#why did it take me so long to realise setting the lamps to orange makes a reeeeal difference

[puretopia]

[little-miss-moonshine]

candlelight and sunlight

well. I'm not sure how to address you anymore. endearingly? not likely. distastefully? although you might deserve it, I think not. familiarly? doesn't feel right. I shall settle for referring to you as my distant acquaintance. it's less than you are, but far more than you deserve. I thought to myself long ago that the last post I wrote for you was the last post I would ever write for you. in a sense, this post is not for you, but let me tell you why I'm writing to you. you continue to persist in my life, and I need you to understand that it's over.

I used to hold a candle for you. I told you in july that you shouldn't be my jaan, that I will find someone else, someone who deserves me. well, I did. someone else, the right person, is my jaan now. and you know what? I think I've fallen in love with the man I am going to marry.

let me tell you about him. his hair glints mesmerizingly in lamplight and the light of day. his eyes shine bluer than any ocean I've ever seen, and I've seen a fair few. his smile gives radiance its definition. I used to call you an angel, and yet, every time he glances back at me from my desk, backlit by the light from my lamp, I feel like I'm truly seeing an angel for the first time.

his character shines even more brightly than his smile. he makes me smile, he makes me laugh, he makes me think, and so much more. he radiates joy when he's happy, and its effect is astounding. he shows me all of him: his tenderest smile, his sharpest smirk, his most vulnerable frown. he is one of the most genuine people I know. he tells me he loves me, and I believe it beyond any shred of doubt. he looks at me with true love in his eyes, and he speaks to me as though I'm someone precious. he holds me with gentle hands, ones that will never let me go.

he is the kindest person I've ever met. I've never met someone who shows me as much care as he does. he lights up my whole world, and I've never felt so happy before. he is like me in so many ways, and even where he differs, we still pull at each other like tides, like magnets. didn't you know that opposites attract? someone once said we were two of a set in every universe, and I don't doubt it for a second. I think he was made for me, and I think I'm made for him. even if I'm not, I will spend my life trying to be everything he deserves, because he deserves the whole world. loving him feels like icarus flying straight into the sun to find that there is nothing but warmth, kindness, and joy under the glow of soft orange light.

this dilemma has me thinking. it leaves me wondering how I ever thought your weak candlelight of "care" ever compared to the shining force of his love's blazing sun.

you miss me. I know you do. this whole messed-up delay, where you remain in my life at a point that I can't remove you, is riling us both up. maybe a petty side of me delights in it just a little, wanting you to feel a little of the pain you have inflicted on me, but it genuinely doesn't give me the joy it once would have. you want a second chance, but honestly, the right person will never need a second chance, because they will never hurt you or leave you like that. you're not the right person for me, and you know that.

you know it all, but it's not enough. maybe this will be. for the sake of argument, let's say I did give you another chance. what exactly would I be giving a chance to? us? I don't know that even one second of our relationship was genuine. I don't know that a single word that ever came out of your mouth was true. I deserve someone who treasures me, and you never did anything but take me for granted. even if you decide to say you love me now, I deserve a love that does not take you losing me to realise how much you need me. did you know you have yet to even apologize to me for everything you've done? the one mantra I kept repeating to get over you was "if he wanted to, he would." you never wanted to, so you never did, and you still haven't, so you still don't want to. I'm not yours anymore, and you should make your peace with that.

make no mistake, me walking you through my decision shouldn't give you hope that you have a chance. I've already made this choice. he consumes me: my thoughts, my dreams, my prayers, everything. thoughts of you occupy nothing but a tiny space in my brain, and the only thoughts that ever cross my mind are empty, halfhearted questions about why you did this to me, how you sleep at night, and whether you'll be like this forever. life has given me a chance, a chance at real happiness, so I'll grab it with both hands and pray I'm worthy of the ride. I hope you'll understand that I'm turning my back on your candle and facing my sun's warmth.

so, just for clarity's sake, please understand that it's over. farewell, my distant acquaintance. I wish you all the happiness you deserve.

[abitofboth]

Do you still take Lokius prompts? 🙏

How about: Loki and Mobius have started sleeping in the same bed (platonically, because Loki is struggling with nightmares and Mobius convinces himself he just wants to be a good friend by letting him cuddle at night).

But in the early hours of one morning Mobi realised Loki is having a …”less than scary” dream while they cuddle. He does the right thing and wakes him up.. Loki is a bit embarrassed but they talk and realise their feelings for each other 🥺😏

I UHH REALLY HOPE I DIDN'T MISINTERPRET WHAT YOU WERE SAYING HERE LMAO

it's a long one! I hope u enjoy <3

(slight nsft warning)

-----

“Look, we’ve been doing this for a while now.” Mobius had a bright orange towel in his hands, scrubbing at his wet hair after a long day at work. A hot shower could fix any aches that had settled into his joints and, if anything, he just enjoyed the quiet time alone that he had in there. “I woulda kicked you out already if I didn’t want you here.”

“Like a stray cat on the street, hm?” Loki was looking up at him from where he was sat on the edge of the bed. “Just shove me in a cardboard box and throw me away like a poor kitten.”

Mobius chuckled, chucking the towel at the god so that it smacked him in the face. The god swiped it away, letting it fall to his feet onto the floor, and looked to Mobius with an equally playful expression. “Shut up. No cardboard boxes here, just… a friend that could easily get rid of his friend if he started being an asshole.”

Loki batted his eyelashes up at him. “Now when have I ever been an arsehole?”

“Kittens love pushing vases off of desks.” Mobius looked to him pointedly, holding back a grin, before turning around to pull his shirt off. He threw it to the side, aiming perfectly for it to land on a chair in the corner of the room (to Loki’s exasperation- ‘Why you leave clothes strewn around everywhere when you have a perfectly good wardrobe I will never understand.’) and opened a chest of drawers in front of him, grabbing the first t-shirt he saw and pushing his arms through.

At the beginning, when Loki had first started sleeping in Mobius’s bed with him, he had been sure to make sure he was fully dressed at all times. He didn’t want to make Loki uncomfortable at all, and he wasn’t exactly one for lounging around half naked in front of people anyway, but as the time passed Mobius had acted more freely in front of him. He’d let himself sleep in just his boxers and a sleep shirt rather than wearing a full set of pyjamas, and he’d let himself get changed in the room while Loki was there rather than scuttle off to the bathroom to hide behind closed doors. Loki had done the same; now, all he wore to bed was a pair of soft pyjama trousers, chest completely bared. Mobius would keep to himself the fact that he gawked at Loki’s muscles in all their glory the first time he saw him shirtless up close.

It was a simple arrangement, really. Loki was having nightmares, and Mobius was offering him some comfort. It’s just what friends did, right? It seemed stupid to have Loki suffering alone in his quarters, barely getting any sleep all night and yelling from the night terrors, and Mobius wasn’t about to have him sleep on a sofa that wasn’t long enough for his tall limbs. So, it was an easy decision to make; share the bed. It was plenty big enough for the both of them to fit, and if anything, Mobius enjoyed having the company during nights that were usually lonely.

He would never mention anything about how they would always wake up tangled in each other’s arms.

Mobius walked across the room to hit the light switch, the main light in the room flicking off and just leaving the glow of the lamps. It left a fuzzy warmth over the two men, a gentle orange colour catching on all the angles of their bodies. Mobius particularly loved how the light fell on Loki’s face, catching his sharp cheekbones and pointed nose. It somehow made him even more handsome.

Loki pushed himself further back onto the bed, sitting next to the pillows on the right (his side of the bed) and raised his hands to his hair, pulling the raven locks back from his face and tying them into a bun. Mobius just quietly watched him as he walked back over to the bed, sitting down on the opposite side and swinging his legs up onto the mattress.

“You should wear it like that more often.” He said. “Looks nice.”

Loki hummed, looking at him with a smile on his lips. “Suitable for an office job?”

Mobius chuckled, a snort escaping from him as he pulled the duvet over him and lay down til his head touched the pillows. “Since when have you ever cared about what’s suitable?”

“Maybe I’m a changed man.” He winked, echoing Mobius’s movements and laying down under the duvet.

“Highly doubt that.” Mobius quipped back, and just laughed with his belly when he felt Loki thump him from under the sheets.

It was nice, to be easy with Loki. The TVA didn’t often have room for making friends, especially not close ones, and Loki was a refreshing change from polite small talk with colleagues. He never just took anything; he would always bite back, and there was a playfulness that always fell over the two of them. Mobius found himself missing the god whenever he wasn’t around.

“Goodnight, old man.” He heard Loki mumble next to him, said god in question’s head pressed face first into the pillow. No matter how royal Loki was, all regality fell away when it came to getting cozy in bed. Mobius had seen some unprepossessing faces on the man when he was asleep, and every time he would scrabble for his TemPad on the bedside table to snap a quick picture of him. He’d never tell Loki; he didn’t have a death wish.

“Goodnight, kitten.” Mobius said back, thinking of their conversation from earlier. He shifted around until he found a comfortable spot on the mattress, and finally settled on laying on his side, one leg coming up at a right angle to his body, tangling slightly with one of Loki’s legs over his thigh. He swore that he could feel Loki shifting closer to him, millimetre by millimetre, but said nothing about it. He knew the god liked physical comfort, and Mobius was more than happy to help his friend to keep the nightmares at bay. He’d do a lot of things for the god, now that he thought about it.

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts, and instead focused on trying to fall asleep. He knew it was gonna be a long day tomorrow, and the last thing he needed was the ache of exhaustion while running around the TVA.

He listened to the room around him, and settled on following Loki’s soft breathing. He’d obviously found sleep quickly, if his steadily rising and falling chest was anything to go by. Mobius was certain he was asleep when he heard a snore come from his nose, and smiled fondly to himself, dreariness taking over and lulling him to unconsciousness.

What a charming little kitten he was.

Mobius had no idea how much time had passed when he opened his eyes next. He figured it hadn’t been long, seeing as his eyes stung with exhaustion and his body was begging him to close them again and let himself fall asleep.

He could feel a warm mass over him, long limbs wrapped all around him like a koala on a tree. He huffed a practically silent laugh, not wanting to disturb Loki, and carefully brushed a few strands of hair away from the god’s face that had escaped from his bun.

Mobius was instantly filled with concern, looking down to see that Loki’s eyes were clenched shut and his eyebrows were furrowed, with the rest of his face buried into Mobius’s chest.

Was he having a nightmare again?

It was at that point that he noticed Loki’s breathing was ragged, shuddering breaths wracking through him as he practically clung onto Mobius. Ah, jeez. He’d been doing so well, too; the last time he’d had a nightmare had been several, several sleeps ago.

Mobius just hushed him quietly, holding him closer and gently brushing a hand over his jet black hair. It’s what he usually did when Loki shook in his sleep, and most of the time it soothed him within minutes, the god sleeping soundly again in no time at all.

This time, though, he continued to breathe heavily, gasps sometimes falling from his lips and fanning hot air over Mobius’s chest. In a sudden movement, one of Loki’s hands clung onto his shirt, his fingers gripping tightly onto him.

It must be a bad one, Mobius mused, thinking of what he could do next to try to comfort him.

It was at that point that Loki made a noise.

It sounded like a whimper.

Shit, is he crying?

Mobius tried to crane his head to look closer at Loki, trying his best to not jostle the man, but couldn’t notice any wetness around his eyes. He did notice that his cheeks were tinged just slightly red, but Mobius didn’t think anything of it. He was completely sandwiched between Mobius and the duvet- he was probably just warm.

Another little noise escaped him, a small groan from the back of his throat, and Mobius was getting worried now. He hadn’t had a nightmare this bad in a long while. Flashes of memories of Loki jolting awake yelling from fear filled Mobius’s mind, but he quickly shook them out. Just focus on the situation at hand, he told himself.

“Mobius.”

The man in question paused, blinking for a second before looking back at Loki’s face. Nope, he was still asleep.

Loki had never done that before. He’d spoken a few times in his sleep, but never anything clear like that. It was always incomprehensible mumbling.

“Mobius, please.” He whispered again, his voice sounding awfully whiny.

It was at that point that Loki shifted in his sleep and Mobius froze.

All the air left his lungs as Mobius felt a thick heat pressing against his thigh.

“O-oh.” He breathed out.

This was- this was new. Loki definitely hadn’t done this before.

Mobius’s eyes felt wide as saucers as he looked back down to Loki incredulously. At least he wasn’t having a nightmare?

Mobius gasped when Loki’s hips rutted against his thigh, a pang of heat flashing deeply in his stomach at the feeling. There’s no training in the world that could prepare you for an incredibly attractive God of Mischief humping against your leg.

He felt his face heat up instantly, flames sparking from his chest and setting his whole body alight. He swallowed deeply, trying to keep his breathing in check when he heard Loki whine out a ‘please’ again.

This was it. This would be how Mobius met his death; it wouldn’t be in the heat of battle, or his boss finally having enough and killing him right in her office. No, it would be right here, laying ramrod stiff in his own bed completely cocooned by the trickster variant.

He heard Loki moan once again and decided that that was enough- he couldn’t just go back to sleep, not when he was so wound up like this, and he wasn’t just going to leave Loki to carry on with his… mission.

Loki shifted against him again and Mobius’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. It felt so wrong, so be awake while Loki was asleep like this, and he decided then and there that he’d have to wake him up.

A part of Mobius wished that Loki was fully conscious right now, completely aware of what he was doing and smiling down at Mobius while he was doing it. His long fingers would cup Mobius’s face as he leant down, soft lips meeting his own as he kissed hi--

God, Mobius needed Loki off him right now.

He scrubbed a hand over his face before setting it down onto Loki’s shoulder. He felt Loki breathe in a shuddering breath at the contact, but ignored that to focus on shaking him awake. He moved him gently at first, not wanting to scare him, but it was evident that he was deeply asleep.

“Loki, c’mon…” Mobius murmured under his breath. “Wake up, kitten.”

He jostled him more, fingers gripping onto his bare skin as he shook him. He felt red hot, practically clammy, and Mobius was getting desperate. It was too much for him to handle, repressed feelings about Loki all floating up to the surface and begging to be let loose.

“Loki!” He finally said, shaking Loki harder, his voice sounding so incredibly loud in the silence of his room.

The god gasped, eyes flying open as he jumped back away from Mobius and fell on his side of the bed. He brought a hand up to his chest as he panted, looking up at the ceiling and not really focusing his gaze onto anything in particular.

“Gods, Mobius! What the Hel was that for?” Mobius could easily see his hot flushed face now, cheeks as red as a tomato. “You bloody scared me!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mobius just spoke whatever words came to his lips. What the fuck was he supposed to say? “Sorry. I guess.”

“‘I guess’? Bit rude. Why did you--” Loki turned to look at him, finally, and cut himself off in the middle of his sentence. He gazed at Mobius curiously, his eyebrows relaying concern for the grey haired man. “...Are you alright? You look completely out of it.”

Mobius just nodded, forcing his eyes to stay at face level. He couldn’t let himself drag his gaze down Loki’s body- he’d die of a heart attack if he saw what was between his hips.

Loki just continued to stare at him. “Well that’s an obvious lie. What is it? Spit it out.”

Mobius cleared his throat.

Ah, jeez. Here we go.

“You-- ah…” There was no way in hell that Mobius was about to say ‘you were humping me’ out loud. “You were having a- uh- dream.”

Good. Nice one, Mobius. Really nice and vague.

“Right.” Loki blinked at him. “And that’s a problem because..?”

Mobius awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “It was a- mm. I think it was a pretty good one. You were- god, how do I- you were enjoying yourself. A lot.”

Before Loki could question him again, he just quickly gestured down to Loki’s hips.

The god followed to where he was pointing and within seconds had jumped from the bed, embarrassment completely painting his face.

“Oh, gods, fuck- don’t look!” He grabbed the first shirt he saw, which happened to be the one Mobius had left on the chair before they went to bed, and quickly pulled it on, haphazardly shoving his arms through the sleeves. “Shit- sorry, sorry, fuck--”

And just like that, he’d locked himself away in the bathroom.

Mobius sighed. Whether it was a sigh of relief or exhaustion he didn’t know.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, wiping some sleep from his eyes, and pushed himself up until he was sitting. He willed his own heart to calm down before he got up, the thudding beating at his chest making his blood feel red hot.

Once his breathing was steadier, he pushed himself up from the bed and made his way towards the bathroom door.

With a gentle knock, he leant against the door frame and waited for Loki’s response. For a split second, panic rang through him as he realised he might be… interrupting something, but he was quickly soothed when he heard a quiet voice from the other side of the door.

“What?”

Mobius would have laughed if he weren’t so nervous. What a ridiculous situation this was; the all-powerful God of Mischief, locked away in his bathroom because he got embarrassed over a boner.

“Are you… busy? ‘Cuz I can leave you alone if—“

“No.” Loki’s voice quickly cut him off. “No, I’m not- busy.”

The bureaucrat considered him for a moment. “Do you want to be?”

“Mobius!”

“I- I’m just makin’ sure! I don’t want—“

“Shut. Up.”

Mobius snapped his mouth closed. Message heard, loud and clear.

A silence fell over them for a few moments, the loud ticking of a clock coming from the corner of the room. Mobius looked around for a second before focusing back on the bathroom door again.

“Are you okay?”

For a beat, Mobius thought he was being given the silent treatment, but Loki spoke not long after.

“Yes. I just- I shouldn’t-“ He heard a frustrated growl come from behind the door. “I’m sorry. If I made you uncomfortable. That was inappropriate.”

Oh. An apology. Okay.

“‘S not your fault. Not like you could- ah- control yourself.”

“Gods, you make me sound like an animal…” Loki sighed, and Mobius heard a thump against the door. He assumed it was Loki resting his head against it.

Mobius did the same, resting his forehead against the solid wood and closing his eyes. God, he was tired.

“Look. It happens. I was just-” Unfortunate? Lucky? “I just happened to be there. We’re both adults, I’m sure we can move past it.”

He heard a rumble of a voice through the wood.

“What? Can’t hear you, speak louder.”

Mobius jolted as the door was swung open, throwing his hand out to catch himself against the door frame so he wouldn’t fall flat on his face.

Loki was looking at him with conflict evident on his face. Mobius glanced down and was thrilled to find that he was no longer present down there.

“I don’t want to move past it.”

Oh.

Huh?

Mobius stared at him for a few moments, sure that if he wasn’t so tired he’d be able to think of something to say. Instead, he settled on, “Explain that to me.”

Loki sighed, rolling his eyes and pushing past Mobius to make his way back to the bedroom. Mobius figured that was his call to follow him.

He walked in to find Loki sitting on the bed again, legs crossed and tucked underneath himself. He looked uncharacteristically small for someone that usually held the room.

Mobius considered what his next moves could be, but instead settled on fuck it and just sat down next to him. He tapped his fingers on his thighs, a little repetitive pattern as he waited to see whether or not Loki would take the chance to speak first.

He didn’t.

Mobius took a breath in. “If you don’t wanna move past it, then… What, Loki?”

There was a beat before Loki’s head flopped down to rest on Mobius’s shoulder. That was unexpected.

“Don’t be stupid.” He said quietly. One of his hands came up to run his fingers gently up and down Mobius’s arm, almost absentmindedly. “You’ve seen how we wake up every morning. Neither of us moves out of each other’s arms.”

It was Mobius’s turn to be silent.

He knew Loki was right. He knew that every morning he’d wake up cradling Loki to his chest, brushing his fingers through his messy, curled hair, stealing gentle kisses to the top of his head when he was sure he was still sleeping. He knew Loki would wake up and stay firmly where he was, practically nuzzling into Mobius and holding onto him tighter. He knew they’d spend much more time than they had in the mornings just lying with each other, enjoying the quiet company of another body next to theirs.

He knew that every lunch time their legs would wander to each other’s under the table like opposite poles of a magnet. He knew that their hands brushed against each other as they walked through the halls of the TVA, teasing what could be intertwined fingers swinging in between them as they strolled together.

He knew he smiled at Loki too fondly. He knew he pictured Loki kissing him too often. He knew Loki was right.

“Are we having this conversation right now?” Mobius asked quietly, voice rumbling with sleep.

“I don’t know.” Loki shrugged. “I know we’re thinking the same thing, though.”

“Oh?” Mobius craned to look Loki in the eyes. He let himself give him a playful smirk, despite how serious the whole situation felt. “And how do you know that?”

Loki’s gaze fluttered up to meet Mobius’s, a smile playing at his lips. “I can read you like a book when you’re tired.”

Mobius just grumbled, letting his head rest down on top of Loki’s. He heard a quiet chuckle come from the god, and Mobius’s lips curled into a fond smile.

“I am sorry,” Loki said once the giggles had subsided. “If I made you uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I want.”

Mobius flapped a hand at him, waving him off. “It was unexpected but I- it’s okay. I- uhm- ...Jeez, I don’t know how to say this, Loki.”

The god pulled away from his shoulder to look at him directly, a sparkle in his eyes. That look always meant trouble for Mobius.

Loki climbed into Mobius’s lap like a mountain goat, settling himself down into him and getting himself comfy. He was well and truly in Mobius’s personal space now. He hooked his arms over Mobius’s shoulders and played at the hairs at the nape of his neck, a little shiver running through the gray haired man.

“You wouldn’t be averse to it actually happening, I gather?”

Mobius just nodded once.

Loki smiled.

Leaning down, the god ghosted his lips over Mobius’s, not quite making contact but being close enough that his hot breath was fanning over his skin.

Mobius’s heart was thumping once again. Is this it? Was Loki finally gonna kiss him? After all this time?

He craned his head up slightly to get a better angle to the god, eyelids drooping shut as he waited for his soft lips to collide with his own.

Instead, he got a chaste peck on the cheek.

Mobius’s eyes shot open, finding a rather pleased looking Loki smirking down at him.

“Sleep, now. You’re cranky when you’re tired.” The trickster slunk away from Mobius, slipping back underneath the covers and patting the space next to him. Mobius looked at him incredulously, an amused grin slowly rising on his face, and shook his head playfully as he followed him down to lay next to him.

“You never know,” Loki started, wrapping his arms around Mobius and hugging him tight. He buried his head into his chest and settled in for the night. “Maybe something will happen tomorrow morning. If the fates align. Maybe we can both get what we want.”

Mobius laughed, a hearty thing that set Loki off too.

Mischievous little scamp.

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (9) || atz

You’re not dead.

