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incorrectshantaequotes · 1 year ago

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Rotty Rotten's Dream Team, pt. 1

Business is as usual in Lazytown, with Rotty Rotten cooking up another scheme to thwart Shantacus' efforts to keep the town active and healthy, and a great one too, if she says so herself - after all, four heads are better than one! Cloning herself was a genius move...only, well, she didn't actually clone herself, per say, and none of them know how to be proper villains, but no matter! She'll make this work! Even if it takes a musical number! Especially if it takes a musical number.

NOTE: This takes place after the last April Fool's fic, but you don't need to read that one to understand this one. I still have not watched Lazytown, but we all know that song. You know the one.

Sometimes, Rotty Rotten really had to stop to appreciate her sense of interior design. After all, most people wouldn't exactly be clamoring for an underground location - even before Shantacus rolled into town and got everyone moving, most of the inhabitants did enjoy being in the sun, and Rotty could fully admit to herself that she occasionally liked to go out in it too. But she did make it an extremely tough decision! Not only did her house have the appropriate flair for a villain like herself, but also had all the luxuries she could ever want - a heavenly, fuzzy couch, the largest TV in Lazytown (technically, Shantaflop had a bigger one up in her blimp, but she barely used it so Rotty decided it didn't count), and a fully stocked mini-fridge! All the things she needed to lay around and do absolutely nothing. Even when she wasn't actively slacking off, it helped give her lair a nice, cozy feeling. Put her in a good mood. Especially when she was about to get a scheme rolling, such as right now.

"Come on, come on, just a little bit more..." Rotty Rotten tapped her foot impatiently, a bit giddy as she looked down at her watch to check the time again. She almost went over to her laptop to double check the estimated delivery time, but the doorbell rang before she could, and her grin grew wide. "Aha!"

She rushed over to the door, opening it with aplomb before nodding to the deliveryman outside. "Thank you, good sir! Here's a tip for you, and have a wonderful day!"

With that, she rolled her package inside and shoved the door closed with a quick backwards kick, giggling to herself as she rolled it further into her lair over to her workspace. Rotty would have gone with a full evil laugh as she set the package down, but frankly she was far too excited to be that composed, so she settled for letting her giggles get louder before she pulled out the box cutter. "Alright! First, let's double check to see if this is the right thing..."

She took a moment to circle around the package, carefully looking it up and down and nodding a bit to herself. It was taller than her by a fair margin, as she expected, and the box did seem to fit the dimensions of the item she ordered. "...hmm, got the right address...name's on this thing...'handle with care, arcane material inside;' sounds about right...think the only step left to take is to just cut the box open!"

With a push of her finger, she flicked the blade out and ran the box cutter down the side facing her. Carefully - still wanted the box intact in case this did turn out to be a wrong order - she pulled out the object inside with bated breath...and her grin grew wider still. "Oh, yes! This...this is perfect! Shantacus will never see this coming!"

Rotty did let out an evil laugh this time, eyes glinting with glee as she took in her latest purchase from over the internet - a grand, full-length mirror, with an ornate silver framing around the reflecting surface. One could easily mistake this for a completely ordinary mirror, but Rotty Rotten knew better. She'd made sure to triple check her sources, go to the seller with the best and most honest reviews, and read through the PDF of the user's manual the seller graciously provided on request five times over. She hadn't really dabbled with the arcane before, and didn't really intend to after this, but the end result would be well worth it. She knew she had a tendency to put a bit more confidence in her plans than was entirely earned, but this was different. It wasn't so often that her plans could be so simple and yet so effective, after all!

The plan had found its way into her head around this time the week before, as she'd looked over the blueprints for a potential trap for Shantacus. Capturing the blue-clad heroine was easier said than done - the woman had superhuman speed that Rotty couldn't react to, an uncanny intuition to avoid her tricks after plenty of exposure to her, and a tendency to be extremely...for lack of a better word, flippy. It was very distracting, for reasons she was not going to say out loud (especially because, after that one time she sprained her ankle, she was fairly certain some of the kids had a betting ring regarding her and Shantacus, and while Rotty might not have had any stake in it she was determined to win). All of which was to say, most of her Shantacus traps had to be Rube Goldberg-esque contraptions, or required Rotty to lure her in, neither of which were ideal. And then, out of the blue, it hit her - what if...she just got a helping hand? Or, to be more precise, made a helping hand?

It was so simple, Rotty wasn't sure how she could've possibly missed it before! With enough people working to set up traps across Lazytown, Shantacus couldn't possibly dodge them all! And once she'd finally captured Shantacus, victory would be hers! The only real issue was, how to do it? Her first thought had been robots, but she'd seen enough sci-fi movies to know how that would go: they'd probably decide to overthrow humanity, or worse, the robots would unionize, and Rotty would have to deal with the one evil she dared not unleash, even on herself...paperwork. Urgh. Rotty Rotten was all for unions, but it just wasn't worth dealing with one herself. So, with robots firmly placed in "no," the next logical step was clones! After all, she was a smart and intelligent woman, right? She could figure out a deal with herself.

Unfortunately, Rotty Rotten may have been good with tech, but she wasn't that good. So, with that in mind, she'd opted for a magic substitute. The Mirror of Selves-Reflection (which Rotty thought was worth the purchase just for the name alone; the name being slightly awkward was far outshined by the wordplay) had been hard to find, but surprisingly simple to purchase! She hadn't known there was an entire eBay website for magic items, but there was. Trying to make sure she wasn't being scammed had been an ordeal, but if this went well...oh, the things she could do! Finally, with a copy of her own mind to help her with her goals, Rotty Rotten would catch Shantacus once and for all, and then...! Well, she hadn't figured out what she'd do after that, but she could workshop something with her clones. Part of the benefit of having four heads instead of one!

The only real issue with the Mirror of Selves-Reflection was how it required an elaborate ritual to actually use it, but...there was a reason Rotty had requested the user's manual before she actually got her hands on the mirror.

"Alright, in you go!" Without much fanfare, Rotty Rotten picked up the mirror and awkwardly stumbled over to a large, clunky machine in the middle of the room, sliding the mirror into a thin slot on the side of a particularly bulky box. With that, she pressed a green button, and she heard the sounds of pipes extending and connecting to the mirror with a hiss of steam, with the slot closing up to hide the process. It wasn't supposed to be used as a battery for a cloning machine, but it was definitely possible, and she didn't feel like going through that whole ritual every time she wanted to clone herself. Besides, what was the worst thing that could happen? No clones?

"Now, for the main event..." Rubbing her hands together with glee, Rotty pranced over to the console for the machine. Setting the number of clones to three for the moment, she then turned her attention to the big switch right in the middle, and pushed down with all her might. A steady hum began to emit from the machine, visible cogs beginning to churn as lights flashed on and off. Taking a few steps back, Rotty Rotten took a moment to appreciate her work as everything began to go faster, the humming rising in pitch as all the moving parts came closer and closer to reaching their peak. To be completely honest, most of it was for show; there really wasn't any complex machinations in there when most of the work was being done by the mirror, but it gave everything a sense of grandeur, and that was the most important thing!

"Alright, Shantaflop, time for you to face your worst nightmare...myself!" With that dramatic declaration, Rotty Rotten let out a full maniacal cackle as every part of the machine reached max speed, cogs whirring fast enough to give Shantacus a run for her money and lights flashing like she was at a rave, the humming of the machine going higher and higher until...ding! With that one little chime, the machine very quickly slowed to a stop, and with eager anticipation, Rotty Rotten ran over to the other side of the machine, where a pipe was sticking out and turned towards the ground. Looking down, Rotty Rotten braced herself for the inevitable weirdness of seeing, well, herself...but she had to stop to do a double take as she actually looked at the results. "What the?"

The thing was, that was definitely her, alright. The green skin, hair, and red eyes were kind of unmistakable, and it helped that there was some purple on all of their clothing. She couldn't exactly call them clones, though! Two of them were younger than her, for one thing - thankfully not kid-aged, because that would have been a hassle, but still younger - and of the two younger hers, one of them was dressed like something out of a high fantasy film, with the her that actually matched her age apparently having a similar taste in fashion, albeit with a more modern touch. It honestly stumped Rotty - the mirror should've made perfect clones, not...whatever this was. Did she miss something? Did the machine mess up the process somehow?

Figuring it was good to double check her sources, Rotty Rotten went back to the package, looking around the cardboard to find...aha! The user's manual, this time in print! Flipping it open, Rotty began to speed-read; hopefully she could find the source of the problem quickly. Warning, blah blah blah, side effects may include, blah blah blah, alternate universes, blah blah-WAIT A MINUTE. Rotty Rotten started scanning that paragraph again, making sure she was reading it right...and then immediately smacked herself in the forehead. "Oh, come on! That is so not cloning!"

All this time, she'd skimmed past the part that went over how the Mirror of Selves-Reflection actually worked, because she assumed she already knew: cloning! It cloned people, because that was what she asked for, and that was how it was presented to her! Except, no, what it actually did was pull alternate versions of herself from different universes. Alternate versions of herself that were living their own, alternate lives, up until the mirror had so rudely interrupted them. Great. Fantastic. So, she was going to have to spend a few hours converting her "cloning" machine into one that would send them all back to their appropriate worlds, because she knew she wouldn't want to be dragged into an alternate universe and be stuck there for the rest of her life, and to make matters worse, she had no idea what these alternate hers were like! They might not even be villains, for all she knew!

But, as Rotty heard a few groans coming out of the pile of alternate selves, she sighed and put the user's manual down for a moment. Alright, whatever. She was just going to have to roll with this and hope for the best. Walking over to her various selves, she started to help them up to their feet.

Ow.

