#trying to get some content out on my page i know its been kinda empty lately im sorry

[littlecrittereli]

Ask the Guardianship AU!

I just need an excuse to force myself to draw smth also I wanna try out some new brushes... also im kinda stuck on the fanction.... guys im struggling send help

okay so these are a popular thing people on tumblr do but I am like a senior citizen when it comes to social medias so I have never done one of these or even really participated in one. BASICALLY (if im getting this right) you can ask questions and I'll draw out the characters responding or reacting to them or whatever i dont know whats happening

It may take me a little while to do some of these bc im not very fast but idk i think i'd be a fun way to flesh out some lore!!!

[dimpledcherry]

would you write eddie munson x fem!reader smut?

where eddie’s chilling in his girls‘s room, bored because she’s taking a shower. he’s kinda snoopin’ around & finds a pastel pink book. he’s curious & starts reading it, realizing it’s her diary. he skips to the last page, dated just a few days ago. his eyes widen, not believing what he’s reading about his innocent girl.

sure they had sex. and not that vanilla, too. but he would’ve never thought his girl had thoughts like that. on this very page, his girl wrote her hidden fantasies. things she never even thought of telling eddie, too embarrassed. she’s talking about how she wants to call eddie „daddy“, or be choked, be humiliated to the brim, be filled by his cum till he’s dry, want him to be in complete control. she wants to be fully submitted to him.

before he can put the diary away she comes out of the bathroom, catching him. he confronts her & she tells him how embarrassed she is etc. they talk it out & he reversals that some of the stuff she likes he likes too. then they make out & they try out some of the stuff.

Oh my god you're an evil genius, time I put my 4 years of journaling to good use! - also ive been working on this all week and the 'h' key on my keyboard keeps getting stuck and its making typing no longer fun :/

Written Fantasies

Summary: ^^ the ask Pairing: Eddie x Reader Trigger Warnings: Smut / Embarrassment / hands on throats - no chocking Content Warnings: Diary Reading / blow jobs / impoliteness / shoe frontage / demands / deep throating / reader masturbation

MY EDDIE MASTERLIST BABY!!!!!!!

The space was as recognisable as the back of his hand, and as comforting as his denim vest: lightly coloured walls, cabinets around the room, shelves and counter tops filled trinkets and lifes memorabilia: photos of events, pretty candles, books, small trinkets of days out, wrist bands and broken watches that simply just meant too much.

Things changed every time he entered this space: photos changed frames, boxes gained new records, the cassette piles grew, and the books changed order.

Eddie clocked - while laying on your bed waiting for you to come back from your shower - that not only had the books changed but new ones were added. when he sat up to take a better look: there were 4 books, all identical sat up together leaning on a pile of published books.

The 4 were pink, all the same size, some slightly thicker, one especially thinner. All with individual dates written into their spines: 1983, 1984,1985, 1986. He weren't no idiot, his brain sorted that they were diaries.

He felt a twinge of pride for you to have the left out on display - almost like trophies, proud of your past. He knew a lot about you but you'd seemed to have never told him you wrote a diary. Eddie knew it was standard procedure you don't read people diary: just as you don't snoop in artists sketch books or dungeon masters binders. But who would he be kidding if he said he didn't wanna read it.

He thought a moment, concentrating and recognising the shower was still running. He didn't have to think too much, the boy was running on curiosity alone. Sat up on the edge of your bed, he leant over and pulled 1986 into his hands.

It started with him just flicking the pages: most of it empty; a few loose sheets tucked into the back; a pen clipped to the elastic closer. The filled side of the book was set out meticulously: a yearly planner already almost filled with exams, cheer practice, birthdays, appointments, dates with Eddie, every Tuesday marked with Hideout at 7, every odd Friday marked Hellfire!.

There was this warmness in his heart, knowing his life was just as important to you as it was for him. He believed every I love you, but know he understood every I love you.

He flicked through the book more: budget planners, goal pages, period trackers, and the body. Filled with your typical too-curly-to-read handwriting, every page filled line for line. Some sitting half empty signifying the end of an entry.

Eddie couldn't possibly understand what you had to write about for long that you wouldn't just tell him or your friends.

He found the dog eared page, the scruffily written date marking yesterday. Eddie smiled to himself, feeling a little giddy. He knew he shouldn't but he really couldn't stop himself.

As he read down the page: a recall of your date to the record store and diner, small notes of your gushing over Eddie's chivalry (he always thought holding doors open and little pet names were usual things), a detailed explanation of his outfit and how you loved it (he read that a few times, remember to wear his little thigh harness around you more often.). And as he continued to read, the writting felt less confident, as though there as a topic waited to be hinted at.

He skipped over to the next page and down it, finding a few words grabbing his eyes: touch myself, embarrassing, chocked, him, daddy.

His eyebrows rested in his hairline, eyes almost leaving his skull, the warmth on his checks wasn't imagined. He jumped back a few lines:

Jesus I feel 14 again. I dont know why he does this to me. I see him everyday, and yet im still pinning over him like he's some untouchable deity.

He reads down

We have sex so much but like every night I end up touching myself thinking about- its so embarrassing! I feel like ive been poisoned!! literally none of my friends are like this about their boyfriends!

yeah we all talk about sex but they all have usual sex and normal fantasies but like I feel like a deviant. if I ever told anyone what I really want they'd all look at me so weird

but if I think about sex with him about him all I can think of is his hands and his lips and his voice! and if Im actually honest with myself, all I want is him. I cant stop. ive got into this habit of thinking about him before I go to bed and like every night I touch myself to him.

literally seem like I cant just have him- and I so can but I want so much more!

like if I really thought about it: I'd love him to just use me, do whatever. He could fuck me, make me fuck him, cum in me, chock me, spit on me and I'd be so fucking happy!

Or like, my brain keeps thinking to what if we're fucking and someone hears or we're almost gonna get caught and it turns me on so much! I feel like a pervert.

Eddie felt himself hold his breath.. he was no prude, under his bed was riddled with lost porn mags, he know a lot about kinks and fetishes but something about hearing from you - sweet, quite, calm you- shit! He was getting all flustered.

And like also! keep calling him Daddy in my mind too - I dont know where thats come from but it feels so right! I just really want him to just have his way with me. I dont know how on earth I tell him this. this is so embarrassing.

Eddie was transfixed by your confessions: the sound of the water had slipped his ears. Let alone, he hadn't heard the floor creak and wind chance as you entered the room.

"Jesus babe! You scared me- can't make a guy jump like that!" He yelped, the towel hitting the bed making him jump back into real time.

You laughed at him at first... until your eyes danced around him... and what he had in his hand. You didnt need to ask to know. And almost instantly you felt your body tense, mind go blank and cheek redden. Hands sat in on each other, lips rolled in, eye popping out almost. "Um-"

Confident as ever, he laid back into your pillows, straightening out his legs, "Didn't know you thought like this, Sweetheart.." He started reading, "Kinda want him to fill me until hes dry-"

You leapt onto him - to be honest the word doesn't cut it. You practically jumped on him, trying to grab the book from him but he was swift... dodging your hands artfully as he continued reading. His light and teasing voice was harmonised by your loud commands for him to stop. The room had laughter too: Yours was embarrassment and his was humour.

After a particularly wobbly Eddie! he put the book down, giving you a perfect moment to sling it back onto your cabnit. "Please stop." You frowned.

"Awe sorry baby," He laughed, pulling you down for a cuddle, "It's really hot though." You whined, "It is! Fuck babe," He sighed, "I really didn't think you'd wanna do anything like that!" It surpassed you how he had this ability to never be ashamed or embarrassed about anything. He dipped his head into your neck, "Like being chocked, filled with my cum. fuck, even messy..."

"Shut up!" You leant up, hands flying to his face, coving his mouth and you were straddled to his hips. "I can't believe you- I'm so embarassed!"

"Why?" Earnest and lovie as he moved your hands down.

"You were never meant to find out..."

"Why, you know im into anything?"

"Embarassing."

"No its not."

"yes, it is."

"You know," he started rubbing your thighs, "I'd love to fuck you dumb, fill you up, have you all messy-"

Now you'd be lying if you said he wasn't affecting you- you were embarrassed but so secretly turned on. Your tummy tensed, the blood went to your head, your thighs stiffened. But still your embarrassment was bigger, "Stop making fun of me!"

"Baby baby baby" He cooed, pulling your hands from your face, "I promise i'm really not."

You whined at him, he mimicked you back, pulling you down for a delicate honest kiss. It was deep and slow, him offering his truth to you. And who wouldn't melt into that? His hands now found your hip and your neck, in to your lips his mumbled "Roll over."

You gasp as he rearranges you both, your back now to the bed, "Wanna try something." He sat up continuing, "We can't your little sexual fantasies now-" You squirm in embarrassment, "But" He began stroking your cheek in efforts to pull you out your head. "I wanna try something new.""

He leant down planting a sweet kiss to your lips though you tried to chase him for a second, he was already moving down into your neck, planting even sweeter ones there. You could never stay quiet for his sightly chapped lips and heavy hands - small mewls slipped from you. "Good girl." Quiet, practically breathed from Eddie.

"We can't try the public-people-home stuff, but" another neck kiss, "I do.." another kiss to the other side, "really like the idea" a kiss under your ear, "of having you fully submitted" a kiss to the shell of your ear "to me"

The way you gasp makes Eddie sure he's hit gold with you. As he talks, your hand in his hair pulls and squeezes more, "How about," He moves along to kiss your cheek, "I get you on your knees" Another kiss, "no pillow, because desperate whores don't deserve kind treatment." A light kiss to your lips, "And I let you blow me?" Another kiss, "But" Kiss "I'll be holding your head," He was now resting on his forearms, fingers lost in your hair, "Pushing and pulling you exactly how I want?" Another light kiss met with a hearty pull of your hair, "Fill that little mouth up with my cum."

God you were in heaven - how did you manage to get a boy like him. All you felt you could do was nod at him. A tap of your thigh and you were on the floor kneeling between his legs as he sat on the edge of your bed.

Looking up at him, the shy coy expression fell naturally on you, "Pretty girl, aren't you?" He complimented. "Get on with it then." It was like a switch was flipped.

Excitedly, you get his belt and jeans off. His dick was hard and pretty as ever - not too big but a little wide, a more red tint than the rest of him already bleeding pre cum.

You got personal with it, licking the beed off, replacing it with a kiss. Eddie couldn't help the sigh - you ruin him on the daily no matter what you do. You could get lost playing with his head. He helped by tucking your hair behind your ears, keeping his hands on your lower head and jaw.

The kisses turn into kitten licks met with you looking up at him, his spaced out satisfied look made you smile, "Shit- open your mouth for me."

Sat up a bit more, the head of is cock resting on your lower lip, palms lost behind his calves: you were ready to try something you never thought you'd get to. The hands in your hair pushing you down slowly, and pulled you back up even more delicately - he giving both of you the space to gauge how yous felt.

"Suck it a bit harder" You did. "fuck-you love this, don't you?" You nod.

It was really all he needed - he didn't even need verbal confirmation, just the feel of your nails in the backs of his legs and how your eyes were rolled back and closing was enough, not to mentions the light noises in your throat. He pushed you down with more force, hands now cupping your cheeks and jaw.

He didn't make you deep throat him - neither of you needed to go that far at the moment. The half of his dick that was still straining your jaw send your brains both tumbling.

Eddie yanked you off him with a rough tug to your hair pulling a throat whine out of you, "Shit babe- you're a little slut aren't you?"

You nodded dumbly, "For you- love you."

"I love you too," A thumb stroked your cheek, "Daddy loves you."

Maybe it was the name. Maybe it was the humiliating reminder he had read you diary. Maybe it was the whispering in the empty quiet house. Maybe it was just him. But you were sure he'd just written you off to hell. You felt a beed of slick drop from your cunt.

And Eddie practically felt it too: he could see the haze covering your pretty eyes and the cheeky smile that covered your face.

A thumb toyed with your lip, he continued, "Gotta get you a little collar with my name on it." And with that you basically purred at him. Eddie was sure he was lost in you as you started to barely suck his thumb.

He'd never had you so spaced and floaty. Sure you've both spoken through sex before but nothing like this, nothing so painfully skilled in what the other actually needs to hear. Sex had never felt so possessive until right now.

The sight of you both was like it was from a porno: you, puffy lipped, half lidded eyes and big breaths; Eddie, pointed look, panting, loved up eyes.

The other hand dropped from your cheek and sat around your neck back - the pressure alone made your eyes flutter - and the sight went straight to his dick.

He popped his thumb out your mouth and brung you up for a dirty, messy, deep kiss. No coordination, just lust. Teeth smacking teeth, uncomfortable postures, hands gripping and clawing where ever they could.

He pulled away, standing up as if to leave. But you whine is stopped when you see he leant against your cabinet. Very idolly, he picked up the diary searching for the place he left off on, commanding a "Come here" using his fingers to make a curling motion, not even bothering to look up at you. "Crawl" He sneers almost as you go to get up.

Granted the space wasn't so big so the crawl was more of an awkward on-you-knees- shuffle but boy did that embarrassment climb back up inside you. If this was with anyone else, the pang of embarrassment woulda been too much, but something in Eddies low murmured tone did something totally new to you. "You're a good little pet, aren't you?"

His eyes never left the book in front of him: flicking through pages, scanning for the right sentence. He began reading off again. Completely as though it was the Sunday news paper and not your kinkiest secret fantasies.

"Eddie stop-"

"You know thats not my name." Eyes still in the book, tone stern and cold. You positioned on your claves between his legs, just waiting. "Thought you liked this? I know this isn't as good as being caught but its pretty close, right?" Finally he looks over.

The sudden feeling of something under you made you squirm, "Go on," He continued, "Get yourself off while I read your silly little diary."

The feeling that swelled in your belly was indescribable. It was overwhelming, unignorable and life changing. Like a duckling to its mother, you blindly listened: beginning to slowly rub yourself on the top of his foot.

"Suck my cock too, Sweetheart." He completely disregards you, finally finding his place on the pages. But he didn't start reading until he could feel your lips kiss his cock head.

You try to loose yourself in kissing him and the weight on your tongue but the perching reminder of what he is reading keeps pulling you out. The blood in your ears and the cotton in your brain were getting thicker.

You felt a ring or two pull on the strands of your hair, your gasps causing you to suck his in harder. You felt the rings apply more of a push at certain points of Eddies reading.

It's all sort of too dirty to really feel like its real life. Nobody really experiences this stuff right? Like it's all just movie magic? Clearly not. Clearly somehow you'd hit the jackpot. Somehow in small little irrelevant Hawkins in the mid 80s, you'd met the jack pot.

The sound of a book hitting a surface pulls you from your slack, readjusting yourself back to the present, you felt two hands play with your hair with more intent.

"Fuck-you sure know how to suck a dick, don't you?" He tucked some behind your ear, making you look up at him "Who taught you that?"

"You-da-daddy." Jumbled delivery thanks to the cock in your mouth.

"Sorry couldn't hear you."

"da-daddy" You tried, but sadly coming out more like 'dabby' thanks to the 5 inch obstruction in your throat.

The palms by your ears tighten, "good" It was almost like an extended sigh, "You gonna take it? Tap me if it's too much, yah?" Serious and caring, you nod.

"Yes" You respond to the eyebrow raise, "Yes daddy."

"Good little thing, aren't you?" Another tuck of your hair, and he pulled your head back in opposition to his hips going forward. He was using you clearlessly, not yet pushing you down as deep as he could, but rather just enjoying your lightness.

The room enters a soundtrack of hisses and hums, some slurps and some groans.

"I told you to get yourself off." It wasn't rude but you felt like you were being told off. Your heart pinged in your chest.

It was annoying how good it felt. Yes your knees stung and the carpet has turned into staples but who cared. The hands behind your ears making you deep throat him were heaven, the foot under your clit was heaven, Eddies musky smell was heaven.

Hums and hisses turned into the sound of fabric rubbing and small 'fuck's and 'shit's. And at this rate the streams of dribble coming off your chin and too the floor was definitely anything but disgusting.

Looking up at him and seeing him looking down, heaven too. "Gonna cum in your mouth." You really couldn't help the whorish whine. "Don't swallow it."

Something about that single demand got you were you needed it too. The swelling between your legs seemed to his its peak, the sheen of sweat tripped and your body felt like it was burning. Finger burring into his thighs, tummy tensed: you came over his foot, eyes rolled into the back of your skull.

Eddie using this as the perfect moment to use you. Seeing a moment where you'd given him your everything, he gripped you harder and thrusted deeply into your throat.

Still in your post orgasm haze, the 2 boney hands drag you up by your arm pits, a leg helps keep you stood. "Open." You couldn't even see him at the moment, but you knew behind the black was a man staring at you with all his love.

So you did as he told. Mouth open, cum threatening to spill, "Good, swallow." There was a hand to your throat, and them butterflies danced again. And then there was a light press to your lips that helps bring your eyes back open.

Neither of you could help getting lost a bit in the other - this was a big step, a big new, a good thing too! Eddie broke your moment off and tucked you into his chest, coddling you.

"I love you"

"I-love- you too"

He laughed at your breathiness. "Can we have an actual conversation about this now"

"Gimme a minute- I think my brains all mush."

He laughed again and gave a kiss to your hair.

