well and they are not only tools or pivots of engagement for the attraction of subjects to the works, the only difference they have with a real person is their null physical tangibility (This means that for exhibiting qualities of a real person their only difference is that they are part of a specific reality and not the real one), for that reason they must be treated as if they were a real person (with all the complexity that characterizes people), to show that the person creating them shows both interest and concern for them, this in order to make them better and more realistic, because having their nature in mind, this will make us respect them, even those "hitch pins" would deserve respect, which should be reflected by not creating them in that way this because it is an insult towards them and a lack of respect for treating them as a worthless product. Anyone who makes a character without showing respect to him and without really caring about giving him a coherent background away from liquid consumerism and digital reproduction, does not make a character just makes a tractor of mediocre men. This lack of respect does not only apply to the characters but also to the artists, the artist is a liquid, it must be so, since showing unique characters to his person will make people move away from him by not finding a mediocrist resonance with they, being a liquid, its form is dictated by its flock, the null respect shown towards its characters or those of others, is a direct consequence of the null respect for themselves, they cannot show it, that would imply demonstrating something of personality and the herd has not resonance in it. Something clear must be have to understand this and that is that there must be something first to be respected, a man without form is banned from it, for allowing himself to fill for what others want, once there is something this can build its respect, is the base for this and then, earn it, respect is the noble treatment of a person, this treatment being a direct consequence of their dignity which is based on a morality based that has a base on virtue be it for the other person or oneself. The drawers of lascivious content to be the paradigms of mediocrity, societal liquidity and the apologies to the lack of nobility by hyperbanalization are self-outlaw of it. To avoid falling into the reproduction without control of their works and into the productization of their person, the creator or digital drawer, must show resistance against his herd, artistic resistance, this is a demonstration of self-respect for everything around the creator or cartoonist, this includes, himself, his characters, iterations and in case that he has already expanded to other places, his works, is to plant them face to face and show that he will not become his slave, the artistic resistance is a struggle against the productization of the creator.But a situation that must learn to handle, is to also resist excessive interaction with his followers, if a person can create something that can be called art, or something that exhibits quality, this is not a guarantee that those who follow the producer of that kind of content are all already an attempt of a superior man, or already, they are without a doubt, they will continue being the majority of them (by overwhelming majority), mediocre men, and as well as interacting with a well versed person and greatly nobleman, can serve for the person as a pivot to awaken noble qualities in him, similarly interacting with mediocre people makes us acquire their qualities, their pernicious qualities, both mediocrity and superiority can influence people, however, as the first one is stronger, the creator should keep its distance of them but this does not mean that he must go around disdaining all his followers and demonstrating narcissism and vanity everywhere be it the place physical or not, this implies that he must have a reduced contact with them as a measure of protection, that the plaudits even if they are well deserved, they can contaminate the subject if he does not know how to discriminate and discard them, it is necessary to avoid those comments that can contaminate him and ruin his work, every creator or digital artist must keep his distance to his followers, to protect his work and his person, of digital reproducibility in which they can make him fall, even without wanting to. To show that one is not the container of the herds you have to be, to avoid being filled with their mediocrity but the perennial error of the cohort is to think that one, is, without having something that characterizes them, to resist to be toned, one must be, but there is no such thing as "being-us" being, is "being-me" or is a "being-product" an illusion granted by the vulgar caused by the productization of the person demonstrating a vain exaltation that puts them their heads as “mongolfieras” and makes them act like children incapable of some apex of maturity.When with a couple of buttons it is possible to reproduce works, it is absolutely necessary not to fall into the vulgarity of the flock, the artistic resistance is a way to protect the works with value, and the creator of these, those that do not show it, will end up creating the same garbage, and being a maelstrom of spectacle, immaturity, mediocrity and vanity, ending as the prostitute of his herd, unable to show some critical thinking and unable to produce something that can give light or fight against time to obtain his work, eternal value. Reference material that was used in the production of this essay: Consuming Life (2007) Zygmunt Bauman. The art work in his age of mechanical reproduction (1936) Walter Benjamin.The mediocre man (1913) Giussepe Ingegnieri.Sculpting in time (1986) Andrei Tarkovsky.

#essay.#logos #art #artists on tumblr

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kristallioness · 6 years ago

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21 Questions about ATLA

I was tagged by @atypicalkataangist. Wow, thanks for including me in this quiz! I've seen others reblog a list of numbered questions similar to these, expecting to receive some asks that they could answer in return. But now I get to do them in one go.

1) Who's your favourite male character?