That was Rottytops' first thought. And her second and third thought. Her fourth thought, after she got over how sore she was, was "where am I, anyway?" One moment, she was in the family caravan, preparing to ask Shantae out for a date, the next she was here, in a pile of bodies. She couldn't really see much of her surroundings at the moment, with her view being almost exclusively limited to the floor - some kind of blue metal, but not the kind of blue she associated with Ammo Baron. No, this was more of a dreary blue, a shade she'd expect to see in a haunted house. Before she could contemplate what that meant though, she felt the weight of whoever else was in here with her get lifted off, and then someone else's hand reached out to her. "Come on, up you get..."

Wow, sounded like whoever that was had a rough day; she could practically feel the exasperation from here. She also sounded a lot like...Rottytops, weirdly enough, but the zombie girl decided to ignore that for a moment, just accepting the hand and pulling herself to her feet. She looked around, intending to take in her surroundings, but instead she found herself reconsidering her choice ten seconds ago to ignore how the mysterious woman sounded like her, because now Rottytops was wondering - did she somehow acquire three entire clones while she wasn't looking? She hadn't really encountered clones before, but this really looked a lot like a clone situation.

The one closest to her was wearing armor almost like that set she'd found in Shantae's closet a few months ago (her girlfriend had, unfortunately, refused to elaborate beyond mentioning she'd gotten it during the Siren Island incident), only with a diamond-shaped breastplate that covered more of her torso, as well as different coloring - purple with silver trimming rather than red and gold. Oh, and the animal pelts. Those were also there. They were all over her doppelganger, the majority serving to form a pseudo-cloak of sorts as well as a longer skirt, with the others serving as simple decoration alongside a collection of animal teeth and claws. Her hair was done up in a ponytail, much like her Fillin disguise, but other than that she practically looked identical. She also had a massive hammer, the head of the weapon having detailing resembling a castle on the front and back end while a skull sat in the middle. It would be extremely tempting to reach out and smack someone with it if Rotty didn't know that she'd likely fall to pieces trying to swing that thing.

The other two were, thankfully, easier to tell apart from her, because they were clearly older, more Risky's age than hers. The one adult clone that had been in the pile with her had a sense of aesthetic that Rottytops had to appreciate - she wore a tattered purple...wizard's cloak? Trenchcoat? Some sort of hybrid between the two? Whatever it was, it was tattered, purple, and had a set of white ribs around the torso as reinforcement. Out of the four, she had the longest hair, with just enough of it hanging in front of her face to shadow her eyes and make them seem to glow, which, combined with her mischievous smirk...again, Rottytops really had to appreciate the aesthetic, there. She'd somehow managed to land the perfect balance between "monster from a ghost story," "powerful wizard," and "used magic carpet saleswoman," and honestly, Rottytops was considering taking notes. Maybe not too much, though; her older clone was perhaps a biiiiiit intimidating.

That left the only her who, as far as Rottytops could tell, had not been in the pile, and frankly the most confusing one. She was dressed up in a vest and pants with red and purple vertical stripes running up them both, with a dark blue, sleeveless undersuit beneath it, exposing her bare shoulders and the stitch tattoo around her left arm (which confused Rotty a little bit; did she never get that arm detached or something?). Finishing off her choice of clothing were a pair of simple gloves the same shade as the undersuit, as well as a pair of skull earrings that matched Rottytops' own. She also had the closest hairstyle to Rottytops, albeit with some differences; she had more of an undercut, leading to a slightly choppier hairstyle than Rottytops herself, but otherwise it was pretty close.

Before any of them could start talking, the last clone Rottytops had looked at sighed, and spoke up. "Alright, I know my own thought process, so I'll answer your most immediate questions: yes, we're all the same person; no, we're not clones. I was trying to make clones of myself, but I got ripped off with a stupid magic artifact that gave me different versions of myself from alternate universes. Don't ask, I'll explain in a bit here. Now, care to introduce yourselves?"

Oh! Alternate universes. That would've been...her third guess, probably. Second guess would've definitely been secret identical twin she somehow didn't know about. She definitely had questions, but Rottytops was willing to let...herself? Explain herself? That didn't sound right. Man, this was going to be confusing. Still, she gave her older self a winning smile, and said, "Rottytops-"/"Rottytops-"

She immediately stopped herself, and turned to look at her identical self, who frankly looked just as shocked as she was. Her older self in the pinstripe suit sighed wearily, shaking her head. "...we'll put a pin in that. How about you? Please tell me your name isn't the same as theirs, too?"

Her other older self paused to consider the question for a moment, then casually shrugged. "I mean, technically it is? Only my brothers know about that, though. I tend to go by Lich Baron these days."

...oh. That...might explain the intimidation factor. And was also mildly concerning, ringing plenty of alarm bells in her head; aside from Squid Baron being basically harmless, anyone with the name Baron was bad news. And judging by the wary expression of her armored self, that wasn't just the case in her universe, either. Her other older self just looked mildly confused, clearly not recognizing the significance of the title. Which was both relieving, because that meant she probably wasn't a Baron herself, and worrying, because it meant she didn't recognize Lich Baron for the danger she represented. As if to prove her point, her older self spoke up then, "So...what? You just have a lavish house where you store all your goodies or something?"

Lich Baron seemed surprised for a moment, but then the smirk was back, and she let out a slight chuckle. "Yeah, something like that."

Her older self squinted at Lich Baron for a moment, suspicious, but then shook her head, turning her attention back to the group as a whole. "Well, you can call me Rotty Rotten. Now, back to you two - do either of you have another name I can use? Because, fair warning, if you don't, I will just use One and Two."

"Oh! Uh..." Rottytops took a moment to think. Well, she did have Fillin, but she didn't have the outfit on, so would it really feel right...? Eh, everything about this situation was weird; she'd worry about the logistics later. "Well, I did make an alternate identity for myself once. Fillin-"

"-De'Blanc?" Rotty Rotten interrupted, eyes wide in surprise. Rottytops was a bit shocked, herself; apparently that scheme wasn't exclusive to her. Who knew?

"Just the Blank, but...yeah, exactly," Rottytops nodded slowly. "I'm guessing that one's a no-go, then?"

Rotty Rotten looked to the side, a slight blush on her cheeks. "...yeah, let's...not do that one."

Oh, there was a story there. But, out of respect for her older self who was apparently responsible for all of this, Rottytops decided not to ask. Yet. She would put her expert badgering skills to use later. Before she could respond, though, her armored self spoke up.

"So, guess it falls to me to use a different name, then?" She questioned. Now that they weren't talking at the same time, Rottytops noticed that she had a slight accent that none of the others had, including herself. Rotty Rotten started to say something, but her armored self shook her head, lifting her hammer and resting it on her shoulder. "No worries, I'm fine with it. Just call me Cadaver."

"...huh," Rotty Rotten took the name in stride, taking a few steps back to look over them all, and then shrugging. "Well, if you say so. Now! Onto the more important question...are any of you villains?"

Rottytops blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden non-sequitor and the weight Rotty Rotten put on the word villains. Without thinking, she remarked, "I consider myself more of a prankster dabbling in the art of chicanery, personally? I've only done like, one evil thing and felt really bad about it later."

Cadaver raised her hand. "My first few days of existence were as the brainwashed general of an undead army trying to take over the world. Wasn't really me in there, but I still remember all of it. Does that count?"

Rotty Rotten looked utterly poleaxed. "...no, no it does not, and I am very worried about whatever standards your villains hold themselves to. Lich Baron? You?"

Lich Baron simply looked up and answered, "Yup."

"Oh, thank you! I got worried when the Mirror of Selves-Reflection turned out to be an alternate universe thing instead of a clone thing," Rotty Rotten sighed in relief, and suddenly those alarm bells were back in full force. "Alright, Rottytops, Cadaver, go ahead and help yourself to the lair while Lich Baron and I discuss business; I'll be sure to send you back to your homes by the end of the day. Now, Lich Baron, what are your skills exactly...?"

Rottytops looked to her armored self, who thankfully seemed equally concerned about this whole thing. Before either of them could start talking to come up with a plan, though, Lich Baron answered, "Oh, I raise the dead."

Rottytops looked back just in time to see the utter horror and disbelief on Rotty Rotten's face, which Lich Baron seemed completely oblivious to as she went on, "So, you want an undead uprising? I don't know exactly what your plan is, but there's not a lot of schemes that don't go smoother if the hero is busy fighting off an undead uprising. Normally I wouldn't put too much effort into this kind of thing, but you're, well, me, and I happen to have a show I don't want to miss, so I'm willing to give you a...eh, decent undead uprising. What do you say? Sound fun? Have a specific time, or-"

"NO! No undead uprising! Ever! Are you out of your mind!?" Rotty Rotten hissed, pulling her other self close. "Think of the children!"

Lich Baron stared with wide eyes. Rottytops almost felt bad for her; she knew what it looked like when she was faking confusion, so she could tell that Lich Baron honestly didn't get why Rotten was opposed to an undead uprising. "...eh, fair enough, I guess? I'm fine dialing it back; less work for me. Guess I'll just go with...ten skeletons? That sound good? Just ten?"

Honestly, Rottytops thought that did actually sound reasonable, especially compared to the Barons she knew, but Rotty Rotten clearly thought otherwise. "I said no undead uprising, and I meant it! What is WRONG with you!? Ugh, never mind; worst case scenario is fully in play."

Before Lich Baron could say something in her defense, Rotty Rotten turned to Rottytops and Cadaver. "Alright, you two! I am going to teach you how to be villains..."

She swiveled to face Lich Baron with a glare. "And I'm going to teach you how to be chill."

Rotty Rotten turned around, shaking her head as she whispered to herself, "Honestly, undead uprising...what are they doing over there?"

With that, she started to march, addressing the whole group as she walked off. "I'm going to ready the presentation now! It should only take a few minutes, so don't go anywhere!"