That’s the only thought that drifts in your mind as you lie face up on the forecastle deck, eagle spread like a dead starfish. You watch the sun as it rises over the horizon absentmindedly, even as activity rages beneath you on the main deck.

The gun crews are busy cleaning out the cannons, preparing them for another battle as fast as possible. You don’t see Seonghwa, but you know he’s below decks, leading a team of pirates in checking up on the shot plugs that they used during battle to stop water from gushing in when the ship was hit by cannon fire. You would have been helping San treat the wounded, but one look at your blank, white face and he instructed you to calm down on the forecastle deck instead.

So that’s what you’re doing.

You watch white puffs of clouds drifting past in the clear blue sky. It’s so calm, so peaceful, you find it difficult to believe that you had just been in a sea battle the day before. Only the slight acrid smell of gunpowder that lingers in the air and the occasional holes in the ground from cannon fire reminds you that yesterday was nothing but a dream.

You could have died yesterday.

You’ve just come into this world, with no memories of your previous self, barely at the beginning of the road to recovering your past, so many questions still unanswered, and it could have all ended for you in that one battle.

The erratic beating of your heart pulls you out of your dazed panic.

You try to suck in deep breaths, forcing yourself to calm down as you grip the necklace under your shirt tightly. The cuts on your body from the splinters sting and you’re aching from the bruises, but you know other pirates had it far worse.

Then you remember what you did to Jongho’s arm and you wince.

“He’s going to kill me.” You groan, burying your face in your hands. Even after the battle had been won, the young battlemaster had given you a dark glare before storming off to clear the decks of the remaining soldiers.

“Who’s going to kill you?”

You jerk up in shock, spinning around only to see a dark shape dangling upside down from the foremast’s rigging like some sort of giant spider, scaring the living daylights out of you. You yelp in terror and jump back, your foot slipping straight into one of the holes caused by the enemy cannons.

“Ow!” A howl of pain leaves your lips as the sharp edges leave scratches on your calf.

“Woah, careful there!” The dark shape drops from the rigging and hurries over to help you out from your mess. It's Yunho, you realise, covered from head to toe in soot and to your horror, dried blood.

“Yunho-hyung, you need to get to Master San right away! You're going to bleed out-”

He laughs easily, waving your concern away. “No worries! It's not my blood! You should watch out for the holes in the deck till Seonghwa-hyung repairs them.”

You nod, eyes darkening slightly as they rake over the state of the ship. “The Treasure took quite a beating, didn’t she?”

The tall man eyes you curiously as he coils up the rope he was using earlier. “Maybe it’s because you’re new, but these kind of things are pretty common, actually. No worries, Hongjoong-hyung said we’re getting to Tortuga in little less than an hour. We’ll be docking there to finish repairs and replenish stocks.”

At that, you purse your lips. You’re going to reach Tortuga soon, the second time you’re stepping on land after having been on the sea for most of your life since your awakening. The last time didn’t exactly go well for you. “Won’t the Royal Navy be there?”

Yunho shakes his head as he plops next to you, grabbing a rag from his belt and wiping most of the dirt and grime from his face. “Aish, I really want a bath. No, Tortuga is a pirate stronghold, actually. The Royal Navy has little to no power there, so we should be safe… If we pay the town enough money, that is.”

You snort at his last sentence as you lie back on the deck again. The sun is turning the entire sky a beautiful shade of pink-orange, and you turn to see Yunho’s face bathed in the same lovely colour.

He grins at you. “So, who’s going to kill you?”

At that, you shrink into yourself, a little sheepish. You thought you’d distracted him, but it evidently hadn’t worked. “Ah… Well, I was supposed to get to the sickbay during the fight yesterday but I got thrown to the midship area… and Jongho-hyung rescued me.”

Yunho nods proudly, a wide grin curving on his lips as he takes a seat beside you. “Of course he did. He’s a great fighter and he has strong protective instincts. You’re probably safer with him than in the sickbay.”

You wince. “Yeah… But during the battle, I accidentally misfired the musket and killed a soldier fighting with Jongho-hyung-”

The lookout’s eyes go wide with surprise. “So you saved Jongho? That’s amazing!”

“No no no-” You try to protest, but then someone coughs politely behind the two of you.

Both you and Yunho sit up to look at your visitor, only to see the ship’s resident healer standing there.

“Master!” You greet him cheerfully and he nods, studying you carefully for a second.

“Don’t you have work to get to, Yunho-ah?” San says over his shoulder as he checks your complexion and your pulse point for any erratic beating. The lookout pouts adorably, but can’t keep the grin off his face for long.

“Killjoy.” He laughs, before turning back to the foremast. “Catch you later, stowaway.”

San snorts as he watches Yunho go, scaling the rigging easily like a spider does its web. “And not a kind word to me.” Then he turns to you, expression blank as usual but you can read the care in his eyes. “You seem better now, apprentice. I want you to come with me to check an injury for a moment.”

“Ok.” You agree immediately, trailing after him to the sickbay. After the fight yesterday, you’ve realised that you need to acquire as many useful skills as you possibly can so you won’t be a burden to your ship mates during battles. And honestly, healing seems to be the most useful thing you could do for now.

San’s nimble fingers open the latch with ease and the two of you descend to the sickbay. Then you see who it is sitting at the table and you want to run for your life.

It’s Jongho.

You do a complete turn and make to escape before the young battlemaster can notice you, but San grabs you by the arm and hauls you into the room after him. Your master sits himself at the table, and you hover awkwardly next to him, unsure where to look at. Jongho’s eyes immediately pin you to the ground where you stand.

“I want him to learn how to treat a gunshot wound, that’s why he’s here with me.” San explains to Jongho as he pulls out several clean rags, a pair of bronze tweezers and a roll of bandage. The young battlemaster sighs, clearly unwilling, but he nods anyway.

“Whatever you say, hyung.”

San sets to pulling out a spool of thread and a thin needle, from his satchel. “Apprentice, fetch me the lamp and get me the bottle of rum from the shelf.”

You give your master a concerned look as you move towards the shelf hesitantly. “Master, this really isn’t the time to be drinking-”

“I’m using it to clean the wound, idiot. I’m out of marigold. And I abhor the taste of alcohol.” San tuts as he unwraps a sloppily done bandage around Jongho’s upper arm. The wound is a laceration from your stray musket bullet, and from what you can see, it’s still bleeding even though it’s been a few hours since the injury. “Jongho-ah, you know you shouldn’t be helping with the clearing up if you’re injured.”

“They needed someone to move the wreckage from the mizzenmast.” The maknae grunts in way of explanation. You swallow the guilt building up in your throat and move to get the lantern hanging from the low ceiling.

“How did you get this, though?” San continues, tossing the bloodied bandage to the ground. “You usually escape most fights unscathed, or most of your wounds are from close range combat. It’s rare to see you with a musket wound.”

You freeze. You can literally feel Jongho eyeballing the back of your head. But when he finally answers, he simply mutters, “Got sloppy for a moment.”

San coughs. Your master obviously doesn’t believe him but refrains from pressing him, taking the bottle of rum from you and wiping his arms down with them.

“So, apprentice, I’m cleaning my hands with alcohol. It helps to get rid of harmful organisms living on the surface of our bodies.” San works quickly, eyebrows furrowing into concentration as he slides into his ‘healing zone’, where nothing matters to him except the patient, him and occasionally maybe you. “Before you start treating a wound, make sure you clean everything you’re using thoroughly or the wound might get infected.”

“Yes, Master.” You move closer to watch him at his craft. San’s motions are practiced and methodical, as if he’s done it for years, over and over again. When he’s satisfied that everything is spotless, he moves to Jongho’s arm.

“Cloth.” He speaks, and you pass him the clean rags on the table. San soaks them in rum with a pair of tweezers while you cough at the powerful smell of alcohol. You still don’t understand how the rest of your shipmates can just down bottles of it without dying from alcohol poisoning.

Your master ignores you and leans forward, gently dabbing at Jongho’s wound. Apart from a flinch and a muttered curse, the younger battlemaster doesn’t seem to be in much discomfort, even as blood continues to stain the rags red.

“Help me hold down a cloth on his arm.” San instructs firmly as he disposes the last of the dirty rags in a basket. You stare at your master in horror.

“What?”

“You’re not deaf, apprentice. Put pressure on the wound and help me slow the bleeding while I heat the needle.” The healer shoves a cloth into your hands and moves to the lamp, leaving you in awkward silence with Jongho.

You gulp and move towards the maknae, trying not to touch him, but it’s impossible. Laying the cloth over his wound, you press down on it lightly, not wanting to hurt him and trying desperately to ignore his face right next to yours.

“That’s not going to do anything.” Jongho snorts in your ear and you squeak, almost dropping the rag. His large hand covers yours and presses down on it firmly, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours.

You freeze completely, but the frantic pounds of your heart are otherwise.

“Move to the side, apprentice. I want you to watch this carefully.” San returns with a sterilized and threaded needle, seating himself before Jongho and thankfully sparing you the close contact with the battlemaster. “I’m going to start suturing the wound.”

You breathe in and out quickly, trying to calm your racing heart as you move to make space for your master. Your hand slips from the maknae’s grasp. The slim man crouches in front of Jongho, eyes narrowed in intense focus. With quick, deft movements, he holds the needle with the tweezers and pulls the needle through Jongho’s skin, leaving a row of neat stitches in its wake.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” The words slip out of your mouth worriedly as you glance at Jongho. The battlemaster merely turns away.

San replies in his place as he continues stitching the wound. “I usually put a painkiller made of lavender on the area before I start, but Jongho’s a tough boy, so it’s no problem for him.”

“I am a man. I’m nineteen already.” Jongho grunts in exasperation, but the healer ignores him.

“You’re going to be nineteen.” San corrects him with a grin, finishing of the stitches and snipping the thread with a pair of scissors. The maknae gives him an irritated glare.

“I hate you, hyung.” He grumbles. But before San can reply with another wiseass comment, the sound of Mingi’s voice comes echoing into the sickbay.

“We’ve arrived at Tortuga!”

[wisteriashouse]

stranded.

pairing: rengoku kyoujurou x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 1960

The mission was a success.

Although it is more common for Pillars to work alone to make full use of their manpower, Oyakata-sama had assigned you and Kyoujurou on a joint mission. There was a disturbance in a remote village in the far west, rumored to one of the Twelve Moons devouring people. Luckily, the two of you had managed to subdue and slay it before it could kill and feast on even more victims before proceeding to clear the surrounding forests of any more demons.

However, the both of you had gotten snowed in due to an avalanche blocking off the mountain pass, and hence are to be stranded there for the next three days.

The second you wave off the last villager come to thank you for saving her child, you promptly make your way into your room, slide the door shut and proceed to collapse onto the tatami on the spot. Every bone in your body is aching as if you’ve been run over by a train and all its carriages; you have no idea how Kyoujurou still has the energy to help the villagers bury the rest of the bodies. You had tried to insist on helping as well, but your fellow Pillar had cheerily shooed you off to rest, reassuring you that’d they’d be done in no time.

Rolling over into a more comfortable position, you wince when fresh pain blooms across your shoulder blade and immediately scramble to your knees to take stock of your injury. The adrenaline from the battle earlier must be wearing off, because the moment you try to look over your own shoulder, about ten different muscles howl at you in protest. You groan. 

“That’s just wonderful.”

Shrugging the haori off your shoulders, you study the dark red stain on the fabric contemplatively and consider if this is an injury you can simply shrug off. Common sense and your desire to actually live beyond thirty tells you no, so you sigh and drag yourself to your feet.

You could do with another pair of eyes. 

Stepping out barefoot onto the engawa, you tip toe your way to the room next to yours. The candles aren’t lit, and you briefly wonder if Kyoujurou is still not back or if he’s already retired for the night. While you’re pondering this outside, the door slides open all of a sudden, startling you.

“Kyoujurou! You scared me!” You tell him, one hand over your chest. Your friend smiles at you brightly from the doorway.

“My apologies! I was wondering why you were dawdling about outside instead of entering!” He’s in a slight state of undress, his Flame Pillar haori absent and two buttons on his uniform undone. He must have been in the middle of changing out of his clothes and getting ready for bed. “Do you need something from me?”

“Sorry for disturbing you, I just wanted to know if you made it back safely.” You shake your head, intent on just checking out your injury tomorrow. It’s not like you’ll die overnight, will you? “I’ll leave you to your rest now.”

With a wave you turn to leave, but before you can, Kyoujurou’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“I wish that you would be more forward with me!” Kyoujurou declarers loudly out of the blue, and you whirl around to look at him with wide eyes. He’s smiling at you, hopeful and genuine. “As fellow Pillars, we should help and rely on each other! Furthermore, you’re a precious friend of mine. I’d love to help you out, if you need me!”

Red colors your cheeks, and you glance to the side, embarrassed. “Of course. My apologies.” You mumble, “It’s just been so long that we’ve met that it feels a little awkward. You’re a precious friend to me too, Kyo.”

At your words, Kyoujurou practically radiates happiness in the dim hallway. “That makes me happy to hear! Come on in!” He ushers you inside quickly, sliding the door shut behind you. You take a seat on the floor and make yourself comfortable, watching him move around the room to light the lamps. Soft candlelight springs to life, bathing the room in a dim orange glow, and he turns back to you once he’s done. “What is it that you need?”

“Well, I might have gotten an injury on my back, but I can’t see how severe it is. I need you to help me take a look.” You explain, and his eyes narrow in concern. In a few quick steps he’s by your side, kneeling behind you to examine your injury. 

“Your uniform appears to have been slashed, but I am unable to take a closer look as your clothes are in the way.” Kyoujurou says, and you frown. This is going to be a pain... “Perhaps you should...” His words trail off, suddenly hesitant, and you laugh quietly under your breath. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him being flustered. “I can call one of the women from the village to help you instead-”

“No need to, it’s late and they’ve had a long night. Besides, I trust you.” You say, a little amused as you reach up to undo the buttons of your top. “Turn away for a bit.”

“Of course!” His voice quavers just so slightly, and you can’t help the soft laughter that escapes you. Rengoku Kyoujurou, Flame Pillar of the Demon Slayer Corps, is endearing cute in your eyes, you think. Pulling off your top and wincing when the dried blood tugs at your injury, you use it to cover your front before calling to him.

“You can look now.”

You hear him shift to face you, and then there’s a little intake of breath as he sees your back. “There’s a cut on your left shoulder blade, about the length of my palm.” He explains seriously as he checks over your injury. “It doesn’t appear to be bleeding very much, but you should get it treated as soon as possible before infection sets in.”

“Ahh, got it. I’ll go to the village tomorrow morning and ask for some medicine.” You turn around to smile at him. “Thanks for your help, Kyoujurou.”

“I have medicine!” Kyoujurou announces enthusiastically before you can so much as think about leaving. “I visited Kochou’s estate before this mission, so I happen to have some ointment from her. I’m sure it’ll make you feel better! Give me a moment.” He rummages through his belongings and pulls out a distinctively lacquered container proudly. “Here it is!”

“Shouldn’t you keep that for something more important, Kyoujurou?” You ask him, worried. He’s headed out for another mission right after this one, after all. “I could always just get patched up at the village tomorrow. It doesn’t hurt much.”

“Nonsense!” Kyoujurou insists. “You are a precious friend, it would not be wasted on you.” When he sees your hesitance, his voice softens slightly. “Please, let me take care of you.”

Cheeks heating up slightly, you nod and turn around to hide your face from his gaze. “If you want to, then go ahead.” You say softly under your breath, and you can feel Kyoujurou’s smile behind you.

Demon Slayers are no stranger to injuries, and Kyoujurou has certainly faced his fair share of them before. He prepares the gauze and disinfectant liquid with practiced movements, raising them to your back with cautious hands. He’s clearly mindful of your injury. 

“This might hurt a little,” he warns you, and you hum in acknowledgement.

“I trust you.” The words leave you easily. Kyoujurou’s fingers are warm against your skin.

When the disinfectant touches your gash, you bite back your wince at the sting, but of course Kyoujurou hears it. “Does it hurt?” He asks, clearly upset at the thought of causing you any pain, but you shake your head.

“No, I’m fine. I honestly didn’t think I was going to get injured, but today’s demon was really quite interesting.” You think aloud as Kyoujurou wipes down the area around your wound carefully. “I can’t believe I let myself get hurt by a Lower Moon. Embarrassing, don’t you think?”

“You’re not weak at all!” Kyoujurou pauses in treating your wound to scold you, and you turn around to see him smiling encouragingly at you. “You sustained it saving a little boy, did you not? It is not something to be embarrassed of!”

You laugh, turning back so that he can tend to your injury. “Thanks, Kyoujurou.”

“It’s not a problem! I simply spoke the truth.” He tells you as his fingers resume work once more, dabbing ointment on your wound. The faint smell of antiseptic tickles your nose. “It’s been a while since I’ve last seen you.” Kyoujurou’s voice is a hint softer than usual. “You’re just as selfless as I remember.”

His words make you smile, a light fluttering in your chest. “I’m glad I got to come on this mission with you too, Kyo. Since you became a Pillar, I rarely get to see you aside from Hashira meetings. Maybe getting snowed in was a blessing in disguise for me.” You laugh a little at your own words.

“I feel the same.” Kyoujurou’s breath dances across the back of your neck as he leans over to reach some of the smaller cuts on your shoulder. Content and safe with him, the exhaustion from today starts to catch up with you and you feel your eyelids getting heavier with each second that passes.

“I’m done.” Kyoujurou announces after a few minutes as he secures the knot on your dressing. “Although the wound is not severe, but it’d be good for you to get it changed daily to prevent infection. You should head back to your room now and rest properly-” Your head tilts forward and Kyoujurou pauses mid-sentence to realise you’ve already fallen asleep.

He briefly wonders if he should wake you, but his hand hovers over your shoulder when he catches sight of your sleeping face. Letting out a soft sigh, he murmurs to himself. “Falling asleep in a man’s room like this, you’re truly are cruel for making me suffer in this way.” 

Instead, he averts his gaze and slips his arms beneath your knees and back, careful to avoid your injury, and carries you to the bedding he’d set out earlier for himself. Gently laying you out on it, he makes sure to cover you with the thick blanket so that you don’t catch a cold, and then brushes the hair out of your eyes with a tender hand as he looks down at you with a pained smile.

“You’re so defenseless around me.” He says softly into the quiet of the room, silent except for the sound of the winter wind outside. “I wonder if it’s because you trust me, or because you don’t see me that way at all...”

With a slightly self deprecating sigh, he makes to get up, intent on heading over to your room to sleep instead. Before he can leave, however, a smaller hand wraps around his wrist, holding him in place.

“Kyo...” Kyoujurou looks down to see you pressing his hand to your cheek, a content smile on your face as you sleep. “Warm...”

His heart stumbles in his chest. Despite the winter chill in the air, Kyoujurou feels unbearably warm.

He settles back onto the ground, back against the wall as he looks at you with a resigned smile. “What am I to do with you, really...” His own eyes slide shut, but his hand remains tightly held in yours throughout the entire night.

The two of you fall asleep together, each dreaming of the other even as the sun begins to rise over the mountaintops.

[under-sedationnn]

eleventh: divine museum (pt. 4): "cold metal and tepid tea"

@impinehoney said to under-sedationnn: may i have a request for the eleventh doctor? maybe an adventure that leads them to an art museum, but like some more divine type because it’s on a different planet or something?? ahH THANK YOU

Word count: 2280

part 1

part 2

part 3

tag list: @gayandfairycore

if you would like to be added to the taglist, just comment on this post (or any of the other parts), send me a message or submit an ask! that way you will be notified whenever a new part is posted :) thanks and happy reading!! <3

Invisible, frigid hands seemed to pull us toward the ever growing light, leaving paint stains smeared across our bodies. It grabbed at us blindly, though the grasp was light, not as suffocating as it was before. My nose and mouth did not seem to fill with paint, though it had captured every inch of my body.

Falling through the frame of the painting, I turned to the side and saw the Doctor collapsed on the floor, smiling broadly. “Woo hoo! What a rush!” He put his arms in the air above him, and acted as though he had just gotten off of a ride.

Although I enjoyed his enthusiasm, I did not share his joy for the feeling. “Not in a good way, though,” I countered, placing a hand on my forehead, “it makes my head feel all strange.”

“Ah it’s just because you haven’t eaten dinner!” He jumped up, pulling me up with him. I teetered slightly, his arm catching me around my waist. “Yeah, sorry about that. We’ll stop somewhere nice to eat after all of this is over.”

Placing a hand on his chest, I laughed, “We are covered in paint. Honestly, if we could just have breakfast for dinner in the TARDIS after all of this, it would be lovely.”

“Just the two of us?” His eyes seemed to light up at the thought of such a small, intimate meal with me. I shared the feeling, my face heating slightly.

“As long as that’s okay with you.”

“Of course,” he began, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly over the sides of my waist. A gesture he didn’t seem to notice, but made my heart race. “Eating with you, just you, sounds wonderful. Quiet.”

A smile creeping onto my face, I responded, “I hope it’ll be quiet, I need a peaceful night after this.”

“Mm, yes,” he said, as I wound out of his embrace. Clearing his throat, he said, “Well, at least we know how to escape the paintings now!”

“We do?” I asked.

Gazing around the room again, to find our next painting, he responded, “Yes! They admitted whatever truth they had been keeping from one another, that’s the trick! The question is, what are they hiding?”

I followed his eye, and found the painting of the mother and child we had found earlier. The mother looked pained, worried; and the infant was screaming out, clawing to get away from the woman.

I huffed out a small sigh, worried of what we would find upon entering the painting. The Doctor gave me a comforting look.

“Y/n, what’s the matter?”

“We just- When we go into these paintings and we have the people within them admit their darkest secrets, it feels… invasive.” I rubbed at my arms, chasing away a quiet chill, a creep down my spine.

“I know it feels wrong, but we are helping these people. It’s never good to keep secrets in, ever.”

Although I knew he meant those words, he seemed hesitant. His eyes a little sad, far away and deep in thought. He had lived such a long life, there were bound to be things that he hadn’t shared with me, or didn’t want to.

I asked without thinking. “Are you keeping any secrets from me, Doctor?”

He shot a look at me, his eyes going wide. Restoring a neutral expression, he simply answered, “Of course, not. There are things you don’t know about me, yet, but I have never kept anything hidden from you.”

Once again, doubt in his voice. Rule number one, the Doctor lies. He’s a terrible liar.

Stepping closer to the painting of the mother and child, he busied himself. “Are you keeping anything from me, Y/n?”