[koushisbabie]

Lovebites w Kenma

“i think i should submit here but may i please get a fluffy kenma one-shot where he kinda tackles the reader away from their study stuff because he needs attention and their relationship is relatively new so kissing and makeout stuff is rare but he's just kissing up on the reader's neck, nibbling on their neck, then just cuddling them after leaving a pretty hickey there, admiring the color on their skin before offering words of affection and just massive cuddles? i would love u forever” Request from @haikyutiehoe​

I kind of took creative liberty with this one, and it’s KIND OF suggestive near the end?? I hope you like it! (I also didn’t reread and edit it bc I’m supposed to be doing my essay lol)

TW: lovebites/hickeys, general fluff, suggestive at the end, probably doesn’t qualify as nsfw but like, be wary.

Pairing: Kenma x gn!reader

Word Count: 1,037

Soft lofi plays in the background as my fingers hover over the page in front of me. Loose documents and various writing accoutrement lie strewn across the kotatsu and spill over onto the floor surrounding me. Three almost empty mugs sit amongst the mess, their remaining contents long gone cold and stagnant.

I glance at the time, briefly scanning over missed messages waiting to be acknowledged. One message in particular catches my attention. A simple ‘what are you up to?’ Followed by ‘just a heads up, I’m streaming soon, wanna hang out after?’ And a third message ‘y/n, are you done yet?’.

Exhaustion seems to have made a permanent home in my limbs, but that not prevent me from instinctively smiling at the phone screen. I type back a hurried ‘I'm still studying, we can hang out later’ before turning the phone face down and shifting my attention back to the ruckus in front of me. I inwardly groan at the idea of trying to stuff copious amounts of information into my already tired brain, yet despite the hassle, somehow manage to force myself to open the next textbook and begin reading.

An indeterminate amount of time passes before a shrill vibrating erupts from the phone to my right. It pulls me out of my trance, and I reluctantly pick up the phone.

‘Hello?’

‘You’re still alive.’

‘Just barely.’

Kenma’s quiet laugh sounds on the other end.

‘What did you need?’ I ask, holding the phone between my cheek and my shoulder, using my free hands to write a few words down into my study notes.

‘Just checking up on you, you’ve been at this for hours,’ Kenma replies. ‘Come upstairs, give yourself a break, we can watch a movie or something.’

‘Tempting, but there’s some methods I haven’t completely wrapped my head around yet,’ I say, hoping that frustration does not wind its way into my voice.

‘Have you even eaten yet?’ Kenma interjects.

I glance guiltily at the snacks I vaguely recall him silently leaving on the table hours ago. ’I drank the tea,’ I quickly add, ’thank you, Kenma.’

He sighs audibly. ’Y/n...’

‘I'll eat, I promise, just a few more hours, okay?’ I smile into the phone, knowing very well he cannot see me.

‘Sure, Y/n,’ he says finally.

The phone goes silent and for a split second I consider just going upstairs to check that he isn’t sulking. He can handle a few more hours, I think. Turning back to my notes, I continue to read.

Before long, there is the muffled sound of footsteps on carpet, a door sliding open, and the gentle kneeling of a person behind me. Warmth envelopes me as sweatshirt clad arms encircle my waist, a cold nose nuzzling into my neck, the tickling of outgrown blonde hair against my skin.

‘Kenma?’ I peer at him out of the corner of my eye. ‘What’s up? You okay?’

‘Do you know what time it is?’ Comes his muffled voice. His lips press against my neck as he speaks, sending shivers down my spine.

‘It’s, uh,’ I go to check my phone, but Kenma’s hand grabs my wrist.

‘It’s time for you to listen to reason,’ he kisses my neck in between speaking, ‘and spend time with me.’

‘This is out of the blue,’ I laugh nervously. ‘Since when do you make the first move?’

‘Just because I haven’t done it before, doesn’t mean I don’t want to do it,’ Kenma blushes. ‘Is it really that weird?’

It’s now my turn to be embarrassed. ‘No, I like it.’

He presses his mouth against my neck more firmly. ‘What is it that you like, Y/n?’

‘That,’ I murmur in response, closing my eyes. ‘When you kiss me.’

His arms pull me ever closer, before using one cool hand to pull the neck of my shirt further to the side, exposing my collar bone. He places kisses fervently against my skin, the warmth and the firmness growing with each movement. I resist squirming in his grasp, not wanting to ruin the romance of the moment, despite the flustering in my belly. ‘Tell me if it hurts,’ Kenma murmurs into my ear, his lips tickling my earlobe deliciously.

‘It doesn’t.’

A moment of hesitation passes before the next kiss turns into something sharper, more urgent. He bites me hard enough to hold the skin between his lips before sucking gently and placing a soft kiss. I turn my gaze to his, the flecks of gold in his eyes shimmering innocently back at me, as if he wasn’t pushing every button I have in this moment. Almost every button.

‘Did you like that?’

The curiosity in his question almost makes me want to laugh. ’I did, yes.’

Kenma shifts his attention to my neck, his lips forming a lovely ‘o’ in surprise. He takes a hand and strokes the tender area. ‘You beginning to bruise.’

‘Am I?’ I cannot quite see the bruises.

‘I didn’t think I was that hard,’ Kenma gives a tiny smile. ‘Sorry.’

I grin mischievously at him. ’Something tells me you aren’t actually sorry for that at all.’

‘Maybe not,’ Kenma buries his blush in the crook of my neck, pulling me into an even tighter embrace.

‘Wanna go continue this upstairs?’ I ask, taking a hand and running it through the stray strands of his soft hair. This elicits a soft moan from Kenma, not unlike a cat’s purr.

‘That’s what I’ve been asking you for hours,’ He whines.

‘Ah, so you were sulking!’

‘Was not,’ Kenma argues. ‘Just, come be with me for a bit. I’ve missed you.’

Guilt tugs at my heartstrings. ’I’ve missed you, too.’

He meets my eyes with a tenderness that renders me speechless, and for a long second, nothing existed besides the two of us. God, he’s beautiful.

I stand and offer him my hand, to which he takes without hesitation. He eyes the mess I’ve made of my textbooks and study notes. 'I'll clean it tomorrow,’ I shrug. ‘Right now, I want to see how many more love bites you can give me.’

‘Anything for you,’ Kenma replies as he leads me by the hand to the sanctuary of the bedroom.

masterlist

[btsmosphere]

Crossing Paths - drabble from the Crossfire universe

request from @excusemyuwus -

I remember Tae said he had a crush on her while working on that project so now I kinda want to see his pov of that time and how he was holding being around his crush lol, not gonna lie gangster Tae all nervous bc he like someone is something want to see (also imagine how much the guys would tease him uwu)

tumblr ate your ask when I tried to answer it, sorry! this is the only part I had copied, but if it ever resurfaces, I shall answer there. for now it is still refusing to cooperate so I am posting like this! (update: the ask just returned, it is here)

~pairing: taehyung x reader ~word count: 1.4k ~pre-relationship, fluff, angst, slice of life, mafia au, college au ~rating: g ~warnings: vague mention of gang activity, this is a gang au after all, but it’s not particularly prominent

~a/n: thank you for your great request! this was so nice to come back to, I am so sentimental about this series as my first bts fic🥰takes me back to when I was just getting into bts… it felt hard to do it justice! because of this, sorry it took me a while to write, but I wanted to do it well, and again I kept the theme of making my ‘drabbles’ wayyy longer😅final big thanks to the site being frustrating and eating drafts and such🙃🙃but here it is, finally seeing the light of day! I hope you enjoy it x

“I can tell something’s on your mind, Tae.”

Jimin stared coolly at his friend. Looking over his shoulder guiltily as he unlocked the door, Tae found the other boy with his hands in his pockets, looking expectant.

All Tae could do was shrug as he elbowed the door open, heading to ditch his bag.

“Hey, Jimin’s right.”

A light flick on Tae’s forehead made him startle, looking up to find Hobi grinning, though his head was tilted to one side in question.

“What is it?”

Jimin’s shoulder nudged his own as they sunk into the sofa.

Tae checked his phone.

“It’s just a project for class, don’t worry about it,” he pocketed his phone, ignoring their gazes, “I gotta meet with my partner in an hour.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t staying that long anyway,” Hobi slumped down too, having helped himself to a drink from the fridge, “I’m on watch with Yoongi across town.”

As the discussion turned to this week’s jobs and deals, Taehyung rested his head back against the sofa. The sounds of his friends’ conversation was like static. Instead, he was picturing the scene in class earlier, as the slideshow was flipped to show the project partners on the screen.

Tae hadn’t been too fussed, idly playing with his pen lid as he searched for his name. But when his eyes fell on it, he sat up straight.

Having only bumped into you a few times in class, he had never expected his heart to be hammering quite so hard as he quickly scanned the room for you. Sliding his things away, he had walked towards you as everyone began to file out, meeting you halfway as you did the same.

Leaning against a desk to keep his jittery hands occupied, he grinned at you.

Your returning smile, he noticed, was much more nervous, only flickering into existence for a wavering second. The two of you had only a brief conversation to sort out when you would meet, before you had practically scurried away.

His eyes had lingered on you as his smile slowly sank.

Unconsciously poking his tongue against his cheek, Tae wondered if you were afraid of him.

“Hey!”

A finger clicked sharply in front of his face. He blinked back at Hobi’s grin, Jimin bursting into laughter at his side.

“Just a project, my ass,” Hobi shook his head, dumping an empty bottle on the coffee table, “don’t wanna be late, do you?”

A radiant smile was tossed over his shoulder as Hobi left the room, front door clicking soon after.

Sending his best friend a knowing look, Jimin also gathered himself to stand.

“Have fun tonight, yeah?”

He winked. Tae protested, shooting up from the sofa with an affronted look.

“So it is a special someone?” Jimin giggled.

“You’re impossible,” Tae grumbled, trailing after him to the door, “it’s just a project, I told you.”

Jimin hummed in a way which made it very clear he didn’t believe him.

“Don’t scare them off, tiger,” he remarked, stepping outside.

Tae’s shoulders slumped. He was certain that was just what he had already done.

“I’m busy tonight. And my house isn’t free, so I can’t have anyone showing up here.”

Namjoon chuckled across the line.

“All this for a college project?” Clearly he had heard about this from the others. “If you could lend Kook some of your commitment to school, that would be great,” he teased.

Sighing, Tae spun around to survey the road outside his window, ruffling his own hair.

“You’re very funny, but I need to go. See you tomorrow.”

Tae was certain he would never hear the end of this from the others. It was true that he had firmly set aside time for your meeting today, even if it was only for a minor college presentation. But it was important to him.

He knew that this was the only time he would get together with you, and though it would end as soon as the presentation was given, he couldn’t help but want to make the most of it. At your last meeting, he had been largely distracted by the dizzying height of your apartment, leaving him shying back from any windows.

So this left you with his house today instead.

Arriving soon after Tae’s phone call, you were both soon seated on his floor. Though you mostly worked in quiet with occasional, quick conversation, it was not awkward. Your legs lay close together under the coffee table as you scribbled away diligently on its surface.

Glancing over the lid of his laptop as his fingers hung idly, Tae sighed. Watching as your pen swirled across your notebook, he let his eyes drift across your focussed features.

He swallowed as he did so, teeth tugging his lip. A light frown came over your features. He couldn’t take his eyes away from your lips as your pen lifted to your mouth, resting between your teeth as you mulled the work over, eyes flitting about the page.

Eventually, the lack of tapping at his keyboard must have got through to you. You raised your head.

Too late to divert his gaze, Taehyung cleared his throat and muttered a proposal for a break. Eager as well to put your work aside, you clambered from the floor to join him at his offer of a drink.

Moving through to the kitchen, he made casual conversation, asking after your dad. Last time there had only been a brief meeting, as he met Tae at the door before you hurried him away.

Picking up on his offer to chat, you teased Tae for his fear of heights, giggling over how he had screwed his eyes shut whenever he had come within sight of the view from your windows.

Of course, Tae tried his best to roll his eyes at you, but the smile dragging the corners of his mouth refused to be suppressed.

He poured your drinks. When he turned away to put the cartons back in the fridge, he took a breath, trying to settle himself. Why did he feel so flustered?

Squaring his shoulders a little more, he turned back, only for his hand to catch one of the glasses. It clattered against the surface, barely leaving time for him to jump back and avoid being splattered with its contents.

You hopped from your seat, ready to help.

Swallowing down his shock, Tae scratched at the back of his neck to hide his slightly trembling hand.

“Don’t worry,” he quickly muttered, flashing a nervous smile as he gathered towels and set to cleaning up.

Soft laughter followed from you. Still, you reached across to help.

Righting the glass and taking one of the cloths to clear up, your hand came concerningly close to Tae’s own. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on the countertop, his cheeks warm even as you finished and he was rooting in the fridge again for a refill.

You seemed miraculously unfazed by his flailing, though, he noticed as you finally settled beside each other sipping your drinks.

“So it went well?”

Jimin nudged a reluctant Tae, eyebrows wiggling all the time.

“Yes, fine,” Tae groaned, trying to shrug him off.

Jimin did stop, but only in favour of staring at his friend with doleful eyes.

“Don’t be like that. You’ll see her again. You literally share a class!”

“It’s nothing like that,” Tae refuted.

He even halfway believed it.

You had got on well together, but surely not more than could be expected of most classmates? He sighed a little as he thought of it. It had been fun, but there was no excuse to spend any more time with you.

Besides, sparing one night to work on a project was a little different to becoming friends, or even more…

There was a reason the bangtan boys stuck to themselves.

But as he reminisced, he knew he had a soft spot for you, even if it should come to nothing. The project was over, the presentation given, but he still remembered the way you bounced with excited relief after you had finished talking to the class. Your face was glowing as you high-fived him with a grin, the work having paid off.

There was still a hint of nervousness though, and you had only given a timid smile and a small ‘see you later’ before heading out of class.

And that was the end of it.

But Tae smiled to himself. It had been fun, and he knew he wouldn’t be sorry if you ever crossed paths again.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments super appreciated always!!

Taglist: @aianloveseven​ @preciouschimine​ @un2-verse​ @ddaechwita​ @taegularities​ 

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 21: Body Talk

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Mulder’s thirty years past kindergarten, but the anticipation he’s feeling in his body is reminiscent of the excitement he felt as a child over bringing his new model airplane to school for show-and-tell. Except the context is very, very different.

He’s got an envelope tucked into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, and he’s highly aware of every crinkle it makes as he strides through the halls, making his way down to the basement.

He’d expected to receive a clean bill of health, so the contents of the envelope weren’t a surprise. Even so… he’s fuckin’ thrilled.

“Morning, Scully,” he says cheerily, waltzing into the office and peeling off his jacket. “Another hot one out there, huh?”

“Mhm,” she responds, already elbow deep in paperwork. She’s always got her nose in some pile of documents, his Scully. God, she’s so cute, it’s unbearable. He thinks of when they first met, how rosy and round her cheeks were. He regrets not having done something earlier; he missed out on kissing her adorable baby face.

He really wants to kiss her now, but they’re at work, and she’s made it abundantly clear that At Work Scully is not open to the physical demonstrations enjoyed by Off Duty Scully. Instead he sidles up beside her, holding out the envelope in front of her.

She takes it, clearly noticing that it’s already been opened. “What’s this?” she asks.

“Just a little something, from me to you,” Mulder replies, going around the desk and plopping into his chair. He clasps his hands behind his head casually, grinning at her as she slides the folded paper out of the envelope.

Scully unfolds the page and scans it, nodding to herself. “Congratulations,” she says, glancing up at him. “This is… welcome news. But you didn’t need to bring me the physical test results, Mulder. Your word is enough.”

“Oh, but I know how much you enjoy solid evidence,” he says with a wink. “So, uh… do you have your results back yet?”

“This is definitely not an office-appropriate conversation,” she warns him, slipping the page back into the envelope.

“Sorry,” he says, lowering his voice. “But…”

“Yes,” she says quietly. “Last week. I’m in the clear.”

He smiles even wider at her. “So, given this new information, what do you suggest we do, Agent Scully?”

She holds the envelope out to him across the desk. “Right now, our jobs.”

He licks his lips, nods. “Of course.”

Ten minutes later, she gets up to put a file in the filing cabinet. As she closes the drawer, she lets out a soft cough.

“Friday,” she says in a low tone. “My place.”

Mulder feels a thrill roll through his stomach. “Now how am I going to get a single thing done around here ’til then?” Mulder asks. “All I can think about is-”

She gives him a warning look.

“-You,” he finishes. “Every moment, Scully.”

Scully gives him a little pout. “I’m sorry, Mulder. That must be very difficult for you. You know what you need?”

“What?”

She picks up a stack of folders out of their in-basket and drops it in front of him on the desk. “A case.”

Mulder doesn’t find them an actual case, but he does manage to annoy Scully with conjecture and conspiracy for two whole days until it’s closing time on Friday night.

This could be the most important romantic encounter of his life, and he wants to make sure he’s adequately prepared. He takes a cold shower when he gets home, scrubbing every inch of his body until his skin tingles. He clips and files his nails, plucks some stray hairs, trims a few scraggly ones down south. He almost shaves his face before deciding to leave it be. He suspects Scully likes a little stubble, after all.

It’s a warm evening, so he throws on a gray t-shirt and jeans and bounds out the door with damp hair and crisp, soap-fresh skin.

As a rule, he doesn’t sing while driving; but today, he’s humming just a little.

He knocks on her door at quarter to seven, bouncing on the balls of his feet, trying to shake out a little anxious energy. This isn’t a prom date, he chides himself. Calm down and be an adult.