Huh. If it were anyone else, Rottytops would be concerned, but her alternate self seemed to have a far different idea of what villainy was than was typical for any of their universes. So, as it was, Rottytops was curious to see where this was going. Maybe she could do something to test the waters real quick...? See how far this goes, anyway. She thought it over, running over different ideas in her head, before stumbling over one that made her grin in anticipation.

Clearing her throat to catch her older self's attention, Rottytops remarked, "Will the presentation include a musical number?"

She expected Rotty Rotten to just be confused, or perhaps roll her eyes at the joke. She did not expect her to actually consider the question, looking very contemplative as she stood in thought. Eventually, she answered, "...no, I don't have one prepared at the moment, but you know what? We ARE doing a musical number later. I will guarantee we do a musical number later. You can bet on it."

With that, Rotty Rotten walked away, leaving Rottytops stunned in her place. Well, damn. She was going to be in a musical number now, apparently. Was that just normal in this universe? Was she the prankee, here? Before she could contemplate this further, though, she was interrupted by her other older self.

"...I am chill, though," Turning to face Lich Baron, Rottytops looked up to see...wow. Was she pouting? She was absolutely pouting. It was kinda funny, honestly, compared to how intimidating she'd been earlier. Maybe she shouldn't get so much of a kick out of what was technically her own misery (or however you'd quantify the misery of your alternate self), but Rottytops was willing to chalk that up to her being a naturally funny person even when she wasn't trying. "I just spook people sometimes, I don't even make my undead do anything! Aside from like, theft, but that's in the job description. What do you guys think? You think I'm chill, right?"

"...eh...?" Rottytops shrugged, giving Lich Baron the universal so-so gesture. "I mean, towards the end, sure, but you did open up with a whole undead uprising."

Clearly despairing, Lich Baron turned to Cadaver, who simply responded, "You're better than Hypno Baron."

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Lich Baron slumped over. "No one appreciates me here..."

True to her word, Rotty Rotten had set up her presentation - whatever that entailed - up relatively quickly. Rottytops, or rather, Cadaver, could appreciate that this supposed "villain" was considerate of their time, even though they'd only met because of a misunderstanding in magical artifacts. She'd wasted no time in establishing what the situation was, making sure they all had names to call each other, and - to some degree - informing them of why she'd set up her cloning plan in the first place, even if she hadn't actually said the reason out loud. It was the sort of directness that Cadaver could appreciate.

Truth be told, it was...nice to be able to go by Cadaver again, if only for a little while. One of the only intended freedoms Hypno Baron had given her back when she was first resurrected was her choice of name, and for that, she'd chosen General Cadaver. That name had lasted up until she and Hypno Baron had come face to face with Bolo's party and she broke out of his control, for after he was defeated and she stuck around...well, she knew exactly where she wanted to go, and as much as she liked her name, she saw no point in using a name that they'd only associate with the cold, calculating general at Hypno Baron's side. So, she'd picked out another name, joined Bolo's party (the others still made jokes about how she didn't, you know, ask, like a "normal person," but it worked, didn't it?), and that was that. Rottytops was a nice name, too, and in some ways better than Cadaver ever was, but Cadaver was still the first one she chose.

Shaking her head out of her thoughts, Cadaver sat down next to the other Rottytops, with Lich Baron on the other side. Truth be told, Cadaver couldn't quite get herself to let her guard down around Lich Baron - she was far too familiar with the dangers of necromancers to let herself do that - but, contrasted to how Rotty Rotten seemed to perceive her, Lich Baron ultimately seemed harmless. Or, rather, she could do harm, but she had a feeling most of the time it was very negligible. More like that strange fellow who kept making a nuisance of himself, Squid Baron, than the mad Hypno Baron she was familiar with. And Rotty Rotten, whether she wanted to admit it or not, seemed closer to the other Rottytops' description of a prankster than anything else.

Rotty Rotten pulled down a screen and cleared her throat, and with that cue the lights darkened and something flickered on, projecting an image onto the screen - a simple purple backdrop with gears and skulls on it. Cadaver let out a slight hum of appreciation, then turned her attention to her alternate self as she pulled out a pointer. "Alright, let's give a bit of context first..."

Extending the pointer, she tapped the screen, and the image changed to a serene-looking town with bright, cheery colors. "So! This, right here, is where we currently are: my perfect little hometown, Lazytown! A town where no one did anything, really, and I was able to sit back and relax to my hearts content...well, it used to be, anyway."

The presentation switched to her next image, showing what appeared to be a blue airship, high up in the sky. Cadaver's eyes widened, and her old general mindset started kicking into overdrive - airships were a hypothetical in her world, with no one having the manpower or materials to build one themselves just yet, so to show one so casually likely meant that either the technology they had here was more advanced, airships were incredibly common, or some combination of both. It'd be a fairly difficult target to take down, too, considering the only one who might be able to get into the air was Lich Baron...but, before she could strategize further, Cadaver shook her head and firmly reminded herself that, no matter how reasonable she was and likely would be, this was still the word of someone who actively called herself a villain, so she might want to hold back on the militant strategizing for now.

"You see, a while back, let's say...oh, a year or two now? Someone showed up and decided to get people moving, and that someone's name was Shantacus," Rotty Rotten growled, her tone layered with something bitter as she shook her head. For her part, Cadaver felt her face scrunch up in confusion, and a quick look around showed that her alternate counterparts were equally confused, even Lich Baron. Of course, she was quick to connect the name to Shantae, one of her party members, and she wasn't really surprised to find out she was a hero in this world, but...it was a bit hard to imagine herself at odds with the half-fae girl. In complete defiance of the typical slippery and treacherous image the Rogue class carried with it, Shantae was very earnest, often trying her best to communicate with her team and even the opponent if it was clear they could see reason. And while they'd be at odds in this world, Cadaver also knew for a fact that she wasn't really the type to hold grudges, with Hypno Baron being an exception. Needless to say, something would have had to go terribly wrong for Shantae to be in the same class as Hypno Baron here, and by all accounts, it hadn't - so, she had to wonder, was Rotty Rotten's anger real, or simply performative? A question to consider for later.

"...and with her around, the whole town started getting into fitness, with running and sports and yoga and blegh," Rotty Rotten gagged, sticking her tongue out and shuddering in disgust. Cadaver, personally, couldn't relate, but she did see Lich Baron nod in sympathy. "Do you know how much noise that much running and exercise makes when you live right underneath people's feet? Because let me tell you, it's a LOT! And since I couldn't exactly file a noise complaint for an entire town, and believe me, I tried, the solution was clear - Shantacus had to go! And so, thus began our esteemed rivalry..."

The other Rottytops raised her hand.

"Yes, Rottytops?" Rotty Rotten turned to her similarly-aged counterpart, and Cadaver very promptly reminded herself that she wasn't responding to Rottytops for now.

"Genuine question, can you not just, like...soundproof your place, or something?" The other Rottytops asked, tilting her head with a raised eyebrow. Honestly, she'd been wondering that herself, so she turned her attention to Rotty Rotten.

"Well...yes, I've got better soundproofing now," Rotty Rotten muttered, a blush dusting her cheeks as she looked away from her audience. "But at this point it's the principle of the thing! Lazy is LITERALLY in the town's name; we don't need any of this fitness junk! So Shantaflop can take her sports and her diets and shove it...whatever, that's not important right now! Moving on!"

She tapped the pointer to the screen again, switching the image to another shot of the town. "Now, obviously, the most effective method of getting Shantacus out of town is just catching her myself, but that tends to be very difficult to do for...reasons you are about to witness for yourself. I hope you don't mind if I take a step back, because this is...very depressing for me to watch."

Without further ado, Rotty Rotten tapped the image again, looking away and walking off to the side, but rather than the image changing entirely to a new one, it began moving. Cadaver was impressed and wondered what it was; magic? Technology? Some combination of both? She didn't ponder about that for long, though, as the moving image showed Rotty Rotten peeking out from behind a bench, a comically large net slung over her shoulder. She looked around, clearly anticipating something, and then her eyes darted to the right, and she grinned, jumping up to her full height and swinging the net down-

Cadaver could fully admit she was attracted to Shantae. The girl was clever, but humble, kind to a world that often didn't extend the same kindness to her just because of who she was born to, and incredible in a fight in ways she couldn't help but admire, having an uncanny ability to detect and take out ambushes to the party before any of them were even aware of the danger. It wasn't something she acted on, given that her teammate seemed incredibly shy around her for some reason - she suspected Sky knew, but the druid had grown more and more exasperated each time she asked, so she clearly didn't feel like telling her - but it was nice for her to think about. Maybe, at some point, she'd be able to work herself up to make the first move, but only when she was sure Shantae wouldn't be scared off when she asked.

All of this was to say, she wasn't quite prepared to see Shantacus in action for the first time. The blue-clad heroine adeptly flipped in the radius of the net and out in the blink of an eye, outpacing Rotty Rotten without even trying, and when she zoomed up behind her to give a grin to the villain...the way Shantacus smiled, and the way she laughed, so confident and carefree, got her heart racing in ways she hadn't thought it could anymore, considering her undead nature. Her strategic side wanted to slap her upside the head and make her pay attention, but for once, Cadaver couldn't bring herself to care, and as the moving image unfurled into a compilation of various failed capture attempts, her focus was entirely on how confident Shantacus' gait was, how sure she was in herself, and, to a lesser extent, the way her body had been toned to perfection. She personally didn't quite care about that sort of thing - she thought Shantae's more athletic build fit her more than an Amazon - but it was a nice bonus. All Cadaver could think of, seeing Shantacus, was, how could I get my Shantae to act like this? How could I make her this confident?

A long, drawn out wolf-whistle snapped Cadaver out of her reverie, and she realized with some embarrassment that the compilation had ended without her realizing. Looking over, she took some relief in that she wasn't alone, as she saw that the other Rottytops was blushing like mad, eyes snapped to the screen and wide with disbelief. Before she could look to see Lich Baron's reaction though, she heard the thwip of a robe being raised high into the air as quickly as possible.