I'm unoriginal and gonna say it's Aang. Not only because of him being the main character, but also because he was the first boy in the show who I immediately started to like (Sokka was second, Zuko was third in the beginning since he was a villain and I grew to love him more and more along with his character development), the way he balances his carefree, childish personality with his more mature, responsible side, his back story and peaceful culture.. Most importantly, without him, there wouldn't be the second half of such a lovely couple like he and Katara are.

2) Who's your favourite female character?

Katara. She's not only my favourite female character, but favourite character of them all, right from the start and until the end. The moment I saw her I fell in love since she looked really pretty and she wore a braid, just like me. Seeing what a caring, motherly, fierce personality she had (like mine) only fuelled my love for her.

3) What's your favourite quote?

Since Katara's my favourite character, then my first choice would be: "I will never, ever turn my back on people who need me!" Because that's sort of who I am and what I'm like, too. It's almost like a motto that I live by without thinking about it twice. I'm self-sacrificing and try to help my friends whenever they need it and as much as I can. I just remembered another good one, a quote that affected me on a more personal level. I'm pretty sure that only 0.0000000001% of the fandom would choose this one: "I don't care what I look like. I'm not looking for anyone's approval. I know who I am." The best part is, this is something that Toph says to Katara after she's been made fun of for her appearance by a bunch of prissy Upper Ring Earth Kingdom girls. How did this affect me? I started crying when I first saw this scene. Why? Because this was something that I'd been struggling with for years. I'd been bullied for my appearance at school. It used to make me feel worthless, unlovable, alone, probably also the reason why I turned into such a quiet person who doesn't know how to be around real friends. Hearing a blind, tomboyish, badass earthbender say what I needed to hear all along made me understand that it's not true - my appearance does not define my worth or who I am inside.

4) What's your favourite fight?

I knew you answered Katara and Pakku's duel @atypicalkataangist (and that one came to my mind, too, since it is one of my favourites because of reasons), but since I recently rewatched "The Serpent's Pass", I'm gonna pick Aang and Katara beating up that huge serpent. That was some awesome bending teamwork there! I went through all of the episodes in my head, and I gotta say that I also really like the duel between Aang and Zuko in "Bato of the Water Tribe". And one of the first ones where Haru and his father Tyro, along with the rest of the earthbenders, fight their way to freedom in the prison. The ending of that episode always leaves me with such a powerful feeling.

5) What's your favourite episode?

The big finale, "Sozin's Comet, Part 4: Avatar Aang". I sobbed practically throughout the entire episode when I first saw it. The soundtrack playing in the end is so beautiful to listen to and it still brings tears to my eyes. This episode concludes everything the show set up in the most unexpected ways possible. I mean, did any of us foresee Zuko being crowned the new Fire Lord (after you watched the first episode)? Did our hearts break into a million pieces when Katara and Aang kissed and became a couple in the end? Enough said.

6) From which nation would you like to be?

I'm not sure whether this is cheating or not, but since the story of ATLA continues in the comics and during Korra's time, I'd really love to be from the United Republic of Nations. I just love how it's a nation of mixed cultures, I am in LOVE with Republic City (as well as its 1920's aesthetic) and the capital reminds me of my own (Tallinn is also near the sea, has a marvellous silhouette, 4 seasons). Or if not, then my choice would definitely be the Water Tribes. I've explained it pretty well under the description of this drawing of mine.

7) Which element would you like to be able to bend and why?

Easy, I'd pick water since my 2nd choice when applying for university 5 years ago was to become a doctor. I'd like to use my healing abilities to cure people and my graceful waterbending to battle bad guys like Katara!

8) Favourite animal in the Avatar Universe?

I'm probably unoriginal, but I'm torn between the sky bison or the dragons. Oh, and the ostrich horses!

9) Who would you like to be your teacher and why?

I'm thinking it could be either Katara, Aang or Zuko, in this exact order. Katara and Aang would both be really supportive and I consider Zuko to be really wise (remember what he said to Korra before departing? he learned so much throughout the years).

10) What was the saddest moment in the show?

I have an entire list of the scenes/moments that made me cry, let me check.. *reads* Which sad moment made me cry the most, I'mma pick that one.. Okay, I can't decide because there are a few, let me name them: * the ones that stand out the most are all 3 finales * when Katara thought that her mother was alive in the swamp * when Aang enters the Avatar State and wants to kill the sandbenders, but Katara doesn't run away and instead grabs his hand and pulls him back down into her embrace and they cry together * Iroh singing the lullaby to his deceased son on his birthday (my parents have always said that one of the worst things a parent can live through is the death of their own child, so when I saw this scene, I understood what they meant and started crying) * Jet's death * Aang unlocking his heart chakra * almost the entirety of "The Awakening" (because everything seemed so hopeless and going the wrong way, when Katara and Hakoda talked), seriously, this is the most depressing episode in my book and that's why I love it so much * Sokka talking to Toph about how he's forgotten what his mother looks like and Katara is the one who's taken her place * when the invasion fleet was defeated on the Day of Black Sun and Katara knelt down beside Aang to comfort him * Zuko and his uncle Iroh's reconciliation and his speech to Team Avatar before they departed

11) What was the most shocking moment in the show?