The lock is turning and the door is swinging open and there Scully is, looking soft and inviting and dangerous all at once. “Hi,” she says, giving him a little smile.

“Hi,” he says softly, eyes drawn immediately to the low neckline of her simple wrap dress. He snaps his gaze back up to her face again. “Hi, sorry, I’m-”

“A little distracted?” she asks slyly. She opens the door wider. “Come in,” she says, beckoning.

“I, uh, didn’t bring anything,” he says awkwardly, following her into the apartment. “And now that I’m here that feels kinda thoughtless.”

“What would you have brought?” Scully asks.

He shrugs. “Flowers, wine, something that says ‘I want to get laid but I also respect you’,” he says.

“Well, that’s unnecessary,” she says, going into the kitchen and opening her junk drawer. “I already know that.” She pulls out a small stack of takeout menus. “I’m assuming you haven’t had dinner yet?”

I was kind of planning on having you for dinner. “I have not,” he replies.

She hands him the menus. “Pick a place, we can call something in,” she says. She takes a box of matches out of the drawer and walks over to the fireplace.

Mulder glances over the menus, but he’s mostly watching Scully. She seems relaxed and comfortable, lighting a few candles atop the mantlepiece.

“You want a little music?” she asks, blowing out the match.

“Sure,” he replies. “Surprise me.”

“Promise you won’t tease me for this,” she says, flipping through a stack of CDs.

“Any of those restaurants sound appealing?”

“The Italian place sounds good, but I don’t want my garlic breath to put you off,” he admits sheepishly.

She glances over her shoulder at him, giving him a little smile. “That restaurant usually sends a few mints in the bag; and you have a toothbrush here, if it’s that big of a problem.” She puts a CD into the stereo.

“I don’t mind if you don’t,” he says. “You want me to call it in?”

“Sure,” she replies. “You can order me a chopped salad and some of their spinach ravioli. And get garlic bread,” she adds.

When he hangs up the phone, he sees her standing by her stereo, nodding her head in time to the music. The song is slow and sensual, and somehow familiar. He goes to her, places a hand on her lower back. His spot.

“Marvin Gaye?” he guesses.

“Mm, no. Al Green,” she replies.

“Ah,” he says, nodding. “Never took you for a Motown fan, Scully,” Mulder says, pulling her in by the waist. “You always keep me guessing.”

She closes her eyes, sways in his arms. “I save this one for very specific moods,” she admits.

“And what moods are those?” he asks, running a hand up her back.

She opens her eyes. “I’ll show you later,” she whispers.

She’s looking at him with so much heat and adoration, and her lips are so full and soft, he can’t speak; only lean down and kiss her.

They drift together, interlocking shapes moving through space, rearranging patterns of hands and lips.

“We’re going to get interrupted by a delivery guy again,” Scully says against his cheek.

“Mm… kinky,” Mulder whispers, lips brushing her ear. “This is gonna become a pattern for us. Are you an exhibitionist, Scully?”

“Baby steps,” she says, patting his chest as she pulls away. “I need to leave a few mysteries for you to discover later, right?”

They sit cross-legged on the floor next to her coffee table, knees touching companionably as they eat their dinner.

“You know,” Scully says around a bite of garlic bread, “This makes me think we should go on another picnic. Since the weather is more appropriate.”

“What, sitting on the frozen ground at night in February wasn’t your idea of a good time?” Mulder jokes, tangling his fork in linguini.

“I didn’t say that,” Scully points out. “In fact, that was one of my better birthdays in recent years.”

“Really,” Mulder says, surprised. “Why?”

She absently toys with a hole in his sock. “Because… because I’d had a rough year,” she explains, “And you put thought and care into doing something special for me. And it was perfect, in all its perceived imperfections. It made me feel that for once… you were finally paying attention. You saw me.”

“Saw you?” he asks softly, turning his head to look at her.

Her eyes shine into his. “Yes. You were there for me through my cancer, with Emily… you were becoming more attentive. And I felt like you were considering me, caring for me, knowing what I needed. Seeing.”

“I-I think that’s called love, Scully,” he says, chewing pensively. Part of him is surprised this is even happening; them sitting on the floor in her apartment, eating pasta out of styrofoam boxes, talking about their feelings. Hell, he just said the ‘L’ word without breaking a sweat.

“You’re right,” she says, leaning over and resting her head on his shoulder. “It is.”

Supper completed, containers emptied, candles burning down to stubs on the mantle, Scully sitting across his thighs as they kiss slowly. She was right about the mints, it turns out.

“Mulder, I’m a coward,” she sighs, running her fingers down his jaw. “I’ve been in love with you for years and I still haven’t said the words.” She presses a kiss to his lower lip. “Even though I know you reciprocate.”

“Take your time,” he replies, carding his fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck. “I already know. And you technically did just say them,” he adds. “Besides, there’s more than one way to have a conversation.” He smoothes a hand over her kneecap, inching a finger beneath the hem of her dress.

“Mulder,” she murmurs into his neck, his name sweet in her mouth. “I’m ready. I want to be with you tonight. Completely.”

He can feel his pulse throbbing beneath her lips. “I… God, Scully, I want you so badly,” he sighs. “I can’t think of any other words. I'm all out.”

She kisses his nose, untangles herself from him to stand. “Come on,” she says softly, holding out a hand. “I think it’s time for a different kind of conversation.”

[fandomtookoverlife]

Working Tease

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Summary: reader and hotch have a spicy weekend, they like to remind each other and remember their fun times while on a case. 

Note: while the summary makes it sounds like there’s smut there really isn’t 

Warning: swearing, light sexual content, lightly implied dom sub relationship  

Word count: 3k 

Category: ummmm… fluff? A little smuttiness 

A/N: I hope this is good and you like it. I just got this idea in my head and couldn’t shake it so I decided to write it. This is the first time I’ve written anything like this so go easy and I really hope you like it 

I definitely got a little softer than I meant to in the middle but I like it so. 

I swear I swear I swear spiral part 2 next 

(My other blog: @mac99martin )

Masterlist 

---

Oh dear god, it was Monday morning, ugh, Mondays, and the team had just come back from a rare weekend with no case. It was the best weekend, Jack was at a sleepover for the weekend so you and Aaron decided you would have a sleepover too. Much like Jack’s you didn’t do much sleeping, though for very different reasons. You had come into work achy, sore and bruised from all the handmarks and hickeys across your body. As you said, it was a fun weekend, but it came with repercussions. Those being, you hurt, everywhere. And of course, you were called in for a case. You walked into the conference room; you were the first there so you stood at the table and grabbed a file, that’s when Aaron came up behind you. You jumped, not expecting anyone to touch you, but you settled into his touch, his hands around your waist. His touch alone relaxed you, your muscles immediately loosening and feeling better. “Hey” he whispered into your ear nibbling on it as he spoke. He turned you around to face him. And you place your hand on his chest. Feeling his hard muscles through his tight fitted dress shirt. His hands move down to your ass, the simple touch sends shivers from your sensitive bottom throughout your body as memories play through your head of how you got the bruises to begin with. You slowly felt his hand cup your ass, “Aaron-” He squeezed, you took a sharp inhale and whimpered burying your head in his chest, gathering the fabric of his shirt in your hands.

 “Oh I’m sorry baby, did that hurt?” you whined at his words, he took one hand off your ass and tilted your chin up so that you were looking at him, a sad pouting look on your face, he kissed the top of your head. “Your adorable” pulling you back into his chest and moving his hand back down, using both hands to caress your ass, sending shock waves through your body as his hands continued to dance across your sensitive skin. His touch ignites all the nerves in you, your body heating up, yet still, you nuzzle your head further into Aaron’s chest, seeking comfort, a release, as your grip tightens on his shirt, and very intently making sure not a single sound leaves you. To both of your disappointment, you heard footsteps coming down the hall, he gives you a quick kiss before reclaiming his professional nature and moving a respectable distance away from you. He easily regained his composure, you're always so jealous of how he can just snap right back into work mode, you quickly turned around hiding whatever completely unprofessional expression you had on your face, though you did catch a slight smirk on Aaron’s face, asshole. 

---

You had done the briefing, squirming in your seat the whole time, Aaron had announced wheels up so you packed your bag and drove to the airstrip, again sitting uncomfortably, until finally, you made it to the jet, where you got to sit for even longer, well isn’t this perfect, the weekend wasn’t worth the torcher of the next few days-yes it was-whatever. You and Aaron were at the back of the plane, files open on your laps in front of you, everyone was nose deep in files and facing away from you. Aaron casually slips his arm from his file up your back and rests it on your shoulder. You don’t acknowledge his movement until he puts pressure on your shoulder, coaxing you towards him, at first you resist, but he’s a very persistent man so after checking the rest of the team isn’t looking you shift your weight to lean towards him. You hear movement so you lean further towards him, playing at looking at his file. When Aaron is satisfied that no one is looking he moves his hand from your shoulder to your collar, pulling it to reveal your neck, your hickey cover neck to be specific. You turn your head, looking back at his hand, moving up to his eyes. His eyes are warning with a bit of smugness behind them, he uses his knuckle returning your eyes back to the file while he goes on to reveal more of your neck. Once he is satisfied with the amount of skin he has, he places his hand on your waist. Fortunately, as you are on the aisle seat, your body is blocking most of Aaron, but you both consistently glance up, just in case. He takes a moment, admiring the delicate marks across your delicate neck, leaning in he runs his nose along your neck, before placing light chaste kisses up and down until finding a rather large hickey taking residence on your pulse point. He starts placing an open-mouthed kiss on it, running his tongue along it, you restrain yourself, closing your eyes and revelling in the feeling of his touch, as well as the shivers that run through your body. He continues his act of affection, unable to pry himself away from you, loving the way your body reacts to his and the way your neck looks with his mouth on it. His movements get smaller until lips move up to your jaw, placing a final beside your chin. You turn back to him, a find smile on both your faces, you lean in placing a soft kiss on his lips before turning back to your file, his hand still wrapped around your waste

--

You were all in a conference room, it wasn’t anything special, honestly, it was the opposite, you had all been in a lot of police stations before, always setting up in any free room with a table, and they always sucked, stuffy, dull rooms, but most of the time they at least had windows. This one didn’t have a single window, not even one on the door. The fluorescent lights were horrible and one of them had even been flickering. It was like what? 9 pm, you don’t even know anymore, you had done all the running around for today, theorized and profiled your minds away and now had little else you could do today. You had basically been sitting in silence for over 30 minutes now, after running out of things to say you had all silently agreed that no one had anything more to add but weren’t ready to give up, resulting in a tension-filled room, the only sounds being of rusting papers and creaky furniture. 

God you were ready to fall asleep right here on the table, just turn your brain off and die-you had just been staring at the same page for what feels like forever trying to read the same lines over and over until eventually, you gave up and have now, for at least the last five minutes you’ve literally just been staring, the words morphing into thick blurry lines, your eyes now focusing on the white of the page more than the ink while your brain slowly drifts away. 

Your mom would call this lala land whenever you zoned out as a kid, and really she still does any time you zone out around her. You always hated it when she snapped you back into reality; you like being in lala land, it's peaceful, your brain is empty, there are no thoughts, some peace and quiet, an escape from your own mind, which is normally a very busy place. It's kinda like your swaying to the music, except you can't hear the music, you're just floating in blissful nothingness. 

At this point you're so lost in your own mind you don't even hear the door opening nor the extra person who has come in. Though, you do notice the file you've been blankly staring at has now been taken out of your hands. Your hands have stayed in the same position, as if they still had a file in them, your eyes try and subtly scan your surroundings for it, turning your head to find Aaron with it. Your hands clenched into fists and you bring your arms back to your body, “Uhm” your mind cannot even form words right now and it is *extremely* annoying, it feels so empty like a whiteboard that has just been wiped clean, literally all you can come up with is, “what?” 

“JJ just came back with food.”

“Oh, right.” -you didn't know JJ went to get food 

You turn your attention back to the group, going to help clean up papers and hand out food but Aaron’s eyes stayed on you. 

-

When food was handed out you sat back down and Aaron sat down next to you, pulling his chair over to be closer to you, his hand going to rest on your thigh, you glance down and then look into his eyes, a little smile making its way onto your face. Your sweet smile forcing a small one on to the corners of his own lips. He shifts his posture further towards you and you mirror it, “are you alright?” 

“Of course”

His eyes narrowed slightly, “you seemed… out of it, earlier”

A wholesome feeling bloomed through your body, though you kept your physical reaction minimal, “ya, I was.” Aarons face stayed in its negative state, you moved your hand down to your thigh, placing your hand on top of his and lacing your fingers through, “don't worry, I’m back.” relief, and even a slight smile washed across Aaron’s face, he moved his hand from under yours and moved you closer to him finally settling down resting his hand on your back.

You spent the next 45 minutes eating and when you were done Aaron deemed the day was over and that you’ll start fresh in the morning. 

You all cleaned up, packed up and drove back to the hotel, all the while Aaron somehow managed to stay physically connected to you at all times. Honestly, it was kinda impressive. 

You were in your room for all of 1 minute before knocking on Aaron’s expecting door. You both quickly got ready and slipped into the comfort of the hotel bed, it wasn’t the same as your’s -or Aaron’s- but it did just fine, especially with Aaron’s warm body right next to you. You moved closer, intertwining your legs with his and laying your head on his chest. Aaron adjusted, you lifted your head slightly, letting him move freely, he took the opportunity to move your hair out from under your head and throw it behind you, he pulled your head back down to his chest. His hand kept in your hair, going back and forth from messaging your scalp and running his fingers through it, softly detangling it as he went. He loves your hair, always touching it, playing with it, and running his hands through it, while he loves all of those things, occasionally, this weekend, for example, he likes pulling it. And although you too thoroughly enjoyed the hair pulling, this was really nice too. You fell asleep to the soft sounds of his breathing, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and the light brushing of your hair.

--

Aaron spent the weekend marking you, so he had no shortage of sensitive places to touch you, and on cases, all he ever wanted to do was touch you.

-

This case has been such a pain in the ass, staring at the crime board in front of you. The answer is right in front of you. Just see it, it has to be here, what aren't you seeing!?

Turns out it was in front of you, the necklace the third victim was found dead with was the same one that one of the suspects from the beginning of the case was wearing when you interviewed her. 

The arrest was thankfully cut and dry; the team and the local cops ambushed her house, and while they did have the unfortunate timing of her being in the kitchen, with lots of knives, you got lucky and she didn't protest. 

Much to the entire team’s disappointment, the plane wasn’t going ready for hours, which meant that you all still have half a day to kill before you can even think about going home. So here you were, back in the conference room, again. You cannot begin to articulate how much you hate this room. You would give anything to leave it, but the team decided to start the paperwork so here you are doing the (second) worst part of the job in the worst room you've ever been in. Now, are you being over-dramatic in your personification and feelings for a room: maybe, but you don't care, you're tired and you really just want to go home, so it is what it is. 

No, but seriously, you are so bored, the combination of this room and this case is just not it. Now, this is really terrible to say, which is why you would never say it out loud, and you definitely shouldn't be thinking it in the first place. People are dead, and that really bad- that being said this case was so boring. Again, sounds bad but you're just having such a hard time concentrating, room+paper+sleep deprivation+this specific case, concentration is just not coming to you. Ok, you studied psychology, you know why you are thinking about and caring about your little problems over actual death, the brain and whatnot, but that doesn’t help stop you from feeling bad. And on top of everything else previously stated: is this internal monologue really helping you focus? Absolutely not, but here we are.  

-

Although it’s less than two hours later, it feels like an eternity. Over-dramatic again, yes, but even from halfway across the country, you can still hear your bed calling your name. That being said you're pretty proud of yourself, you've actually gotten some work done, weird right, but give yourself some credit, you've done well in this time. That is until you feel Aaron subtly place his hand on your shoulder. You notice it but you don't give it much attention, focusing on your next sentence, and even when he pulls your collar and you feel his hand on your bare skin, feather-light touches skimming across your shoulder, circling the slightly faded bruises and marks to the mostly faded bite mark. You give in, relaxing into his touch, taking a minute to stop focusing on the world and simply drift into calmness. The simple touch giving you a small reminder of his love and affection, willing you to continue, to make it through until you get home. Aaron takes his hand tucking your hair behind your ear, his hand lightly brushing jawline. Just like that, the moment has passed, both of you getting back to work.

but now with the smallest amount of extra motivation.

Aaron’s hand stays on your shoulder. 

--

As if you all hadn't waited long enough to go home already something happened with something and everyone was sitting on the plane for an extra hour before take-off. You guess you just didn’t wake up with much patience this morning because you quickly got bored of every app on your phone, out of severe boredom you somehow ended up on photos - and there you are, the last photos in your camera roll happen to be the ones you took on Saturday before Aaron got home from dropping Jack off. You had decided that you wanted to do something a little more special so you put on this very nice new set, it was a black two-piece, the bottoms were covered in lace, high waisted and cheeky. The bra was almost completely lace and see-through, the only solid parts being the boning that also happened to accent your chest perfectly, needless to say, he loved it. But of course, you, staying on brand, got impatient, you were alone in the house and he wasn’t going to be back for 15 minutes. Naturally, you found yourself in front of a mirror admiring how you look, when you picked up your phone. That's what you find yourself staring at now, looking just as good as you remember when taking them. 