Rotty Rotten sighed wearily. "I don't know how you managed to connect any of that to your undead shtick, and I don't care - no undead uprising."

"That wasn't my question," Lich Baron stated, her grin clear even when Cadaver wasn't looking at her.

"Then what was it?" Rotty Rotten snapped, clearly expecting her alternate self to not have an answer.

"Is Shantacus single?" Lich Baron asked, with approximately zero hesitation or remorse. Almost immediately, the other Rottytops' blush grew, and though she didn't have a mirror for reference, Cadaver was sure she had her own, similarly-sized blush. As for Rotty Rotten, she had her own blush beginning to rise as she started to indignantly squawk, trying to form words but failing for a few moments.

"T-that's-Shantaflop's relationship status is NOT RELEVANT to this conversation!" Rotty Rotten finally managed, shaking her head furiously.

"Yes it is," Lich Baron shook her head in disagreement. "Because, well, Captain Shantae is fun and all, nice to tease, puts sooooooo much effort into hiding how much of a softie she is, and I would like to actually get a relationship with her going at some point...buuuuut she also has trust issues up the wazoo, and while I'll still pick Captain Shantae over her every day, Shantacus having NONE of those issues, and being jacked on top of that? Putting up some serious competition there. If she's anything like the good captain, I don't think it'd be too much trouble to seduce her into a trap...and, I mean, if you aren't going to do anything-"

"Absolutely not!" Rotty Rotten hissed, crossing her arms in an X. "There is to be no, and I mean no, flirting with the enemy! Snackcakes is off-limits-"

She suddenly stopped, her blush growing more as her words silently sunk in. Cadaver slowly raised an eyebrow as she considered the clearly more affectionate nickname for the hero, and the other Rottytops' expression slowly turned into a grin of its own, as she opened her mouth to say something-

"You heard nothing. You did not hear Snackcakes, you heard Shantaflop. That nickname does not leave this room," Rotty Rotten shook her head, taking a moment to glare at each of them. "And it especially does not leave this room in front of the kids, because I don't know what bet they have going on with me and Shantacus, but I am winning it, do you understand me?"

"Mhm. Hear you loud and clear, boss," With a mock salute, Lich Baron gave Rotty Rotten a nod before leaning back, clearly pleased with herself.

In the meantime, Cadaver was starting to piece together the picture. Her alternate counterpart was clearly attracted to Shantacus, that much had been made clear, but considering they'd started out in opposing roles and still disagreed on how fitness should be handled in this town (she still didn't get WHY that was their conflict, honestly; she supposed it might just be the weird standards of this world)...hmm. Did she just not know how to make the switch? Was this some sort of elaborate way of flirting with the hero? Cadaver didn't really care much for complicated schemes. She could make them, sure, and definitely understand them, but she knew from experience that so many complex plans had a tendency to fall apart the instant you did something they didn't expect - for instance, braining Hypno Baron with her hammer the moment she snapped out of his control - so she preferred the more direct approach. This would all be so much easier if Rotty Rotten decided to forgo the "villainy" and just ask Shantacus out on a date.

"Moving on..." Said villain shook her head, tapping the pointer to the screen again to move it to the next image. "Normally, in order to get anywhere close to capturing Shantacus I do need to use tricks like that, but there's a reason I was trying to clone myself - if we set up enough traps around town, then it doesn't matter how simple they are, Shantacus will have to fall into one of them eventually. Quantity has a quality all its own, after all! So, I'm going to teach you all how to set up some traps, and then, once we all go around and set them up...bye bye, Shantacus! Any questions?"

Part of Cadaver wanted to ask if Rotten would just go ahead and ask Shantacus out, but she didn't think that'd be well-received. So, she thought of another question as she raised her hand.

"Yes, Cadaver?" Rotty Rotten nodded towards her.

"What do you plan on doing if you succeed?" Cadaver calmly asked, raising an eyebrow. Not once had Rotty Rotten mentioned her plans for after the fact, after all.

Almost immediately, Rotty Rotten's face fell into one of irritation. "Well, I was going to work it out with my clones, but considering I'm the only me here - no offense to all of you, of course - I'm just going to have to figure it out later. Don't worry about it. Anyone else?"

Cadaver, the other Rottytops, and Lich Baron looked at each other, then shook their heads in a decisive no.

"Good! Now, prepare yourselves; we'll be heading towards sunlight in a few minutes!" With that, Rotty Rotten gave a decisive nod, and walked off, presumably to get materials.

Cadaver waited for a few moments, then stood up and began to walk off to a further part of the room from Lich Baron, hammer in hand. As she found a wall and leaned against it, contemplating her next move, she saw the other Rottytops stand next to her out of the corner of her eye.

"So...are you going to help weird not-actually-a-villain-you? Or, uh, us? Or...wow, this is confusing," The other Rottytops shook her head. "But, you get my point, right? Figured I'd ask the only other hero in the room."

Cadaver tilted her head, then nodded. "As long as we take precautions to make sure the traps don't catch anyone else in the crossfire, I don't see the harm. I'm mostly just hoping to convince her to ask Shantacus out on a date directly."

"Ah, okay, cool, cool, I'm not the only one who thinks this is an elaborate date set-up, good to know," The other Rottytops gave Cadaver her own nod, pleased to be vindicated.

Cadaver paused for a moment. "Out of curiosity, how did you get to that conclusion? I know my line of thought, but I want to hear yours."

The other Rottytops very quickly started blushing again. "Well, uh...honestly, when I thought about it, it sounded like something I would do if I was desperate enough? And, y'know, wasn't already dating my Shantae, but that's besides the point."

Cadaver considered this new information, then slowly turned her head to give the other Rottytops' a raised eyebrow and her most deadpan look. What was it Bolo said to Shantae that one time? "You're your own worst critic?" She was certain it wasn't meant to be applied like this, but she was definitely feeling critical of her other self right now.

"...hey, I wasn't saying it wouldn't be stupid, I was just saying I might do it!" The other Rottytops defended herself, then, after a few more moments of being beset by her judgement, sighed. "Honestly, how come you're the only one of us who has their shit together, anyway? And I'm including the adult-adults on this one, not just us young adults, because Lich Baron and Rotty Rotten absolutely do not have their shit together."

Cadaver snorted. "I think my party's druid would disagree with you on that front, but, in short? You'd be surprised how many problems a hammer solves."

The other Rottytops looked at the hammer in question longingly, then sighed, slumping over. "Man..."

She shook her head, despondent, then perked up without any warning. "So! Onto other topics - how about you and your Shantae, eh? You got some kind of relationship going on?"

Now Cadaver felt her own blush forming. "Ah...it'd be nice, but no, not really. She's a little shy around me, so I figure it's best to take things easy before I actually make a move. I don't want to scare her off, you know?"

"...mhm," The other Rottytops slowly turned her head in a mirror of how Cadaver had done so moments earlier, and suddenly she had flashbacks to when she asked Sky about why Shantae was so shy around her. And also felt incredibly judged, for some reason. "Say, out of curiosity, when did this shyness start?"

"Oh, that?" Cadaver thought for a moment, tilting her head. "I took a blow from a Naga for her in a temple - Shantae had been running ragged from going through all the traps in the place, so she didn't quite react to the thing as fast as she usually did, and I stepped in. Took my arm off, but I returned the favor and then some right afterwards. Still remember how awestruck she looked, back then...she'd been a little wary of me sticking around the party before then, but after that? She was happy to include me, albeit with a bit of an issue approaching. Why do you ask?"

"No particular reason. Just got an actual answer to my question from earlier," The other Rottytops nodded sagely.

"What?" Cadaver squinted, looking at her other self in confusion.

"Balance of the universe. Balance of the universe is what's going on with you," With approximately zero elaboration, the other Rottytops started walking away. "Gonna go do a few stretches before we head out. Nice talking with you!"

"Wait, what? What are you..." Cadaver blinked, trying to decipher what the hell that meant, before something clicked in her head. "Wait. Do you know why my Shantae's so shy with me?"

"Yup!" The other Rottytops turned her head, giving Cadaver a view of the shit-eating grin that she now had. "Don't worry, you'll figure it out! You'll just want to bash your head into a wall afterwards!"

"What?" Cadaver squinted, trying to make sense of her other self, but all she got in response was a resounding cackle as the other Rottytops walked away. She still waited to see if there was going to be an actual answer, but after a few moments, she sighed and turned away. At least she got more out of that than she did with Sky. Still, though - you'll figure it out? It couldn't be that obvious, could it? She was so certain there was some sort of complex reasoning behind Shantae's shyness, it couldn't be that simple. Like, say, if Shantae was attracted to her, she'd be able to recognize that for what it was, right?

...

...Oh.

OH.

Her alternate self was right. She did want to bash her head into a wall.

This April Fool's fic will be continued...next week!

#shantae #rottytops #fic #april fools #reversal au #watch quest #“wait what's with those last two tags” hehehehehehe

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themirokai · 1 year ago

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Here it is, the last story so far in His Professional Capacity (my Mystrade spy series, that I wrote back in 2021). In case you missed it, I’m posting the stories from the series here on tumblr in anticipation of putting out a new story in the series.

The four previous stories are: one, two, three, four.

This fifth one is short and light, and was really down to the fact that lots of people in the comments of Protégé really loved Peter Romer, and he needed an encore.

The Assist

Greg gets some unexpected help when making an arrest.

Tags: Greg’s day job, Banter, Light flirting, Mycroft’s work kids

1,545 words

Note: If you’re just coming to this one, I recommend you go read Protégé first.

Read it below or on AO3.

~*~

Greg pounded down the pavement after the arson suspect. His muscles were straining and his lungs were struggling. He kept himself fit, played football when he could, but this bastard was fast. Greg glanced over his shoulder to see the constables a few steps behind him. At least he could still keep ahead of those youngsters. Greg looked in front of him again, just in time to round the corner…

...into a flea market filled with people, none of them running. “Ah fucking Christ on a stick!” Greg pulled up, scanning the crowd for his suspect. After a moment of peering about fruitlessly, he leaned over, grabbing his knees and panting to catch his breath.