You answered the same way: Aang getting shot with lightning. It came out of nowhere. When I saw Katara's face full of hope I thought that now they were going to make it since Aang had the power to face the Dai Li as well as Zuko and Azula. In a split second, everything changed and took a turn for the worst.

12) What was the funniest moment in the show?

There are so many good jokes, how do you expect me to pick just one??? Okay, umm.. when Sokka tried to fight against the villagers who believed too much of Aunt Wu's fortunes with logic and rational thinking (I can relate to him, poor Sokka).. How Aang messed up and unintentionally made Katara upset by insulting her instead of giving her a compliment when they were lost in the caves. Or the time Sokka and Katara had to pose as Aang's parents to go to the principal's office after school.

13) What was the most unforgettable moment in the show?

Maybe the whole scene before Zuko's coronation starts, "Peace" playing in the background, we see friends and family reunited, happy, alive. We witness something few of us could've predicted: the last person we ever thought, who went through and learned so much, is crowned the new Fire Lord. It's such a victorious moment and never leaves me without emotion.

14) Which one is your favourite book?

I have a weird system concerning this. Book 1 was sort of like the start of their journey, the world was slowly being built and introduced to us. Book 2 became much more serious, the characters gained more depth and the stakes began to rise. When I thought it couldn't get any better, I was proven horribly wrong. Book 3 became far more emotional than I ever could've imagined. So it's like my love grew with each book, and I kind of love the last one the most for this reason.

15) Who had the greatest character development in the show?

Everybody developed so much, but I'd definitely say it was Zuko. At first, I didn't really care much about him. Just another villain trying to capture someone for his own personal gain, I figured. But that all changed when I saw his back story in "The Storm". I started to look at him from a completely different angle. I began to understand where he came from, why he was doing this. I saw how much he struggled, how many wrongs he committed. The climax was when he faced his own father and told him: "No! I've learned everything! And I've had to learn it on my own. Growing up, we were taught that the Fire Nation was the greatest civilization in history and somehow, the war was our way of sharing our greatness with the rest of the world. What an amazing lie that was! The people of the world are terrified by the Fire Nation! They don't see our greatness, they hate us! And we deserve it." This is what he learned by spending time as a refugee in the Earth Kingdom, by witnessing firsthand what his nation, what this war was doing to others. And he was determined to set things right by joining Aang and his friends, teaching him firebending and stopping his own homeland from going down this path.

16) What do you love most about Avatar: The Last Airbender?

The story that Bryan and Michael came up with. I have NEVER cried so much, laughed at so many original jokes, heard such gorgeous instrumental music made by Jeremy Zuckerman, the raw emotion behind the voice actors.. every little bit is what makes this story and this series so amazing, fulfilling and perfect.

17) What do you hate most about Avatar: The Last Airbender?

I don't hate anything about the show per se, perhaps more about the way the fandom can act sometimes.

18) With which character do you identify most?

Like I answered in question 2, Katara. Her personality reflects mine the most, we share similar values in life, I love her family (Hakoda and Sokka) because they have such loving relationships with each other (Katara and Hakoda made me emotional several times, and they only had a few scenes together!).

19) Is Avatar: The Last Airbender your favourite cartoon/anime?

Ever since I discovered it, and I think it'll remain as my favourite cartoon for the rest of my life. Nothing can ever impact me as much as Avatar has.

20) Would you want to be the Avatar?

Thinking just how messed up our own world is right now, how my aggressive eastern neighbour has occupied parts of 2 independent countries, how helpless and angry I feel that I can't do anything about it - Y E S. I want to bring peace and balance back to our world, too. And if I had my own loving, supportive partner (like Aang) by my side, I'd do it again in a thousand lifetimes.

21) What's your favourite ship?

I personally ship everything that has been or is currently canon. My OTP is obviously Kataang, though I'm also one of the few friendly multishippers out here. Which means that I don't mind seeing beautiful stuff about Zutara either, for instance. (Seriously, you should check out my tag, there are so many lovely gifsets there, be it romantic or platonic.)

To sum up, thank you once more for tagging me! I'm not gonna tag anyone specific, but if any of you would like to do this, too, then go ahead! It was really fun to reflect back on why I love this show so much.

#personal #shards of Kristal #ATLA

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