-

When you were finally up in the air you had decided to play chess with Reid, you usually didn’t win but it was fun anyway, you had also carefully chosen the single set of seats near the back, a seat that you could perfectly see Aaron from who was seated on the outside seat, facing you near the front. When Reid asked why you're sitting here to play as opposed to your usual seat you shrugged it off saying no particular reason, that was far from the truth but he definitely didn’t know that.

You were halfway into the game and Aaron had been working for a while, that's when you pressed send. You put your attention to the game, Aaron looked at his phone and looked up at you but you didn't look at him until he had opened the message, catching his reaction was everything you wanted it to be. 

You tried not to smile at how he was trying to control his reaction but your ego definitely went up. His body didn’t move, posture staying tense and rigid but his eyes met yours. His eyes were angry and powerful but his pupils were dilated. You put a sweet smile on your face, feigning innocents, but winking at him before turning your attention back to the chessboard, leaving him to his own accords, having to deal with himself until he can get home. 

You couldn't help but smile knowing precisely what you did to him and when you saw your phone you had to bite back the much bigger smirk threatening your lips. 

“Your place when we land. You better drive really fucking fast” 

If he could tease you, why couldn't you tease him?

---

Tag list:

@spencers-renaissance @averyhotchner @hotch-meeeeeuppppp

Tagging:

@girl-of-many-fandoms

Lmk to be added! 

[thisbrokenmask]

Matching Pair

pairing: female reader x Kim Namjoon

genre: fluff, very light angst

word count: 2,266

warnings: brief mentions of struggling to conceive, hella fluff

summary: you return from a day of shopping with a surprise for your husband.

a/n: so, this fic is unbeta’d and was written on my phone, but I was too excited to write it after getting some very wonderful news today - I found out I’m going to become an auntie for the very first time next summer! I’m beyond excited, and it ended up giving me inspiration for how to finally use the ‘Fuzzy Boots’ prompt on my @btsholidaybingo​ card!

“Joonie?” you call out for your husband as you close the front door of your home, already feeling the heat of the house warming you from the growing winter chill outside. Gently putting the shopping bags containing your few new purchases down to the side, you take off your shoes and your coat and put them in the closet by the front door. You don’t hear an answering call from Namjoon, but you do find his house keys still in the little cubby in the closet when you hang yours back up, so you know he’s home.  

Heart fluttering and excitement rolling in your tummy, you grab the handles of your shopping bags and head upstairs, your bare feet sinking into the carpet of the stairs with quiet relief. Even though you decided against heels today, the several hours you spent searching for the perfect items has still left them aching and you once again pat yourself on the back for choosing a thick pile when you decorated the house.

You bite your bottom lip to try and hold back your grin as you head to your bedroom to deposit all but one of your shopping bags, although you can’t help the slight skip in your walk as you once again go over what’s about to happen. Leaving your discarded purchases at the foot of the bed to sort out later, you clutch the most important one tightly as you seek out your spouse. 

Surprisingly, he’s not in his home studio, the small soundproof room normally your first port of call on the rare days Namjoon doesn’t head into the BigHit buildings to work. No, instead you find him in the little snug-come-library at the end of the hall, a slight dip in his brow from how concentrated he is on the words in front of him.

The library was a room you both insisted on having when you found this house, as you both needed somewhere to store your vast collections of books you had amassed over your lives. The custom floor-to-ceiling shelving had been fitted perfectly for the room, with a few open spaces left for artwork to break up the visual of hundreds of book spines. 

While your respective hoards of literature had combined, there were still traces of your individual hobbies nestled among them. Several small houseplants contributed pockets of green and, as Namjoon pointed out, a sort of poetic contradiction to the many books you owned; the living among the dead, as it were. He tended to them daily, whereas your offerings required much less attention. 

In your many years of travelling before and after meeting Namjoon, you’d developed the habit of collecting one small trinket from each country or city you visited. Whether they represented particular landmarks, native animals or cultural figures, you always brought home something to remember each place by, and now many of those trinkets filled the spaces left behind by oddly-shaped books or accompanied a bonsai as it grew between the shelves. 

In the centre of the room, on top of the plush mauve rug you’d fallen in love with at first sight, sat two armchairs. They didn’t match each other, but matched you and your husband instead. You’d gotten the idea from UP!, knowing when you’d first seen Carl and Ellie’s individual chairs that you wanted to do that with your future partner. And the library became the perfect place for these perfectly mismatched chairs, another way to show how the two of you had come together in this room that housed so many of your joint passions. 

Your chair, currently empty, was the plushest wingback chair you’d ever seen; a beautiful, royal blue velvet chair that made you feel like you were in a house that could be found in a Jane Austen novel. Your husband’s chair, in which he was now sat, was burnt orange in colour, square and simple in shape, with arms curled over to remove any harsh lines. You’d hated it, initially, but the more you’d seen it on the shop floor and then saw your husband lean back into its cushions, the more you decided that it suited him, and that was what mattered. Despite its simplicity, it was a bit too big for you to sit in comfortably, although you would often climb into it and burrow under several blankets when he was away.  

You’d now grown accustomed to the barrage of colours and styles in your little library, a fondness for the apparent chaos that still shocked newcomers, making you giggle every time. 

As you so often find yourself doing, you take a second to admire Namjoon in his studious reading pose: one leg resting across the knee of the other, his right elbow propped up on the armchair and his hand cradling his chin, index finger extended across his lips in contemplation. His left hand cradles his book seemingly effortlessly, his simple gold wedding band glinting in the warm orange of the afternoon winter sun that pours in through the window across the room. It’s still the only golden piece of jewellery he wears, and it still makes your heart bloom every time you catch sight of it. 

In the split second you’ve taken in his appearance, he’s become aware of your presence. Only his eyes move at first, flicking up from the page to the door to see who’s walked in. When he sees you standing in the doorway, however, he immediately slips his bookmark into place and puts the volume down on the little table between the chairs. The ease and immediacy with which he gives you his whole attention never fails to make you feel a little giddy. 

“Hey,” Namjoon’s expression melts into his warmest smile, all traces of his previous concentration vanished at the sight of his wife. His eyes briefly drop to the bag in your hand before returning to you. “Have fun shopping?”

You nod as he extends his hand towards you, slipping your palm into his and letting him gently pull you close. He sits you in his lap, one arm curled around the back of your waist and the other gently resting across your thighs, his hand melding to match the curve of your flesh. The warmth of his palm is noticeable even through your jeans, rippling throughout your body like a breeze kissing the surface of a lake. 

“Is that for me?” he nods towards the bag by his feet, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your temple. 

“Nope,” you smile, then pause. “Well, I guess it kinda is. Wanna see?”

If Namjoon is confused, he doesn’t show it. He loves the way you think, loves how you can see something completely different from him when you both look at the same art pieces on your gallery trips, loves how you can find even the loosest connections between two ideas in a way he’d never thought of. He doesn’t always understand you at first, but he loves that about you, so he waits patiently for you to explain. 

You lift the bag into your lap, the hand across your thighs moving to secure it in place while you open it. You turn it away from him as you pull out the contents, but he’s not even trying to peep inside; his eyes are focused on you, on the little ways your expression changes when you get thoughtful, or excited, or anxious, and right now you’re a bit of all three. 

“Ta-dah!” you singsong proudly, presenting him with a pair of fuzzy, light brown slipper boots. You try not to giggle as his expression falters slightly, although he quickly covers up his obvious confusion with bemused intrigue, gaze jumping between you and the boots as he tries to figure out what the hell is going on. 

“These… are for me?” he can tell just by looking at them that the boots are way too small for him, they’re definitely your size, and he’s struggling to figure out how they could be ‘kinda’ for him. 

“No, these ones are mine, silly!” you laugh, gently bopping the tip of his nose with your finger. The relieved sigh that falls past his lips only keeps your laughter rolling and he loves the sound, cheeks dumpling as he grins up at you. 

“Of course,” he agrees easily, smirking down at the boots as you gently run your fingers through the fluffy material, then cocks his eyebrow. “So how am I involved in this?” he pauses, then tilts his head to one side. “You’re not going to wear them to bed, are you? I know I said your feet are cold but I actually don’t mind it so much anymore-”

“These ones are mine,” you say, cutting him off, holding up your boots for emphasis before twisting in his lap to put them on the floor. His hand on your waist reflexively holds you tighter to keep you from toppling. 

When you then look at him with a smile he can only describe as mischievous, he knows he’s fucked: he’s a sucker for your playfulness, willingly walking into even your silliest pranks just to see your face light up and hear the melody of your laughter when you celebrate your victory.

His mind whirs through every option he can think of that could somehow relate those fluffy little boots to himself. Maybe you’ve bought him new slippers too, but like your mismatched chairs they’ll be different styles, perfectly suiting each of you in a way that makes them work together. Maybe you’ve actually bought him matching ones and he can’t decide what will be worse: having to wear them to please you or refuse to wear them to please himself. He feels the smallest flicker of heat in his cheeks when he considers fluffy handcuffs, but he dismisses that though when he remembers how your gaze darkens whenever you get out the pairs you already own rather than brightens, like it has done right now. 

He’s at a loss, but you don’t make him wait much longer before you grant him an explanation. 

“They didn’t have matching daddy boots, unfortunately, but-” he doesn’t have time to register the term when you pull out the remaining items in the bag with a flourish. “They did have these matching baby boots, and I just couldn’t resist!”

He stares down at the little pair of fuzzy boots, the same light brown colour as yours. They’re barely bigger than your palm as they sit side by side and he doesn’t know how something so small can knock all of the air from his body. 

He can’t speak, can’t swallow, almost can’t breathe. He can only stare. 

You watch as Namjoon’s features drop and give him a few moments to process the sight in front of him. You’re sure your lip is about to bleed with how hard you’re biting into it, desperate to cry and cheer and celebrate with him but wanting to give him his processing time. 

When he doesn’t say anything after a longer time than you were expecting, you begin to worry he’s upset rather than shocked. When he finally speaks, though, his tone is so level you genuinely think he’s angry. 

“Y/n,” he says, gaze lifting to meet your eyes and locking onto them. You feel his body grow tense beneath you, the grip on your waist tightening and releasing as he battles with the emotions building in his chest. “Who are these for?” His throat bobs with a dry swallow and you feel your stomach drop a little bit, suddenly realising how this may have come across to him. 

You and Namjoon got married nearly two years ago now, and you’ve been trying for a baby for just over a year. During that time, Namjoon has found more than one or two bags of baby clothes tucked away in your side of the closet, onesies and booties in varying designs and colours despite the fact that none of your attempts had been successful. His heart had broken for you every time, knowing how desperate you were to become a mother, but, despite his own deep-seated desire to be a father, he’d insisted you return the items each time and forbade you from bringing home anymore baby items that weren’t gifts for expecting friends or relatives. It was painful for him, too, to keep seeing the negative pregnancy tests in the bathroom trash, but he knew that it would only hurt more if you kept the clothes with no baby to fill them. 

It had been months since you’d last even looked at the baby aisles in any stores, but today was the day things changed. 

“They’re for us,” you told him gently, the words barely above a whisper yet filling the space between you. You see the tears begin to well in his eyes at the same time his grip on you tightens one last time. He stares up at you, eyes wide and watery and full of hope, and you let the widest grin loose on your lips. 

Leaning forward to touch your forehead to his, both yours and Namjoon’s eyes fall closed. Shuddering breaths push at the air between you, your hand pressing to his chest to feel the way his heartbeat gallops under your palm. Your own tears start to glide over the apples of your cheeks as you finally let the weight of your news overwhelm you, knowing that you’re both finally going to see your dreams come to life. 

“They’re for our baby.”

If you would like to read any of my other works, please follow me and head on over to my masterlist ♡

[johannas-motivational-insults]

Jo’s Top 10 of 2020

I see lots of artists doing that thing where they post a piece from each month of the year... unfortunately my content creation isn’t necessarily consistent and it’s hard to track what month individual fic chapters were posted in, but I figured I’d do something similar and post my Top 10 pieces of content I created in 2020, what they’re about and why I love them. I actually did get a fair amount done this year thanks to the lockdown, but I’ve narrowed it down to these ten that I’d like to reflect on. (To be fair, I’m probably forgetting something huge. Feel free to leave comments if you think I passed over something important lol.)

10. Friendship in the Horde (meta): This is something I’d wanted to write for a while but finally got around to finishing in February. It’s basically a sociology paper lmao, an analysis of the social hierarchies and systems of the Horde. It was also a convenient excuse for me to gush about Catralonnie, an underrated (friend)ship. But honestly this was an important piece for me because I have always identified with the Horde characters way more than any of the rebels (other than Adora, who grew up in the Horde) and part of why is how they are in an unsafe environment and end up forming relationships that are helpful for survival but hinder them psychologically. And I think to understand the Horde characters and really evaluate their motives and choices you need to understand this first.

9. The Sting in My Eyes: On the surface this is just a run of the mill hurt/comfort oneshot, but it was a really important post-canon processing fic for me. I had a lot of feelings about Catra’s relationships with Shadow Weaver and Melog in season 5, particularly about how Catra must have felt really conflicted after Shadow Weaver told her what she wanted to hear all those years but in a way that felt unearned and out of the blue. It was really cathartic for me to write a scene where she struggles with those mixed feelings but has Adora and Melog to help her process them. And I had long associated the song the title is from with Catra and Shadow Weaver’s relationship, and the way she died trying to redeem herself really solidified that connection.

8. Hail Mary, chapter 6: This was supposed to be a short chapter mostly about the backstory between Catra and Scorpia in this au, with some Catradora yearning thrown in. It evolved into a massive, sprawling thing that is very atmospheric in terms of how the setting and vibes are described and how in the moment it feels. Hail Mary is like that sometimes but that type of narration is usually about football games rather than parties, so this chapter was a fun change of pace in many ways. It was really nostaglic for me to write too, the nerves of being a teenager at a party with your crush and how intense everything feels. And the Scorptra stuff really is delicious, it was nice seeing them have that conversation they never got to have in canon and truly make up, and the tiny sliver I added of Catra’s earlier history was heartbreaking in the best way. So this was not what I intended to write, but it turned out way better for it.

7. A Better Son or Daughter (AMV): I’ve done other Adora AMVs, but this one is really my iconic piece. The song is perfect for Adora, so perfect it’s on Noelle’s Adora playlist. The vid itself is a character study about Adora’s mental health struggles and the way she represses them, as well as a tribute to her resiliency and her eventual triumph of getting to a better place in her life. This is a song that gives me a lot of feelings and once I was making it about Adora it gave me even more, so this was a very satisfying piece to complete. I wish Noelle had gotten a chance to see it but oh well, maybe down the line.

6. Hail Mary, chapter 12: This is the chapter that much of the fic had been building to, Catra and Adora in conflict because Catra finally got the chance to be Adora’s hero and Adora shot her down. It’s painfully analogous to canon, both in terms of how (I suspect) Catra felt in Thaymor and Adora’s tendency to victim blame because she’s so pragmatic. There’s definitely some tones of Taking Control in there but Lonnie does a much better job of examining Catra’s psychology and needs than Glimmer did in canon (a writing error imo, Glimmer should have had more insight). Adora just wants to help but sometimes in her quest to do so she disenfranchises others, and this was a much needed look at that aspect of her character. It’s also an excellent illustration of what it’s like to play a peacekeeping role in an abusive household and how stressful it is trying to protect others while also protecting yourself.

5. Unstoppable (AMV): This is not my favorite Catra AMV I’ve ever done, but it might be the cleverest. The soundtrack is a song about mental illness masquerading as a song about being a bad bitch, which is basically Catra in a nutshell. The lyrics are incredibly fitting for her and her arc as it develops over seasons 1-4. The vid itself takes a hard turn in the interpretation of the lyrics, going from talking about how no one can stop Catra to how she can’t stop herself because she’s in such a terrible sunk cost fallacy spiral, and I think I got several death threats over that twist lmao. As someone who primarily deals in angst, there’s hardly a better compliment to be paid.

4. Demons, chapter 31: This one got real dark on me. The concept of this chapter was originally an examination of how comparing abuse can get really dicey but you also have to respect that other people have had different experiences from you and you have to be careful not to equate things or make it sound like you’re talking over someone else. I guess it’s also a bit of a look at how autistic people (like myself) will often explain why they can empathize so others know they understand rather than saying empty platitudes, but that can come off as insensitive or like they’re making things about them. I mean, in this case Adora kinda was making things about her, but she was provoked into it by a parade of comments insinuating she didn’t suffer at all, which was also unfair. Anyway it’s one of the more important Catradora fights in Demons and something I’d written bits of over a year prior, it was that important to the plot, but it also took a turn I was not originally planning. I finished the chapter when I was in a really bad depressive and self-loathing spiral and that bled onto the page, but it worked perfectly for Catra in this scenario... that push and pull of feeling like the world has hurt and victimized you mixed with knowing you’ve done some bad things yourself and feeling like you don’t have a leg to stand on when mourning the ways you’ve been hurt. It’s intense as all fuck but it’s excellent.

3. Hail Mary, chapter 11: Speaking of dark Catra content, this chapter... whew. It was really something else, to read and to write. I have written flashbacks in Demons that are more detailed and even include explicit violence but because those scenes are always in flashback form I never really got the chance to sit in the head of an abuse victim waiting for the other shoe to drop for an entire chapter like I did here. It’s quite different from the rest of Hail Mary stylistically and is both highly sensory and extremely internalized. It took me back to some terrifying moments in my own life so it was difficult but also extremely cathartic to write. It’s important too because it really sets up where Catra was at mentally heading into her big fight with Adora, and that chapter is in Adora POV. This chapter is ranked so high simply because it’s... polished, as @malachi-walker put it. It almost is its own story within the story and really noteworthy as a piece all its own.