I too busied myself with observing the painting, not wanting to answer the question. “No.”

A lie.

“Good, good!” He smiled at me, though a little pained. “Well, should we go then?”

“Yeah,” was all I managed.

Our arms became increasingly enveloped in the sticky paint on the canvas, the fumes from the substance overpowering. I held down a gag, and silently thanked myself for not making time for a meal. Before I was completely within the painting, I noticed a flash of orange on the wall behind the Doctor.

The painting held bright tangerines and low hues of pumpkin. Lights flashed within the scene, and a central cylindrical mount was the focus of the setting. The console room.

The paint consumed us.

-----

A townhouse on a rainy night appeared ahead of us. The wind howled, making a river flow down the cobblestone street, icy water lapping at our ankles. Rain dribbled down our clothes, seeped in deep, and stained the water running away from us. Though, the hues were not bright blotches of green and blue and pink like the ribbons and flowers of the sunny wedding venue.

Bold gray, dull chartreuse and bright splotches of yellow instead covered our clothes. Yellow came from the single street lamp, illuminating the green copper roof and the stoop of the townhouse, where the woman and the wailing infant sat.

Despite the weather, the two sat completely still. She seemed to be rocking the baby back and forth, but to no avail. Although the two were motionless, the sound of the child echoed through the street. The longer we stood there, the screams only became louder, cutting straight through the sound of the wind and rain.

Rushing forward, the Doctor and I ducked through the rain and approached the woman, the screams of the baby growing louder and louder as we approached.

“We need to create a shock, right? To get her to talk?” I asked.

He gave me a nod. Against all my better judgement, I launched myself toward the woman, wrapped my arms tightly around the bundle, and tugged. The unnamed woman met us with wide, grief stricken eyes. Her neck snap crack snap-ped into motion, as though I had just awoken a statue, and her arms actively tightened around the baby. Her center curved back, crack crack crack, and her knees raised to her chin, cradling the baby. The mouth of the infant began to sync with the sound of its shrieks.

“No! Please don’t take her! Please!” she pleaded, shielding the child from us in an attempt to create distance. Tears rolled down her tan face, the light of the street paling her skin and giving her a particularly ghastly appearance.

“We’re not, we’re not!” I yelled, raising my hands in surrender, “We just want to help you.”

She sat silently, her arms wrapped tightly around the screaming bundle in her arms, scrutinizing our appearances.

“You’re lying.”

“We are absolutely telling you the truth,” said the Doctor, “but you’re not.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Doctor,” I warned.

He turned back to me, whispering, “She must be hiding something, and the fact that it has something to do with this child has me worried. Please, let me handle this.”

Reluctantly, I nodded my head, hoping that he would be patient with her.

“You’re lying,” he started, “about something. That’s why you’re here.”

“What do you mean I’m lying?” She yelled, and the baby only grew louder at the volume of her voice.

“Where are we right now?” I asked, attempting to defuse the situation slightly.

She squinted against the rain, looking around towards the door of the townhouse.

“This is my boss’ house! Although, I thought…”

“You were at a museum, right?” I asked, hoping to jog her memory.

“Yes!” She shouted over the storm, “I had taken Melanie out for a day trip.”

“Are you her mother?” The Doctor asked, and the woman shook her head no.

“I’m her babysitter!”

I gave the Doctor a knowing look. “What’s your name?”

“Cassandra.” She attempted to calm the baby once again, but the infant had begun to unravel its swaddle, the blankets falling onto Cassandra’s lap.

“Cassandra, I’m the Doctor and this is Y/n. You’re still at the museum to took Melanie to and you’re trapped in a painting.” Cassandra gaped at the two of us, but the Doctor trudged on. “Did you tell anybody that you were Melanie’s mother? Or even one of her family members?”

I watched as Cassandra’s face melted into realisation. “I- I did,” she admitted, “when we arrived, someone in line told me that she was a beautiful child and asked if she was mine. I said yes without thinking, but not for any malicious reason.”

Instantly, the two of them began melting into dull hues of paint, splashing down the stone steps of the building and washing down the street.

“Doctor, she wasn’t even really lying!” He stood silent, thinking. “If these ‘gods’ are trapping these people for lies, or untold truths, that means they could be trapping them for small things as well. Lies that don't even matter or lies that were mistakes!”

“For the gods of Tyoonibe, truth is incredibly black and white. There is no gray area where some lies are acceptable to tell.” He pushed his hair out of his face, soaked by the rain at this point.

“So what, we can’t stop them from doing this to people?”

“No, not unless we completely rewrite the ways in which this culture works which would be, frankly, unjustified and rude. It is not our place.”

“What can we do?” I asked, desperate to help. I crossed my arms around myself, trying desperately to trap my own body heat.

“We can help the people who are imprisoned right now, get them out, and try not to get trapped in a painting of our own.”

I thought back to the painting of the console room and shuddered. What is he hiding?

“Y/n, come along!” He motioned to the door at the top of the steps, the entrance now choked with darkness, the edges lined with ripped canvas.

Stepping through, we moved through the paint with more ease this time. The fumes still overwhelmed my senses, but in my control, I found the Doctor’s hand and grabbed on tight. We fell to the floor of the museum once again, and I shot up quickly, my eyes meeting the painting of the console room.

It was still there, unmoving, lifeless. Though, an invisible rope seemed to yank me in its direction.

I should tell him. “Doctor, there’s uh- there’s a pai-”

I was cut short by a pounding in the hallway. We ran to the double doors and ripped them open, finding Sybil nearly throwing her body against the entrance to the museum. Her grunts echoed off of the round, marble walls and high ceiling.

“Sybil, darling, please do be careful!” shrieked Villiam.

Rounding on him, Sybil barked, “I DON’T WANT TO HEAR ANOTHER WORD FROM YOU, CHEATER!” Her round, red cheeks jiggled with each word, and Villiam nearly sank to the floor. From embarrassment or fear, I couldn’t be sure. They were no longer in their wedding attire, their clothes now appropriate for the anniversary they had attempted to celebrate.

Cassandra stood nearby with Melanie, the baby finally quiet and asleep. She looked up from the bundle, realizing we had entered the room amidst the chaos.

“Doctor, Y/n! You made it out too!”

“We’ve been able to freely move to whichever painting we pleased,” said the Doctor, “did you all end up here after you were freed?”

“No,” began Sybil, who spun around to face us. She spoke between deep, unsteady breaths, exhausted from her attempts to escape. “We ended up in the truth room and now we are trying to leave.”

Placing his hand on his chin and pacing around the room, the Doctor searched for what we could have missed. “We already freed everybody here, we’ve all admitted our truths, what am I missing? What am I missing?”

Growing frustrated, he let out a low grunt and slid down one of the marble walls. I stood away, looking at him expectantly. Though, I knew what the next step was. I knew why we couldn’t leave. I have to tell him, I have to tell him, I have to tell him.

“What?” he snapped, recognizing my stare. I winced at his tone, and his eyes softened. “Y/n, what?”

“Um,” I began, walking towards him slowly, “we have a painting.”

“We do?”

I shook my head slowly, and offered him my hand. Walking from the entrance hall and through the doors of limbo, I led him to the bright, frame canvas.

“It’s the TARDIS,” he said, “it has to be ours.”

“What are you hiding, Doctor?” I smiled at him slightly, asking in an almost playful way.

He returned the smile, though his voice was grave, “I should be asking you the same thing.”

With a squeeze of my hand and a deep breath in, we placed our hands on the rough canvas. The smell of paint overtook my senses once again, the slick, cold feel of it against my skin. Though this time, I could hear the hum of the TARDIS thrumming like a heartbeat, the smell of cold metal and tepid tea, long forgotten by the Doctor.

Stepping through the door of the TARDIS, the Doctor and I were no longer covered in paint, and our clothes had returned to a normal state.

He had his bowtie, suspenders, and leather shoes. I had my jeans, my sneakers, my favorite top. At least we would be comfortable for whatever was about to ensue.

“So,” hopping up to sit on the center console of the TARDIS, the Doctor watched me lovingly, amused, the orange glow of the room hitting the sharp angles of his face, “where do you want to start, Doctor?”

TO BE CONTINUED.

[bakugohoex]

“happy new year baby”

pairing: kotaro bokuto x female reader

cw: aged up, language, fluff, kissing, alcohol, just hella fun

word count: 2900+

a/n: sorry guys this is coming out late on the first day of 2021 but hope you guys enjoy it because it is in my opinion adorable 

summary: in which you and bokuto go to the msby new years eve party to celebrate, as the clock starts ticking down both you and bokuto seem to be no where near each other and in a rush to find each other, you both go into the new year with one thing unchecked  

↞ back to haikyu!! masterlist

The stars filled the blues and blacks that cascaded across the sky, tiny lamps were situated on top of the long poles that surrounded the open top garden. Even with the December chill, the MSBY team had decided to set up their annual New Year’s party on top of a building which had a rooftop view of the fireworks and ball drop. Fairy lights clinged against the wooden poles, a bar in a corner and music burst through the speakers as everybody began to mingle.

You and Bokuto were both running late, having had to work yourself on New Year’s Eve, the rush of getting ready in time for the 8pm time. Had been a lot longer than you expected and now at 8:15, Bokuto leaning against the door as you put a coat of lip gloss across your lips. He hadn’t expected you to take this long, but watching you become even more perfect was always a sight for sore eyes for the boy. He grabbed the heels, moving to your legs with ease. “Baby, you don’t have too.”

“I want too.” He had kneeled and your hand instinctively moved through his hair, the normal spiky hair had instead been flatter, draping down to his ears. It was an unknown look, but you liked it either way, he fastened the heel to your feet, caressing your leg which wasn’t covered in the thin gold fabric you wore.

The dress had been a Christmas present from your boyfriend, with sequined straps and a cut up to your mid-thigh on your right side. It was perfect and watching you walk around in your get up made his eyes fill with love. He got up, helping you up himself you were finally able to leave and seeing the cascading messages from Kuroo asking where the hell you two were. You knew you would get told off, it wasn’t even like you two were fucking, Bokuto had had to watch you for the past two hours get ready.

Even then the instant you both were outside, you regretted not bringing some sort of jacket but didn’t want to be even more late. You knew by the end of the night you’d end up stealing the black suit jacket Bokuto had worn. The white shirt underneath with the first couple of buttons un done was a sight for sore eyes, and his trousers that clinged onto his thighs and ass looked like heaven to touch.

The drive was quick, probably due to both wanting to see how the rooftop looked like. Arriving up to the door, you both got told how to get up and in a matter of minutes, you felt the much colder wind hit your skin again. You saw past teammates from the MSBY’s time in high school and even new teammates from playing on the national team. In an instant you saw Kuroo walking up to you both with an eyebrow raised.

“You two couldn’t have waited to fuck after New Year’s.” He spoke grabbing the two champaign glasses that a waitress had been holding. Passing them to both you and Bokuto.

“I fucking wish we had been fucking, this one was taking hours.” Bokuto over exaggerated, you hit his shoulder glaring at him.

You drank the Champaign in a single sip, both looking at you with wide eyes, “glad we got a free bar now.” Kuroo mutters before dragging you both around, you were met with Bokuto’s teammates who all hugged and began conversing with you both.

The sound of Akaashi had made Bokuto leave you with the group of volleyball players, you watched him leave taking a sip of the pina colada you had made Atsumu get you. “Y/n, you promised we could take shots.” Atsumu pouted.

“I want shots.” Hinata shouted out before he went on his merry way to the bar, getting what looked like 20 odd shots.

“Sakusa, you going to join us, I’m sure they sanitised it all.” You spoke to the boy, his mask around his face matching the colour of his undershirt.

“I watched them sanitise it.” You nodded, of course the boy did. He probably glared at them whilst they cleaned every single shot glass and glass to his perfection.

Hinata came back with the tray, Atsumu in an instance challenged Osamu who had been talking to Suna to see who could down the most shots. It was a sight watching the two twins argue between who had taken the most, watching with ease how they gulped the liquid down.

Hinata grabbed his own taking it before the twins could finish what he had bought and you and Sakusa did a shot together. You had heard your name being called from the other side and left to be met with Kageyama who had been talking to Iwaizumi.

“Iwa, Kageyama.” You smiled out, grabbing another drink on your way to the boys.

“Y/n.” He smiled out as Kageyama looked at your already tipsy self.

“Did the stupid orange boy make you do shots?” Kageyama muttered, his own drink in his hands.

You laugh as you went to hug Iwaizumi, “More like the twins were stealing all the shots, I had to have some.”

You began conversing with the two boys before getting hungry, you could see appetisers coming round and began to take a few in your palms. You sat on a stool near the edge watching over the bright lights that filled the horizon, it was sight, you had noticed Kenma with his game in his hand.

“Kenma, why am I not surprised?” You spoke with the appetiser in your mouth.

He looked at you seeing the endless amount of prawn volovants in your palms. “You got enough there.” He tried to surpress a laugh at how hungry you must have been.

“Hey, don’t be mean, you’re not getting any now.” In an instance you put the five in your mouth, stuffing your face. Kuroo had noticed you and Kenma, coming closer he noticed your puffed cheeks and Kenma laughing.

He turned to see you properly, the pasty around your lips, “Y/n what the fuck?”

“Where’s Bokuto?” You ignored him missing your boyfriend who you hadn’t seen in the past hour, he was probably drinking with Akaashi somewhere.

Kuroo helps you up, your heels making your feet sore you weren’t drunk at least, just buzzed and wanted to see your baby as soon as you could. “I’ll take you to him.” Kuroo kept you near him, guiding you away from the platters, you had tried five times to re direct the rooster head. But he had directed you every time to the other end where a couple of chairs and tables were.

You noticed more people who you wanted to say hi to, but Kuroo kept you in place thinking all you could see was food. “Baby.” You said as soon as you saw your boyfriend, he was sitting with Akaashi, Ushijima and Hoshiumi.

He smiled seeing you with what looked like more appetisers, “when did you get those?” Kuroo said in disbelief at how you had conjured up more food.

“You’ll never know.” You chuckle before sitting in Bokuto’s lap, he didn’t care playing with your hair as you sat and ate. Before starting a conversation with Ushijima and Hoshiumi who seemed to be talking about some promoter who had been bugging them.

“Why don’t you tell them to fuck off in a nice email?” You suggested to the two boys.

“What does a nice email mean?” Ushijima’s expressionless face would normally have been intimidating but after having known him for a while, he was just stoic because he really was clueless.

“Like say…” Your hand went to your chin to think, “I appreciate your consideration to have me as a promoter but at the time being, I’m occupied in other ventures, some bullshit like that.”

You scoffed another appetiser down your throat, “lemme have one.” You heard in your ear, Ushijima and Hoshiumi clearly had taken your words as they looked like they were thinking up another one, so it didn’t seem weird.

You faced your boyfriend, his eyes glued to how your leg and thigh were on display for him and your straps to your dress had fallen to your shoulder. Your cleavage on show for him, he nuzzled his face in your neck before you fed him the appetiser. “That’s all you get; I want them all.” It was addicting and you had found a new love in food,

“It’s okay I’ll just taste it from you.” You tilted your head in confusion, before feeling his lips on your mouth.

You smiled kissing back, his hands on your thighs rubbing circles, you loved the taste of him, the sweet alcohol he had been drinking lingered and your cherry lip gloss circled his own mouth. “It’s not even the countdown yet.” You heard Akaashi speak who had been helping the two clueless boys.

“Akaashi don’t be mean.” You pout before seeing more food come out Bokuto notices your eyeline.

“Bring some for me.” You nod like a woman on a mission, you got up from the boy, his hand giving a squeeze to your ass through the fabric. He grinned licking his lips as you sauntered off. You needed more food, drinks, and love. You got more food grabbing it in a plate that were stacked in the sides before going to get some more drinks. Looking at the list of alcohols you couldn’t choose, skimming back and forth.

“Y/n, is that you?” You turned around meeting Kiyoko, she smiles as you both go in for a hug.

“When did you guys arrive?” You ask as you both sit down eating the food that was meant for both you and Bokuto, you hadn’t realised how quickly the time had come, the nearing of midnight approaching until Tanaka came up to Kiyoko.

“It’s nearly midnight.” A rush of energy hit through you, you jolted up scouring to find Bokuto who was nowhere to be seen.

You kept at it, unable to see due to the heights of all of them, worry came to your face seeing you only had a minute left. You saw Akaashi running towards him, “where’s Bokuto?”

He looked confused before pointing to the other end of the rooftop, damn this place for being so big. What you hadn’t realised was Bokuto had been looking for you himself, meeting Kiyoko and Tanaka just as you had left. Both of you searching for each other, he had been preparing all night, talking to Kuroo and Akaashi but in this moment. He was uncertain his plan was going to work.

That’s until he saw you, your plump lips having pastry around the edges, the sleeve that had seemed to have fallen even more, an empty glass in your fingers. You were looking around until you spotted him as well, a happy face as the countdown began.

“Ten.”

You both began to walk towards each other, it was like a movie where nobody else existed and it was just you too. His grin had gotten wider, his hand in his pocket and your dropping the glass onto someone. You didn’t even know who, you didn’t care your eyes focused on your new year’s kiss.

“Nine.”

People were chanting all around you, the walk would take less than ten seconds but the two of you dragged it out, wanting to pounce on each other just in time for the half way mark. He continued to walk towards you, you just as pretty as the day he had met you. You were always the first one to his games and the last one to leave with him and he cherished every moment you had spent for him and his career.

“Eight.”

His lips twitched upwards, a grin as he cocked his head back. You could see his neck on full show, before he regained his composure, he had seen your eyeline shower him before taking a mere glance at the plate of food that had gone past him. You would always be his same hungry girl who would rather have spent tonight at home eating together than at a party like this.

“Seven.”

You continued to step forward, the seconds longing out, time becoming even longer. You remembered a conversation that you had had with the boy the first time you met. He hadn’t been his normal self, instead a mess whilst talking to you and you had had to stop his nerves by holding his hands. It made you both calm and a conversation arising about what you’d both do if you had an unlimited amount of time. He had remarked about how he would spend it playing volleyball, which you weren’t surprised about.

“Six.”

He had asked you the question one year after dating, the only reason being that he had changed his answer. His words stayed with you ever since, he would spend his unlimited amount of time with you. You the woman who he saw a future with, the woman who he would marry, who he would have a family with, the woman who he would grow old with.

“Five.”

You both approached each other, his hand raised which you entangled your hand into. Both standing in the middle of the rooftop, everybody eyes on the countdown. Your bodies were ever so close as he rubbed circles on the back of your hand.

“Four.” He whispers, tilting his head.

You tilted your head the opposite direction saying the word, “Three.”

“Two.” Your lips grazed across each other, the smell of food and alcohol coming from both of you. But most of all the cherry lip gloss that you had kept applying every time you ate.

“One.” You both spoke in unison.

His lips crashed into your, teeth to teeth, lips to lips. Your hands moved to his hair, pulling and tugging to bring him closer, you both kissed each other with so much force. Going into the new year with each other and practically in each other. You heard the Happy New Years around you, the streamers and lights flashing as fireworks spilt into the sky. Before you both let go of each other, out of breath at how passionate the kiss had been.

“Happy New Year baby.” His words were soft against your mouth.

“Happy New Year Ko.” You smiled going in for another much shorter peck. His lips were soft, and he tugged at your waist making you move closer to him, he seemed to be shaking but you hadn’t notices. Akaashi had noticed coming up to the two of you, your eyes grazing across the sky to see the colours of red and yellow across the sky. “Y/n.”

Akaashi nodded at Bokuto who easily let you go, you turned to see Akaashi. Missing Bokuto’s arm but you didn’t say anything, he probably went to say Happy New Year to the drunk Kuroo and Atsumu who had put their jackets on like capes.

“Happy New Year Akaashi.” You smiled at the boy going in for a hug, before you heard a squeal from behind you.

“Turn around.” Akaashi instructed letting you go.

You obeyed turning around, even the music had stopped which was a shock. Both Kuroo and Atsumu gleefully cheering him on. Him, the man who was on his knee with an engagement ring. Him, the man who had been planning this for months. Him, the man who hadn’t known when the perfect time to do this was. Tears welled up as he began to speak aloud for everybody to hear.

“I…I love you Y/n, I always will, and I want to spend the rest of our lives together, until we’re 130.” You give a chuckle at the inside joke between you, him and Akaashi. “It took me a while for me to realise I wanted to do Volleyball for the rest of my life, I never expected to have known by our second date that I’d marry you. Ever since then I knew you were the one, the one who id see walking down the aisle, the one who would create a family with me and the one who would stay by my side until the end. Will you Y/n Y/l/n, do me the greatest of honours in becoming my wife?”

You sucked in a breath before nodding, a teary “yes.” Erupted from your mouth and in an instances his arms had grabbed you into a hug. Your legs up in the air as he carried you by your waist. You cried into his shoulder, the cheers and congratulations coming from everybody.

He let go keeping you close to him, putting the diamond onto your left ring finger. He smiled looking at you, “you said yes right? You didn’t just say it to save me the embarrassment.”

The mascara had dripped down your face, smiling at the boy, “I said yes, Ko.” Tears fell from his own eyes, before looking at you. The beauty you had made him want to look at you for hours on end. But more specifically how nobody could ever compare to you, you were perfect. You were his perfect girl.

A grin fell on his face before he kissed you again, not as his girlfriend, not as his new years kiss but as his future wife. As the woman who he now knew for certain would be with him till the very end.

i’d really appreciate if you guys could leave a like, reblog or comment, thanks x

if you guys want to be a part of a tag list, just reply to any post and i’ll add you xx

@samusimp @alainarose13 @crispychannie @underratedmage @jennammaee @cathy8taffy @sugacious @moonlightaangel @kat-sukis-hoe @effmigentlywithachainsaw @swankiifiied @maat-the-prescriptive @missmultifangirl @tvwhoresblog @kuroos-world @chrrylevi @ukaisgratefulwhore​ 

[thedanceronthestreets]

PEDRO PASCAL GQ GERMANY - OCTOBER 2020

Original text by Esma Annemon Dil

Fotos by Doug Inglish

Styling by Simon Robins

Translated by @thedanceronthestreets

Intro: A broken tooth could almost have been the reason for our meeting with Pedro Pascal to be cancelled - and with that our conversation about roots, his new movie and times of change. 