“Sir?” The constables were beside him.

“Spread out!” Greg shouted. “Find him!” The constables waded off into the crowd and after a moment Greg set off as well, muttering curses to himself all the way.

He had just peered into his third stall when a familiar Scottish accent reached his ears. “Oi! Silver Fox!”

Greg turned to see Agent Peter Romer approaching, pushing the suspect in front of him.

“Romer?” Greg squinted.

“Nice to see you too, Silver Fox. And you’re welcome.” Romer’s hair was longer than when Greg had last seen him, worn in a small ponytail at the back of his head.

“What the hell are you doing here? Is Mycroft here?”

“Nah, boss is stuck in Whitehall all day, far as I know. Ya got some cuffs for this arsehole, Silver Fox? They’re not in my standard kit. Got some for the bedroom ��course, but they’re more of the fluffy variety. You should probably arrest him too, since I’m not technically doing that.”

Greg was already pulling out his handcuffs and dragging the suspect around to put them on him. “John Hayden, I’m Detective Inspector Lestrade of the Metropolitan Police, and you’re under arrest on suspicion of arson. You are not free to leave,” Greg growled at him, then turned to Romer and jabbed a finger at him. “No disappearing. I want to talk to you.”

Romer gave him a mischievous grin and a raised eyebrow. “You want me around, Silver Fox? Then wild horses couldn’t drag me.”

Greg rolled his eyes and pulled out his radio to call the constables back. After a few minutes they had taken the suspect away and Greg turned to where Romer was ostensibly perusing the merchandise in the nearest stall.

“Mycroft lets you wear your hair like that?”

Romer’s hand immediately flew to his ponytail and his look of dismay appeared genuine. “Ya don’t like it?”

Greg tamped down his first reaction to soothe and crossed his arms over his chest. “No, it’s awful. What the hell are you supposed to be?”

Romer’s grin returned. “Nuh uh, Silver Fox. The boss raised your clearance for matters pertaining to his safety and yours. My current project doesn’t qualify.”

“And does your current project involve tailing me?”

“Maybe I was just shopping for -” Romer grabbed a rhinestone-encrusted trumpet from the counter beside him, “a snazzy new bugle?”

“Try again, Romer.”

The young man relinquished the trumpet, then shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking backwards away from Greg. “Maybe I wanted to buy you a drink?”

Greg shook his head as he followed. “I am working. And aren’t you prohibited from flirting with me on pain of being exiled to China?”

“Nah,” Romer said with a grin, then turned around to walk beside Greg, facing front, “can you imagine all the trouble I could get into without the boss keeping an eye on me? He’d never send me that far away.”

Greg scrubbed a hand over his face. “Christ, and I thought him having to keep track of his brother was bad enough.”

Romer stopped walking and turned to Greg, touching his arm. “No, Lestrade, it’s not like that. I’m just fooling.” He shook his head, brow furrowed. “I never intentionally cause problems for him, I promise. I’m good at the work … or at least I try to be. Credit to the Service and all that.”

Greg snorted. “But sometimes you push the boundaries a little so he pays more attention to you?” Romer wrinkled his nose and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck in response. Greg chuckled and patted his shoulder. “Yeah, I get it, kid.” Greg started walking again and Romer stuck by his side. “Alright out with it, Peter. What were you doing chasing down my suspect?”

“You know we’ve been keeping an eye on ya ever since ya moved in with the boss, in case someone tries to use you to get to him.”

“Right,” Greg said, “but I didn’t think I had a security detail.”

“You don’t. But we generally have an idea of what you’re working on and your whereabouts.”

Greg sighed. He had long ago accepted the fact that Mycroft was under surveillance at all times for his safety. He had more recently come to terms with the fact that Mycroft was a valuable enough target that someone could conceivably try to get to him using Greg, and this meant that Greg merited some level of security. What he wasn’t quite comfortable with was the idea that “security” included agents from Mycroft’s unit “keeping an eye on” his work. Greg knew some of them, and recognized them all by sight once they had rotated through Mycroft’s security detail. A few of them, like Romer, were assigned to Mycroft’s unit long-term, but others spent a few months in the unit taking rotations on the security detail and other shadowy assignments, then moving back to MI6 or MI5 or wherever they had come from. It bothered him that he didn’t know how they remained aware of what he was working on. Was his office bugged? His computer monitored? He was pretty sure that if he asked Mycroft he would get a straight answer, but he wasn’t certain that he wanted to test that.

“So did Mycroft or one of you lot deduce that we would lose Hayden? Does he teach you how to do that?”

“He has taught me some. Says I have a good instinct for it,” Romer said, beaming proudly. “But no one’s as good as him. And that’s not what happened here. Hayden the arsonist is on the very fringes of a massive criminal organization we’re tracking. Don’t get excited,” he cautioned, seeing the look on Greg’s face, “he’s really just at the very fringe. You won’t be able to flip him to anyone bigger, otherwise we would have brought him in.”

“Any chance I can see your file on the organization?”

“Not my call,” Romer said, with a twinkle in his eye, “but maybe if you put on some tight jeans and unbutton your shirt a bit when the boss gets home-”

“Watch it, kid,” Greg growled. Romer laughed and put up both hands placatingly. Greg shook his head. “Alright, so you knew I was going after Hayden, and?” he prompted.

“And given that this organization might be getting a hint that we’re on to them, the boss wanted to make sure that the arrest went smoothly just to make sure they hadn’t made the connection between him and you and Hayden and them.”

“Did you volunteer for this, Peter?”

Romer grinned. “I was available. And I’m quite good at finding people; it’s how I ended up in the boss’s unit. So he thought I might be able to help. Which, even you have to admit, I did.”

“Yeah,” Greg sighed, “you did. Glad you were around.” He chuckled at Romer’s bright smile. “So nothing nefarious going on other than me and my constables not being fast enough to catch him before he ran into a flea market?”

“Nah, looks like that’s the extent of it.”

“Good.” Greg turned to Romer and held out his hand. “Thank you, Peter. I appreciate the assist.”

Romer’s smile stretched ear to ear as he shook Greg’s hand. “My pleasure, Silver Fox. And uh, you’ll tell the boss, yeah?”

“Sure, kid,” Greg chuckled, “I’ll tell him.”

---

Late that evening, Greg was lounging on the sofa watching a football match and drinking a beer when he heard Mycroft come in. “There’s takeaway in the fridge,” he called.

A few minutes later Mycroft - shoes off, waistcoat unbuttoned, and tie loose - entered and plopped ungracefully onto the sofa. He swung his feet onto Greg’s lap and began applying chopsticks to the contents of the takeaway container he had brought with him.

“Rough day?” Greg asked, starting to massage a foot with one hand.

“Politicians,” Mycroft replied after a few bites of stir fry, “all damn day. Even the ones who have clearance high enough for my briefings are insufferable these days.”

Greg made a sympathetic noise.

“I hope Romer behaved himself?” Mycroft asked after eating a little more.

“I don't think we would have made the arrest without him,” Greg admitted. “And he wanted to be sure you knew that.” Mycroft snorted. “That kid thinks the sun shines out of your arse, darlin’.”

“Mm, are you saying it doesn’t?”

The foot rub turned into tickling, forcing Mycroft to abandon his food and straddle Greg’s lap for a kiss.

#his professional capacity #mirokai writes #mystrade #bbc sherlock #greg lestrade

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emmatheyoshi · 21 days ago

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suicidemouse.avi (Reimagined)

This also doubles as the backstory of how Willie was born. You’ll also need to know what a Corruptus is.

Hello Lost Media Community. My name is Willie Fieldmouse. You may know me as Mickey Mouse and Oswald the Lucky Rabbit’s baby brother. Today, I come to you all for help. Before we get into what I am looking for, I need to share something….personal with you all.

By technical definitions, I am a Corruptus. I was born after the suicidemouse.avi incident as a result of the tampering of the recording of my original walk cycle. Yes, suicidemouse.avi was originally a simple walk cycle of me. The original walk cycle’s flip book is still in the archive of my dad’s (Walt Disney) work. However, some mentally ill employee back in 1988 or 1989 managed to digitize the walk cycle and turn it into something horrifying.

And that is where you come. Mickey, Oswald, and I need help finding the tampered version of this walk cycle for archival purposes. The three of us (along with Minnie, Canyon, HMK, and Ortensia) have all gathered as much information as we could, which will hopefully be useful. Before I listen the details about the story, I would like to note two things.

1. The walk cycle was hand drawn by my father, Walt Disney. The video, on the other hand, was made by a former animator named Edward “Ed” Palmer, who was clearly mentally ill, as he found joy in the reaction of the one staff member who took their life (I’ll address that in a moment). It’s entirely possible he still has the physical VHS of the video, however it’s unknown if he’s on the Internet.

2. The last thirty-ish seconds of the cartoon is entirely unknown due to the fact that the only person who saw it (the aforementioned staff member) was so shaken up by it,(according to Mickey) he stumbled out of the viewing room muttering, “Real suffering is not known,” before taking a security guard’s gun and killing himself.

And now, the information we’ve gathered.

• Cartoon is most likely listed under suicidemouse.avi, sadmouse.avi, mouse.avi, or simply mouse.

• Cartoon is nine minutes and four seconds long. It’s also in black and white, as it was made in the early 1930s.

• Original walk cycle is a simple loop of me (Willie) walking down a street with buildings in the background. You can tell it’s me because of my shoes. I wear rain boots, Mickey would be wearing his usual shoes. This walk cycle is the first three minutes of the cartoon.

• First three minutes of cartoon have quiet, off key piano music playing in the background.