2. Demons, chapter 26: This chapter is very similar thematically to Hail Mary 12, just based in the canonverse. It deals with one of the core (but highly neglected by fandom) conflicts between Catra and Adora, where they both need to feel like they can take care of and protect the other but also detest feeling weak or vulnerable themselves. It leads to Adora’s ego making Catra feel disrespected and Catra’s behavior confusing Adora and making her think she’s an ungrateful brat rather than someone who needs so badly to be needed, just like her. There’s definitely some power struggles in this chapter but finally they’re able to get to the heart of it and seeing them talk it out is so satisfying. Getting this chapter published was also important to me on a personal level because, like I said, this aspect of their conflict and relationship is rarely acknowleged for how important it is when really it’s one of the deepest conflicts between them in the series. It’s a scene I started writing pretty much as soon I knew I was extending the fic into something longer because I just needed them to have this conversation, so finishing it was so satisfying.

1. Satisfaction, chapter 3: This chapter took me a really long time to write, both in terms of time to get it published and time I actually spent working on it. It’s the crown jewel of a fic that’s really important to me and I had to get it just right, so I spent more time agonizing over every detail and rewriting things to get them absolutely perfect than I usually do (I’m a perfectionist anyway, but this took it to a whole other level). But in the end it was worth it, because this chapter is damn fine. It’s really hot, as you’d expect from a smut fic, but it’s also an excellent character study of how both Catra and Adora were affected by their abuse and trauma and the issues it raises for them in terms of sex and intimacy. Also, come on, we need more BDSM fics out there that focus on the actual point of it all (the trust involved) and promote communication and do the character work to explain why they might be into it in the first place.

BONUS (from December 31, 2019): One of my favorite pieces of 2020 technically came out in 2019, but I posted it on New Years Eve so most people first saw it in 2020. It’s an absolute banger of an AMV called I’m Not Jesus that’s all about Catra and Adora’s anger towards Shadow Weaver and their refusal to forgive their abuser. Funny enough this came out before Adora’s iconic “I will never forgive you” line, and Shadow Weaver definitely made things more complicated with how she went out, but I think the sentiment still applies.

[a-bit-too-much-of-a-zelda-fan]

LinkedUniverse Fanfiction Ch. 17: Swords, Shields, Arrows

Stop! You’ve Violated the Law!

So, you’ve stumbled upon this original post for my Linked Universe fanfiction. That’s okay, it happens to everyone. As of March 2021, I’ve uploaded the entirety of this fanfic to my Archive of Our Own page. Along with finally giving the story a name–Oops! All Links: A Linked Universe Story–I made substantial edits to some of the chapters. These range from minor stylistic revisions to fixing a gaping plot hole that kinda completely broke the character conflict in the earlier chapters. I also renamed and renumbered (but not reordered) the chapters. Specifically, this is now Chapter 19: Please, Don't Scare the Customers

The AO3 iterations of these chapters are the definitive versions. So, if you would like to read this fanfiction, please do so on AO3, right here. With this embedded link. Hehe. Geddit? Link?

Note: My screen name on AO3 is FrancisDuFresne. Yes, that is me. I am not plagiarizing myself.

Anyway, for posterity’s sake, the rest of the original post is below the cut.

In this continuation of my @linkeduniverse fan narrative, Wild and Four go on their own errand to find weapons to replace the resident amnesiac's busted sword and unwieldy Stalfos shield.

Word Count: 1482

Twilight and Wind had already left Madame Viliafore’s shop by the time Four and Wild had located an armorer. The town of Selggog was even busier in the late morning than it had been the previous evening. The sights and smells bombarded the two young heroes. Wild glanced down at his companion. The Hero of the Four Sword had to walk more briskly to keep pace with him, on account of him being a good deal shorter.

Four had planned to help Wild pick out new weapons once they had found an armorer. That was the main reason Warriors sent the two together. The moment they’d entered the store, however, Wild gravitated toward the higher-end swords. He picked a sword, tossed it between his hands, twirled it, shook his head, and chose a different one.

Four looked at the shopkeeper as Wild repeated this routine. The burly man behind the counter eyed the young knight warily. Four guessed his customers didn’t often test his weapons inside the store, if at all. Wild slowed his motions. He grasped the hilt of the sword he had been swinging with both hands, lowering it from above his head. When his hands were at waist-height, he stood still a moment. He took a deep breath.

The shorter of the Links watched in anticipation. The taller released his left hand’s grip and picked up the sword’s scabbard, then fit the blade easily into its place. He looked at Four and nodded. He strode to the shields, grasped an iron heater shield about half his height, fitted it on his left arm, and shook it a few times. He shook his head and tried a few more.

Wild stared at one shield for a moment before tilting his head to one side. He suddenly took off at a jog toward the opposite wall. He jumped, threw the shield to the ground, landed on it, and skidded a meter before he hopped off again. The shopkeeper had had enough. “Hey!” he growled, crossing his arms. “This isn’t a soldier’s barracks, kid. You’re scaring my customers!”

The young hero picked up the shield and checked the face of it for scratches. Content to find none, he faced Four and nodded again. Then he cast a glance around the shop. The Links were the only customers to be seen. The two of them exchanged a quizzical look. Wild turned to the shopkeeper. “Sorry, sir,” he said, “I’ve found what I want.”

The Links strode to the counter. Four passed a shelf with bundles of ten arrows each. He grabbed all fifteen of them. They placed their selection before the shopkeeper. The man scrutinized them. “What are two kids like you going to do with a knight’s weapons and my entire stock of arrows?” he asked.

Four looked up and stared the man in the eyes. He knew he was only fifteen but still didn’t like being called a kid. “There are actually nine of us,” he explained with a very slight edge to his voice. “We’re travelling a long way. Between monsters and bandits, the roads are dangerous.”

A few seconds passed before the shopkeeper cracked a grin and let out a bout of hearty laughter. Before either Link could recover from his confusion, the man planted his palms on the counter and continued. “Hell, whatever you say. So long as you’ve got the rupees, you’ve got the weapons. Let’s see… two hundred for the sword, three hundred for the shield, and three-sixty for the arrows… that comes out to eight hundred sixty.”

The Links winced at the number. Four shot a glare at Wild. Wild shrugged. He didn’t want to show how embarrassed he was that they were dropping five hundred rupees just because he needed new weapons. Thinking back to his conversation with Sky and Hyrule the previous night, he decided to try haggling. The young knight imitated Hyrule and put a forearm on the counter. He looked the man in the eyes. “Four hundred,” he declared boldly. Four saw the mistake immediately and shook his head.

The shopkeeper laughed even harder than before. Wild’s half-baked cocky expression faded. “Oh, boy,” the man said when he calmed down, “I know what you’re trying here, kid. Word of advice, huh? Never insult someone by offering less than half the starting price.”

Wild gulped. “I… um…”

“Save your breath, I can tell you have no clue what you’re doing. Let’s say seven hundred and call it even.”

Eager to avoid any more awkwardness, Wild just nodded. Four opened his wallet and withdrew three silver rupees, four purple, seven red, nine blue, and fifteen green. After placing them on the counter, he looked back in his wallet to find it almost empty. He sighed then stuffed the arrows in his pouch. Wild grabbed his weapons and the young adventurers went to leave the store. Four shot off a quick “thank you” before the door closed behind them.

Wild quickly fastened his new sword and shield to his baldric. “Right,” he started, “now to the café.”

Four sighed again. “You’re lucky that guy’s well-humored. That could have gone really badly.”

“How was I supposed to know what to offer?”

They started walking. “I dunno, but definitely not less than half.”

Wild’s shoulders slumped. "The Captain is gonna be on my hide for weeks.”

Four gently nudged his partner’s hip. “Don’t worry about it, he’ll probably appreciate that you picked such quality weapons. I saw the way you tested each sword. Where’d you learn that?”

“Part of knighthood is being able to choose the equipment that will keep you and your wards safe.” Wild went silent a moment. He remembered how the Master Sword had nearly fallen apart from the abuse of the Calamity. “When I’m out in the wilds, I take what I can get. Give me a choice and I’ll take the best I can find.”

“You didn’t pick the most expensive ones, though,” Four pointed out.

“I didn’t like the most expensive ones. This one,” he tapped the pommel above his right shoulder, “was weighted and sized the best for me. I know my abilities and my limitations. I can kill with virtually anything you give me, Four. Still, my own skill only carries me so far. My gear needs to pick up the slack. As the knight sworn to protect the princess of Hyrule, I’m most valuable when I’m at my most lethal.”

Four had to give it to him, that was solid reasoning. When he himself had forged the Four Sword, he put care into every strike on red-hot metal. In a way, he viewed the sword more as a piece of art than an instrument of violence. Wild had a point, though: Before everything else, a sword is meant to kill. Still, something bothered Four about his partner’s phrasing.

“Wild, your value isn’t just in your ability to slay evil,” Four said, careful to avoid the word kill. Wild looked down to his companion. Four couldn’t identify his expression, so he continued: “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. You’re kind, caring, and humble to a fault. You had the weight of the world thrust on your shoulders, and nearly died protecting the princess. You lost your memory, but you still soldiered on and saved Hyrule. And you were able to wield the Master Sword, which is a testament to the purity of your soul.”

The shortest Link looked skyward and smiled. “Just look at all of us Links. We share a love for life and a sense of justice that drives us to protect the light. That’s what binds us, what summons us whenever Hyrule needs us most. I’d bet all four of my lives that we aren’t the only Links there have been or ever will be.”

A few seconds passed. Four glanced at Wild. The Hylian Champion seemed lost in thought, as if he were walking on autopilot. The young smithy had had to make sense of four fragmented personalities to achieve his full potential. He still couldn’t make sense of Wild sometimes. He figured, as the other Links had, that Wild came out of his adventure the most psychologically damaged of all of them—even more than Time.

Wild was shocked out of his reverie by a little girl shoving past him trying to chase her friends. The sights and sounds of Selggog rushed back to him. He stopped walking and shook his head to clear it. Four waited a few paces ahead. “Sorry, were you saying something?” Wild asked, still a little dazed.

Four walked back, reached up to put his hand on his friend’s shoulder, and smiled. “Not really, no. Let’s head back to the café and meet up with the others. They probably picked out some good food.”

“Yeah, sounds good. I’m down for a second breakfast.”

“Hah, you always are.”

[sandysmoved]

(Happy Valentine’s Day gay ppl Beffica is sad and I for one think if she fell in love with my OC maybe she wouldn’t be so sad LETS GO LESBIANS)

“Isn’t it SO sad that I call you Bestie?”

Saffi glared at her journal like a mean eye would make the words write themselves, chewing on the end of her pencil harshly. Then, she thought about how long it had been since she’d had more than sauce and foraged plants to eat, and hastily switched to nibbling on her candy necklace, lest she end up developing a taste for wood.

“Haha, I, like, barely know you.”

Behind her, Sprout continued to chant his muffled little babbling, running in circles on the cot like a cat getting ready to settle down. It would be adorable (oh hell, it WAS adorable), if it wasn’t just another distraction bouncing around in her head.

The notes. The maps. The tracks. A missing explorer, and her not-so-missing girlfriend. That thing standing on the cliffs, watching from the treeline. What did it all mean?

“And if I DID get to know you, you’d probably hate me for it.”

Okay Saffi. Deep breaths. You’re smart. You’re good at mysteries. Misplaced mascots aside. Keep it together.

Her pencil refused to cooperate though, continuing to idly shade strands of a violet ponytail in a graphite monochrome.

“Oh well, enjoy it while it lasts, Beffy.”

“UGH.”

Saffi slammed her head on the desk, the pounding in her brain drowning out the concerned chattering of the captive Strabby skittering around the floor.

“This sucks. This sucks so big.”

She wasn’t gonna get any work done like this. She could barely even sit still, her foot tapping out an idle tune (get up everybody, come on and do the wiggle with meee) as she slammed her journal shut. Saffi hummed around her pencil (god, she really WAS going to acquire a taste for it at this point) as she leaned back in her chair and pulled her hair back up into her scrunchie. It wasn’t too terribly late, only a half hour or so after sunset maybe. Surely someone in town would have a request, or maybe she could try hunting down that annoying Noodler for Floofty again. Nothing burned off manic energy like actually getting set on fire accidentally.

“Isn’t it SO sad that I call you Bestie?”

...no. That could wait. Saffi had something more important to do right now, and she had an idea how she was going to do it. She spun in her chair, kicking open the box under her cot, and slid off onto the floor to dig through its contents, tugging an old, worn album from underneath a tangle of useless stuff.

“Haha, I, like, barely know you.”

Well then. Time to fix that.

~*~

Beffica sighed, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her eyes as she idly traced lines in the dirt with a stick. This sucked. This sucked REALLY BIG, actually. It would probably suck a little smaller if she wasn’t sitting on a cold hard stone threshold, but like hell was she gonna join the others by the fire when Cromdo was over there, being all...loud. And old. And Cromdo. The squeeb. She probably would’ve gone and wandered idly around the huts, maybe looked at Wiggle’s records again, but she wasn’t in the mood to get yelled at if she came back early.

Or she could go up to the airship, but...no. After that...super uncool moment she’d let slip earlier, she wouldn’t be surprised if Saffi wasn’t too interested in hanging out. Hell, she’d rather go back to the stupid cave right now, than-

Grass crunched underfoot, and Beffica glanced up, blinking in surprise at the sunset orange grumpus standing at her door. Saffi glanced down at her, her expression...odd, in the flickering firelight across the way. Her fingers drummed a bit (nervously?) on the surface of the book she was holding, before they stilled, and she took a deep breath, blinking.

Beffica opened her mouth to say...well, she didn’t know, and she didn’t have the chance to know, because Saffi beat her to it.

“I know...I know it’s...scary.”

She paused, like she was trying to remember the meaning of the words her brain had shoved out prematurely, and for once, Beffica didn’t have a response. Instead, she sat up a bit straighter, watching Saffi find the thread to explain. Patience wasn’t exactly a virtue that came naturally to her. Maybe that’s why she had been so bad at her job, in the end. Maybe that’s why she’d been so bad at a lot of things. But for some reason, in this particular instance? She was willing to wait a lifetime to find out what Saffi had to say.

“It’s scary, being known. Letting yourself be known. And that’s okay! It’s okay to be afraid. But…”

Here it comes.

Beffica flinched without meaning too, and she hoped Saffi didn’t see it. She didn’t need to look any more pathetic than she already had earlier.

Did you enjoy it, Beffy? Was it fun while it lasted? Would you do better if you could do it all over again? Not like it matters, you can’t-

“But, if I’m your bestie…and I really, REALLY like being your bestie, for the record...then maybe...I think you should at least know me.”

Beffica froze, staring up at Saffi with eyes so wide she felt like they’d pop out and roll away. What? Pardon, what?

Saffi looked down at the book, cracking it open and tracing some of the dusty contents with her eyes, suddenly very aware of how known she was offering to be.

“If. If you want to,” she murmured, suddenly looking very, very small.

And Beffica still had no words. What could she say? What could she possibly say in response to something like this? She hadn’t rehearsed for this moment (and clearly, neither had Saffi), she’d never had any preparation for this. This wasn’t a tasty morsel of information hiding under someone’s bed, a secret to be uncovered hiding behind a tree in the middle of the night. This was knowledge offered. This was someone being vulnerable, and willingly. This was sharing.

With Beffica, of all grumps.

She didn’t know what to say.

So instead, she scooted over, patting the empty space next to her in the doorway, and Saffi’s doubts visibly melted from her posture like snow from a rooftop. She plopped down unceremoniously, cracking the old album open on her knee, and Beffica didn’t hesitate to lean in close to watch her fingers trace the page to tap an old photo. “See, that’s me when I was a toddler, I spent the summer with my grandparents, and-“

Beffica couldn’t tell what the sound that escaped her throat at the sight was; kinda groan and kinda laugh. “Oh my GRUMP, bestie, no offense, but who in the world let you leave the house with your hair chopped up like that?”

“I know, right? My grandmother, bless her cotton socks but that woman should NOT have been legally allowed with ten yards of kitchen scissors-“

Saffi launched into the story like it was the easiest thing in the world, like she was reading off the latest big scoop, instead of inviting someone she’d only known a few weeks into the treasure chest of her life. Every story was like that, every explanation for why her clothes were so oversized and mismatched, or who gave her that particular stuffed animal. And not once, not once did she try to prod Beffica to contribute her own anecdote, back her into a conversational corner that could only end in an unwanted revelation, or a total shutdown.

It was...nice. Comfortable. Listening to her talk. Getting to know Saffironica Snakattak (“Only my granny calls me that, though. Granny and Floofty. The rest of you should all call me Saffi.”) as more than just the bright-eyed journalist who fell out of the sky and started pulling everyone back together in her orbit.

And if Beffica leaned in a little more with each tale? For a closer look? To hear better? To rest her head against Saffi’s arm as the night grew chilly?

Who had to know?

[maggyoutthere]

It's funny how I'm actually putting effort on this. I'm putting actual effort on a shitpost.