Interview: It is almost eery how empty the streets of Los Angeles are under the gleaming sun. While Europe is finding its "new normal", people in L. A. are cutting their own hair even without being neurotics. Many of them have not seen their friends in half a year. The pandemic is out of control. So are the reactions to the situation. Inviting someone to a "distance drink" in the backyard can lead to the same consternation as proposing a relationship partner exchange. 

All the more of a surprise was Pedro Pascal's immediate confirmation. To the drink, not the partner exchange. He is one of the winners this year - and if Corona had not forced the movie industry to go on a holiday, he probably would not have had the time for this drink. After "Game of Thrones", the series in which his head was squished, followed 2015 the leading role in "Narcos" as a DEA agent on the hunt for Pablo Escobar, and now the leap onto the big Hollywood screen. As of 1. October the Chilean will appear in the blockbuster "Wonder Woman 1984". Furthermore, the second season of the "Star Wars" series "The Mandalorian" will start in October with him as the main character - unfortunately underneath the helmet. But we all seem to be under the same helmet in 2020. It is this man we want to meet, who worked as a waiter in New York a couple of years ago. Whose parents are political refugees that settled in Texas, and one day their son decided to walk into a drama club in high school. 

And then the cancellation. While we were preparing the house and garden for Pedro's drink and fashion shoot, which isn't an easy task under L. A.'s restrictions, his management called in with terrible news: Pedro has - no, not Corona - had to receive emergency surgery due to a sore tooth and is now lying in bed with a swollen cheek, making talking or shooting impossible. The sun shines onto empty streets. And our empty garden. 

A few days later, he stands in front of the door anyway, no huge bulge in his face, but stitches in his gum. No limousine service that dropped him off, he arrived in his own car and picked up his makeup artist on the way. He helps her to carry in all the equipment and states first and foremost: "I've got time today!" What a star! It does not seem like we are about to ask him how he managed to become a Hollywood sensation, but rather him asking us that question. Pedro Pascal! So, what kind of star is he then? 

Pedro Pascal: Sorry for ruining your plans. The operation was a total emergency. 

GQ: Really? We were wondering whether the swelling was the result of a secret trip to the plastic surgeon. Apparently, because of the quarantine in Hollywood, their schedules are packed. 

Sorry to disappoint you. A few days before our appointment I raced to the hospital with a tooth fracture and the worst pain I've ever felt - a hospital where the severe Corona cases are treated. I was unable to contact any dentists! Right before I parked, a specialist called back. I'll spare you the details of the surgery, gruesome. The pain was excruciating despite the 10 anaesthetic shots. The doctor said I wasn't the only one going through this, a lot of people grind their teeth at night thanks to stress. 

What are you most afraid of at the moment? 

The way the government is handling the pandemic scares me more than the virus itself. The lack of intelligent crisis management is a moral disgrace. The leadership crisis makes orphans out of all of us - we're left to fend for ourselves. 

How have you spent the last few months? 

With frozen pizza in jogging trousers in Venice Beach. I live in a rear building that's in the garden belonging to a family. In reality there are enough good takeout restaurants around that area, but for some reason I like salami pizza from the supermarket. 

That doesn't exactly sound like the movie star lifestyle. What does it feel like to be forced from top speed to zero? 

Considering the things happening in this world, my own state really isn't the top priority. But I would have to lie, if I said I wasn't disappointed. The entire cast and crew of "Wonder Woman 1984" put so much heart and soul into the production. We had so much fun on set. I had hoped to carry this feeling of exuberance around the globe to the openings of this movie. 

You are part of a political, socialist family that fled the Pinochet regime in Chile. What do you remember from back then? 

My sister and I were born in Chile, but I was only nine months old when we claimed asylum in Denmark. From there, we moved to San Antonio in Texas, where my dad worked as a doctor in a hospital. 

Texas isn't exactly considered to be socialist utopia. How well did you settle in? 

San Antonio isn't a cowboy city but rather very diverse with large Asian, Afro-American and Latino communities. In my memory it's a romantic place, culturally inclusive. The cultural shock only hit when we moved to Orange County in California later. Suddenly, the environment was white, preppy and conservative. 

How were you welcomed in California? 

To this day I'm ashamed when I think about how I let my classmates call me Peter without correcting them. I'm Pedro. Even without growing up in Chile, the country and language are part of me. I was quite unhappy in that place. At least I was able to switch schools and visit one in Long Beach, where I felt more comfortable. With its theatre programme, I found my path. 

Could you visit your family's homeland as a child? 

Yes, after my parents ended up on a list of expats that were permitted to re-enter the country. First, there was a big family gathering, then me and my sister were parked at some relatives' place for a few months while my parents returned to Texas. They probably needed a break from us. They'd had us at a very young age, had a vibrant social life, and my mother was doing her doctorate in psychology. 

Was your mother a typical young psychologist that tested her knowledge at home? 

You mean whether I was her lab rat? Absolutely. I can remember weird sessions camouflaged as games, where someone would watch my reactions to different toys. Even though I couldn't have been older than 6, I knew what was happening. My favourite thing was to be asked about my dreams. That was always a great opportunity to make up fantastic stories. 

Was that your first performance? 

Definitely! My strong imagination alarmed my mother, because I'd rather live in my fantasy world than in real life. I didn't like school. I ended up in the "problematic kid" category. At some point the subjects got more interesting and my grades improved. So many children are unnecessarily diagnosed with learning disabilities without considering that school can be daunting. Why is it acceptable to be bored out of your mind in class, when there are more stimulating ways to convey knowledge?

With everything happening in the world this summer: Do you believe that social hierarchy structures are genuinely being reconsidered? 

Hopefully. After the lockdown my first contact with people was at the Black Lives Matter protest. The atmosphere was peaceful and hopeful until the police got involved and provoked violence. At least during these times we can't avoid problems or distract ourselves from them as easily as we usually do. It seems that the pandemic provided us with a new sense of clarity: we don't want to go on like this. 

The trailer of "Wonder Woman 1984" represents the optimism of the 80s. That almost makes one feel nostalgic nowadays. 

That holds true. It's two hours of happiness. Patty Jenkins, the director, managed to make a movie full of positive messages. We shot in Washington, D. C., then in London and Spain - which now sounds like a different time. 

Do you miss travelling? 

I've only now realised what a privilege it is to just pack up your things and fly anywhere. With an American passport you can travel freely. And that's why the small radius we live in now is kind of absurd. Over the last few years I often retreated in between takes, because I was always on the road and overstimulated. Friends complained about how comfortable I had become. We all took social interactions for granted and realise now how reliant we are on human connection. Now, I wistfully think about all the party and dinner invitations I declined in the past. 

In L. A., people spend more time indoors or in nature than in other metropolises. Could this city become your safe haven after New York City? 

My true home is my friends. Ever since I was young I've lived the life of a nomad and haven't set roots anywhere. Until recently, my physical home was a place for arriving and leaving and hence I didn't want to overcomplicate living by owning lots of things. The opposite actually: Without having read Marie Kondo's book, I got rid of all the stuff that was unnecessary and lived a very minimalistic lifestyle. 

Is there something you collect or could never say goodbye to? 

Books! I still own the literature I read during my teen and university years. Recently I found a box of old theatre scripts and materials back from my uni days at NYU. I can't separate from art either, same as lamps or old pictures. Furniture and clothes are no problem though, they can be chucked. 

Do you remember any roles that were defined by their costumes? 

Yes, "Game of Thrones" comes to mind immediately. During that time I first understood what it means, as an actor, to be supported by a look. I owe that to costume designer Michele Clapton. She developed these very feminine robes and brocade cloaks for my role that looked very masculine when I wore them. I felt sexy in them. And very important were of course Lindy Hemming's power suits and Jan Sewell's blond hair for the tycoon villain Maxwell Lord in "Wonder Woman 1984". Relating to the style, I couldn't really see myself in the role since the shapes and colours of the 80s don't really fit my body. My type is the 70s.

Do you adopt such inspirations into your private closet? 

At this point in time, I'll choose any comfortable outfit over a cool look. Sometimes I mourn the days when I defined myself with fashion. It's a bit mad when I think about how, in the 90s as a teenager, I would go to raves; a proper club kid with crazy outfits: overalls, chute trousers, soccer shirts and a top hat like in "The cat in the hat knows a lot about that!" by Dr Seuss. Later in NYC I was part of a group that placed immense value on wearing a certain style. The fact that I only walk around in joggers nowadays is actually unacceptable! 

Normally, actors who work on comic screen adaptations become bodybuilders and eat ten boiled chicken breasts per day. You don't? 

My body wouldn't be able to handle that. I find it difficult enough to maintain a minimum level of fitness. As of your mid 40s, you suddenly need a lot more discipline. Until the tooth incident happened, I worked out a couple of times a week with a trainer to keep the quarantine body in shape. 

What would annoy you the most, if you were your own roommate? 

I can be very bossy. I have to gather all my goodwill not to force my movie choice on to everyone else. When I want something, I'm not passive aggressive about it, I attack head on. Also, I can get caught up in tunnel vision: When i feel down, I can't imagine that I'm ever going to feel better again. I have difficulty with seeing the bigger picture when experiencing problems or emotions. Method acting really wouldn't be my thing. That's why I try to only work on projects that feel good and where people encourage and lift each other up. 

While you were trying on the outfits you pointed out a lack of self-esteem. How does that coincide with your career? 

Isn't it interesting how traits and circumstances go hand in hand? Self-esteem comes from the inside, but it's also influenced by what society believes. We use critical stares from the outside against ourselves. I lived in New York for 20 years, I studied there and worked as a waiter up until my mid 30s, because I couldn't live off acting. It was always so close. The disappointment of always just barely missing a perfect part or opportunity is exhausting. When is the right time to stop trying and what's plan b? That's not just a question actors ask themselves, but anybody who struggles to earn a livelihood - unrelated to how much potential they have or how close their dream may seem. We are beginning to see now how our narrow definition of success is destroying our communities. At the same time, it's becoming obvious that, until this day, your family background and skin colour determine your chances of living a dignified existence. 

What are the positives of becoming a leading man later in life? 

I have the feeling that I've got control over my life - without the pressure of having to accept projects or be a social media personality. That surely also has to do with the fact that I'm a man. Women are surely pressured to appear quirky at any age. 

Life is always a management of risks - especially at this time. For what would you risk losing something? 

Usually, if you don't play the game you're not going to win anything. That applies to friendship, love, work, creativity. Anything that really means something to me, is worth the risk. 

Wonder woman 1984 will appear in cinemas 01.10. The 800 million dollar earning DC comic franchise is moving into the New York 80s with its sequel. It looks spectacular - only Pedro Pascal with blond hair in a three piece Wall Street suit looks better.

[elriel-oblivion]

So it's been four days so here's part two 😁 Just wanted to say a huge thanks to everyone who read/liked/commented/reblogged the last part! It was such an amazing response, especially given it was my first time posting my writing here, so thanks for all the love you shared 🥰🥰

Heads up, this part is actually part one from Elain's pov. Initially I wanted to continue from where the last part left off in Elain's pov, but as I was writing the background, I realised I'd written too much to just skip when Az gets to the estate and cut straight into a continuation of part one, so I ended up rewriting the whole thing in her view. So there's no new elriel moments, but you'll get a lot of new stuff anyway 😅 I would've said you don't have to read this part to understand part three, but when I was rereading the later parts a few hours ago, I realised there's some stuff that alludes to things in this part, so I strongly recommend you don't skip this 😅😅

Also, wow, some of my fave paragraphs I've ever written are in this part 😁 Bonus points if you can find them; there are four I'm thinking of in particular 😉

Word count: ~ 3.1K. Lemme know if you'd like to be tagged/removed 😊 Next part up in two or three days 😊

AO3

Ashes from the Deep

Part II

__

It had been a pretty uneventful day as Elain worked through her new plant textbook. Feyre and Rhysand had decided to spend the weekend away at the mountain cabin, Cassian and Nesta were away doing things she wished not to think of, and Mor was at the Winter Court.

Amren had only been round in the mornings, probably to check Elain was still alive. She'd glance round the living room, examine some of those fine crystal glasses in the display cabinet and then leave. There was no difference today, though Elain always felt Amren's scrutiny upon her even when that muted silver gaze was directed elsewhere; perusing Rhys' wine collection had become a tired ruse.

So besides preparing and taking her meals with Nuala and Cerridwen, Elain had spent her afternoon with her book, making notes and copying drawings. The twins had gone off on some errands, so she'd wandered into the garden at some point to tend to her many plants, telling them how lovely they each were. The crocuses looked particularly stunning this autumn day, their pale violet colour breathing life into the shades beneath some of the trees.

With her book, she'd identified new weeds, digging into the soil to rip some pesky ones out. Sometimes she didn't want the help of a tool; sometimes she needed to feel those roots on her bare skin.

Harvesting the carrots and beetroot was also on the agenda today, along with seeding for some spectacular displays next year. She'd been collecting the seeds from some of her summer blooms, like those soft clouds of baby's breath, saving them to replant. These she sowed directly into ground she'd prepared days before, her fingers digging into the crumbly clumps of earth.

Autumn onions she'd plant tomorrow, perhaps. Feyre always remarked on how their strong taste complimented meats well, so Elain wanted to harvest some fresh for her sister for once. It'd take a few months of waiting, but there was little else better than picking out and eating food one had grown with their bare hands and the essential ingredients of love and care.

Setting her book on the patio table, Elain surveyed the garden. It was a good day's work. Plants watered and sown, weeds uprooted, and hands sweaty and soiled, Elain was proud of what she'd achieved today. There were no distractions, nothing to take her from the one thing she always found satisfaction in.

After a long shower, she found herself back in the garden with a cup of tea and a blanket. The sunset washed the sky in a blaze of red and orange glory before it yielded to the cool tones of twilight then night. Elain sat in silence, hands wrapped around her mug. How long would it be until someone's arms were wrapped around her, until she felt the warmth her sisters finally had?

Silly, these thoughts. Immortality stretched far ahead, there would be time to develop that companionship. Months and years were but a heartbeat in the life of a High Fae. She wouldn't even notice the years pass.

Or so everybody else kept saying.

With her tea finished, she perused the book of recipes she'd borrowed from Nuala. Some recipes jumped out, ingredients for which she'd been growing for a few months now. Pumpkin pie sounded especially delightful, the gourd having almost darkened and hardened to ripe quality just a couple days ago. They should be ready for harvest tomorrow.

A chill wind sent Elain inside to prepare and have her dinner in pleasant silence. Even her mind was quiet tonight. After washing her dishes, she stood by a bay window, fingers idly tapping the windowsill.

Faelights bobbed like tiny lamps, dotted through the garden. The full moon was now high in the sky, its ghostly glow illuminating the datura flowers she'd seeded half a year ago. She pulled on her blanket and went out again for a better look at those gorgeous blooms, the petals opening only at night.

Elain couldn't be happier she'd found seeds of a triple-flowered variety. They'd grown to produce large trumpets, three layers of petals ruffled against each other. Somehow she thought of her sisters as she crouched and stared at the flowers, each layer so similar, yet fighting for space and breath as it unfurled before another. It was only when they were all fully open that they could sigh along the night breeze as one, an ethereal song of togetherness, tinged with notes of poignancy, only heard by those with the will to look deeper.

The white petals were stained with velvet violet, a true vision in her garden. While the others had given her passing compliments on the flowers, Azriel had seemed stunned the first time he saw them, citing them his favourite of all the plants Elain had grown so far. Something about their shape and contrasting colours, he'd mentioned.

She smiled fondly at the memory, where his eyes sparkled as he reached for one of the soft petals.

Her hand lashed out to grab his wrist. 'Don't touch them; the leaves and stems are highly poisonous.'

His brows rose. 'You wouldn't think that at first sight. But they're beautiful, Elain. Truly magnificent,' he said, his smooth voice so low, a voice that was night given sound. And how befitting, as even those datura flowers seemed enraptured by his presence, one shy petal finally unfurling towards him.

She beamed at him. 'They like you. Flowers like it when you talk to and compliment them - but these ones haven't given me the same reaction as they have to you. I think they really like you, Azriel.'

His answering smile was heartbreakingly tender.

A few more seconds passed before she realised she still held his wrist. She silently let go.

It was a shame she'd have to dig out the datura shrub and move it inside for the winter; it did look magnificent in the moonlight.

The sky shifted past its midnight velvet, and still Elain crouched, admiring the flowers. She shivered in the night's chill. The stars above twinkled and glistened, cold and distant as ever, yet stunning - infinitely more striking than they'd ever been when she was human. A thousand different colours sparkled in that vast expanse, the moon a phosphorescent queen in the centre of her court.

The Night Court truly lived up to its name in the wee hours of the day. Its opulence never failed to mesmerise her; the enhanced Fae eyesight was at least one thing she was grateful for from this body.

Her eyelids became heavy and she yawned. Why was she still out here? It was late into the night; she should be in bed by now. But the night was so beautiful and it was so quiet and she wanted to appreciate it all just once. Just once without the expectations of others, without having to wear that miserable smile all the time.

Of course, it didn't look miserable, which is probably why almost nobody ever bothered to look deeper into Elain. She should be used to it by now, but it still felt - wrong. That most overlooked her so long as she wore a smile. That most didn't think her capable of feeling the utter bitterness and loneliness she had once seen so plain on her sisters' faces.

And in acknowledgement of her sisters' hardships, Elain didn't fault them for not looking, for not seeing her. To see past the thick blanket of darkness in one's own mind was a trial in itself. But it had been years since the war now. And still they didn't notice.

They didn't notice that Elain was being shredded from the inside out.

It was almost laughable. But not funny enough.

No, it was not funny that people still treated Elain like a child, that people wanted to keep Elain in some weird impasse of a stage between child and adult. She'd thought finally carrying out her duty and giving her hand in marriage would show everyone that she was growing up: Elain Archeron, middle born but first married. Of course it was still on her own terms, to a man whom she'd loved. A man who'd seen her through the rubble of her family's lives. But she'd overall hoped doing what was expected of her would be enough.

Clearly not. She didn't even know who she was any more. Did she ever? Everything she'd once yearned for, gone. That fragile human life would soon be just a speck on the horizon of her past.

She sighed. Rebuilding herself was going to take a long time.

But what would she have to do for people to see her, to listen to her? Throw a rage? Fall into a drunken stupor and break a few dozen bottles?

She definitely could, but those were not her. She was Elain Archeron. And so she would wait. Patience wasn't a bad thing at all; she saw it on the shadowsinger's face all the time, that tranquility and calmness she so wished to feel inside.

Azriel. Her heart softened as he entered her mind again, and she dug her fingers into the soil, if only to occupy her fidgety hands. As sure as the chaos of her visions these days, there was a mess of butterflies related to him she wasn't willing to show. Or understand.

Elain and the spymaster? Now that was laughable. Truly laughable. He was wise and patient, while she - well, everyone already thought her a child, and though he listened like no other around her, surely even he couldn't glimpse the adult she so desperately wanted everyone to see.

No, it was foolish to entertain the idea of a relationship with him. No matter how much he saw.

No matter that he was the first to see her since Graysen.

Elain exhaled. She stifled another yawn, smoothing out the soil, then brushed her hands clean. She wrapped the blanket closer around herself and stood. Twinkling stars and velvety darkness and -

There, a knot of shadows materialising at the far edge of the garden, collecting and swirling into a larger mass before Azriel himself stepped out and sagged against a tree. His shadows whirled and obscured him, a dark fire with him burning at the core.

Elain's voice left her throat before she even thought to call him and she ran over to his figure slumped in the dimness.

She couldn't help but say his name again as she neared. 'Azriel!'

Those beautiful hands fiddled with a Siphon, but he looked even worse up close. Fatigue dragged at his body, a second weight to all the muscle and armour he already had to carry. Sweat and dirt clung to him, his hair. At least the shadows were parting, swallowing each other and misting away as they often did around her. Perhaps she should ask someday why they did that. But not today, not when his breathing was so laboured.

She raised a hand - to do what, she had no idea. She couldn't just touch him right now. 'You don't look okay.'

Something else limned his features as he huffed a light laugh and said, 'I'm fine, don't worry.' His voice was raw, so starkly different to its usual icy smoothness. It was common for him to guard his emotions, but in his state, this kind of thinking was just unhealthy. What would it take for him to be honest with her?

'You don't have to pretend with me, Azriel,' she said, lowering her hand. She studied the ground, embarrassed that she'd come up to him. What could she even offer in her pathetic childlike state when he was so clearly affected by his mission right now?

His hand rose. Her heart faltered, she had to do something, and she blurted, 'Can I wash your hair, please?'

His eyes widened, his entire composure crumbling. It wasn't often that the shadowsinger looked startled, but Elain was far too shy to show that she quite liked the effect her question had on him.

'You want to wash my hair?'

His face was so exquisite, it hurt to look at it. His eyes would be even worse; it wouldn't be the first time she was rendered speechless by their kind gaze. A myriad of colours swirled in their glistening depths - gorgeous greens and brilliant browns, all so natural and rich, if only she could look at them long enough to find their matches in the garden around her. Though, his eyes were an entire spectrum of colour in their own right. How would she ever pick out each and every shade?

And if she somehow did have the courage to meet his eyes now, what would she see of herself in their reflection?

A lovesick puppy? A doe-eyed, fearful fawn?

No, she didn't want to know.

So she swallowed and focused on his hair. Perhaps this Fae eyesight was a curse, for even his hair was shockingly fascinating. Only flat black from a distance, the faelights bobbing about the trees highlighted layer upon layer of silky raven locks up close. His hair was so dark it seemed to absorb the surrounding light. Mud stained one side of his head, and it was an effort to keep her hands from brushing it away, so she said, 'I'm positive that's mud and you shouldn't sleep with that in your hair. It'll only take a few minutes.'

He ran a hand through his hair, clumps of dirt falling out.

'You've managed to get some on your face, too.' There were light specks of mud and blood across his face, a more noticeable patch along his cheekbone, thrown into sharper relief by the faelights and his own weariness. Was that a cut beneath the patch? And another on his temple?

She leashed her arms.

What had happened? He wore the signs of a fight, but why would he come here when he knew Elain was the only one home?

His eyes bored into her face, but she refused to meet them. He seemed to lean forward then, stumbling.

Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous that he wouldn't even acknowledge he was in need. Azriel rarely stumbled. Any fatigue Elain had felt just a while ago was now burrowing down a little longer. Her voice was firm when she spoke. 'I'm washing your hair. It'll help relax you into falling asleep.'