• Cartoon cuts to black at three minute mark, comes back at six minute mark. A quiet murmur becomes the audio in the background. This changes to a scream at the seven minute mark.

• 7:15 mark, I begin to smile. 7.5 minute mark, my eyes roll off my face. 7:45 mark, the streets distort. Colors impossible for a film/cartoon at the time appear as well (this was the nail in the “This video was tampered with” coffin).

• For a moment at roughly 7:48, I walk backwards before resuming walking forward.

• Usual Mickey Mouse face is seen at the eight minute mark. A broken music box is heard in the background.

• Last frame of the video has Russian text that roughly translates to, “The sights of hell beckons the curious.” This is the only thing we know about the last thirty seconds of the video.

Please let me know if you find anything. And if there’s anything we can do to help further this search, please let me know.

#emma writes #willie fieldmouse #mickey mouse #mouse.avi #original character #toon oc #creepypasta oc #creepypasta rewrite #creepypasta retake

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shadowsingcalore · 6 months ago

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A little snippet from the Bodhi/OC fic I'm currently working on!

Finding the Wing Leader proves to be more difficult than Bodhi initially anticipated. On any other day, she's normally pretty easy to spot. Green eyes, dark brown hair, soft orange highlights that frame her face, and freckles.

He jogs around Riorson House, head on a swivel. Bodhi's steps slow, becoming as soft and as quiet as cat paws at the sound of weeping.

A familiar figure sits on the staircase of the main entrance. Another figure--a first year based on how unfamiliar they are to Bodhi at first glance--sits on the step below Kestra. Her face is red and tear-stained, her cheeks cupped in Kestra's gloved hands.

“Good,” Kestra's voice carries slightly from the otherwise empty entrance hall. “Now, try four things you can feel physically.”

Bodhi's brow furrows. Amari only knows what the hell that's all about. The sniffling first year rattles off four sensations she’s feeling, and her voice sounds about as steady as a gurgling river. The cool marble steps, Kestra's hands on her face--cemented by an encouraging brush of Kestra's thumbs on her cheeks that makes something in Bodhi's chest ache--the slight breeze from the open window, and the way her lungs burn.

The comment seems to make the first year aware of her body again, and she takes in a breath that reminds Bodhi of the sound shutters make when a strong wind blows against them. Loud, rattling, and slow.

“Good,” Kestra says again. Her voice is so…gentle. Soft. It’s not something that’s remotely close to being kindled or fostered by the quadrant. Leadership wants riders to weapons without feeling. And though Bodhi wouldn’t dare doubt that a Wing Leader could be a killing machine the moment it was called for, it was…jarring, to say the least, to hear her speak like this.

Kestra gives her another list of things to catalog: three things she can hear. And it continues from there, with the Wing Leader giving the first year instructions to list things out loud, and the latter obeying despite the tremble in her voice.

When they finally get to smell, the first year's nose wrinkles as she sniffs. “I smell cleaning products and…cologne?”

Bodhi gulps. Fuck. Maybe Cuir was onto something earlier when he complained about his “stench” on the flight field after all.

“I told you,” Cuir notes, passive yet smug.

“Not helpful!”

The first year looks over Kestra’s shoulder at Bodhi, and she follows suit. Her brow shifts from furrowed to arched as her large, doe-like eyes land on him. “Durran,” she greets.

Bodhi dips his chin, fighting the unusual urge to clear his throat. “Can I borrow you when you’re done?”

“Sure. Just give me a few minutes.”

The first year pulls away from Kestra, wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve. “It’s fine—I’m fine. Thank you, Wing Leader.”

“Oh.” Kestra’s eyes still gleam with concern as the first year takes a few shaky steps backward. “If you’re sure…”

The younger girl definitely doesn’t seem sure, but Bodhi isn’t about to stop her. If he were having a meltdown and a senior cadet, let alone his Wing Leader, found him in the midst of it, he wouldn’t want any witnesses either.

The first year excuses herself, walking away with an unnatural stiffness that makes Bodhi certain she’s trying to pretend that she’s more put-together than she actually feels. He would probably do the same if he were her.

“You needed something?” Kestra asks, straightening up to her full height. She’s only a few inches shorter than Bodhi, but he knows for a fact that wouldn’t stop her from knocking him flat on his ass. And for some reason, he isn’t sure he’d mind. Not that he’ll give her a reason to, of course. He's supposed to be the most reasonable of his section, after all.

“Yes. Well, technically, the Assembly needs something from you. They asked me to bring you so you and the Professors can sort out teaching all the cadets here.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “They're asking me to teach? I'm still only a cadet. And what would I teach anyway?”

“Dragonkind. You're Kaori's daughter--if there's anyone they expect to know enough about dragons to help the first years keep their seats and maneuver in flight, it's you.”

Kestra frowns, a sight that Bodhi couldn't have anticipated disliking so much. He watches her raise her hand to her face and pinch the bridge of her nose. Her sigh is sharp. “This is why Dad and I kept that little bit of information a secret.”

Can we keep her? Pretty please?

A/N: So it is feb 1st and the start of the little challenge and I just came up with this today. It's not very long just a little under 600 words, but still at least I did something, so that is good! Also this is unedited so excuse any and every mistake pls. Summary: How Tamlin convinces his husband Lucien to add another pet to their ever-growing family. There is no such thing as having too many pets, is there?

Tamlin had always had a knack for understanding all types of animals and insects, it is why most people that do know him, call him the High Lord of Animals instead of Spring. He never minded that title, it seemed far more fitting than that of Spring, since he left most of the paperwork for his loving husband to do. Lucien was always better with that, than he was. Even when he actually took his job as High lord of Spring seriously, he had Lucien help him with various correspondences.

The ginger was always good with words and to be completely honest (by Tamlins’ standards) his handwriting was far more legible than Tamlins. His handwriting was, well in layman terms, a messy scribble of illegible words that only he himself understood. Which made replying to letters a time-consuming task, since he had to focus and take his time to write the words so that people would be able to read them.

That was until he got married to his longtime lover, who gracefully took over the task of responding to letters and other important things from time to time when Tamlin got overwhelmed with his lordly duties. While Lucien was in charge, Tamlin had a habit of bringing various animals home with him. They all came willingly and stayed there enjoying being pampered by everyone around. So far their pets were 2 bears, 5 ducks, 3 hares, 5 raccoons and one lone fox. This does not count the high amount of horses they already have.

The fox was brought home by Lucien and not Tamlin in one shocking turn of events, although most of their pets were brought home by none other than the blonde lord. He couldn’t help himself and neither could the animals when they saw him. So in conclusion the amount of pets they had this far was not all his fault, the animals wanted to be with him. That is how he excused the growing numbers of pets he brought home.

The two lovers worked in tandem to make Spring work the way it was meant to, Tamlin could not do it alone and was ever so grateful for the help he got. Their rhythm was very simple, one week Lucien would take over the duties, the next week would be Tamlin. So far, they had no issues with this arrangement. As much as Lucien loved the little family they have built over the years, he does think the number of animals roaming around is far too much. Yet, whenever Tamlin came home from one of his many walks through the Spring forests with a new animal to add to their family, he could never make himself say no to the blonde.

This time around, was no different. Lucien had finally taken a break from being hunched over the desk, a pen in hand, scribbling thousands of words. He walked outside stretching his arms above his head, cracking his spine. The fresh Spring air filled his lungs and he couldn’t help but smile. The ginger looked forward and was not surprised to see Tamlin walking towards him. A sigh escaped him, when the blonde neared, and he could see a tiny gray fluff ball nestled in his muscular arms.

“Can we keep her? Pretty please?” Tamlin asked with a sheepish smile on his face, eyes sparkling with joy that the small bundle of fluff brought him, how could Lucien ever say no to that face?

Tagging everyone that is participating in this challenge: @praetorqueenreyna @achaotichuman @chunkypossum @theshadowsingersraven

#10 days writing challenge #fourth wing #iron flame #onyx storm #the empyrean #empyrean series

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redahlia-writes · 2 years ago

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you make loving fun. | frankie morales x ofc

one. you make loving fun (sweet wonderful you)

content (for this chapter): smut, drinking, bad jokes and flirting, cursing, fluff, some insecurities (both frankie and camila), child surprise (not a pregnancy fic), general softness, mentions of food, some lengthy prose

word count: 9.1k

a/n: she is here. i've wanted to write something inspired by fleetwood mac for so long and frankie (alongside @lcvenderblues meddling, ily) just lends himself so well for it. as i've mentioned in the series notes, this was supposed to be shorter but, in true me fashion, not only did it turn into a never-ending thing, i also somehow ended up with camila (whom i love dearly). so there you have it. i'm also currently without a beta reader so if you see mistakes just... pretend you didn't

reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

series masterlist | masterlist

“We didn’t necessarily do things the proper way–Will would say we actually did them backwards, which I think is just partially true, I’m not giving you the satisfaction, Miller. You see, when I first met Frankie we didn’t say a single word to each other for exactly three minutes and thirty-four seconds–and I know that, because that’s the exact duration of You Make Loving Fun. Technically, the first thing I said to him was Sweet wonderful you, and after all this time I still stand by those words. We could’ve done things in order, we could’ve done everything scrambled through whatever amount of time, but the result would still be the same–Francisco, my sweet wonderful you, you really do make loving fun.”

Frankie couldn’t remember the last time he’d belted out to a single song while driving–if he drove alone, the music would be loud and he would just keep the rhythm by tapping the steering wheel or nodding his head, never taking his eyes off the road; if somebody else was with him, there would either be no music or he’d just feel too self-conscious to sing.

Yet there he was, a drop too much of tequila in him (in the morning he would chastise himself for the rashness of his actions), windows down and music high, singing his heart out with a woman he’d just met at his side, her hair whipping wildly in the wind, McVie’s bass making the speakers of his car tremble.