Anyways I said I'd write a bad sonic creepypasta so here it is. Here's the catch: I like how its turning out so imma make it a 2-pary story. This is the first part. It doesn't have any scary shit but it has the basics for a shitty creepypasta: someone gets a old pirated/unreleased/defective game and tries them out despite getting warned that bad shit might happen.

Again I'm not a fluent English speaker so expect some grammar error and stuff like that ._.,

So ladies, gentlemen and non-bis, I present to you-

Sonic: Battle of Metal and Blood (Part 1)

Synopsis: Teen gets nostalgic mid-quarentine and starts playing old Sonic games. She asks for some cheat codes and shit happens.

So for context; I'm a 17 year old girl stuck home because of quarantine.

It had been 4 or 5 months since the virus sent everyone home. Students were playing Animal Crossing and DOOM all day to fill in the summer hours since no one could go outside. I never liked going to the beach so I was never really bothered by it.

Like many people, I found myself going back in time to easier phases of my life. I was rewatching old cartoon shows from my childhood, getting into MCR and P!ATD and just living in pure nostalgia. I also started getting into gaming again, even going to the point of setting up my Wii again just to play Epic Mickey, but I didn't exactly grow up with the Wii. I was more of a Playstation kid, so much that me and my bro got a Playstation 2 from our cousin when he eventually bought the 3rd one for himself.

My cousin was older than us; I remember him being 16 or 17 when I was like 12, so he was kind of our gaming hero. If there was a level in Crash Bandicoot we couldn't beat, we'd call my cousin and he'd do it in 15 minutes. He knew all the cheat codes, all the secret levels and extra content for the games he had; he was like a genius to me and my lil bro, so when he gave us his old Playstation 2 and games me and my sibling knew we were in for a treat.

We got this Sonic Gems Collection for the Playstation 2 from him. It's like a port of various older Sonic games like Sonic CD, Sonic The Fighters, Sonic R and so on. I grew up playing that game, especially Sonic The Fighters since I wasn't very good at the racing games.

I still had a working controller and a lot of free time so I asked my bro for help setting up the console. The thing was so dusty I was actually scared it wasn't going to work. We clicked the power button and the light on the console turned on. Me and my brother held our breaths as we put the DVD in the console and crossed our fingers. As the screen lit up with the SEGA logo and music started playing, I just hugged him and cheered. He set up the console in my room so I could play without having to go to his room (he was the one keeping all the electronic stuff) and told me to have fun.

I didn't even know where to start. There was so much I wanted to play now that I actually knew what I was doing. I thought about starting with my favourite one out of the bunch: Sonic CD. I'm a sucker for the retro 2D pixel games so that was a must. It was better than what I remembered; the music was so catchy and the art style was vibrant and it stood out from a lot of games nowadays that go for a washed out "hyper realistic" look.

As I kept playing, I eventually reached the level where Amy tags along with Sonic for a while before Metal Sonic bursts through a wall and kidnaps her. Oh yeah, Metal Sonic was a thing. I remembered him from Sonic R and Sonic The Fighters - and the fact he was in the fucking cover art of the DVD case. I absolutely loved the fucker in the games though. He had a cool design, and the idea of the villain being a copy of the hero gone wrong was so interesting to me at the time.

I ended up passing the level and even making it to Stardust Speedway. I was sweating since I'd never come this far at any game. My bro was there cheering me as I tried not falling on spikes or getting hit by Metal Sonic's attacks. I ended up making it till the end on top, but it was kinda sad seeing Metal crash face-first against the door like that.

I was done with that for a while, so I went ahead and played Sonic R and Sonic The Fighters for nostalgia. Again, the fucker was there, either as a boss or as an unlockable character. I ended up noticing how there were a bunch of games missing. There were empty grayed slots with question marks instead of the game titles. I couldn't understand if the game was broken or if there was something I was supposed to do, so I called my cousin in hope he would somewhat tell me what to do. He ended up explaining how the game made you complete all the other games to unlock new ones. I thought that was kinda stupid so I asked him if he had any cheat codes or something to make the whole thing available. He told me he was going to dig up his old stuff and ring me again if he found anything.

A few hours later, he sent me a message telling me he'd found something that should work. He told me he did have a cheat code but he thought it was best if I didn't do it. Here's the transcript from his message.

"There's something that might work but it's kinda weird. I got this memory card from a friend of mine and he said this should unlock all the hidden contents within the disc, but when I tried it some weird shit started happening. Most of the sonic games were unplayable no matter how many times I restarted the console or cleaned the disc. There should be an extra game slot but that's just a glitch. Something about the system trying to make up storage for the extra code. Just don't click on anything that looks like a glitch and you should be golden"

Well that was a bit discouraging, but we agreed to meet that afternoon so he could give me the memory card.

When I got home and plugged the cartridge into the slot on the console, I was kinda scared. What if the thing exploded or something? I gave it a try and the thing actually worked! As I clicked on the games section, everything was there! There were some vectorman games but I didn't know who that was at the time so I didn't really care about them. What I was more interested in was the museum. There were a bunch of unlockable promotional art and illustrations there that I never got to see as a kid, so you could imagine how joyful I was when I saw the museum section filled with pages upon pages of illustrations and renderings of the games. Some of them weren't even on the Gems Collection like some screenshots of Sonic Heroes.

I went back on the game menu and was surprised to see another game entry below all the vectorman ones. It was called "Sonic: Battle of Metal and Blood". What the hell was this? It surely wasn't in the cover art and a quick google search turned up nothing. Was it a glitch? It couldn't be; it looked too clean and intentionally made to be a glitch, not to mention that whole game titles don't just appear out of thin air. Game or not, something was programmed in there. I concluded it was probably someone's fan project that was in the memory card my cousin gave me. Why hadn't he mentioned it though?

I was too curious to turn down a mystery like this one, so I got up first to make a cup of coffee since it was already getting late. As I returned from the kitchen, I remembered to look at the synopsis of the game. I can't remember exactly what it said but it was something along the lines of:

"In this sequel to the famous Sonic CD, step in the shoes of Sonic's friends as they face their biggest challenge yet. Control Amy Rose and Miles "Tails" Prower and fight against the metallic faker himself, Metal Sonic, and stop him before he puts his plan to become the only Sonic in action"

Woah, that sounded exciting; I wasted no time. I got all cozy, kept my cup of coffee next to me

And pressed START.

To be continued in part 2

[lover-of-skellies]

Door 3

You swallowed back your feelings of uncertainty, carefully approaching the door that had gained your attention. You knocked, then waited for a response, only to receive none. As bad as you felt for invading the riders' privacy like this, your curiosity propelled you forward anyway, and soon enough, you found your hand grasping the knob. Giving a gentle twist and nudging the door open just enough to peek inside, you called out, announcing your presence and asking for permission to come in. Once again though, there was none.

Your shoulders sank a bit in defeat and you furrowed your brows; you'd come all this way, your curiosity and determination to get to know each of the riders driving you. Chewing on your bottom lip, you silently contemplated your options for a moment, deciding against simply walking away. You were going to enter anyway, and you were going to look around. As long as you weren't digging through the dresser or rifling through papers, you'd be forgiven... right?

[You selected: Door 3]