His brows rose, but if Elain stood there one more moment she wouldn't have the courage to do anything for him. For herself - she could take care of someone else. She could do for Azriel what she hadn't done for Feyre all those years as a human.

And for Azriel, she could tend to the male who'd provided her with comfort and safety in this world of distress and danger.

So she pulled him along, clenching her jaw and refusing to look back. Her heart hammered in her chest but she continued, hand wrapped round his armoured arm. Her hand slid down to his wrist but just as she was about to replace her grip, he grabbed her other hand and pulled her into him.

The shadows instantly began to ensconce them, dozens of those cool tendrils twining like vines. The estate loomed huge before them, and Elain gripped Azriel's hand tighter. 

'My bathroom,' she said. Beneath the low whisper of those shadows, her blood thrummed, her heart so painfully obvious against her ribs now. It would be a wonder if the spymaster wasn't aware of it. Though she did hear another flutter above, right by her ear. But as expected, the shadows made quick work of their journey and she didn't have the chance to dwell on it further.

Now out of the comfort of Azriel's hold, Elain set down her blanket and made to grab a chair from her bedroom. His dark presence was so overwhelming that she exhaled lightly as she entered the room and took the chair. She dragged it to the sink, avoiding his gaze, and pulled a towel, soap and a large jug from the cupboard by the door.

As she settled the soap and jug on the sink, she dared a glance at him. He was still clad in full armour, those black scales gleaming like obsidian over his skin, his Siphons glistening jewels across his body. 'I think you'll have to collapse your armour for this,' she said.

He inclined his head and tapped a Siphon, those scales lashing back into each other with cruel elegance. They were a mirror of their master: cold, controlled and unyielding, forged from scintillating darkness. He was a night sky riddled with stars; light existed if only one bothered to look for it.

Azriel's great wings righted themselves as he stood straight, now looking smaller in just his black tunic and trousers. Something about him seemed vulnerable without the armour, so Elain breathed, 'It's beautiful, all of it.' The hulking armour, the classic simplicity of the tunic and trousers, and the male who wore them all.

He was just so wonderful, Azriel. An enigma that could see her own. Her heart clenched.

Azriel rustled his wings, colour blossoming on his cheeks.

Elain blinked and pulled the chair out a little. 'Please sit.' As he sunk down, she rested the towel on his shoulders, hovering her fingers above his forehead. Her body tensed and her fingers remained suspended. It was like a spark of tension flickered in the space between their skin, teasing her, tempting her, taunting her.

After all, she'd offered to wash his hair, an act that would certainly require touching. But why was she so hesitant? She'd touched him before - kissed his cheek, even. Although that had been in the heat of adrenaline, a mark of her gratitude where a simple thank you wouldn't suffice, not for risking his own life for hers.

This was - what was this?

She finally lowered her fingers through that tense spark, pushing his head back against the sink. It was exhilarating, this contact, but he lowered his wings, shifting on the seat. Elain moved into the space he gave, turning on the tap as he went still. Just as her body was taut, taut as the skin of a drum.

She checked the water. Warm. It was time to start.

Azriel was looking up at her. Something like yearning swirled in his eyes.

He looked so tired. It made her heart ache.

'You can close your eyes,' Elain whispered. And he did.

___

Feedback's welcomed; thanks for reading 😊

If anyone wants to know what the datura flowers look like, CTTO:

@illyrian-lover-flower @julesherondalex @nooriee @mis-lil-red @verifiefangirl @tswaney17

[thundergunexpresss]

Confess Your Sins

“He who commits sin is a slave to sin,” he recites, his voice a whine as he pleads, “get it out of me, please, get it all out.”

Spencer Reid x Reader Smut! Rekindling my love for writing about skinny white boys having sex while I’m in quarantine. Hit me with requests if you like, I need prompts! 😈

MASTERLIST

You watch him from across the dimly lit room, the only source of light an amber lamp in the corner, blanketing everything its light reached with a deep orange glow. And oh, it did him favours. The sharp lines of his toned stomach are masked with a deep shadow, accentuating just how lean his body was – the career the two of you shared certainly took care of that.

You flush at the thought of him working, the persona he inhabits when he’s faced with danger, how alpha he could be when he had hold of a gun.

A smirk creeps onto your lips as you take a step into the room, the contrast from the Spencer in your head to the Spencer on his knees in front of you was thrilling. He doesn’t look up at you, shoulders slouched as he keeps his gaze rooted firmly on the floor. He looks exhausted, his tall frame looking close to giving up and you hadn’t even started.

“Tell me what you did, Spencer.”

He grimaces, his rope knotted around his wrists tied firmly to the structure the two of you bought for this purpose exactly pulling against their harness as he struggles against the confines.

“I sinned.” He mutters, resigned and shameful. The words hang in the air, the orange glow smothering them as if he had summoned them both to hell, flames closing in on them as he speaks.

“Look at me,” your voice is steady, grounding him as he begins to float off to wherever the darkness in his head threatens to take him. His chin lifts to you without hesitation, eyes hooded as he stares up at you.

He almost looks high, you think, as your hand reaches out to brush your thumb along his lips. The way his eye lids hung half way over his eyes, his cheeks flushed and hair messy.

His mouth opens, silent until you permit him to speak. Such a good boy, you think, nodding as your eyes drink in the sheen covering his skin, salty and sticky as he became desperate.

“He who commits sin is a slave to sin,” he recites, his voice a whine as he pleads, “get it out of me, please, get it all out.”

Your breathing shallows as you curl your fingers curl round the back of his head, hair tangling in your grip as you sharply push his head to your thigh. He lets out a grunt as his face presses to your skin, relishing in the burning sensation on his scalp. You keep him there, heat pooling in the pit of your stomach at the sight of him on his knees.

You remembered the first time you’d had him so completely under your control. He’d come to you, bashful and painfully nervous, requesting that you help him with a personal issue. This was fine, you worked together and there was little in the way of things you wouldn’t do to help him, insisting you’d help, and no, you wouldn’t laugh.

But then he’d told you, the words spilling from his lips a mile a minute as his eyes scanned franticly over your face as his words sunk in.

He needed a release, to physically feel that he was paying for whatever he was convinced he’d done wrong. And you kept your word, every action you’d taken since culminating in the wonder in front of you now.

Such a beautiful boy, all tied up, begging you to repent him of his sins.

“Not until you confess.”

His body heaves as he lets out a pained moan, eyes screwing shut and brow creasing as he tries to find the words to tell you why he needs to be punished, why he needs to repent.

“I couldn’t stop him, I couldn’t.” he pleads with you to understand, not to make him say it. You almost recoil as you realise why he’s punishing himself. The two of you had returned from a case trip that morning, and he’d been quiet since they landed the plane, but you didn’t realise he’d been hit by it so heavily. It wasn’t his fault, the whole team failing to stop an unsub before he claimed one last victim, but that didn’t matter to him. You’d ease his pain afterwards, understanding that this is what he needed right now, despite the guilt not being solely his to bear. He needed to feel like he’d suffered for his mistakes

“18 hits,” you tell him flatly as you turn to the wall, fingers dancing over the cool leather tassles hanging there. You grab one, quickly return to his side, bending at the knees to lower yourself to his level. Bringing your lips to his ear, you feel him shudder as you drag the tassles of your chosen whip over his thighs, “Three sets of six,” you explain, “the touch of the devil.”

You don’t see his reaction, already rising to your feet as you step behind him. His upper half is completely bare, his back exposed and curving as he writhes where he’s held.

Your hand pulls back, wrist snapping as the smack of the leather on his skin pierces the air. He remains silent, head still hung as he offered himself to you, trusting you to make this better for him.

You count in your head as you bring it down on the delicate skin from his back to his behind, time after time, relishing in the whimpers that begin to escape his lips around the tenth smack. Call it the sadist in you, but his pain, the raw unadulterated pool of hatred inside of him, you thrived on it. You had seen the things he had seen, but you couldn’t begin to relate to what he had been through. To most, trauma would hinder the ability to submit to another human, to allow yourself to be in the position he was. He fed on it, allowing it to fuel his desire to be free from his own head, to escape the nightmares and, as the moment would have it, relieve himself from the sins he burdens himself with.

Sixteen. His body warps as he is hit, seeking relief from the striking pain.

Seventeen. His knuckles white as he balls them into fists where his wrist meets the rope.

Eighteen. His hair covers his eyes as his teeth clench. His cheeks are wet with tears you didn’t hear him express, breathing in sharply as he catches his breath.

The rooms falls silent, his chest heaving. It feels hotter in the room than it actually is, and you don’t move despite the air feeling so thick you could choke. It was difficult seeing Spencer like this, despite the fact that he literally asked for it. He looks so weak and vulnerable and you just want to hold him, loosen the binds around his wrists and pull him into you.

You’ve spent a long time trying to keep him afloat, trying to take some of his demons away from him by simply loving him, and never leaving him. But he needs more than that and you can finally accept that this is something that only you can do for him.

Snapping from your lapse of concentration, you walk in front of him, looking down at the top of his head.

“Look at me, Spencer.”

His eyes meet yours and they’re almost completely black. He looks demonic, and it turns you on more than it probably should, the fantasy of punishing the sinner was getting you soaking. You bring your hand to your front, fingers tracing along the lace of your panties, a soft moan falling from your lips at the slight friction over your clit. Your crotch is level with his eyes and he’s watching intently.

He’s hard, the head of his cock red an angry shade of red as he pants below you. He’s been leaking pre cum, no doubt had been since the first time the whip met his skin.

“Do you want to fuck me?” you taunt, fingers rubbing against yourself slowly, showing him what he wanted, but couldn’t have. Not until he could show you that he was deserving.

“Yes,” he breathes, hips pushing forward in a desperate attempt to find friction somewhere.

“You came to me today looking for forgiveness,” your fingers hook in the waistband of your panties as you pull them down your thighs, “looking to repent for your sins,” you kick the black garment away once they were round your ankles, not bothering to look where they landed.

“Please, I-”, he starts, and you step forward, just close enough that if he leant forward he would get what’s he wants, but he doesn’t. He waits pliant and ready for you to give him permission, such a good boy, so careful to do as he’s told.

“Show me that you’re worthy,” your voice wavers as his neck cranes up to you so close you can feel his hot breath on you, “you can touch.” Barely a second passes between you opening you mouth to speak and his tongue finding your clit.

He’s not gentle about it, pushing his face into you as he begins to suck, and fuck. The faint taste of blood begins to spread in your mouth as you realise you bit your lip a little too hard and it only turns you on more, it’s dangerous and sinister. It’s too much, but it’s so good. Muffled moans escape from him as he eagerly pushes his face further into you, tongue hardening as he pushes it into you, his face disappearing from your vision almost entirely as he stretches to reach between your legs.

His nose bumps against your clit, and you hiss at how dangerously close you come to losing it. You want him inside you when you came, the burn as you stretch around him. You pull him away from you, fingers tugging on his hair as he looks up, disappointed. His expression soon lifts when he sees you reach to loosen the binds on his wrists, working the knots to free him from the constraints he was held under.

“Up,” You instruct, and he obeys, rising to his feet. “look at you,” your voice is soft as you run a thumb over his chin, “you’re filthy.”

He hums, pushing his face into your hand, still slick with your juices. He whimpers as you lean towards him, tongue running a firm trail across the corner of his mouth, tasting yourself on his skin.

“I taste good on you,” you whisper, pushing your lips against his. Immediately his tongue is pushing into your mouth, kissing you to show you how badly he needed it. You’re barely even kissing, mouths just pressing together as your tongues swirl amongst your heavy breaths.

You pull yourself away from him, turning towards the bed, eyes squeezing shut as you try to steady your erratic breathing. Turning back to look once you reach the bed as composed as you could be, you curl your finger beconing him towards you. He only takes a second to reach you, his breath hitching as your hands press into his chest, pushing him flat onto the bed. Climbing above him, you throb as you feel how hard he still was under you, your head spinning as you settle your wet center directly above him.

He’s staring at you, eyes wide in awe as he takes in the sight of you and it’s a rush. Here he is, this beautiful, intelligent, complicated human, allowing you to take everything from him and then thanking you for the pleasure. You want to push his hands below him and make him watch while you ride him, you want to watch his face screw up as he struggles to keep his hips still when you slow to a torturous pace, grinding your hips dangerously slowly as you watch him fall apart, but not today. Staying in hotel rooms surrounded by your co-workers didn’t allow for them to really play.

You raise yourself up, reaching down and wrapping your hand around him, stroking him slowly before lining yourself up and sinking down onto him. His eyes flutter shut, his mouth falling open but no sound coming from him as he basks in the first few moments of being inside you. He’s sweaty and wrecked, his damp hair falling in curls around the sharp contours of his face, random strands stuck across his cheeks and forehead as he writhed in place beneath you. He was right, it was absolutely sinful.

It’s like the breath has been knocked out of you when you finally pull up and drop back down onto him, you’re so fucking full, he’s so big, he’s- oh fuck.

Suddenly, his hips snap up, his arms wrapping around your back as he pulls you tight to his chest before you even had a chance to properly move.

“Spencer,” you mean to sound assertive, but it comes out a pathetic whimper. He doesn’t respond, instead snapping his hips up into you and holding it there. It’s so much deeper than before, it feels as though you’re choking as you drop your head into his neck, the relief of him pulling out barely registering as he slams his hips back up into you so fast your body shakes.

It’s almost animalistic the way he’s fucking you, so desperate and filthy and messy and relentless. It won’t take long until he pushes you over the edge, your clit is rubbing against his stomach from the angle he’s holding you to him, and you feel the air leaving your lungs as your body begins to tense up, racing towards the edge.

“Spencer, baby, please-” it’s almost embarrassing how quickly you’ve come undone above him, how quickly he’s got you begging him for release, the same way he had been on his knees for you not ten minutes earlier.

“I’m-” you manage to gasp, your finger nails digging crescents into the skin on his neck as your body begins to shake, your legs shaking as your vision whites. Your orgasm reaches every inch of you as your body like waves as you fall limp onto him, your legs like jelly.

It’s hard to regain a sense of reality, your body dead weight above him, his hips not relenting as he chases his own orgasm. His legs must feel like they’re on fire, you think, realising quickly that the burning sensation he feels is likely only pushing him closer to his own release. He loves how it hurts.

Only true pain can bring true pleasure.

He says it all the time, and you can almost hear his voice as the saying pops into your head. It’s the encouragement you need, using what little energy your body has left to reach your hand up and press it against his throat.

His eyes widen, meeting yours as you press harder, cutting off his air supply. It’s all it takes, because almost immediately his thrusts falter, eyes locked with yours, choked moans falling from his lips as he pushes deep inside of you, a familiar warmth spreading within you as he comes.

You stay as you are for a minute, your grip relaxing over his throat as you rest, letting your breathing calm down as he enjoys every quickly disappearing wave of pleasure. Pulling yourself up, you whimper as his softening cock slides from you, the loss sudden and apparent as you slump over onto your back beside him.

“I don’t remember giving you permission to come,” your voice is hushed and cheeky as if the bubble surrounding your bodies would shatter should you speak any louder.

He groans, his hand patting across the bed sheets until it came in contact with yours, interlocking his fingers with yours between your spent bodies.

“I couldn’t help it,” he whispers back, and you can hear the smirk on his lips as he adds, “I’m a slave to sin. I warned you.”

His thumb traces circles on your palm, your eyes falling shut as you relax into the bed, sleep pulling you away from consciousness.

“I’m counting on it.”

-

hope you enjoyed!

[goldeneyedgirl]

TwiFicMas Day 8: Forgotten

Happy Day 8! I have been travelling all day, and plotting Forbidden Fics, so on with the show!

Today’s fic is an untitled riff on the concept of Alice being found in the woods of Forks not only having forgotten her entire life, but still human - her last solid memories are running from James. It was very much meant to be an exploration of Alice and Jasper relearning each other, and falling in love again - though it got quite dark and depressing at one point - and looking at how far Alice has come from her human years. She is absolutely unclear of the year she’s in, and whilst she has some memories of the asylum, she is also unaware of just how damaged she was before she was changed. I hope that all makes sense. 

Onwards!

--

What does she remember?

That is a loaded question. Matron asks her that every morning, as if she is a small child, whenever she can manage to talk. Her mind is gossamer thin, and tattered from shock therapy. She doesn’t remember much, but she does remember that her name is… her name is… Alice, yes.

The waking dreams she has are an illness, a terrible one, and she is mad.

Her dearest friend is Eli, the orderly. He was special, and a good man. He looks after her.

That’s what she remembers. The hunter. Eli taking her away from the asylum, wrapped in his itchy, old coat that smelt like smoke and grass. She was cold and tired and so frightened for Eli, because he is old and the hunt was strong… but he hid her away and went off to defeat the hunter.

//

This Alice is not their Alice, that is clear.

She is undeniably human, and so frail that Carlisle must resist the urge to check her immediately into the closest hospital. She speaks quietly, wringing her hands nervously. She doesn’t make eye-contact.

For Jasper, all he can think is that her eyes are blue. Blue-grey, really, a colour that nearly matches a scarf she bought back in the 50s. She has faint freckles over her nose.

//

The Cullens are very kind to me, whilst Eli has gone. Dr Cullen seems to think that Eli and I will be living with them for now on; that does make sense, I suppose, since Dr Cullen is a doctor, and I am still very ill. They had a very nice bedroom to give me, and clothing, so Eli must have written them. And Mrs Cullen was very nice when the dress she gave me was far too short and it upset me. The second one was much better, though it was black and I am sure made me look as pale as a ghost.

Mrs Cullen has cooked for me, as well – the smells are awful to a vampire, and the rest of them vanish whenever she disappears into the kitchen. She is always asking me what I like to eat, and she looked so sad when I told her I didn’t know, because the food at the asylum was so awful.

I keep away from the others, like Eli warned me. Though, Miss Rosalie was so lovely, I couldn’t believe she was real. I… I think I had a doll like her once. Her husband was a giant of a man who reminded me of the orderlies at the asylum, who seemed nice enough, but I wasn’t getting too close.

The redheaded boy seemed to like watching me a lot, but refrained from talking much. He seemed to have a lot of friends, though, as when he did speak, he was always talking about ‘Bella’ and ‘Jacob’ and ‘Seth’ and ‘Leah’.

The young blond man did not seem to be pleased I was in the house, leaving the room anytime I entered it, and when he was forced to be in my presence, he glowered at me, as if I were the most unwelcome creature in the universe.

Perhaps it should have upset me, but I am used to such glares.

Dr Cullen insisted that I spend a lot of time resting quietly in my room, though he allowed me to sit in the garden for a little while each day, and there was a never-ending supply of books, which was wonderful. I spend a lot of time attempting to pen letters to Eli, though my hands were still quite shaky, and my handwriting abysmal. My drawings moreso. I cried about it a little, when I was in my room, but I should be very grateful – my alternative to this lovely place was death.

//

My bedroom remained a mystery. Mrs Cullen assured me that it was mine, and I adored everything about it – the way the light filled the room every morning, to the dandelion lamp on the nightstand, to the bed with the silk headboard and piles of pillows. Mrs Cullen was always worried I was cold, bringing me as many pillows and blankets as I wished for.

But, I wondered if perhaps this room wasn’t intended for me. Mrs Cullen had filled the dresser with my clothing, and apologised, explaining the closet was used as storage, and I shouldn’t go through it until she had some time to clear it out. I had peeked, just once, and found it full of boxes and clothing. The clothing! I had never seen so many dresses! Most of them had been terribly short, but there had been every colour and fabric. I couldn’t imagine leaving behind so many beautiful things.

There were spaces in the bookcase as well, as if several editions had been pulled out in a hurry.

And I had found a necklace that had been left on the window sill, behind the curtain – a thin silver chain, with a glass teardrop on the end. It was lovely, and clearly beloved – the initials had been rubbed off the clasp, as had the engraving around the setting.

I had simply left it on the dresser and never asked, even when it vanished without mention.

It wasn’t the only mystery. I had noticed that I was kept out of many of the rooms of the house – my meals were served to me on trays or in the dining room. I was allowed in the garden or in my room.

But who am I to criticise their hospitality? Perhaps they keep things in this house that are not fit for human eyes.

//

Today, a man arrived. A policeman, though his uniform was quite odd. He looked quite stern, and when Mrs Cullen went to greet him, I disappeared back to the dining room to finish my breakfast.

Mrs Cullen is determined to discover my ‘favourite’ foods at every meal; I don’t have the heart to tell her after the ‘soups’ and ‘porridges’ of the hospital, every food is my favourite. Today, it is eggs that are like little yellow clouds.

“Alice!” the policeman sees me there and he smiles, but looks confused for a moment.

My glass of orange juice slips from my fingers and all I can think is that he is looking for me, the hospital has searched for me and they will drag me back to that dark, dim little cell, and I’ll be without Eli this time.

I know I am crying and screaming, though it sounds quite feeble to my own ears, and Mrs Cullen is trying to calm me, and the policeman looks bewildered, and the redheaded boy – Edward – is there and trying to fix everything.

“She thinks Charlie is going to take her back,” he keeps saying. “Get Jasper down here to calm her down.”

I must look a fright, my hair has fallen around my face, and there is orange juice spilt all over my dress and Mrs Cullen’s floor and there is glass everywhere.

“Carlisle left some sedatives,” Miss Rosalie says finally, looking rather stunned. Everyone looks rather pained but finally Edward nods.

And then I am calm.

I slump to the floor, my arms wrapped around myself. I am still frightened, my heart pounding, but I am calm.

“Charlie is a friend,” Mrs Cullen is telling me soothingly, smoothing my hair from my face. “No one is going to take you anywhere you don’t want to go, we promise.”

The calm fades into grief, and I fling my arms around her neck and sob like a child and beg for someone to fetch Eli for me.

//

They sit me down in the lounge room, all of them watching me. Esme has an album in her lap, and looks so kind and worried. I keep checking my hair, to make sure it hasn’t come loose. It’s not really long enough to pin up well, and Miss Rosalie never pins hers up, but it feels right.

And then Dr Cullen speaks. His voice is gentle and sad and it takes a while for me to understand the words he is saying.

Eli is, most certainly, dead.

But so is the hunter, and his vile companions.

I don’t make a sound, but suddenly my cheeks are wet, and I am crying. Esme pulls me into her arms and rocks me.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m sure he was a good man,” she murmurs against my head, and ice and fire rip through my veins and Edward hisses at Esme and I pull away, my heart pounding.

I’m sure he was a good man.