He hadn’t planned any of it–he was meant to go to the bar, have a drink, maybe two, and then go back home and fall asleep on the couch with a movie he wasn’t even interested in. But he’d turned in his seat as You Make Loving Fun by Fleetwood Mac had started, and met the eyes of this woman–dark hair, big smile–who, pointing directly at him, had started singing and beckoned him forward. He wished to pretend it had been the beer’s fault, making him stand almost immediately, but truth was he was completely enthralled by her.

Frankie had danced with her as she sang along with the song, her hands in his, her body warm against his–they’d kissed before knowing each other’s names, her own shouted into his ear: Camila. He’d laughed, offered to buy her a drink, two, three, the conversation flowing so easily they’d found themselves moving outside for a smoke, and then to his car, where she’d seen the Rumors album tucked in a compartment of the car and her eyes had lit up.

He hadn’t thought he’d end up bringing somebody home, but her enthusiasm had warmed his chest, and suddenly he found himself kissing that smile off her lips as they stumbled into his house tangled together, shedding shoes and jackets through the corridor until they fell into bed.

She huffed a breath when he landed on top of her, laughter bubbling in her chest as she pulled back from the kiss and regained her breath, raking her hands through his hair while he lifted his head and, wide-eyed, looked down at her flushed face.

“Sorry,” he muttered, arms bracketing her head, as he lifted himself off of her, kneeling between her parted thighs–he lowered his gaze to where her dress had bunched up around her hips, uncovering her legs and giving him a peek of her underwear. He shook his head, cleared his throat, and when he looked back up a grin crossed her lips. “You alright?”

“Being crushed under someone’s weight was not how I imagined I’d go,” she snorted, hands falling to his shoulders, down to the front of his button up–it was already wrinkled from her touch, and as she thumbed a button he arched his eyebrows and lowered one hand to her skin, fingers brushing across her exposed collarbones.

“That’s a bit dramatic,” goosebumps crossed her skin in the wake of his touch, smile still pulling at her lips. He lowered his head into the crook of her neck, lips brushing her pulse point–he felt her heart jump under his mouth and grinned against her skin. “Feels like you’re alive to me.”

She laughed again, the sound making Frankie’s smile widen, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses down her neck, throat, chest, following the path he’d traced with his fingers down to the neckline of her dress and then further down, across the wrinkled fabric, her back arching as he moved down and down and down, a shuddering breath making her chest heave.

His hands followed, a too brief touch over her chest, cupping her breasts before moving to her hips, pulling the dress further up until her stomach was exposed and he could kiss the bare skin there, right above the waistband of her underwear as he caressed down her thighs, pulling them up slightly, parting her legs furthermore to slot himself with his shoulders underneath her knees.

His shoulders had been the first thing she’d noticed in the blinking lights of the bar, broad and constricted by his shirt, tugging at the top button she’d undone while they were dancing with a grin–he’d lifted his arms at some point, shirt riding up his stomach and giving her a peek of a sliver of skin. She’d thought about kissing the skin there, just as he was doing with her, the gentle scratch of his beard making her shiver.

“You don’t have to -” she gasped when he nipped her inner thigh, hips lifting off the bed with a curse muttered between her teeth that had him chuckle and look up.

“Where would the fun be in that?” he kissed her thigh again, moving slightly up as he hooked his arms around her legs and placed his hands above her hips. “Let me make it good for you, baby.”

A shudder of anticipation ran down her spine at his almost-request that had her flushing and push herself onto her elbows–she barely shifted over the bed, his hands keeping her pinned down.

“Is that the tequila talking, Francisco?” he grinned as she reached down, tracing his jaw with the tip of her fingers before pinching his chin gently, angling his head as if to lean over and kiss him. He liked the way she said his name, r rolling off her tongue, hissing s, hard c.

“A little,” he admitted, thumbs playing with the hem of her dress. He wasn’t drunk to the point of not remembering anything the following morning, but just enough to act cocksure. “But I mean it–only if you want to.”

Camila bit down on her bottom lip, another rush of excitement running through her–between the dancing, the drinking and Frankie’s kisses, every single part of her felt aflame. She dragged her thumb across the seam of his mouth, his lips swollen and slightly red in the dim lights of the bedroom parting under her touch–his pupils dilated, eyes dark and expectant. When she nodded, a shimmer crossed his gaze, and after kissing the palm of her hand he lowered his head between her thighs, pulling her gently closer to him–Frankie was eager, and with a loud sigh she fell back onto the pillows.

His lips never wandered too far from the soft skin of her inner thighs, peppering gentle kisses as he tugged her underwear down, parting just enough to expose her–the cooler air of the room hit her core right before he bowed his head, a kiss to her mound that had her eyes flutter shut. Pinning her hips down, Frankie pressed the flat of his tongue against her slit, and the moan that ran up her spine at his first taste of her made her shudder, hands grasping for the covers at her sides.

Another muttered curse left her lips as he dragged his tongue up to the apex of her core, her legs threatening to close around his head when he nudged her clit–he kept her thighs apart, fingers digging into the flesh as he glanced up at her. She kept her lips parted, short bursts of air leaving her each time he repeated the motion, lapping again and again, his tongue coated in her slick to the point he couldn’t feel the aftertaste of alcohol anymore.

Her thighs burned where his beard dragged with the motions of his head, muscles trembling as he picked up his pace, the noises filling the room almost obscene–had she been a little more sober, she would’ve felt herself flush with embarrassment, granted she could get past how good he felt. When he wrapped his lips around her clit, she clenched around nothing and moved one hand into his hair, tugging onto the locks somewhere between pulling him away and pushing him closer.

He moaned in response to the burn across his scalp, the vibrations making her back arch off the bed–again he pinned her down, hand spreading across her stomach, her muscles tensing under his touch. He shifted his arms, one half-draped across her hips with his hand reaching up, past her belly and towards her chest, underneath the now ruined dress–the other tucked into his side, hand dipping between her legs.

“Jesus, Frankie,” she moaned his name when he pushed his digit inside her, a mix of spit and her own slick aiding his movement–one knuckle, two, her chest heaving and she pulled onto his hair again, his name falling like a chant from her lips. He lifted his head then, enough to get a glimpse of her face–eyes glossed over, she looked down towards him and trembled at the sight of his glistening lips.

“This alright?” his voice was raspier, a little hoarse, caressing the skin of her stomach like a ripple of warm water. She nodded, eagerly enough her hair ruffled all around her head, and rocked her hips slowly into his touch. He began pulling his hand back, the drag of his finger making her moan and drop her head back.

“Please,” with a sigh, her hand heavy on his head, she arched towards him–he lowered his mouth to her again, tongue flicking over her enlarged clit as he slowly sank two fingers back inside her.

Frankie’s pace was agonizing, alternating between curling and pumping his fingers, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Camila had the fleeting thought she could not remember the last time someone had made her feel so good, right before he curled his fingers just right, hitting that spot she never managed to reach on her own, and simultaneously sucked her clit–her vision flashed white as her legs locked around his head, orgasm washing over her with a broken moan of her own.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she muttered breathlessly, hands slowly reaching for her chest–her fingers interlocked with Frankie’s over her stomach as he pulled his head up, the hair locks she’d tugged at falling messily over his forehead as he chuckled, the tip of his tongue peeking between his glistening lips.

“Thank you?” he tilted his head slightly, cheek brushing her red-marked thigh as her legs eased from around his head, falling heavily still over his shoulders. She snorted, squeezing his hand and letting her eyes flutter shut as he shifted upwards.

With her free hand, she took hold of his shirt, tugging him up to her until she was kissing him again, bracketing his hips between bent legs as he leaned his weight on her once more, their joined hands moving up across her body, her skin warm even through the bunched up dress and his shirt.

Frankie rutted his hips into her when she licked into his mouth, a muffled moan as her whole body shuddered at the drag of his jeans growing too tight. She locked her thighs around his hips, belt digging into the soft, uncovered, already slightly reddened skin, and with the hand previously interlocked with his, she reached for his hair and tugged slightly.

He huffed out a surprised breath when he found himself on his back, both her hands now on his chest to push him fully down as she tilted her head, hair tumbling to the side as she left a trail of kisses down his patchy beard, his neck, button after button undone by deft fingers until his shirt fell open and she was kissing his chest, the room rocking slightly in his hazy vision. He bucked his hips again as she undid his belt.

“Top drawer,” buckle, button, zipper, some of the tightness against his bulge easing as his hands quickly fell to her uncovered knees, trailing up and up to sneak underneath the dress that had fallen back down her frame.

“What?” words slurred against his skin, she was kissing his shoulder, shrugging his shirt off fully as she did. He sighed heavily at her insistent kisses, at her fingertips dragging down his arms to bare him, the tickle of her unbound hair to his other shoulder and chest.

The last thing he wanted was for her to move away, so he wrapped one arm around her waist, pushing her close to him–in doing so, her knees slid up a little and she settled on his stomach as he shifted up across the bed, moving one hand away to reach for the nightstand, blindly grabbing a silver-wrapped condom, movements hasty and quick as she went back to kiss his neck, grinding down on him with soft whines. He followed the movements of her hips with his free hand spanning against her side, dress wrinkling under his touch.

Camila pulled away almost abruptly, a little gasp leaving her lips as she straightened her back with her hands resting on his chest–her fingers pushed gently into him to balance herself before reaching for the bunched up hem of her dress and pull it over her head, letting her hair fall right down over her shoulder.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” her hands once more resting on his chest, Frankie’s fingertips dragged up her side–knee, thigh, hip, waist, thumbing the soft skin underneath her breast and making her sigh softly, eyelids fluttering shut as a smile still pulled at her lips.

“‘Cause you look real pretty,” he shifted his hands past her legs to tug down the rest of his clothes, the movement making her lean her weight forward, fingers curling against his chest as she snorted–and felt her face heat up.