Now entering: Pestilence's room

~~~

Carefully pushing the door open and inviting yourself inside, you paused to flick on the overhead light before nudging the door shut behind yourself again. Glancing around the room, you arched a brow, taking in your new surroundings; the bed, as you'd been expecting, wasn't made. The sheets and blankets were pushed down toward the end of the bed and bunched up, and the small stack of pillows even laid carelessly strewn about.

Approaching the bed, your eyes settled on a small picture frame that occupied the bedside table. Delicately picking the item up, you furrowed your brows and frowned; in the photo was a set of brothers. One was tall and lanky, sporting a brilliant crimson scarf and a bright smile, while the other was short and appeared to be a bit rounder. He was clad in a pair of untied tennis shoes, basketball shorts, and a baggy hoodie, all worn beneath a long, oversized lab coat. A pair of large and thin glasses with circular frames were taped onto his skull and his grin was more lazy, almost making him appear tired.

The top drawer of his bedside table was open the smallest bit, and gripped by curiosity, you set down the picture of the brothers in favor of tugging open the drawer. Neatly folded and tucked inside was a bundle of red fabric, which was nearly identical to the shade of the taller brother's scarf that you'd seen in the photo. Reaching out, you gently traced your fingers over it, taking in how soft it felt. As you pulled your hand away, however, you became aware of the dust that now clung to your skin. Knowing the significance of dust, your eyes widened and you hurriedly pushed the drawer shut, attempting to brush the dust off of your hand.

Feeling satisfied after a moment and taking a few seconds to calm yourself, you let out a deep breath, glancing around the room again. Clothes had been scattered across his floor, and you were unsure if they were supposed to be clean or dirty. Not wanting to touch the potentially dirty clothes, you stepped around them, crossing the room to look at some books that lined a shelf.

The books were sparse and some laid on their sides, but from the looks of it, they were mostly joke books, books on a variety of science stuff, and books filled with puzzles and word games. You didn't take Pestilence as the type who liked reading, so finding a collection of books in his room was a bit of a surprise.

On the floor next to the bookshelf was a chest, and you tilted your head, squatting and leaning closer to get a better look at it. There was a series of locks lining the front, meaning you wouldn't be able to see what it contained. Damnit. The curiosity would eat you alive, and you already knew it.

Standing again, you approached the rider's desk. A small lamp occupied the corner, and a decent amount of papers, pencils, and pens laid scattered across the surface. A ruler and eraser also laid atop the desk, over top the corners of what looked like a blueprint for some sort of device. Your eyebrows became knit in confusion; just what was the device? What was it supposed to do?

On an attached shelf was a thick, heavy looking book. Humming softly, you gingerly lifted it, lying it on the desk and flipping to a random page, finding numerous pictures filling plastic sleeves. The first one to catch your attention was of a skeleton in thick, bulky sunglasses. He wore a large, goofy grin, showing off a single gold tooth while his arm was around the shoulders of a rather... irritated water elemental. On the next page was a photo of a purple clad skeleton with heart shaped eye lights, his arms around another skeleton who was covered in errors and glitches, a scowl fixed on his face. You flipped several pages ahead, stopping as a picture of a pair of humans appeared.

There was a girl with medium length, bright blue hair. Her wide grey eyes were lined with dark makeup and her rather pale face was flushed pink as a boy standing beside her pressed a kiss to her cheek. The boy had a tanned complexion, his face also flushed. A pair of large, square glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, and his eyes were squeezed tightly shut, messy dark hair curling in every direction atop his head. They were cute together, but you weren't sure you knew who they were.

A rat scurried past you and squeaked, and you jumped, your entire body jolting in surprise. Processing that it was only a rat, you let out a deep sigh, trying to calm your racing your. It was just a rat. Nothing to be worried about. It's not like Pest was back already-

From behind you, someone cleared their throat, and you mentally cursed at yourself. Slowly withdrawing your hand from the photo album, you reluctantly turned to face its owner, who stared at you with a raised brow bone and a hand on his hip. He tilted his head, his tone completely even and calm, "So. Is there any particular reason why you're in my room, going through my old pictures?"

You began attempting to explain what was going on, telling the skeleton that you'd come here because you were curious about him and only wanted to learn about him more. That you'd come such a long way and didn't think you could simply leave when you found the room empty.

His gaze was locked on you as he slowly nodded, processing what he'd been told, "So let me get this straight... You let yourself in and started rifling through my stuff, because you wanted to get to know me better?" Fully aware of how bad that sounded, you made a sound of confirmation, practically radiating guilt as you admitted that you should've just gone away and come back some other time. He hummed in agreement, "Yeah, you should've. It's awfully rude of you to go invading people's privacy like this. Makes me almost kinda wanna go to your house and go through everything in your room, just so you can see how uncool it is."

You hung your head in shame, silent for a moment before you all but hurled yourself in his direction, wrapping your arms around him. Pulling him into a tight hug, you began to apologize profusely, and working past his momentary shock, he sighed, awkwardly returning the hug and patting your back, "Hey, hey, dude, cut it out. I don't appreciate the invasion of privacy, but I'm not gonna strike you dead or anything. Just... this is a warning, I guess. All I ask is that you don't do this again."

You agreed not to let yourself into his room again without permission and he pulled away from the hug, reaching up into his other sleeve to dig into a pouch, withdrawing a vial of the antidote to his touch. He offered it to you and you eagerly accepted it, quickly uncapping the vial and gulping down the bittersweet contents. Returning the empty vial, you thanked him, and then turned to begin walking toward the door.

You briefly paused, your hand curling around the knob as you turned to glance at him, saying your goodbyes. Having already removed his sash and belt, he tugged his hoodie off, a bulky, beaded necklace around his neck. In its design, you wondered if the necklace was made by a child. Pestilence made a soft sound of acknowledgement, returning the goodbyes.

Tugging the door open and exiting the room, you gently shut the door behind yourself. You hadn't expected him to show up so suddenly, and when he had, you thought he would've infected you on the spot as punishment of some sort. The fact that he kept his distance and then even gave you an antidote was mildly surprising, and you made a mental note to thank him again later.

[gumnut-logic]

Not So Alone (repost)

This is a shameless repost because I haven’t written a thing today. So I poked around in my archive and found some fluff. I chose Alan fluff cos that is what I’ve read a bit of today :D I think this may have been one of the first times I wrote Alan’s POV. I know I remember being a touch terrified :D

Apologies to those who have already read it, I’ll try to write some new stuff tomorrow ::hugs:: My brain has just been mush today :(

-o-o-o-

Title: Not So Alone Author: Gumnut 21 Jun 2019 Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS Rating: Teen Summary: Alone time is sometimes better shared. Word count: 1767 Spoilers & warnings: None. Timeline: Standalone Author’s note: This is for @ak47stylegirl​ who wrote me the first part of this little fic, Alone Time, which can be found on her profile on Ao3. She wrote Virgil, so I stepped out of my comfort zone a little and wrote her some Alan to keep her Virgil company :D I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it :D Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-   

Alan was bored.

It wasn’t often that he found himself with a lack of things to do. Life was generally busy with Thunderbird maintenance, rescues and backup duties.

Of course, he could always kill some zombies, but he was feeling restless. Gordon was off the island with Grandma so that didn’t help. Scott was buried in paperwork and John was still hiding on Five. Virgil had disappeared.

Wandering out onto the balcony, Alan eyed the pool a moment before throwing the idea out. Without Gordon it wouldn’t be anywhere near as much fun.

Maybe he could go for a walk. Scott had been nagging him to get into a more regular exercise routine and, hey, he hadn’t seen the other side of the island for a while.

Darting up to his rooms, he threw on some loose clothes, decent shoes and a hat. A quick note to John to say where he was going and he was out the back door and crunching gravel up the side of the mountain.

While he had no objection to the great outdoors, Alan had no particular preference for sun, surf or bush walking. Not that he didn’t love a splash in the ocean with his brother, or even a jog around the island with Scott, it was just that many of his interests lay in the confines of the virtual world.

Or space.

Part of him didn’t want to admit he was like Johnny, but he was in many ways, but where John adored seclusion, Alan loved people. Basically, Alan was happy doing pretty much anything as long as it was with someone, preferably someone he loved.

So, he would really be lying if he said he took his route at random. It wasn’t a conscious decision, more just what he knew was going to happen regardless.

Virgil had some favourite places on the island to sit and just be. Alan didn’t quite get it any more than he got John’s love of solitude, but he knew his brother liked it and he stored the information for when it was needed.

Today Alan wanted company, so he used the information he had at hand.

Clambering around on the rocky island was not for the faint-hearted. There was no doubt that he was getting a good workout just by going for a simple walk. His first stop was a small cliff beyond Thunderbird Two’s runway. It was Virgil’s favourite, just on the other side of the mountain. He could often be found here just staring out into the ocean thinking who knew what. The scene had been painted, scribbled and, in one case, mosaicked onto a table. This was definitely Virgil’s favourite place.

He wasn’t there.

But Alan still had his list.

Two more Virgil spots proved empty and Alan had managed to work up quite a sweat. He was beginning to wonder why he was even bothering when he caught sight of a figure almost completely hidden in a grove of palm trees.

Virgil sat on a rock, his sketchpad on his lap, completely absorbed in his art. He was up a cliff overlooking a good chunk of the island, the twin peak at an angle even Alan could appreciate.

Alan eyed the climb and with a deep breath began the trek to reach his brother. He kept quiet. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb him. That would be a good way to get his head ripped off. But if he approached from just the right angle, he should be able to see what Virgil was actually drawing.

It took actual rock climbing in a couple of places, but Alan eventually found himself situated behind his brother on top of the cliff, and as expected the view was breathtaking.

It was late afternoon and the entire side of the island was lit up by the sun. Gulls were wheeling in the air above the forested slopes, catching rising air. Far below, raw Pacific collided with the rocky shore in places and wrangled with reefs in others.

Virgil had certainly found a spot.

Quietly Alan made his way closer to his brother. Virgil drew on, showing no sign of knowing Alan was there. The cliff was a slope that had Alan descending towards his brother. Virgil was facing away towards the scenery, slightly hunched as he drew. Because of that slope, Alan was actually able to see his brother’s hand, this time his right, sketching pencil lines on the paper.

For a moment Alan was content to simply watch, but if he was honest with himself, he hadn’t come all this way just to spy on his brother.

“You do know it is rude to stare.”

Virgil’s voice was always soft yet possessed a strength that could be startling. Alan stiffened, annoyed at being caught so easily.

“What? Do you honestly think all that rock clambering would go unnoticed?”

“Dunno.”

His brother had yet to look up at him, simply continuing to sketch as he spoke. You gonna come and sit down?” Virgil held up a hand. “Just be very quiet, I don’t want you to disturb them.”

Alan frowned. “Who?”

But that hand didn’t answer, just beckoned him over.

Alan did what he was told and found himself sitting on that rock beside his older brother.

Virgil was scratching lines furiously onto the page, but the subject wasn’t what he expected. All that beautiful scenery and Virgil was drawing a haphazard pile of sticks?

Whispered. “They’re sea eagles. I’ve never been so close.”

Alan’s eyes darted from the sketchpad to a slither of rock a stone’s throw away from the edge of the cliff. The pinnacle stood alone and defied gravity almost to the point of disbelief. On its very top sat a huge nest. From this angle he could see the two chicks waiting for their parents to return.

Breathed out quiet. “Cool.”

Virgil was sketching madly and under his practised hand, one of the chicks slowly came to life. Simple line instinctively placed, shaded and shaped. It was a little mesmerising.

Alan, of course, had watched Virgil draw before. Amongst all the other things. His brother was usually fiddling with something. He had to have something in his hands, whether it was a pencil or paintbrush, piano or Thunderbird, Virgil tended to always have something playing between his fingers.

When Alan was little there had been many a Kansas winter night snuggled up by the fire, curled up beside his brother watching him draw. Sometimes he would dare him to draw outrageous things like Pedro the Peanut-Killing Pickle. There had been odd stories and scribbled down comics. Alan had even tried his hand under a little encouragement from his brother, but he didn’t have the enthusiasm that Virgil had for the art.

Besides, Alan was quite happy to just sit and watch. Rare quiet moments shared with his artistic brother.

They had been getting rarer and rarer.

“Can I sit with you, Virg?”

A brown eye with an arched eyebrow peered at him. “You’re already sitting.” The curve of a smile. “But sure. Just be quiet and don’t make any sudden moves.”

Respectfully whispered. “Okay.”

So, they sat for an unknown length of time. Virgil drew the second chick, and as one of the parent birds landed with the evening meal, its strong wings, talons and beak appeared on the page. Alan watched as the pencil lines grew darker, surer. Virgil switched pencils and they grew darker still, the birds emerging out of the page into three dimensions.

Down below the two chicks guzzled food from their parent.

A loud, awkward screech from above and another eagle was circling overhead, likely the other parent.

In the corner of the page, the bird quickly appeared, wings spread wide, soaring.

The quiet was amazing. Alan wasn’t one to sit still for any length of time, so perhaps he was missing the obvious, but the sound of Virgil’s pencil, the tease of the breeze and the call of the eagle above had only to compete with the waves far below and the rustle of the scrappy forest.

And a pair of squawking, complaining eagle babies.

Gordon would probably have loved this. His fish brother loved the sea, but he loved all the creatures contained in it even more. Despite this preference for water breathers, if you shoved a puppy or a panda in front of him, the man melted into a gooey puddle. Eagle babies would definitely be on the goo list.

“This is nice, Allie.”

“What?”

“Bit like old times, you sitting and watching me draw.”

Alan shrugged. “I’ve always liked to watch you draw. Guess we haven’t had as much time lately.”

The pencil paused. “Yeah.” His brother turned to look at him. “Well, it is good to see you out here. Nice to have your company.” A gentle smile.

“Anytime, bro. Kinda nice out here anyway.”

That smile grew a little before softening. “Well, unfortunately we have to head back now.”

“What?”

“I’ve got to pick up Gordon and Grandma.”

Alan checked his watch. Where the hell had the time gone? He’d been out here…three hours! “Wow, didn’t expect it to be so late.”

Virgil didn’t comment, just smiled a little more as he packed up his sketchbook and pencils.

Alan stood up and stared out across the ocean. A flicker on the surface of the water and he caught sight of a pod of dolphins frolicking in the swell. He stared.

“It’s amazing what you can see if you stop and look.” His brother’s soft voice so close to him made him jump.

“Virg, personal space.”

His brother snorted and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “I don’t think such a thing exists on this island.” That smile again. “Probably why John hides on Five.”

Alan grinned. “You’ve got a point.” And despite his earlier protest, he dropped his head against Virgil’s shoulder and for just a few more moments, they both tracked the dolphins as the cavorted past the Island.

“Can we do this again?”

“Sure.” Virgil slung his pack over his shoulder.

“Great.”

Silence fell, and they stood there a moment longer until Virgil squeezed a little and let go. “C’mon, sprout, time to clamber down the mountain.”

Virgil took the first few steps and Alan followed, throwing one last glance back at the nest now full of the entire family of sea eagles. A sharp beaked head turned in his direction and glared at him.

Alan couldn’t help but smile at the bird before he hurried after his brother.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[afni-fics]

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 11: Bleak Falls Barrow - Interior (part 2)

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 11: Bleak Falls Barrow - Interior (part 2) by C_R_Scott Chapters: 11/? Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Red Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Tim Drake, Lucien Flavius Additional Tags: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Skyrim/DCU crossover, Reluctant Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Not Beta Read Summary:

Deeper into the Bleak Falls Barrow goes Tim and Lucien.

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

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

As Tim led the way further into the depths of Bleak Falls Barrow, his mind began to wander as he examined the ruins and artifacts he found with Lucien. 

"I wonder what my parents would have thought of exploring a place like this," he thought to himself as he picked up a book from a nearby table and swept a thick layer of dust from the cover. Idly, but carefully, he opened the book and turned a few pages before closing it again and offering it to Lucien. The scholar cooed over it with delight and began rambling about the tome's age, history, and how well preserved it was. 

Tim smiled sadly as his inner thoughts lingered on his memories of his biological mother and father, Janet and Jack Drake. "Mom and Dad always seemed happier when they were on archeological digs than they ever were at home in Gotham." The young man moved on a little further down the hall, zeroing in on some new carvings that were hidden behind a curtain of spider webs. "Even with the bandits and the death traps, this has been interesting and kinda fun. I wonder... If I could've spent time with them on digs like this... Could we have been a better family?"

His thoughts were interrupted when a new voice echoed from deeper down the hall. 

"Is... is someone coming? Is that you Harknir? Bjorn? Soling?"

"Did you hear that?" Lucien asked as he put the book into his backpack.

Tim nodded as he nocked another arrow to his bow and began to follow the sound of the new voice down the hall. Once he got to the end of the hall, the serious expression on his face deepened. 

"Well, shit..."

Lucien nodded in agreement. "I suppose the ancient Nords who built that trap earlier had to get their spider venom from somewhere."

The entrance into the next large room was covered in curtains of spider webs from floor to ceiling. As Tim tried to peer deeper into the room beyond the curtains, while he couldn't see any giant Frostbite Spiders, he could see lots of web covered skeever and human sized victims littering the walls and floors along with lots of large round pods that Tim reasoned looked like giant spider egg-sacs. He felt a shiver race up his spine.

"Spiders... Why is it always spiders?"

He turned to Lucien and told him to wait there while he went to investigate. Cautiously, Tim crept into the room, cutting a small piece of webbing so he could try to slip in without alerting the creator of the web.

Unfortunately, even those small precise movements were not enough to go completely undetected. Tim froze in the shadow of a nearby pillar as a gigantic Frostbite Spider lowered itself ominously from the ceiling by a single slender web. The beast was far larger than what he'd experienced in the caves beneath Helgen. The body of the spider was easily comparable to that of a large horse, and the addition of the eight long spiny legs seemed to double, even triple its visual volume and height as it moved about the room, looking for the intruder upon its nest.

Fortunately for Tim, it was about that time that owner of the voice who's led him here started screaming bloody murder and getting the spider's attention.

"Hey you! You've got to get me outta here!" an elf trapped in a wall of webbing shouted at the top of his lungs. "Kill the damned thing before it eats us both!"

As soon as the spider turned its full attention to the elf, Tim immediately pulled the arrow back and let it fly at the spider's now exposed abdomen. Though the arachnid was clearly armored with a thick exoskeleton, from the back Tim's arrow was able to slip between the layers of the abdominal plates.

The spider gave off a horrible screech and raised up on six of its legs as it spun around to turn its full attention on Tim.  However, it got another arrow in one of the fleshy parts of its mandibles before Tim dashed off to the side. Tim knew he needed to keep his distance from the spider if he was to have any chance of killing the beast.

Suddenly, he stumbled and hit the floor hard on his left side. Tim bit back a cry as pain raced up his burned left arm. A quick look at his feet revealed a fresh glob of sticky webbing that effectively glued him in place as the wounded spider stalked toward him. Tim struggled to free himself, but it was no use! The webbing was too sticky and stretchy. He'd never free himself in time.

The spider was practically on top of him now, rising up and exposing its fangs when out of nowhere a stream of icy shards slammed against the spider from the back. The spider rose up again in pain and screeched. The momentary distraction was what Tim needed. Quickly, he pulled out one of his daggers with his good right arm and lunged upward, stabbing it into the spider's exposed sternum, burying the blade into the creature up to its hilt.

Screeching, the spider scrambled backward both away from Tim and the the constant shower of icy shards. But it was too late for it. Within moments, the giant beast fell down dead to the Barrow floor.

Tim stared at the dead spider as he struggled to catch his breath and calm his racing heart. 

"That was too close."

Tim moved his gaze and looked at Lucien. His eyes were drawn to the scholar's hands, which were covered in a sheen of frost. "That ice... was you?"

Lucien nodded as he rubbed his hands together and breathed into them to warm them. "I told you I knew a few spells. Unfortunately, I haven't had much practice using them in actual combat." As of to explain further, Lucien aimed a hand at the spider corpse and seemed to try and fire another blast of cold at it. However, whatever spell he was trying to cast seemed to sputter out at his fingertips. Lucien winced, as if he had a headache. "I'm really quite useless as a mage." Then he reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a vial of blue liquid.

"You saved my life," Tim said as he pulled out his second dagger and used it to cut away the webbing at his feet. "I wouldn't call that useless." Tim tilted his head at the liquid Lucien was now drinking. "What's that?"

Lucien paused. "You don't know what a mana potion is?"

Tim suddenly became more focused on the blade as he freed his feet. "I'm guess it's a mage thing?"

"Yes," Lucien said tentative. "I forget you have no experience with magic. It helps me regenerate the energy I use to cast spells more quickly. Kind of like healing potions, but for mages. Speaking of which," Lucien pulled out another vial, this time filled with a now familiar red liquid. "Do you need this?"

Tim almost said no. However, as he rose to his feet, he felt a sharp pain shoot through his left elbow straight up to his shoulder. With a murmur of thanks, Tim took the vial and drank its contents as Lucien went forward to speak with the trapped elf in the webs. It was still a strange sensation to him, feeling the healing liquid work its magic to mend his injuries....

Or at least attempt to mend them. 

While the pain had been dulled, there was still a deep ache in the muscles of his upper arm. Tim tested his left hand grip on the blade of the dagger he tried to retrieve from dead spider. With a grimace and a sense of trepidation, Tim noticed that he just didn't have the strength to pull the dagger free, not without a solid spike of pain that forced him to release the blade before he could hurt himself further. Then he switched his hand and found he could easily remove the dagger with his right.

"Hey! Get back here!" 

Tim turned to Lucien, who now stood before an empty doorway where the trapped elf once hung. 

"What happened?" Tim asked as he sheathed his dagger and picked up his bow.