“What did he look like?” I demand from Dr Cullen, my voice hard but still shaking. “What did Eli look like?”

Dr Cullen looks startled and Esme is realising her mistake and I am realising that no one here has ever met Eli before. That I was never entrusted to these vampires by him.

Edward is just shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, Alice, but I never met Eli in person,” Dr Cullen says.

I let out a little moan, and wonder what comes next. A runaway girl in a borrowed dress.

Truly, how many times in my life shall I be left with nothing?

Perhaps I should have left the hunter to his meal and his pleasure. If I had known then what I do now, I would have.

My face is wet, and the collar of my sweater is sodden when I look up and spy a pair of shoes under the little console table in the entrance. They are small, small enough for me, and black, with a shiny gold toe. Worn, too, and I wonder whose they are. I wonder if that is why they took me in, to replace the ghost girl who left behind my bedroom and a closet full of clothing.

The family clearly doesn’t realise what I’m doing as I move towards the shoes. I am wearing good quality clothing – thick stockings and a grey dress with a black sweater – and now I have shoes. They cannot stop me leaving.

Well, they can. But I will fight until I am dead. I am tired of being a pawn.

Edward groans as I step into the shoes – a perfect fit, as if they were mine all along – and there is the fuzzy muttering I can never understand, and I wish they hung their coats by the door, but there is nothing for it.

Before I can open the front door, there is an iron-bar of an arm around my middle, and I look down and then up in shock, as Jasper bodily drags me away from my freedom.

“Let me go!” I squeal, trying to wriggle free. I am small enough that I could usually get out of Eli’s grasp; he would laugh and tell me I was like a cat, or a goldfish, too hard to catch. But this man, who has treated me with nothing but disdain, has compensated for my size, and I am trapped in his grasp.

“Stop it!” I shriek, and I try kicking and hitting, but it does nothing except bruise my poor limbs. Miss Rosalie’s husband is truly laughing at me, and I’m sure I look quite a sight, my eyes and face all red and wet, fighting against this ridiculous behemoth of a man. Eli was not so tall as the Cullen men, and it is most unhelpful.

“Please, let me go!” I beg, but my voice is cracking, slightly hysterical, as they discuss me. As if I am a naughty child instead of the girl they have lied to.

“You’re hurting me,” I finally offer, rather pitifully. That one always worked with Eli, and it works quite well now. The man nearly drops me, and stares at me in horror – a look that makes me feel terribly guilty, though my back does ache from being held in such a way.

“Jasper,” Edward is looking at him; he has the saddest, most heartbroken look on his face I have ever seen, and I feel awful. “It’s okay, she’s fine.”

Jasper shakes his head and turns; a second later, the door slams.

“He gets to leave,” I say grumpily, and Dr Cullen and Mrs Cullen just look stunned at what has transpired.

Within seconds, a plan is formed. Dr Cullen, Edward and Miss Rosalie’s husband go after Jasper, whom I have caused great distress to, apparently. Miss Rosalie and Mrs Cullen whisk me back upstairs, where I am brought a cup of tea, and ignore my questions about Eli, a sinking feeling in my stomach until my vision swims and I realise they have played the same terrible trick my mother used on me when the orderlies came to take me away. I tip sideways on the window seat and Mrs Cullen carries me easily to bed, and oh, I hate them all. I cannot cry or co-ordinate my arms to move or speak.

But I have learned a valuable lesson. They will be kind and take care of me, but I have no power nor choice. And if I strike out at them, I will be punished. A tiny, hysterical part of my brain is amused that their weapon of choice is pills crushed in tea when they could break me into tiny pieces, but I will be quite carefully about accepting food and drink now on.

The Cullens are not to be trusted.

//

The tea was brewed strong, because I sleep through the afternoon and night. When I wake, there is light slipping through the windows. Normally, I would attempt to wash and clothe myself before Mrs Cullen comes in, but today, I do not. I attend to my needs in the bathroom, and drink water in my cupped hands rather than risk whatever is mixed in with the glass on my nightstand.

And then I return to bed. It seems that is where they prefer me to be, so that is where I shall stay.

It is quite late, mid-morning, when Mrs Cullen ventures in with a tentative smile and a tray, and then a concerned look when I do no sit up nor greet her, still clad in yesterday’s dress. I do not respond to her greetings, and I feel like a dying animal when she finally leaves to fetch Dr Cullen.

Having the doctor in my bedroom makes me feel quite unclean, brings shadowy horrors from the asylum to the front of my mind that I try to push away as he checks my temperature and talks to me.

“Grief, especially for a beloved friend, can be overwhelming,” he says finally, smoothing my hair in a way that makes me shudder and pull away from him. “You should eat, to keep up your strength, Alice. But rest is a great healer.”

He and Mrs Cullen leave, though a plate of toast and a glass of juice is left on my nightstand, and I wonder how many pills they have crushed into the mix. I wait forty minutes before I deposit the toast and juice down the toilet – they shall never guess that I didn’t consume it myself.

I am right, of course. Mrs Cullen’s smile brightens when she sees the empty dishes. I have been good and obedient and all is well, in the Cullens’ eyes.

They might think that they can control me and win whatever terrible game this is, but I grew up in a hellish place, learnt cruelty and sneakiness from the very best at it. No matter what they think they can do to me, I’ve survived worse. And I will survive them, too.

//

It has been almost a week since the terrible altercation, and they all suspect me. I refuse to leave my room, content to take my meals up there and read. The food is discarded via the bathroom, and I drink only from the tap. My bones are returning to the surface. Hunger is an old bedmate, one I’ve known since I was a girl, and I barely notice it anymore.

//

The brunette girl looks quite rough, in her trousers and shapeless sweater. She looked quite sour, too, as we sat in the dining room.

There is little chatter as she presents the food she brought with her. Apparently, the popular opinion is that I am so grief-stricken that Mrs Cullen’s food no longer tempts me, and that this strange girl can provide something that I will eat.

The sandwich is wrapped up in paper, with stickers to keep it sealed – it gives me slightly more confidence that the food has not been tampered with, though my body is well trained in going without food, and I am full after only picking at it for a little while.

The girl – Isabella, daughter of the Policeman Charlie – doesn’t talk much, and when she does, every second word is Edward’s name. It’s strange; I’m faintly reminded of my cousins fretting over boys, a hazy memory of a conversation I had no interest in, and wondered if they ever read a book.

Since I ate, the meal is declared a success, and Isabella is encouraged to return any time - with more food, and I wonder how many conversations about Edward I shall have to sit through.

//

I rather shocked the family, today. Dr Cullen weighed me in my nightdress, and found out that I had lost another two pounds. All that good work, undone. Mrs Cullen had looked terribly sad, and Miss Rosalie had scowled.

“If you don’t start eating, we’ll take you to the hospital and they’ll force you to eat,” she practically growls at me, and I wish I could laugh in her face.

“They attach a feeding tube to your mouth, and they will tie you down,” Miss Rosalie keeps speaking. I tilt my head to the side and think of the asylum, of everything I have lived through in eight years. Nothing Miss Rosalie can tell me will scare me.

“Please, Alice, is there anything you would like to eat?” Mrs Cullen is nearly begging me. I shake my head.

“Perhaps it is time to involve professionals,” Dr Cullen says in a sad voice, and there is a loud bang from upstairs that makes me jump.

“That would be a no,” Miss Rosalie’s  husband says wryly.

//

I don’t know why, but I walk into the kitchen the next morning, and when Mrs Cullen offers to make me breakfast, I agree.

I agree to eat at least half and then sit in the garden with her.

I even agree to a cup of tea, though my hands shake something terribly when I drink it – why am I drinking it? – and I nearly drop the cup.

Mrs Cullen watches me with a tired look on her face, and smoothes my hair from my face as she takes the empty tea cup. I sit in the garden and wonder if I could vomit it all up - it sits uneasily in my stomach, as if it knew how unwilling I was to consume it. I wait for the effect, to feel sleepy or twitchy or dizzy or something.

Jasper is watching me from the doorway, with a flat look on his face. I haven’t seen him since the argument, and he doesn’t look particularly pleased to lay eyes on me, but when he sees me watching him, he moves towards Mrs Cullen’s empty seat and folds himself into it.

“I,” he begins, looking down, “I understand you’ve suffered a great loss and feel like we’ve betrayed you. And I never, ever would have allowed them to lace your tea with sedatives, had I been in the house. I’m sorry I left. But you are safe here. We want to protect you and help you. And I will explain more when you’re well again, I promise. But you must stop trying to harm yourself, Alice. You must eat. I can only stop them from sending you to hospital for so long, and I…”

I blinked at him curiously. He had stopped them? More than once? He had some sort of authority over them - over me?

“I don’t understand,” I manage.

“I know, and we’ll start explaining things soon, but for now, I need you to trust us. Eat, drink, speak with us. I will watch over all the food that is prepared, if that makes you feel better. But I cannot watch you hurt yourself like this, and I cannot leave you. I just…” He looked so sad as his gaze met mine. And something about that gaze, something about the softness of his words made me trust him. He wouldn’t have drugged the tea, wouldn’t have allowed Mrs Cullen or Miss Rosalie to do so either. He never would have hurt me or lied to me. Whomever Jasper was in this family, and to me, he was neither unkind nor cruel. 

“Okay, I’ll try,” I said in a soft voice. “As long as you tell me the truth.”

//

[redspiderling]

MCU Breakdown: That b-roll called Endgame, part 2

This mess has been swirling around my mind all day and I can safely say that once I managed to block individual offences and look at the greater picture, I was able to reach a conclusion that might bring some peace to my mind and, hopefully, yours too.

We’re not here to once again simply exhibit how this movie failed to express itself in a visual way, we’ll go a step further because I’m an asshole like that.

We’re here to explain why the failure of visual expression cheapens the story-telling process and leads to an unfulfilling cinematic experience.

I’m adding a “read more” this time because I actually remembered to do it.

Let’s ease ourselves into this.

Exhibit 1: Not using any visual storytelling elements.

This is the moment Pepper realises Tony has figured out time travel. That they can -potentially- travel back in time and save trillions of lives. And it’s shot, like this

Like a picture from a furniture catalogue. I’m saying furniture catalogue not only because the shot is 80% furniture and 20% character. Not just because it is quite dark, and the pieces that are drawing the attention of our eyes are the various lamps and candles, bright and shiny in an otherwise brownish, muddy frame. 

This moment hasn’t earned its existence in our minds as an emotionally charged one. 

It’s not just that Tony was never the character who envisioned himself as someone capable of “settling down”. It’s that our brains have been trained for centuries to look for visual clues. The wringing of hands, the beads of sweat on a forehead, nervous gestures, restlessness. The symbolism of a storm in the horizon that trouble is coming. They’re all simple things but they’re layers upon layers of meaning.

The trouble isn’t just that the Tony we know is not the Tony we’re looking at. It’s that the way the story unfolds, visually, doesn’t fill us with dread. Instead we are left looking at an image of a somewhat peaceful existence void of any emotional charge. 

How this scene represents the “enormous scientific revelation will restore balance to the universe but will potentially ruin our family” sentiment, is an enquiry for me to make and for the Endgame show runners to never explain.

Exhibit 2: Using visual storytelling elements wrongly

To move forward from that significant for all its insignificance moment, it’s old news in the fandom that Endgame took the concept of found family and kicked it to an alternate dimension. 

What we are looking at here, is the New “But Actually Really Damn Old” Dream of the MCU: Typical affluent white heteronormative Heaven. 

And yet that’s not the problem. It is a problem, in the general “this is the 21st century and it takes a bit more to impress us” sense, but it’s not a problem from the perspective of a story. You can tell good stories for us all to enjoy that begin and end with this narrative, as long as you do it well. 

It is quite obvious that the basic concepts of visual storytelling are known to these people. And they do attempt to use them on occasion. We’re talking about visual clues that will help nudge the viewer in the right direction, so that when the moment comes, the viewer will have seen it coming and won’t get annoyed. 

Thus one could easily assume any form of foreshadowing is better than no foreshadowing, right?

Perhaps. But from my experience, certainly not in this instance. This is one of the big problems with this film, it is not certain where to draw the line on just how much does the viewer know? Is this their first MCU film? Second? Did they see Cap 1 and skip the rest?

Our story tellers don’t use all the information they have provided us with, and that creates traps for them. Even when they do attempt to warn us for what is coming they create more trouble for themselves. Because foreshadowing needs to be consistent. And dead ex girlfriends who got married more than 50 years ago, are not a likely candidate for a love story in the mind of the viewers.

Visual story telling is crucial and it needs to be consistent. You can show me hints that I will pick up on. 

Here's Steve in the Avengers. He's certainly a man out of time, with his old man clothes.   

Thankfully, by the time the Winter Soldier appeared, he was fitting in quite well in the world. A modern man now, with a modern attire.

So I'm left to watch in bewilderment and wonder, why is Steve back in his old man clothes in Endgame? 

When did this regression occur? Viewers are not idiots. Like I said, we are trained to pick up on visual clues, it's crucial to our survival in the world. If I see a monkey eat seeds from a tree and then die, I'll remember not to eat from that tree.

I see the attempt here. The lack of colour and hope in the frame where Steve gazes longingly at the old compass, the soft, dream-like orange of his perfect life with his little wife. I can take a hint. Do I want it though? Have you prepared me for it? Does it make sense in terms of the other visual clues you've provided me with over the years?

Exhibit 3: Shifting the responsibility

Did I mention how much Marvel lucked out with the casting?

There’s 0 visual language employed. There’s no symbolism, no light, colour or perspective of happiness, or hope, or hopelessness. The only thing between those two pictures that says Tony and Natasha are not having some really strange conversation with each other right now, is the expression on their faces.

The fulfilment Tony found in parenthood and Natasha’s heartbreak over Clint’s crimes is visible only through the talent of the performers, not through any visual clues the show runners left behind for us. 

Natasha stressing

Professor Hulk and Dr Strange paying their respects

Clint’s guilt

Wanda remembering her dead loved ones

Complex emotional moments laid entirely on the shoulders of the actors. Which isn’t entirely a condemnable thing, talented actors can pull strong emotions from their audiences, but they can only do so much. 

Lets reference a pop culture legend most of you will understand

We don’t remember Luke finding out the truth about his father just because  Mark Hamill is a really good actor. We remember it because in that moment, Luke had been brought to his lowest point. He was worn from battle, his life was hanging from a thread. Darth Vader was looming over him, the personification of everything he hated and in that moment he found out that a part of him came from that evil. 

That build up was the result of a well written script, of a masterful piece of music, a visual tone that brought us to the brink of a revelation. The performance was part of the tale that will be retold for generations. 

In conclusion 

While there have been literally dozens upon dozens of articles about fans and viewers and critics having “issues” with this or that in Endgame, the truth is that our real problem, is this mixed bag of hardly ever used, or wrongly used storytelling elements. One that has been building up to a disastrous result for years.

And while all that is the least of Endgame’s crimes in the eyes of a Natasha fan (I have a personal vendetta against the film at this point) I still can’t help but bemoan the loss of a singular opportunity for creating a milestone in cinematic history. 

Because if we can’t revisit Endgame for its story due to a complete lack in originality, and we can’t revisit it for its visuals, we won’t revisit it at all. And with it most of the MCU will go down as a piece of popular media that took the world by storm, but won’t have much to recommend it 10, 20 years from now. And isn’t that a shame. Edit: If you’re wondering why they messed up this badly, there’s a long list of reasons:

This wasn’t actually planned ahead. They didn’t write all the films from the beginning, they were making things up as they went along, so they created pitfalls for themselves.

They ignored the visual language.

They went along with weak scripts.

For Endgame specifically, they did ridiculously extensive re-shoots, which resulted in messy set ups (misplaced items on set, badly lit scenes, bad special effects) and bad editing.

They bit off more than they could chew with the amount of characters presented on screen, and never managed to create complete and fulfilling storylines for them.

Finally, they allowed bigotry and sexism to affect their judgement, thus placing the viewer against their narrative.

[helloalycia]

solar flare // kara danvers

SUMMARY: Unaware that your girlfriend is Supergirl, things get a little confusing when she gets into an accident that should have threatened her life.

WARNING/S: mentions of death.

Author's note: this has been sat in my drafts for a looooong time, along with a bunch of other stuff that I'll probably be putting out over the next few days. Sorry it's a little shit lol 

masterlist

       I felt my dreamscape fading as I realised somebody was shuffling next to me, eventually making me open my eyes tiredly. I realised it was Kara, evidently uncomfortable, trying to find a comfortable position. I groaned quietly, trying to wake myself up a little more so I could ask her what's wrong.

       "Sorry," she whispered, sounding exhausted.

      "Mmmt's okay," I mumbled incoherently, before motioning for her to come closer.

      She instantly moved towards me, tucking her head into the crook of my neck. I wrapped my free arm around her waist, resting my hand on the slight exposed skin where the hem of her shirt was. I heard her breathe out contently and I pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head before trying to fall asleep again.

      That morning, I ended up waking up before Kara, so I did my usual boring routine before deciding to cook some breakfast for us both. It didn't take long and by the time I was done, Kara walked into the kitchen area, a sleepy smile on her lips.

      "Good morning," she said, approaching me with open arms.

      I accepted her hug with a smile, kissing her cheek before saying, "Morning, sleepyhead. I made breakfast."

      "I can see that," she noted, staring out at the island, where everything was. "You didn't need to do that."

      I ushered her to take a seat as I said, "It's nothing special unfortunately. Just some eggs and whatnot. Buuuuut I figured since I'm here, I may as well make the effort. It might make you reconsider about us moving in together."

      Kara sighed, massaging her forehead with discomfort. "Y/N..."

      "If it's about staying in your flat, I'm completely okay with it," I added hopefully. "I mean, of course I'll miss my place, but if it means I get to see you every day then it's worth it, right?"

      "Y/N, please, not today," she said, giving me a pleading look. "I'm just... I'm not in the mood."

      I breathed out slowly. "Right, sorry."

      Kara and I had been together for almost two years and I had proposed the idea of us moving in together a few months ago, since we pretty much spent most nights together anyway. I was instantly met with rejection, Kara claiming she wasn't ready. At first, I respected her decision, hoping it was just nerves and she'd eventually come around, but I was still waiting for the latter to happen.

      I served up breakfast and the two of us sat there in an awkward silence, until I finally decided to say something.

      "We still on for drinks with my friends after work?" I asked, glancing up at the quiet blonde.

      Kara's expression told me everything I need to know - she'd forgotten. After swallowing a sip-full of orange juice, probably to buy time, she nodded. "Yeah, yeah, of course. I'll be there."

      "You sure?"

      She nodded. "Of course."

      "If you're not up for it, it's fine," I said, giving her a knowing look.

      "I said I'll be there," she promised, dropping her fork to grab my hand and give it a supportive squeeze. "I'm not feeling well, but I'm sure it'll pass. Sorry for being off this morning... you hate me?"

      I gave her a small smile, unable to resist her adorable sparkling blue eyes. "I could never."

***

      "...it worked out though because I got the promotion, so yeah, that's how I got here," Y/BF/N finished explaining with a bright smile.

      "She says it so simply, but it took a lot of hardworking and perseverance on her part," her boyfriend, Hasan, added, making me laugh.

      "Oh, shut up," Y/BF/N said with a blushing face, nudging her boyfriend in the arm.

      I smiled at the two of them, admiring how cute they looked. I was having a long overdue catch up with my best friend and also meeting her new boyfriend. Well, they'd been together for almost six months, but he'd been on a business trip, so I was only just now meeting him. Kara was here, too, as promised, but she was acting a little off, worrying me a little. She was usually a bubbly personality, especially when it came to Y/BF/N, but all she'd been doing this evening was giving one-word responses and playing with my hand under the table.

      "You guys want any more drinks? I'm gonna get another," I said, already standing up.

      "Yeah sure, same again if you don't mind," Y/BF/N said.

      "Thanks," Hasan added, nodding.

      "Same again, got it," I said, before looking to Kara. "C'mon, Kara, you can give me a hand."

      She seemed reluctant, but nodded and allowed me to drag her away from the table and to the bar. I ordered the drinks as Kara spoke.

      "Did you really need my help to carry two drinks?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

      I gave her a knowing look. "Kara, I asked for you help because I want to know what's wrong with you."

      "What do you mean?"

      "Kara, you know what I mean," I said. "You're acting weird and the others are beginning to notice. What's wrong?"

      She sighed, frowning and avoiding my eyes. "I don't really want to be here..."

      "Here's your drinks, Miss," the bartender said, pushing two glasses towards me.

      "Cheers." I nodded his way before looking back to Kara with worried eyes. "I asked you this morning if you were still up for it. And again before we came in here."

      "I know, but I just don't feel well," she admitted, giving me an apologetic glance, "and you were really looking forward to tonight."

      I grabbed her hand, squeezing it gently. "Kara, I'm sorry if I made you feel like you had to come tonight. That wasn't my intention"

      "You didn't," she reassured, meeting my eyes.

      "Well, either way, I think we can call it a night," I said, giving her a small smile.

      "You don't have to leave just because of me-"

      "It's okay," I cut her off, grabbing the drinks from the bar. "Come on. Let's go back to mine."

      She followed me to the table and I set the drinks down before grabbing my jacket.

       “I'm really sorry, guys, but Kara isn't feeling too good, so I think we're gonna call it a night," I said with an apologetic smile. "It was really great to catch up though, and of course, to meet you Hasan."

      "Aw, okay, I hope you feel better, Kara," Y/BF/N said, standing up and pulling us both in for a hug. "It was nice to see you both again."

      "Thanks," Kara said, forcing a small smile.

      "It was a pleasure, ladies," Hasan said, giving us a quick hug. "Hopefully we can meet again soon."

      "Of course," I agreed, looking between them, before putting some money on the table. "Drinks are on me. Enjoy yourselves."

      Kara and I left the bar, only to find ourselves in some terrible weather. It was chucking it down, making us both stay standing under the the umbrella extending from the roof of the bar.

      "Damn, okay, this isn't going to help with you not feeling well," I muttered, glancing out at the road to see if I could spot a taxi. I looked to Kara, saying, "Just wait here. I'm gonna try and get a taxi for us."

      Kara nodded and I headed out from the umbrella, feeling the cold rain smack down on me harshly. I sighed and stood on the edge of the pavement, looking out to see if I could spot a taxi in the distance. Eventually, in the darkness, I could spot the familiar yellow bumper of a taxi under the nearest street lamp, so I raised my hand to get its attention. It flashed its headlights briefly, so I lowered my hand and watched as it came to stop by me, except as it tried to pull over to the side, its tyres skidded in the rain and propelled the car towards at me at a dangerous speed.

      I barely had the chance to register what was happening because everything moved so fast. One second I was stood at the edge of the pavement with headlights beaming at me, and the next I was on the wet ground, trying to understand why people were shouting around me.

      "Miss, are you okay? Can you hear me?"

      I looked up and saw a stranger trying to help me stand up. I looked around with confusion, only to see a few people gathered around a body in front of the taxi. A few more people were helping the taxi driver out of his cab and I realised that I was about to get hit, but someone had pushed me out the way. Wait a minute...

      "Kara?!" I yelled, shoving the stranger out of my way to see if Kara was where I left her, but she wasn't.

      I immediately ran over to the body in front of the taxi and felt my heart drop to the pit of my stomach when I saw the state she was in.

      "Kara, oh my god, no, Kara," I cried out, kneeling by her side.

      She was bleeding from her head, it soaking into her wet hair. The rain was washing the blood into a puddle all around her, which made me see the odd angle her leg was twisted in.

      "Please open your eyes," I begged, my own eyes blurring with tears. I cupped her face, hoping she'd wake up, but I knew it was impossible. I leaned down and held my breath, hoping she would breathe to let me know she was alive. After what felt like forever, I felt a tickle against my skin, and I sat up with relief.

      "We've called an ambulance, Miss," someone said from behind me, but I couldn't formulate a response because I was too focused on how pale Kara was getting as each second passed.

      The ambulance arrived soon enough, but I couldn't remember the specifics because it went by in a blur. They were hooking Kara up to a bunch of machines and it was frightening me, seeing her look so vulnerable. I must have called Alex at one point during the ride because when I got to the hospital and ushered to the waiting room, Alex was already there.

      When she saw me, she immediately came to give me a reassuring hug.

      "I'm sorry, Alex, I don't know why she did that," I rambled out, feeling the guilt sink in. "She said she didn't want to come and I shouldn't have made her because then we wouldn't be in this mess. I'm so sorry."

      Alex grabbed my arms and looked me in the eyes. "Y/N, calm down, it's okay. You can't blame yourself for what happened. But I need you to listen carefully, okay?"

      I nodded, still feeling discomfort in my gut.

      "I'm going to talk to Kara's doctors and get her transferred," she explained.

      I furrowed my brows. "Transferred? Why would you do that?"

      "I'll explain after, I just need you to stay calm and know that Kara will be okay."

      I shook my head. "Alex, she looked really bad. I'm scared that... I don't know."

      "I promise you she's going to be fine," she said confidently. "Now, I'm gonna talk to the doctors and when I get back, we're gonna take a drive."

      "Alex-"

      "Trust me, Y/N," she said, giving me a slight nod before leaving me standing in the waiting room, wondering what the hell was happening.

      Alex returned, as promised, and she led me to her car before driving us to God knows where. I tried to get some answers out of the older Danvers sister, but she refused to budge and insisted I'd find out eventually. So, I was left to worry about Kara's life and wondering why Alex was so sure she'd be okay. It was her little sister and she didn't even seem concerned?

      We reached our destination soon enough and I grew confused as I saw how secure this location was. I'd probably walked by this building so many times, yet never questioned its existence. I'd apparently never noticed the armed guards at the doors either.

      "Come on, this way," Alex finally spoke when we left the car.

      I sucked up a shaky breath and wiped away at my tears as I followed her through the building. The guards by the door seemed to know who she was as they straightened up with respect and let her pass. We took a lift up to which Alex seemed nervous, glancing my way every now and then. I desperately wanted to ask her where we were and if Kara was here, too, but I knew she'd give me the same response each time, so I stayed quiet.

      Finally, the doors opened and I widened my eyes with surprise, taking in the vast room before me. There were people dressed in uniform all around, some at control panels and their attention focused on the giant monitors on the wall, others walking around with serious expressions.

      I followed Alex like a lost lamb, letting her lead me up some stairs onto the balcony above. I tried to look around the room for a symbol or a logo - something that would tell me where we were, but I couldn't find anything distinguishable. I continued to follow Alex until we reached a room with glass windows, allowing me to see inside. I did a double take when I realised Kara was inside, laying on a bed, motionless.

      "Kara!" I shouted, already running inside to her bedside.

      I startled some of the (what I'm guessing are) nurses, as they moved out of my way. Alex waved her hand, signalling for them to leave.

      "Why is she here?" I asked, worriedly, realising she wasn't in surgery or being treated for her visible injuries. "What's this...?" I motioned to the light sources above her, emitting some sort of yellow light on her pale skin. "She should be in surgery or something. Alex!"

      I looked over my shoulder to see Alex stepping by my side, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and leading me away from her bedside for the moment. I wiped away my tears and waited for an explanation.

      "I know you're confused and you're scared, but Y/N, I need you to listen to me," Alex spoke calmly, never breaking eye contact. I nodded as she continued. "As crazy as this sounds, you need to believe what I'm about to say. Kara needs you to."

      "Alex, you're starting to scare me," I said, feeling shivers run down my spine. "What's wrong with Kara?"

      Alex bit her lower lip before taking a breath. "Remember how I said Kara is gonna be fine?" I nodded as she continued, "Well, she is. She looks battered and bruised now, but it's because she exerted her powers and has momentarily lost them. A solar flare."

      I stared at Alex like she was a ghost. "What the hell are you talking about?" I was convinced she'd lost her mind at this point. Maybe it was the shock of Kara's accident or something, but she was definitely not making sense.

      "Y/N, Kara is Supergirl," she said bluntly. "The reason she's been off lately is because she's been agitated that she doesn't have her powers and she can't help people."

      I gave her a confused look. "Alex, you sound insane!"

      "Look, we're at the DEO," she continued to explain, not fazed by my judgemental expression. "I'm the director. We work to handle any extra-terrestrial threats invading our planet and we do that with the help of Supergirl."

      I felt my heart rate increasing with every word she spoke. I could barely keep up with what she was saying.

      "My parents adopted Kara when she landed on Earth," she explained, and I tried to understand. "She wears those glasses to hide her identity and to help with her x-ray vision."

      "X-ray vision?" I squeaked helplessly.

      She nodded. "Yes. I can even show you the suit, but Y/N, I'm telling you this because I need you to understand that Kara will be fine. She's technically vulnerable like a human, but as soon as her powers come back, she'll heal with those UV lamps and be absolutely fine."

      Alex searched my eyes to see what I was thinking. I stared at her, letting her words digest, before finally speaking.

      "Please tell me you're joking."

      She groaned, before grabbing my shoulders. "Y/N! Look at her!" She twisted me around, forcing me to look at Kara. "She's Supergirl! You have to believe me."

      I knew she was right, as much as I didn't want to admit it. If I admitted it, it meant that she didn't trust me with her secret and that she made me worry for her life when she would be fine this whole time.

      "She didn't tell me," I finally spoke, my voice barely above a whisper.

      I calmed down a little, reassured that she would be okay, but that didn't change the fact that I thought she was going to die not long ago. I felt like hot water bubbling over, trying to settle after someone turned the gas off, but I couldn't quite keep up.

      "I'm sure she had her reasons, Y/N," Alex began sympathetically, but I cut her off.

      "How do I get out of here?" I asked, tearing my gaze away from Kara and looking to Alex.

      "You're leaving?" Alex sounded surprised.

      "She'll be fine, right?" I asked and Alex nodded, about to respond, but I rolled my eyes and gave her a sarcastic smile. "Of course she will be - she's the Girl of Steel! Now, how do I get out of here?"

      "Y/N, come on," Alex tried to reason.

      "Come on what? She didn't-" I swallowed the lump in my throat. "She didn't tell me. There's nothing more to say. Now, please let me go home."

      Alex searched my eyes for something more, and when she found nothing, she sighed and nodded before leading me out. I glanced at Kara one last time, feeling distaste at the thought of everything that had just happened, before following Alex.

***

      I found myself lounging on my couch the next day, sulking into a bowl of popcorn as I watched The Office reruns. I was trying to use the show as a distraction, but all that was on my mind was Kara. I tried to imagine her as Supergirl, remembering all those times I'd seen the hero on the news or flying in the sky. That was her.

      All those times when she'd bail on a date last minute, or when she'd leave a date early... it made sense. Why she didn't like the idea of taking a mini vacation with me, or sleeping over at hers all the time. I thought it was a weird quirk of hers, or that she was insecure about something, but no, she was too busy flying around National City.

      And that explained why she didn't want to move in together. She hadn't told me the truth about her, so moving in and seeing her act even more secretive would raise questions. Here was me thinking she was losing interest, but no, she was hiding a huge part of herself.

      I constantly tried to wonder why she didn't trust me. I mean, almost two years of being together was a long time. I thought I knew everything about her and vice versa. Why was this any different? I could care less if she was an alien and she knew that, so what was the reason?

      Kara let me believe she was human. Vulnerable, breakable and soft, like me. She got hit by a car and let me believe, even for a moment, that she could have died. That it would have been my fault that she died, or at least, suffered major injuries. She let my mind run around with those horrible thoughts and scenarios, let it break me apart as I watched her limp, bruised and battered body lying on the wet tarmac.

      She didn't tell me the truth.

      I groaned loudly and stuffed more popcorn into my mouth when I realised I was getting stuck in my thoughts all over again - the same thoughts that had kept me up all night. I tried to focus my attention on what was happening on the TV when I heard a knock on my door.

      I rolled my eyes and glanced at the door before choosing to ignore whoever it was and wallow in my own self-pity.

      "Y/N, I know you're in there!" a voice called from the other side of the door, and I recognised it as Kara's.

      I clenched my jaw and ignored her.

      "I can see you watching TV," she said in a hushed voice. "Please open the door. I have to explain."

      "That must be the x-ray vision, right?" I called back, bitterly.

      I heard her sigh. "If you don't open the door, I'm gonna come in."

      "That would be breaking in," I reminded her, before getting comfortable on the couch. "Go away."

      It went quiet and I assumed she'd listened, but then I heard a loud crack. I looked to the door with a puzzled expression and stared wide-eyed at Kara, who had twisted the door knob enough to break the lock. She stepped in and pulled a face at the slight crack in the lock.

      "I'll get that fixed, I swear," she said quickly, glancing up at me.

      "You can't just break into somebody's home like that!" I yelled at her, standing up to glare at her.

      "You're not somebody," she pointed out, closing the door behind her, "and I told you I would come in."

      I crossed my arms across my chest, narrowing my glare. Admittedly, I was taken aback by the lack of injuries she had. Or should I say absence of injuries. I knew Alex said she would heal like nothing had happened, but it was different to see it with my own two eyes. It was like the accident had't happened. The colour was back in her skin, her head wasn't bleeding, she was walking. She looked as good as new, save for the sudden super strength I had just witnessed. Another thing I should have expected but was still surprised to see.

      "I have to explain myself," she began, carefully.

      "Alex caught me up on everything," I said angrily, "Supergirl."

      She frowned, looking down at her shoes guiltily. "I wanted to tell you, Y/N."

      I raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Was that before or after you almost died? Because saving an important piece of information like the fact that you're fucking indestructible would have been nice to know before I thought you were going to die because of me!"

      "Y/N-"

      "No!" I shouted, feeling my eyes grow watery at the reminder of last night. "You let me believe the worst, Kara! I thought you were going to die! You didn't see what I saw, okay?! There was blood and there- there were so many scratches and the puddle was turning r-red and I thought you were leaving me and it- it would be my fault because I made you come to see my friends and- and- and-"

      "Y/N, it's okay," she cut in, moving forward to stand me up straight.

      I was crying, I realised, my throat closed up and my vision blurred. I was too upset to push her away, and the warmth coming from her skin reminded me that she was here and alive and well, only intensifying my sobs.

      "Y-you should have told me," I cried into her shoulder. "I thought you were going to leave me."

      She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed gently, reassuringly. "I know," she agreed, her voice hoarse. I felt her nod several times as she said, "You're right. I should've told you. I'm sorry, Y/N. I'm so sorry."

      I swallowed thickly, trying to get rid of the lump in my throat. "Why didn't you?"

      She breathed out as I quietened down, managing myself the best I could. She pulled away, letting me see her glassy blue eyes behind her glasses. She pulled her glasses off, pocketing them, before rubbing the bridge of her nose and meeting my eyes again.

      "It wasn't because of you," she reassured firstly. "It wasn't. I just kept putting it off. I didn't know how to say it and I never found the time. It's a stupid reason, I know. I wish I had something better. But I don't. I can only apologise, Y/N."

      I pursed my lips in thought. Her eyes were darting between mine nervously and I tried to think what I could say.

      "Do you hate me?" she spoke quietly, almost expectantly.

      I felt her grip on my waist loosen as she prepared herself for my answer. I shook my head.

      "I could never hate you," I answered. "I love you, Kara."

      A hint of a smile ghosted her lips as she looked down, breathing out with relief.

      "I want you to tell me everything," I continued, earning her attention. "I want to hear it from you."

      She nodded. "Of course."

      "And I want you to be honest with me from here on out," I added, giving her a knowing look. "You can't hide stuff from me, especially when it involves Supergirl."

      "I promise I'll tell you everything," she said with a nod.

      I read her expression, sensing the honesty. Satisfied with my instructions, I moved forward and wrapped my arms around her shoulders. I closed my eyes, appreciating her presence, even if she pissed me off a little.

      She returned the embrace, pressing a kiss to my neck before pulling me closer.

       “You'll never lose me," she said quietly. "I promise."

[unabasheddinosaurkitten]

Rise Of Orthros

Chapter 5

                                                          {~~}

Amelia was tending to Ethrinria when someone grabbed her forearm pulling her backwards, Amelia screamed and tried to fight back only for 3 grown men to hold her arms. "Let me go... father wouldn't approve of this," she growled.

One of the men chuckled, "Oh sweetheart your father asked us to do this."

Amelia cried watching as Ethrinria was forced down with iron ropes, a screeching roar left Ethrinria's mouth. Amelia watched as the sight if Ethrinria kept getting smaller and smaller until she was dragged through the town with people spitting on her and shouting.

"Traitor!"

She wasn't a traitor, how could she be? She was just different than the rest. "Where are you taking me?" She asked, fear set into her body as she watched her friends turn their backs on her.

The four men who were pulling her through her to the ground as they got to a stand that was standing out front of the church with a priest standing there with a book, two pastors standing beside him. Amelia tried to fight when she stood up, only for one of the men to grab her hair making her scream out and clenched her teeth together.

"Don't make this any harder, then it has to be," he whispered in her ear.

She struggled as two of them brought her closer to the priest and pastors; chaining her hands to the cuffs that connected to the floor. One of the men lifted her chin witnessing the tears building in Amelia's eyes.

"We are going to enjoy this," he smirked and stepped back allowing Richard, Teresa and Toby to step forward.

Amelia looked at her family who weren't paying attention to her, Richard nodded towards the priest making her look up to see him growing nails. "No... no!" Amelia cried.

"Amelia Rebecca Jayne you have been charged with treason against your family and your people. Not only have you ignored our rules you've also befriended a dragon. After this, you will be nothing but a shell condemned to the life of slavery," The priest spoke.

"Please mother don't let them do this," Amelia pleaded her mother who looked away from her facing another direction.

"Ég kalla til þín, ég kalla saman púkana í undirheimunum til að taka á móti þessum stelpum anda, hamingju og sál það sem eftir er ævinnar. Ég kalla til þín. Ég kalla til þín," the priest spoke as he walked up behind Amelia.

Amelia looked around as everyone stared at her with hatred in her eyes. This had to be the end for her, she was going to lose herself in front of everyone here. Tears were streaming down her face as she took her last glance at the sunset, the priest placed his hand onto her back; Amelia whimpered as she felt the priest land his hand on the small of her back.

The priest slowly wrote djöfull into the small of her back, Amelia screamed out as pain seared through her body. She was unable to move and when she tried to move the pain would increase; Amelia tilted her head screaming out. It felt like her insides were being ripped out of her skin.

The mages watched on as Amelia was being tortured in the harshest way possible, some were disgusted due to the fact this had killed Adriana. Amelia gasped for air as it was being sucked out of her lungs, she could feel herself growing weaker by the second. Her eyes began to droop and her body sunk to the floor, she heard the sound of Ethrinria's screeches making her look up to see her flying in the air and charging towards the priest.

                                                          {~~}

Amelia screamed as she sat up, her breathing was laboured and her body felt numb, did she just have a flashback? Her body was filled with so much emotion she didn't know if she should cry or punch something. Amelia flinched as the bedroom lamp turned on; she looked over to see Hunter was sitting up and rubbing his left eye.

"Are you alright? Amelia?" Hunter asked, he felt the blankets move earlier that night and peered over to see Amelia sleeping next to him.

He never minded her warmth, there were a few times they've slept in the same bed and now he doesn't care. Amelia didn't respond as she began to cry, her hands covered her face as she wept, Hunter didn't say anything, he just gently wrapped his arm around her right shoulder and pulled her closer kissing the top of her hair.

He didn't realise her coming back here would make her either have a flashback or nightmare, considering what she confessed this morning; Hunter thought it would be a flashback.

"Just slow and deep breaths, follow my breathing," he instructed.

Amelia nodded and proceeded to try and smooth herself down, that was one memory she didn't want to relive. Hunter laid back on the bed with Amelia following, gently placing her head on his chest. Hunter grasped her hip tightly before he gently kissed the top of her head once again. The sound of his heartbeat helped Amelia relax. Her eyes closed at the rhythm of his beating heart.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Hunter asked as he gently playing with her hair with his free hand, he didn't want to push the issue but he also needed to know so he could help.

Amelia took a deep breath before exhaling once more, "Just a flashback to the day my father wanted to take my life again. He wanted me to be a shell," her voice was barely a whisper but Hunter heard it all.

Hunter still didn't understand why her father would even consider trying to do something like that. It was known in the world for that to happen but that was always too bad people, those who've murdered and killed. Not to a person who wanted to be different, his hatred for her family grew stronger every minute and all Hunter wanted to do was just walk away and let them fight this themselves.

"My parents aren't like elf parents, they are very strict on what we have to follow and what we can't do and since I always disboybed my father. He had enough and thought he could turn me into a living shell but Ethrinria saved me again," Amelia told, she needed everyone to know that her parents weren't like everybody else.

Hunter yawned as he reached over and turned off the lamp and the two of them were met with darkness, Amelia slowly began to close her eyes yawning as she did.

"Goodnight Amelia," Hunter whispered before his eyes closed once again, the both of them falling inside a deep sleep.

The next morning Amelia was up at the crack of dawn, she decided to make everyone breakfast which was just bacon, eggs, fruit and pancakes. She cracked the egg on the surface of the bench so the shells wouldn't go into the egg before placing them in the pan.

Amelia collected the plates from the cabinet above her setting them out on the dining table while she grabbed a hold of a large tray where she could place the food onto. The long silver tray was soon filled with bacon, eggs, fruit and pancakes. She walked over towards the dining table and placed the tray in the middle only to look up and see Hanna and Hunter walking in.

"Smells great Amelia," Hanna commented as she took her seat at the table.

"Thank you, please help yourselves. I will finish setting up," replied Amelia as she turned back around grabbing the bottle of orange juice from the fridge placing it on the table with four glasses.

"So Abigail stayed over? Why?" Hanna asked as she placed the bacon and eggs onto her plate.

Amelia didn't want to disclose so much as it wasn't her place, "She just didn't want to go home. Before you ask why it's not my place to stay."

Hanna didn't reply but looked up at Amelia questionably, it really should have been Hunter's decision on who can stay in the house.

"If you allow Abigail? Why aren't you allowing others? You seem to trust Abigail" Hanna spoke as she finished her pancake. Hanna didn't like the way Amelia was getting too close to Abigail, she doesn't know them yet.

Amelia stared at Hanna for a few moments trying to think of what to say but no words she could think of would justify what she wanted to say, Amelia sighed softly before shaking her head, Hunter gave Amelia a small smile, "Amelia has her reasons Hanna, respect it please," Hunter said.

Hanna was about to reply when Abigail walked in, her hair was a mess and her clothes were a bit lopsided on her body.

"Please feel free to eat as much as you want," Amelia spoke before she sat down and served herself something to eat. It wasn't much as she didn't feel like eating after her flashback last night, her body was still numb from it all. Amelia slowly munched on her fruit and bacon taking small bites.

The tension between the table was thick as they ate in silence, Amelia slowly stood up when she finished placing her dish on the side, "I'm going to tend to the dragons, meet me at the east side of Gandor in 30 minutes."

She didn't say anything else before heading outside seeing Ethrinria open her eyes, Amelia didn't say anything she just cuddled into Ethrinria's neck; gently stroking her scaled face. In the dining room Hanna was looking at Hunter for answers.

"Why is Amelia acting off? I know she said that her father tried to kill her but surely that can't be the only reason right?" She asked.

Hunter cleaned his mouth with a serviette, "It's not my place to say Hanna. But you for one know that Amelia doesn't trust anyone unless she can tell they have good intentions."

Abigail listened to the two of them talk before butting in, "Hanna... what happened to Amelia was an awful thing and no one would want to relive or live what she went through. She stared at those she thought cared while they spat on her and cheering them on for  trying to kill her, if it wasn't for her dragon Ethrinria, Amelia wouldn't be who she is, in fact she would be a living shell with no emotions left."

"How do you know this?" Hanna asked.

"I was 10 when I witnessed Amelia getting tortured to death, the ritual they used was called djöfull, it was believed that those with good hearts worked for djöfull or where them. Amelia inspired so many of us, even though we wanted to help, we could not as we all would have been killed," Abigail explained as she licked the bacon from her teeth.

Hunter grabbed his plate and stood up from the chair placing it on the sink before he went to check on Amelia, he witnessed all the dragons laying beside her while she rubbed their scales gently. He walked towards her, keeping his distance and admiring her from afar, she has been through so much, yet she doesn't let that break her. It makes her stronger.

"Amelia are you alright?" Hunter thought he would make himself known.

Amelia looked up to the sound and smiled gently seeing as it was Hunter, "Yeah I'm fine, just want to get this over and done with so I can leave."

Hunter was about to reply when he saw Teresa walking over to them, she had something in her hands like a letter, "What do you have there Teresa?" Hunter asked.

Teresa handed Hunter the note, "It's our last warning. They've said to be on the east shoreline of Gandor, they are getting ready to attack tonight."