"That Bosmer bandit ran off!" Lucien said in an offended tone. "Apparently he's got some artifact that's a key to the secrets of this Barrow. Something about a claw and a door in a place called the 'Hall of Stories'. He said he'd show us what it all meant if I cut him down."

"So you cut him down."

"So, like an idiot, I cut him down, and he took off almost as soon as his feet hit the ground." 

Tim smiled reassuringly at Lucien and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry... We'll catch up to--"

Suddenly, they heard a blood curdling scream reverberate through the halls from the direction the elven bandit had run. 

"I think something has already caught up to him," Lucien remarked uneasily...

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

Warning: This is being pantsed more than plotted, and this is not beta read. We'll see where this journey takes us. Mostly I'm just doing this for my own amusement.

Note1: If you have any questions about the playthrough and Tim's feelings/experiences that aren't described in the chapters, please ask me in the comments. I'll do my best to answer your questions as best I can.

Note2: Part 2 of Tim and Luci's trek into the Barrow. Here they have their run in with the giant Frostbite Spider and "Arvel the Swift". In the first screenshot you notice the book is glowing. This is from a mod called Unread Books Glow SSE (https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/20679). This is a brilliant mod because any books you haven't read yet glow, and the color changes depending on if they're quest books, skill books, spell books, or just books for character/clutter/something interesting to read. It's an extremely useful mod for any playthrough of Skyrim!

#elder scrolls dc#fanfiction#tim drake#skyrim fanfiction#batfam fanfic#red robin#batfam#crossover#lucien flavius#wip#afewnovelideas

[eirabach]

Interregnum

1 : the time during which a throne is vacant between two successive reigns or regimes. 2 : a period during which the normal functions of government or control are suspended.

This one is for @gumnut-logic‘s final(?) Sensory Sunday challenge “Sixth Sense” AND it’s canon to Savages (a missing scene between chapters five and six, so, chapter 5.5). I’d say you don’t have to know what’s going on to enjoy, but it would probably help? Otherwise just have at some sad kids being starcrossed in a liminal space. Love you all.

The thing about is knowing, is that it’s an art.

Not like music or painting, not a portrait of a lady or a soft serenade, no, nothing so simple nor so easy as that. 

A man can be taught to draw, a child trained to sing, a woman can write ream after ream of nonsense, fill pages with dreams and desires until her fingers bleed and her heart falls into the page an empty husk, her life's work a thing to cast out on the wind. 

Knowing is different. 

Knowing is being four years old, and a man coming to your door in the dead of night.

It had been the door of the manor, not the door to her room, but it was her door even then. Her mother had been long gone, her father already hardly more than a ghost, and she, the Lady of the house, had tucked herself away on the grand staircase, watching as the dirty faced man in the torn jacket had spluttered in a language she didn't understand, a sack of tools at his feet, a crowbar held tight in his grubby fists. The stranger hadn't seen the narrowing of round blue eyes as he'd concentrated on the lock to her father's study. 

He hadn't known, but she had.

She'd known her father would come, known the butler would drag the stranger from her sight, and Nanny would carry her away. 

She'd already known what would happen when her father called her down that morning, that he’d tell her, "This is Parker, he's a friend."

The man had smiled at her then through newly broken teeth, and Penelope had nodded, sure and certain, because she is, was, will always be, because knowing is something you're born with. It's a prickle up your spine. The skipped beat. A hum that no one else hears, and Penelope has always known. Good or evil, friend or foe, love or hate. Always. It’s what makes her so very good at her job, so perfect a hostess, so subtle an interrogator. That well honed ability to look a man in the eye, just once, and be utterly and entirely certain of the content of his soul, and it has never failed her, not once.

Until now.

Now the only thing she knows is that she absolutely cannot be seen to cry. Far too unseemly. Weak. Pathetic. The paparazzi smother her as she leaves the hotel, buzzing like mosquitoes as Parker opens the door and she offers them a media smile -- sweet, coquettish, slight -- that she has no idea if she actually achieves.

"Lady Penelope! Lady Penelope do you have any comment on Jeff Tracy's return? Do you --"

The door slams closed, a sign of Parker's wavering restraint, and cuts the reporter off.

Does she have any comment? Not one fit for publication in a family paper that's for sure.

Family, and just the thought sticks in her throat, makes her chest ache and her eyes burn, because God, but she’d thought she’d known that at least. Pitiful, silly girl. 

"Milady?" Parker's gentle, because he knows her, and she must look frightful all flustered and wet eyed because when he looks in the mirror she sees the way his brows draw low in concern. "Where to?"

And she doesn't know that, either. Doesn't have a clue, only, "Anywhere, Parker. Anywhere but here."

---

Gordon loves his father.

Loves him with a fierceness that pounds through his veins, that thunders his name in time with the rhythmic smack of the duffle against his spine, the thud of feet against asphalt.

Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad.

He loves him so much that he hates him.

He hates the way he's so sure, so certain of every damn thing all the goddamn time, and hadn't Gordon been sure? Hadn't Gordon been certain? And then he'd died and then he hadn't --

Two hundred yards ahead of him FAB One merges into New York City traffic, just a pink blur lit by camera flashes with a pull on his heart so hard he feels like it might be torn in two.

Might.

Two just seems kinda restrained, kinda delicate, compared to the crushing, sickening feeling behind his breastbone. Seems like something that might be fixed, somehow, stitched back together when all Gordon's doing is falling apart.

Falling apart and catching the damn car.

Scott's the runner in the family, old skinny legs can eat up the miles like Alan gobbles brownies, but Gordon's no slowcoach. The traffic's on his side, keeping Parker at a crawl, but the pack of salivating paparazzi aren't. They crowd between him and his goal, dark shades and darker grins sharp as shark teeth as he struggles his way through.

"Is that --?"

"Yeah! The one with the rocket?"

"Nah man, the other one, the swimmer."

"What the hell is he --"

He doesn't hang about for the end of that one -- wouldn't know the answer if he did -- instead he barrels through the chattering crowd and launches himself at the back of the car.

He realises, half a second too late, that Parker has ways of dealing with people who are stupid enough to stay on FAB One's tail.

"Aw shit."

---

“What in the blazes?”

She has her compact open, drafting the letter that she absolutely must send to Colonel Casey but has no idea how to write, and the jolt as something slams into the rear of the car sends it skittering to the ground at her feet, the screen cracking as it bounces off the console.

“Parker?”

“Already on it, Milady,” her erstwhile Chauffeur states grimly, his hand moving toward FAB One’s defences as she twists her body round to try and get a better look at whoever has been foolish enough to ram them.

“Oh my -- Parker don’t!”

But it’s too late. She catches a last glimpse of tow-headed blond as thick, dark oil arcs out, and then she’s launching herself at the door of the still-moving car, Parker’s squarks of displeasure blending into the furious clattering of two dozen paparazzos all throwing their cameras up at once.

Gordon lies amongst them, just two huge brown eyes in the pool of filth she’s left in her wake, and, lord above, if that isn’t a thought she doesn’t want to examine too closely.

“Gentlemen,” she says it like she was taught to, like she means it, like she wants all those cameras to turn on her and this time, only this time, she actually does. “Please, do excuse us. Darling?”

It’s a considered choice, the pet name. Chosen because she knows the ways their minds work, can already see the cogs turn into credits in their eyes, already read her name in the headlines, not his. Gordon blinks up at her, perfectly forgotten, and she lets her next smile reach her eyes. 

“Get in.”

---

She feels Parker’s shudder, FAB One shaking under the force of it as Gordon slips and squelches his way into the backseat. He leaves perfect dark hand prints on the cream leatherwork and drips, morosely, onto the merino wool carpets.

“Milady --” 

She cuts him off with a sharp tsk, her own hands coming away hopelessly filthy as she wipes her thumbs across too-damp cheeks where oil and something else have mixed into a horrid black paste. Gordon says nothing, only leans into her touch before backing away, skittish, at Parker’s groan.

“Ignore him,” she assures him, “It’s entirely his own fault.”

Parker makes another, ruder, sound, but neither of them pay much mind. Gordon’s breathing heavily, heavier than he ought to be after such a short sprint, and she finds herself patting at his shoulders, his sides, worried eyes scanning for whatever injury must have spurred him after her.

“Penny?” He’s holding his own hands up, surrender style. “Pen -- you’re getting -- Penelope, stop it!”

“You’re hurt?” It’s a question that isn’t, not really, because Penelope is good at knowing, and she knows that twist to those lips, the shadow in those eyes, knows them as well as she knows her own name. “Let me see.”

Gordon huffs, something that might have been a laugh, once, but now sounds half a beat from a sob. “Nah.”

She rolls her eyes, and makes nimble work of his shirt buttons. He snatches at the edges, head swivelling toward the windows, and hisses a scandalised, “Hey!”

“Oh do relax,” she mutters, slapping at his wrists until he lets her pull the sodden material away from his shoulders. “This is New York, sweetheart. This is nothing.”

“So you say!” But he lets her continue, shifting his weight and kicking his own jeans off, until he’s sat in nothing but his boxers, body streaked with sweat, hair black, surrounded by discarded rags and wearing a smile that makes her heart seize.

“See?” he flings his arms out as far as he can in the confined space. “I'm fine.”

It's an invitation, an opening she doesn't take, and the silence lingers a moment too long -- long enough for him to shiver, to reach for the duffle he'd dragged in after him and pluck something soft from its depths. Long enough to wonder.

"What 'appened?"

They both move to answer, both their jaws snapping shut as they realise, and Gordon pulls a marl hoody over his head, taking his time to work his arms into the sleeves as Parker's eyes narrow in the rear view mirror.

"A misunderstanding," Penelope says breezily, far too breezily. "That's all."

One bushy eyebrow rises out of his reflection.

"Is that so, Master Gordon?"

The hoody is too long, too tight in the shoulders. The sleeves hang over his hands and the hem sits around his mid thigh. He’d clearly left in a hurry, although she should have guessed that by how quickly he caught up to them, and he refuses to meet either of their eyes as he rummages deeper into the bag muttering invectives about stupid lanky brothers.

“Gordon?”

He pauses, his hand leaving marks on the waistband of a pair of NASA sweats. "Yeah -- no. I don't know."

"You didn't 'arf run." Parker says it conversationally, an observation. Penelope only hears the pauses in Gordon’s answer.

"Yeah. Well."

"In fact seems as if we're all running, Milady."

She balks at that, offence at the very notion ingrained into her bones. "Nonsense. I don't run."

Her broken compact has come to rest beneath the duffle, and as he tosses he bag to one side to work the too-long sweats up over his knees Gordon spots it, leaning down to pick it up as he wriggles his backside into them. “Oh Lady Penelope,” he says with something of his usual humour. “Brains is gonna be cross!” 

She snatches it, or tries to, but her hand slips and the cracked screen lights up, reveals immediately what she’d been doing -- what she’d been trying to do -- in the moments before Gordon had thrown himself bodily into her vehicle. 

Colonel Casey,

Despite all my efforts it would appear Mr Tracy has taken against my advice and plans to move TI further in the direction we have previously discussed. I am sorry that I have been unable to convince him of the folly of such choices, and as such I am forced to resign as --

"So this isn't running?" He runs a hand across his face and lets it lie there, covering his eyes. "Jesus, Pen. What's happening to us?"

Carefully, terribly carefully, she peels his fingers away until she can twist her own between them and bring their joined hands to rest in her lap. Her business suit is ruined, but it isn’t as though she hasn’t half a dozen others. There’s only one boy -- one boy with callouses on his palms and oil under his fingernails. One boy that she absolutely cannot keep but oh -- oh --

She doesn’t look at him. Can’t. Because she knows herself, knows the streak of absolute selfish want that runs right through the very core of her, and it’s all she can do to keep her voice steady. 

"Your father will no doubt be arranging further investor meetings, we can drop you at Heathrow. By the time they get back you'll --"

"Whoa, hang on -- I'm not going back!"

"Don't be ridiculous! What are you going to do instead?"

He stares at her.

"I thought -- you and me --"

He thought, but god, she wants.

And wanting makes her mean. Makes her scoff when all she really wants to do is say yes, yes of course.

“You’re going to sit in my house and watch your family save the world? Don’t be obtuse. You’ll go mad.” Then, quieter. Truer. “You’ll hate me.”

“Never.” The vehemence surprises her, though it shouldn’t, not really. She’s never seen Gordon do anything that wasn’t with his whole heart, has she? “I will never regret choosing you.”

“Over everything?”

“Anything.”

At that moment, and only for a moment, she lets herself imagine it. The two of them, and nothing, no-one else. The two of them and their own choices, their own dreams, and she knows -- she knows it will never happen. Can never happen. Gordon covers the hand holding the compact with his other, lifts it and drops a kiss to her knuckles that cracks her heart right down the centre.

"No. No, Gordon. Don't let him be right." Her voice cracks right along with it. “If he thinks I’m trying to steal you away --”

"What, like some kind of pedigree puppy? Forget it, what am I gonna do, let him get away with speaking to you like that? No chance. Never. Not happening okay, so don’t even bother."

"Your brothers --"

There's hesitation there, just as she knew there would be, but it doesn't last, doesn't work the way she'd thought it would.

"Are big enough and ugly enough to cope without me. I'm just the pool boy nowadays anyway it's not like I can do anything useful."

"That's not true."

"It's completely true, and you know it. He wants me to, what? Choose between you and brunch meetings in a penguin suit?" He grimaces. “It’s not you or the job, Penelope. It’s you and the job, or it’s him.”

“We’re on the same side, Gordon,” she says quietly. “We all only want what’s best.”

“Do we?” He shakes his head. “I dunno, Pen. I don’t know anything anymore. Dad’s --” he takes a deep breath. “He’s not the same.”

Parker scoffs at that, breaking the spell that seems to have befallen the two of them before gesturing rudely to a fellow motorist with poor lane discipline. “I’ll say. He’s spent eight years alone in outer space, young Master Gordon. If he was the same man, he’d be a blummin’ mirage.”

“I know that,” Gordon insists. “I do, I get it. But -- people will die? People are dying and we -- my dad, he’d have helped them. He’d have let us help them. I just -- I don’t even know him anymore. I don’t even know if I ever did.”

And Penelope may have lost a little faith, somewhere between Tracy Industries and the oil-slicked backseat of her car, but she hasn’t yet lost her tact.

She knows, still, just enough. Enough to recognise fear in a man’s eyes. Ambition. Dread. Lust. Courage. So she doesn’t tell him, doesn’t dare, that when she looks into his father’s eyes she sees nothing. Nothing at all. Instead she tightens her grip on his hand, on the broken compact, and says;

“Take us home, Parker.”

---

(Gordon loves his father.

He does.

His father is a dead man.)

[lacheri]

congrats on 200 !! I was hoping you could write something small for me haha so here’s my info:

My personality type is intj or istj I’ve gotten both before and my enneagram is 6w5. I’m an Aries sun Sagittarius moon and Libra rising. My chosen s/o is Jean Kirstein. My perfered pronouns are she/her. I’m introverted around most people but pretty outgoing with people I’m close with. I love giving gifts to the people I love because I love seeing their reactions. Also although I’m super polite to people I don’t know I kinda love to tease the people I’m close to not anything mean just making jokes. As for my hobbies I like reading I’m just a super slow reader and I’m also into video editing. Some stuff that makes me happy are spicy food, the smell of clean laundry, and my melatonin sleepy gummies 😌. My physical description: I’m 18 yrs old I have brown curly hair and brown eyes. I’m pretty tan. I’m also kinda chubby and 5’5 in height. NSFW info: I personally don’t like degrading or any kind of whips/bondage stuff. I do like to use toys on other people though such as viberators or dildos. I hope I understood your rules correctly when you said check requests but I wouldn’t mind you writing headcannons or a small Drabble depending on the tarot card you pick out. :)

I...literally want to be your friend?? I love the combo of aries sun/sag moon/libra rising, you're the best person to have a giggle with <3 (me and my aries bestfriend used to get drunk and dance to this song in high school so it's an aries anthem for me)

The Fool: this card and the zodiac sign Aries are very much so equals in my mind (the card for Aries is the Emperor). the Fool is card zero, representing infinity and the promise of a new journey. Aries is the first sign of the zodiac, and both these compare in child like wonder and spirit. the man in the card stands on the edge of the cliff with his belongings, head towards the sky, unknowing that he is about to walk off the ledge. the rose he holds represents purity and innocence, the dog his companion, the sun shining down on a cloudless day. I personally love when this card comes out in a reading, it reminds us that it’s okay to indulge in the childish parts of ourselves. not everything is meant to be taken so seriously. it’s okay to have fun without thinking of the future.

anna sun - walk the moon. "Live my life without coming up for air, now it's all I want. I want everyone racing down the hill, I am faster than you. Wait for summertime."

“Jean, you’ve been DJ this entire ride!”

“I have great taste in music, thank you very much!”

You pouted in the passenger seat, arms crossing over your chest, the soft hum of music playing from the radio as you spoke, “Where are we even going anyways?”

“An adventure, obviously,” his honey brown eyes flickered to you, a coy smile on his lips. “Wouldn’t be much fun if I told you.”

“Some best friend you are,” you grumbled, slouching back into the leather of your seat.

The sun had long rid itself of its presence, the moon replacing its position high in the sky. It was a particularly bright night as Jean drove his car down an empty highway, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the top of your thigh. You had been in the middle of reading your favorite novel, sweatpants on with your hair tied up, when you had heard soft thumps against your window. You had sighed, dog earring your page, and trotted over to your window sill, throwing it open.

Jean had a handful of rocks and a silly toothy grin on his face, calling out that he was going to kidnap you whether you liked it or not. You had simply rolled your eyes, trying hard to conceal your smile and ignore the butterflies fluttering in your stomach, and soon enough you were in the passenger seat of his car.

Glancing at the dashboard, the clock read one o’clock in the morning. You would’ve been wide awake reading regardless, but still, you had to admit it was quite late. Jean seemed completely content as he hummed along to whatever song was playing, fingers drumming on the steering wheel as he stared straight ahead. He threw on his blinker, taking an exit you didn’t care to read the sign to. Trees surrounded you on either side, blocking out any moonlight, and the lack of streetlamps was slightly concerning.

Jean had swerved onto a dirt road then, and you couldn’t help but tease, “Are you taking me out in the woods to kill me or something?”

“Yup, this all my master plan,” he smirked back, slowing down over holes in the road and navigating around fallen tree branches. “I’ve had enough of your smart mouth, time for revenge.”

“Yeah right,” you scoffed, placing your hand over his subtly. “You wouldn’t be able to survive without me.”

“Probably not,” Jean mumbled, his eyes widening. “Oh! We’re almost there!”

Headlights illuminated the sparkle of a shoreline, your eyebrows furrowed upon your arrival. There were no beaches around you, were there? Your eyes scanned as much as you could, and it dawned on you that Jean had taken you to, a lake?

“I found it randomly one day with Connie, it’s not on any of the maps or gps,” Jean began to unbuckle his seatbelt, gesturing for you to follow along with his hands. “C’mon, we’re going swimming!”

“Swimming?” you deadpanned, hands frozen on your unbuckled seat belt. “Jean, absolutely fucking not. It’s freezing!”

He rolled his eyes, “Fine, we’re not going swimming. It was worth a try though. But my real reason is less cool, I just wanted to hang out.”

“Just us?” you couldn’t help but ask nervously, hand on the door handle.

“Yeah,” Jean smiled boyishly, fumbling with the radio, sliding out of the driver’s side shortly after. “Just the two of us, baby.”

You let out a nervous giggle, feeling the onset of your heart pounding in your chest. With a quick gesture, you were out of the car, Jean circling around the front to meet you. His phone was in his hand, thumbs tapping quickly away. Suddenly, the mellow sound of smooth music began to play from the speakers, flowing from the opened windows.

Jean put his phone in his back pocket of his jeans, meeting your gaze with a soft smile with an extended palm, “Wanna’ dance?”

You blinked a few times, feeling heat crawl up your cheeks, “Really?”

He strided closer, grabbing your hand at your side, “Yes, really. Now c’mere already.”

You felt Jean as he twirled you suddenly, pulling your back to his chest, laughing as he did so. You couldn’t hold back your own giggles, squealing as he began to move his feet clumsily to the beat of the song, one becoming familiar as the lyrics and music kicked in. You followed his movements, not exactly as dancerly as you had hoped, but it didn’t matter much to you. There was no one around, and the way Jean was “dancing”, you knew he didn’t care much about how well you moved.

You began jumping on your feet, Jean joining you enthusiastically, screaming the words out at the top of his lungs. You laughed hard at the sight, and he threw his arms around your waist.

“You’re like, my favorite person ever, you know that?” Jean looked away shyly at the admittance, smiling so softly it warmed your heart. “You’re the only person I’d ever want to do this stuff with.”

“Awe, Jean, you going soft on me?” you teased lightly, sliding your arms around his neck as the two of you began to sway.

“Just for you,” he breathed, finally moving his honey colored eyes to yours. “Hey, um, have you ever thought about us?”

“What do you mean?” your heart was pounding so loudly in your ears, trying not to get your hopes up. You had the biggest crush on the man for years, and his words were going to effect every single thing from this moment on.

Jean took a deep breath, nearly stumbling over his words as he spoke, “I’ve liked you, for a really long time. You’re my best friend, and I don’t want to lose you if you don’t feel the same, but, I kind of want to be your boyfriend.”

Your mouth hung open, eyes blinking furiously, “Are you serious?”

“You know what, I’m sorry, that was stupid,” he shook his head as if to erase his words, shutting his eyes and pulling away, your arms falling from his neck.

“Hey wait,” your hand shot to his bicep to stop him from moving any further. “Jean, I’ve liked you from the moment I met you. I just never thought you liked me back.”

“Of course I did! I mean, you’re like the coolest girl I’ve ever met. We like all the same music, you put up with my stupidity,” Jean chuckled, gazing at you so sweetly. “You go out on these late night adventures with me. You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning, the last person I talk to before I fall asleep. You’re beautiful, and that helps too.”

“I would be an absolute idiot to not want to be your girlfriend,” you looked down at your shoes shyly, smiling as the pent up words left your lips. “Who else is gonna’ throw rocks at my window like we’re in the 90’s?”

“I’m just missing the boombox, aren’t I?” he joked, fingers brushing past your temples to caress your hair. “You’re just so you, and you’re not afraid of that. You get me, and I get you. It’s always been us.”

“It has,” you flickered your eyes up at the contact, placing your own hands overtop of his.

Jean had no further words, staring intently at your lips. You placed your weight on the tips of your toes, pushing yourself to close the distance between the two of you. His lips were soft as you kissed him gently, he tasted like spearmint and smelled of expensive cologne, and your eyes fluttered shut. His mouth moved seamlessly against yours, smooth and purposeful, and you could feel all the emotions he held within himself pouring into you. Maybe it was your own, but your brain was silent as the music came to an end, softening in the background.

“You owe me a real date,” you whispered against his lips. “Not one at one in the morning.”

“Can’t promise you that,” he chuckled, peppering a kiss to the tip of your nose. “But seriously, do you want to go swimming now?”

LACHERI © 2021: all writing content belongs to LACHERI. I do not allow reposts or translations. this is my only account.