"I don't get why you aren't fighting back? It's all Richard and Toby care about. Letting people know not to mess with them, what's changed?" Amelia asked.

"We've seen what they can do, they burnt down villagers" Teresa pleaded.

"So have you? You've killed thousands of innocent people and dragons and for what?" Amelia was angry, how could Teresa just change now? Surely there was something else going on.

This didn't feel right to Amelia, something was telling her that the worst is yet to come. Teresa stared up at Amelia once again, "Please Amelia, come see your father. He will tell you what he has seen, he promised not to harm you, your friends or your dragons."

Amelia let out a huff as she glared at Teresa, "Richard isn't my father, he gave away that title he tried to kill me twice for that matter. I still carry that mark" she stood up and took off her shirt showing her mother the word djöfull that was still thick into her skin. "This is the love he, you and Toby gave me the day you watched them try and kill me."

Hunter couldn't believe his eyes, he felt his eyes water as he had seen that mark on her back, he felt sick to his stomach, Amelia slowly put her shirt back on turning back around to face Teresa once again, she felt Hunter's hand grasp gently with hers as he stood beside her.

"Teresa... Amelia will help you but no requests of seeing her will be made, she is still traumatized from that day. You are lucky she hasn't left yet, if Richard wants to see her then he's got to come here where we can sit beside Amelia and keep her calm" Hunter explained, after finding Amelia in her bed explained why he heard murmuring from her some nights and the pain screams she did.

Teresa looked around and gulped, "Richard has changed a lot since he was forced to exile you Amelia... He's filled with pain and hatred in himself and Gandor itself. Richard hasn't got much time left to live Amelia... Please."

Amelia scoffed once again and wiped away a fallen tear, "He was forced. No he wasn't, he tried having me killed when I saved Ethrinria. I was 5 when he put the first attempt on my life but when he realised that Ethrinria had become close to me he backed off and waited until he gained her trust as well as mine back. He ripped me away placing shackles on my arms and let me watch my so called friends and family members laugh at me and throw things at me."

Amelia took a deep breath to calm herself down as her eyes began to shine a light pink colour, she turned away from Teresa. She couldn't handle this, she came here to save them not rekindle with her family. Hunter rubbed Amelia's back gently.

"Just deep breaths Amelia... I know it's hard," Hunter whispered as he placed a kiss on her hairline as he pulled her into a hug. "Be strong, be who you are not who they want you to be."

Amelia wrapped her arms around Hunter's waist gently taking a few deep breaths, she felt Hunter lift her chin up with his free hand smiling gently. "There we are... Perfect," he whispered as he witnessed the pinkness in her eye slowly fade. He remembers Amelia telling him to always help calm her down if she gets too wired up.

Amelia looked at Teresa once again and cleared her throat, "I will meet up with Richard but only if you agree that Abigail gets to come with us when we leave. But if I find out you have been lying to us about why we are here, you are going to wish that you never had me?" She warned.

Translations: Ég kalla til þín, ég kalla saman púkana í undirheimunum til að taka á móti þessum stelpum anda, hamingju og sál það sem eftir er ævinnar. Ég kalla til þín. Ég kalla til þín- I summon thy, I summon the demons of the underworld to take hold of this girls spirit, happiness and soul for the rest of her life. I summon thy. I summon thy

djöfull- demon

[keanu-fics]

Hot Chocolate; part 1.5

You don’t need to read the first part to read this one, it’s just a bit of smut (specifically for @keanuchillz ;D). Also imagine a young Keanu for this one, young enough to cum in his pants.

WARNINGS: smut

Summary: things are going fine between you and Keanu after the meeting in the diner. Then you both attend a party, where your boyfriend shows up out of nowhere.

You had such a nice time with Keanu in the diner the other day that he would always find time to talk to you during the filming. You realised he could be as shy as you at times and easy to talk to.

The filming was coming to an end and there was a goodbye party for all the actors and stuff and their plus ones. You were too nervous to go. You got to know some people on the set, but you got to know Keanu the best. You would go just to see him, but you knew he would be busy talking to everyone. The party had started, and you finally decided to not to be stupid, just go and have a good time.

By the time you took a shower, did your hair and makeup, the party’s already been on for over an hour. Being fashionably late will never go out of style. You thought as you were finishing putting on a smart-casual dress and some jewellery. You felt your phone vibrate on the vanity.

  Keanu: I don’t see you here.

  It was a text from Keanu. Your heart somersaulted and you quickly hit reply.

  You: On my way.

  When you made it to the party, there were as many people as you dreaded. You were starting to feel insecure and decided to look for the couple of the other girls your age who also worked as runners. You chatted to them for a while, but they were already tipsy, and you were still clutching your first glass of champagne, your stomach in a knot. You finally spotted Keanu. He was talking to some of the producers and excused himself when he saw you.

You smiled at him across the room and put the full glass of champagne down, starting to walk towards him. Before you made it to each other, you felt an arm across your back and a firm squeeze on your shoulder. “So, my girlfriend finally made it big!”

You looked up and saw your boyfriend towering above you.  He had a huge grin on his face and forced a kiss off you while you were still in shock. “Jeremy.” you spoke, and you saw Keanu standing right in front of you.

Jeremy was your boyfriend of half a year, but things were not serious enough for you and you have been planning on breaking up with him for a while now, chickening out and deciding to postpone it until after the filming.

“What are you doing here?” you asked your boyfriend, quickly looking at Keanu, but his expression was stone-hard, and you could not gauge his reaction.

“We got the party invitations in the mail.”

By ‘we’ he meant you and he still opened the envelope addressed to you. You did live together, and you regretted taking that step too soon.

Jeremy suddenly spotted Keanu and his face lit up even brighter. “Keanu Reeves!” he exclaimed. “I’ve seen some of your stuff. How did my girlfriend do on her first real job?” How many times was he going to call you his girlfriend in front of Keanu?

“It is so nice to meet you.” Keanu said, sounding as polite as he always did and shook Jeremy’s hand. “Y/N was great. I am sure in the future she will own the director’s chair.” He laughed and started to look uncomfortable. “If you excuse me, I really have to talk to some people. Enjoy your evening, guys.”

Jeremy thanked him, looking starstruck and turned back to you. You were cursing yourself for not breaking up with Jeremy already. Stupid, stupid, stupid,…

The evening ended up in a disaster, once again you did not muster the courage to break up with your boyfriend, but your excuse this time was feeling exhausted.

You had not talked to Keanu for the rest of the party and you left early, not saying goodbye. You had embarrassed yourself again. You could not sleep during the night. Jeremy was snoring next to you and you were full of regrets. You were staring at the messages you and Keanu had exchanged, but you did not dare message him again.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some months have passed, you finally broke it off with Jeremy, moved in with a complete stranger and have not heard from Keanu. Occasionally you were still in touch with one of the girls from the set, who was a lot more social than you and she told you about a pool party that was happening. Apparently, Keanu would be there.

 You decided to go. He might not have feelings for you, or at least not after that party, but you decided to at least set things straight. He must have felt like you were leading him on. Like you were hiding your boyfriend from him, when in reality you did not think of him as your boyfriend for a long time then.

At the party, everyone was in their swimsuits. You still had your summer dress on, not feeling confident enough to take it off. The house where the party was at was huge and had two pools on different sides of the house. You poured yourself a margarita from the bar and forced yourself to make small talk with some of the people you became acquainted with during the shoot. During your second margarita you took your dress off and sat at the edge of the pool to dip your feet in. You suddenly heard a piercing laughter from the other side of the pool and saw Keanu walking towards the bar with a group of beautiful girls who were all laughing at his joke.

The girls’ bikinis were tiny, barely covering their breasts and you felt like hiding your own body. You finished your second margarita in one swig and even though it was not that strong, it gave you more courage. You walked up to the group and lifted your hand in a half-assed wave. “Hey.” you smiled at all the girls who were eyeing you suspiciously, but your eyes stopped at Keanu.

“Y/N. Long time no see.” he said friendly, but the words themselves stung. He did not sound like someone who was once so sweet to you.

All of them were staring at you, waiting for you to say something and you had nothing. You felt like crying. “Yeah, uhm, I just wanted to say hi.” you chuckled unconvincingly and backed away.

You made your way inside looking for your dress that you left on one of the chairs but now someone was sitting on the chair and your dress was nowhere to be found. You pretended to look for your dress for a while, while trying to suppress the tears in your eyes, but after a couple deep breaths you asked someone about your dress. Apparently, all the clothes had been carried downstairs to the basement. Relieved you walked down the stairs. The basement was dimly lit, with no source of natural light and you saw piles of clothes spread out on a couch. You sighed and before going to look for your dress, you spotted a lot of really old electronics and a collection of Atari cartridges, feeling like you were in an 80s museum.

You heard the steps creek and turned around to see Keanu. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and you were both silent. “Hey.” you said finally, being extremely self-aware of your body in a bikini.

“Hey.” he was in his swimming trunks. Your eyes roamed down, across his chest, seeing the long scar on his abdomen, your eyes drifting lower of their own accord… You forced yourself to look back up at his face, before you made him uncomfortable.

None of you were saying anything again. “Long time no see.” You spoke finally. He snorted and you immediately felt more at ease.

“I was just gonna grab my stuff and go.” You said looking around. “I got distracted by this room. Someone’s stuck in the 80s.” You pointed out, looking at a lava lamp, feeling the softness of the fuzzy orange carpet under your feet.

“Do you want to talk before you head out?” he asked. It was obvious to him you only came here to talk to him.

“Not if you’re busy up there.” you bit your lip, feeling so foolish for saying that. You were not a teenager anymore, getting jealous over nothing.

“We can get some privacy in here.” Keanu walked across the room, motioning for you to sit on the side of the couch that had no clothes scattered on it and the only place for him to sit in was a beanbag close to the couch.

“I kind of like the 80s style.” he said, laughing as he plopped down onto the beanbag. He finally sounded like the Keanu you got to know. “How’s Jeremy?” he asked suddenly. “You guys never came to say goodbye.”

You sighed. “We’re not together anymore. I was meant to break it off with him so much earlier, but I just kept chickening out. That’s why I never mentioned it. I was a coward.” You looked down at the fuzzy carpet, but you felt Keanu’s stare on you. “I mean I’m not saying… I don’t mean to assume things between us…”

He stopped you before you could mumble any further. “I was hoping both of us were single that night.” He laughed softly, making it clear for you he was indeed interested. Back then.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s been ages since then, I just wanted to make sure…”

“No hard feelings.” Keanu just brushed it off.

You had your hands on your thighs, digging your nails into your skin from the anxiousness you were feeling. No hard feelings. There is no way he was interested anymore. Or that you two could be friends again. There was an awkward silence between you.

“I was actually going to go myself; this party is not really my thing.”

Before he could move, you were standing up. You could see him stare at your long legs as you walked over to him. You reached out your hand, wanting to help him get up, but as soon as he grabbed your hand in his you did not want to let go. He was holding your hand gently, looking you in the eyes, moving his thumb across your skin. Did he still want you after all this time? And after you had lied to him? There was only one way to find out.

“Yeah, we should both go home.” you mumbled, not really paying attention to what you were saying. You placed your hands on his shoulders, sitting down on his lap, straddling him. His hands came down to your hips, his touch very gentle, unsure of what was happening, but not wanting it to stop.

His eyes were even more beautiful up close. Dark and deep. You closed your eyes and kissed him. You were dreading he would pull away at any second. You were not getting any response from him. Your hands roamed down his chest and as your legs sunk deeper into the beanbag, you felt him hard against your bikini. If you doubted how he felt about you before, the erection bursting out of his swimming trunks was your answer. Your body started moving against him on its own, his grip on your hips suddenly hardening. You moaned into the kiss as he was guiding you to keep moving.

He readjusted in the seat and you suddenly felt the rock-hard cock in his pants against your clit. His swimming trunks were thin, the movements and friction making him pant.

You broke the kiss, both your eyes still closed, your foreheads touching. You ran your hand through his hair, something you have wanted to do for so long. Keanu gripping your hips even harder made you press down against him more. Even the dry humping felt so good you did not want to stop to take both of your suits off. His muscles were tightening with each movement, both of you moaning silently. As you felt yourself close you started grinding against him faster, your body desperately needing a break as this position was not comfortable for you. Your moans started getting louder and louder. Keanu understood and despite the loud music upstairs he slipped his tongue inside your mouth drowning out your moans. The intense grinding, Keanu’s hand on your breast and your desperate moaning into his mouth made him lose all control. His other hand reached for your ass, guiding you in the way that finally made him reach an orgasm.

Your body relaxed, pulling away from the kiss trying to catch your breath.

“I can’t believe you made me cum in my pants.” he sounded astonished. It was obvious neither of you have had sex in a long time.

You looked up at him shyly. “I don’t know what got into me.” You suddenly felt embarrassed, pulling yourself further apart from him.

“I feel like a teenager.” he grinned. He cupped your check and made you look up at him, smiling at you happily. “You want to get out of here then?”

You nodded and stood up, looking down at his crotch against which you were grinding just a minute ago. “Did you bring any pants with you?”

He looks down seeing the wet stain on his shorts and laughs whole-heartedly again.

[albion-93]

Cake & Consolations

Short story inspired by @littlemisssquiggles, hope you enjoy!

            The days came and went quickly in the cold northern latitudes of the kingdom of Atlas. The sun often set as early as 5 o’clock in the afternoon, and naturally the freezing tundra winds swept into the lower city. Atlas had low-level shield technology to keep the worst of the considerable cold out, but down in Mantle it was either dress warm or freezing to death. This risk didn’t seem to faze Oscar Pine, who strolled through the streets, indifferent to the urban decay and restlessness around him. He was looking for a familiar shop, and knew that his departure from Atlas Academy via airship would raise alarm bells and eventual reprimand, but he didn’t care. He spotted his destination and quickened his pace, now realising just how cold he was getting, and discretely slid inside beside a tall departing customer before the door shut.

             Inside, the warm orange glow of Pietro Polendina’s shop made Oscar sigh in relief. He stared about for a moment before a warm, hearty voice caught his attention.

“Good evening, Mr Pine! I’m about to close shop for the day but any time is a good time for a friend of my daughter’s,” greeted Pietro as he ‘walked’ towards Oscar and shook his hand firmly but kindly.

“Hello, Pietro, nice to see you too. Honestly, just wanted to see a friendly face,” said Oscar with a faint smile.

“Well, I’m very much obliged,” chuckled the kindly old tech genius, “it’s not so often that I get friendly callers these days, maybe my luck has changed wouldn’t you say, Maria?”

Oscar felt a hard pat on his back, and the boy gave a high yelp of shock before turning to see Maria Calavera. She threw her head back and laughed loud and long, joined by Pietro’s hearty chuckles. Oscar too finally gave a small, if hollow, laugh when the inner tension defused.

“Oh honestly, Oscar,” said Maria as she finally stopped laughing and pulled him in for a hug with one arm, “You scare far too easily. But it’s lovely to see you too.”

“Thanks, Maria,” said Oscar, his brief smile couldn’t mask his morose and lost-looking eyes. Maria immediately picked up on that, but Pietro noticed something else.

“Now hold the phone, where are your friends?”

“It’s only me. My uh… companions are coming back from a Grimm-hunting mission at one of the mines, I heard they were victorious.”

“Huh, and here I thought you and the others were thick as thieves. Both literally and figuratively,” said Maria dryly.

“Oh my!” exclaimed Pietro, now looking more serious than before “Then it begs the question: what are you doing out here all by yourself? This part of town ain’t exactly the safest of neighbourhoods, especially not at this time of day, you could get robbed or worse!”

“I won’t be missed,” said Oscar in a muted voice. Both Pietro and Maria stared at him with stunned shock and confusion. “To be honest most if not all of them don’t think I should be with them.”

 “Who said that? Was it that greasy-haired birdbrained Qrow again?” demanded Maria angrily.

 “No! It’s not that, it’s…” Oscar paused; his eyes went back and forth between the floor and the two adults.

 “Oscar, we in this household have a strict rule about telling the truth,” said Pietro sternly, as Maria also gave him a warning frown.

 “Lately I’ve been getting this feeling that I’m not actually a part of the group. I found out today that Teams RWBY and JNR were awarded their official licences after a successful mission, Qrow and Penny were there, and the General left me at the Academy like… like it was nothing.”

 His voice had fallen into a low, broken whisper.

 “Now that you mention it, Penny did mention some official business of some kind and seemed very excited about it,” mused Pietro.

  “As soon as I found out, I wanted to be there to show my support for Ruby and her friends, us bonding with them and celebrating an achievement they rightly earned, and I’m... just left out? Am I part of this team or not?! Just-just… what the HELL?!”

 His voice rose with each passing word to an angry yell, and he started to shake from short ragged breaths. He felt a small hand tightly holding his, and another arm around his shoulder, as he went on his voice cracked further and tears fell down his cheeks.

 “I’m not a Huntsman, I get that. I’m just an out of depth farm-hand with a staff; I don't know what I was thinking.  I should never have left my home.”

 “Come on, let’s go into the lounge in the back,” said Maria gently, taking him by the hand and following Pietro through. Maria sat Oscar down on an old worn green couch with light brown cushions, and sat with him while he calmed down. When Pietro returned, he was carrying a wide platter with a bright orange cake with a white topping. Oscar’s eyes widened with amazement and a wide smile started to take shape.

 “Now, I was saving this for a special occasion, but I think we can break into it a little early. It’s a carrot cake topped with buttercream frosting; two layers,” said Pietro proudly.

 “No kidding! That’s my favourite!” said Oscar excitedly as he clapped his hands together.

 “Is it now? Then by all means, have a slice or two on me,” said Pietro beaming.

“Thank you… I-I really can’t thank you enough!” said Oscar with overflowing gratitude and newfound joy, and a new surge of joyful tears threatened to break loose. He got up and grabbed Pietro in an embrace, which Pietro gladly returned with his one available arm.

After cutting a generous slice each, the three settled around the coffee table, large mugs of tea and hot milk on either side of each plate. For a while, the adults exchanged anecdotes of cake recipes, and Oscar eagerly listened as it was finally something unrelated to their mission, until Pietro’s curiosity returned.

“So pray tell, how did you, both of you, get roped into all this?”

 Over the next several minutes, Oscar recounted how he first heard the voice of Professor Ozpin in his head, how this ancient soul told him to abandon his life on the farm and on a road to ‘greatness’ in protecting the world. He talked of his time at Haven and joining with Qrow Branwen and the young huntresses and huntsmen. He talked about how he trained with them, felt a connection to Ruby, Nora, Ren, and even Jaune despite their later difficulties. He mentioned the altercation at Haven Academy, and the Grimm attacks on their journey to Atlas. Recounting these events made him more animated and even happy at points, and Pietro listened with rapt attention. Maria added her own perspectives on the events leading up to Argus with quite a lot more flair than Oscar could muster.

 “My, my... That was quite the tale,” said Pietro, very much impressed.

 “Bah! If it weren't for me then you, your girlfriend’s team and her nincompoop uncle would be dried-up frozen corpses,” barked Maria indignantly,

 “W-What?! Maria, Ruby is not my girlfriend!” yelped Oscar worriedly.

 “Well sure, with an attitude like that she never will be,” she muttered to herself before clearing her throat, “Look, the point is that Iron-trousers didn’t bother to extend the invitation to me either, kid.”

 “That’s... actually a fair point. I’m sorry.”

 “It’s alright, I made my peace with it.”

 “Look, I get it. I’m not with them right now because I’m not a Huntsman. Without Ozpin in my head I’m nothing, I’m not a hero or somebody important.”

“Who says you’re not important?” said Pietro earnestly.

 Oscar paused, unable to come up with an answer.

 “I've traveled to all sorts of places, shook hands with all sorts of folks, from high-and-mighty statesmen to humble miners. And you know what? In all my life, I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t important. And that means you too! You risked everything to follow a group of strangers and jumped into the jaws of peril and emerged in one piece several times, and you keep sticking it out. You might not be a Huntsman right now but damn if you don't have the spirit of one, boy.”

 These words washed over Oscar, he looked back and forth and tried to process them, musing on carrot cake crumbs on his plate.

 “So everyone matters to someone, that’s your belief?” said Oscar at length, Pietro nodded, “then Ironwood would have left without me for some reason?”

 “Well, those mines are no picnic, and James takes a full escort wherever he goes. Maybe the General had his reasons and he trusted you enough to keep out of trouble. He’s probably wondering where you are right now.”

 Oscar flinched, remembering the Lamp of Knowledge. He had made sure to lock it up somewhere safe before leaving the Academy, but he still felt guilty about leaving it in some random cupboard. If Ironwood or any of the team were to find out he’d basically left his one job...

 “Here’s my two lien:” said Maria without her usual air of dry wit, “you got left behind, and that sucks, but being miserable about it isn’t going to make your situation better. You have to find another way: your own choices, actions and consequences. Do you really want to follow Ruby and her friends around like a puppy, or do you want to make the choices that feel right for you?”

 “You’re both right,” said Oscar with a calmer and clearer voice than earlier, “I have an idea about…”

“SAL-U-TATIONS!”

 Oscar rapidly turned about and stared; Penny was standing in the doorway to the lounge, all beaming smiles and waves. How that girl managed to be so loud and yet so discrete was both a mystery and triumph of Atlesian robotics.

 “Greetings, father! Greetings, Ms Calavera! I am happy to report that the graduation ceremony was a success, and my friends are officially licenced Huntsmen!”

 “Why that’s plum-terrific, darling!” said Pietro with his usual level of cordial enthusiasm as he pulled his daughter in for a hug, “Tell them I said hello would you?”

 “Of course! I’ve been sent to retrieve young Oscar,” she said a little more seriously as she turned and motioned Oscar to come with her, “Our transport is waiting outside. I believe Ruby and General Ironwood are worried for your safety, and Miss Valkyrie mentioned something about ‘he’s gonna get the grounding of a life if that boy isn’t back in five minutes!’ More or less,” she added the last part sheepishly, after emulating Nora’s voice to perfection.

 “Uh oh…” said Oscar, now quivering at the thought of a telling off from Nora and quickly rose, “I better go, but thank you so, so much for the cake, Pietro. This talk really helped.”

 “My pleasure, come by any time you like, as long as you tell your compatriots,” said Pietro as Oscar and Penny made their way from the lounge to the shop entrance, waving as they went.

 “Remember what we talked about, and good luck!” called out Maria.