“Lights are off, Francisco,” she lowered her face to him, simultaneously lifting her hips from his as he kicked off his trousers and underwear almost impatiently, belt-buckle clicking somewhere on the floor over the edge of the bed.

“Would you like them on?” the sound of the foil ripping made her eyes wander downwards across his body–she licked her lips at the sight of his hard length, tip red and leaking resting against his stomach. “Mila,” he called her softly–so softly she shuddered, lowering her lips to his in a quick kiss.

“I don’t want you going anywhere,” with one hand cupping his chin, she spoke against his mouth, his lips parting to chase another kiss as he rolled the condom on, reaching to grab one of her hips right afterwards, slowly guiding her down.

Camila moaned into his mouth as the tip of his cock nudged her entrance, her legs parting a little more around his hips to give him more room as she sank further down his length. The stretch had her dig her fingers slightly into his cheeks, working his jaw open as he now gripped both her hips, steadying her movements.

“Fuck, it feels good,” between one kiss and the other, inch after inch, Camila began pulling her head back. “So good,” muttered over and over as she moved her hand down–Frankie felt the blunt edge of her nails across his neck, chest, fantasized about there being marks the day after. “You feel so good, Frankie,” she cried out his name as she straightened her back and sank fully down on him.

They remained still for a moment, panting as they both adjusted to the position, a slow, gentle grinding on her part as she tipped her head back, hands resting on his chest–Frankie’s heart felt like it was about to burst out of him and rest on her palms, the grip on her hips tightening as he groaned softly.

“Look at you,” he hummed, kneading her flesh as he pushed himself in a seated position–her hands slid from his chest to his shoulder to the back of his neck, again a gentle scratch that rose goosebumps in its wake. The shift of positions made her sigh heavily, eyes fluttering shut as she bit down on her bottom lip and her chest heaved, pressed flush against Frankie’s. “Tan hermosa,” he mouthed against her exposed throat, seconding the next rock of her hips with one of his arms wrapping around her lower back.

She squeezed around him at his words, tiny breathless gasps at his words and the push of his arm, her back arched and her thighs trembling again. One of her hands threaded through his hair, a tingle spreading across his scalp when she tugged on the strands–but she did not pull him away from her neck as he kept kissing her, tongue dragging across her collarbones, tasting the salt from her skin. He could stay like that the rest of the night, he thought, buried to the hilt inside of her, nursing hickey after hickey on her soft skin, listening to her uttered praises.

But then Camila began moving, rolling her hips once, twice, held back moans trapped in her throat each time she lowered herself fully onto him, taking on a rhythm that had stars shimmer at the edges of Frankie’s vision–he knew then, resting his free hand behind him for balance, digging his heels in the mattress, that he was not going to last long, the smooth drag of her walls up and down his length pulling him closer and closer to the edge.

When he snapped his hips up to meet her half-way, she stuttered, bowing her head until she was muffling a loud moan into the crook of his neck, movements suddenly erratic. Frankie repeated the motion, again, and again, and again, the arm around her hips keeping her in place as he fucked up into her, each thrust punching the air out of her with a low cry.

“C’mon, baby,” he tutted, nosing at her cheek. “Let me hear you. Let me hear you, I’m close, so fucking close, so–” he groaned when she picked up the rhythm again, half-moons craved by her nails into his shoulder and a louder moan leaving her. “Attagirl.”

Camila did not hold back after that, the encouragements he kept murmuring through kisses making her dizzy, making her stomach flutter–thighs trembling, her rhythm started to falter again, clenching around him.

“Can feel you–little more, baby, just a little more,” he moved his hand from her back to her hip, reaching with his thumb to the apex of her core. She gasped at his touch, the quick, small circles he drew over her clit as he twitched inside of her–her lips on his neck brought his orgasm forth, dragged it on until she stilled with a cry of his name.

She went heavy against him, hot, long breaths caressing his skin as she clung to him, and slowly he shifted back, bringing his arm around her waist again to keep her close, guiding her to lie down on top of him. She peppered his neck and shoulder with small kisses, brushing her hand through the hair on top of his head, each strand standing on edge under her touch.

“You keep doing that, you might just be the death of me,” he murmured, the sudden quiet broken only by their breathings. Camila chuckled, grazing her teeth against his neck–he tilted his head and gave her more space, her kiss lingering over his pulse point.

“Feels like you’re alive to me,” she echoed his words, and Frankie laughed, his whole body shaking with it. She placed one final kiss on his neck and he could feel the smile on her lips before she rolled onto his side, a sigh leaving her before she moved one hand to her hip.

“You alright?” he asked softly, turning his head towards her. Her eyes were closed, eyelashes brushing her flushed cheeks, and her lips were curved in a smile still, as she slowly rubbed down her upper thigh.

“Haven’t done this in a while,” she returned, and he brought his hand over hers, pressing down gently to massage her flesh. She sighed again, relieved, lowering her chin to his shoulder. “Just need a moment.”

“You can stay, it’s alright,” she flickered her gaze up at him, a few rapid blinkings before he leaned in, placing an almost ridiculously chaste kiss against her lips before pulling back. “I’ll be right back.”

She hummed softly, her eyes shutting right away as her hand fell to the empty space previously occupied by him, fingers curling as if seeking to hold onto the warmth he’d left behind. His gaze lingered a moment longer on her, the way her hair fell across the covers and around her head, soft waves now tangled. He didn’t need any brighter light to see how beautiful she was, her body curling up onto herself as her breath slowed down furthermore.

When he returned from the bathroom, mere moments later, the air in the room was heavy with the smell of sex, but underneath lingered that scent that had driven him wild from the bar–rosemary, fresh and pungent and somewhat familiar. Camila’s body was completely wrapped up in his covers, untucked and twisted from the bed, only the top of her head peeking from underneath, the whole thing shifting slowly in tandem with her breathing.

“Mila,” he called her name softly, just leaning against the edge of the bed with the towel he’d brought for her resting on his forearm. “You’re hogging all the covers,” he whispered with a smile, and a quiet groan left her–a noise of protest as she shifted and lifted one arm, uncovering herself and the empty side of the bed. All through it, she did not open her eyes.

Chuckling, he climbed by her side, leaving the towel on the nightstand and shifting close, until her warm skin touched his again. She dropped the covers and her arm back down, right across his chest, and bowed her head until her forehead was pressed to his shoulder, the other arm tangling with his, interlocking their hands together.

Frankie looked down towards her again, unable to help the delicate smile curling his lips, and ever so slowly leaning in to brush his lips to her forehead. She squeezed his hand at that–the only acknowledgment she managed to give other than another soft sigh, warm hair brushing down his shoulder. So he said nothing else–there was no need to–and just fixed the covers until she was fully covered. It didn’t even matter he was still partially uncovered, the sheets mostly tangled around her body instead–he was warm enough with her at his side.

When Frankie opened his eyes, he realized he’d slept all through the night without waking a single time–no nightmares, no fear for his child needing him all of a sudden, and the warmth radiating from the body next to him a comfort he hadn’t felt in a while. The morning sun filtered through the drawn curtains, hitting the lower edge of the bed with feeble rays, and though his head hurt terribly he forced his gaze to shift at his side.

He shouldn’t have drank that much–he wasn’t used to it anymore.

Camila had abandoned her curled up position during the night, shifting almost onto her front with one leg hooked over his, and her arm still draped across his chest, fingers extended towards where his farther hand was. The hand he’d fallen asleep holding was tucked under her chin, just above his shoulder, and was pushing upwards slightly, so that a pout formed on her lips–his own arm was stuck underneath her, a little numb, disappearing underneath her curtain of hair.

Her eyelids shifted as if chasing a dream, her breathing still even, and against his side Frankie could feel her heartbeat, regular and soothing. Shifting ever so slightly, he tried to angle his body to face her, but her arm tightened around him, and a groan of protest left her as she pushed herself closer, brows knitting in a frown that was immediately covered by her hair falling across her face.

“Sorry,” he murmured softly, mouth parched. He reached forward with his free hand, brushing the locks back and tucking them behind her ear. There was a smudge of mascara underneath her eye, and he cupped his hand over her cheek to rub at it gently. She hummed, leaning into his touch before slowly licking her lips, smacking them a couple of times.

“What time is it?” she blinked several times in his direction, frown returning until she cleared her vision and he came into focus, brown eyes wide that showed her smile before he glanced at her mouth. “Hi,” she whispered, almost breathless, and Frankie chuckled.

“Hi,” he repeated, mimicking her smile. “Still early, I think. I have no idea where my phone is,” he cleared his throat–he needed some water desperately, but couldn’t bring himself to move away from her. “You can get some more sleep, if you want.”

“Do I look that terrible?” she turned her lips in an exaggerated pout, moving her hand across his chest, shoulder, following the curve of his neck before she was cupping his jaw, thumb brushing across his patchy beard.

“Quite the opposite,” some boldness from the night before clung to him still, in that moment of otherness from the rest of the world they were lingering in, in tangled limbs and tentative touches. Though she attempted to maintain her expression of mock-offense, a grin broke across her lips–lips he was glancing at over and over–and a flush spread across her cheeks. She grew warmer, pressing herself into his side.

“Even without the alcohol?” she teased, the tip of his nose brushing his–neither of them seemed to care about morning breath, or the way both their mouths felt padded with cotton. As long as they were close. Closer.

“Especially without the alcohol,” he retorted with a nod, rubbing the tip of his nose to hers.

She kissed him with a smile still on, scratching his jaw as she pushed herself up to meet him, and he let his hand wander back, fingers brushing through her hair until he cupped the nape of her neck. Camila sighed in the kiss, and he took advantage of her parted lips, licking into her mouth as her whole body went soft and heavy against his.

Frankie moved slowly, slotting his leg between hers as he shifted on his side, deepening the kiss and then moved again, guiding her until she was lying on her back, and he hovered over her, forearms bracketing her head as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and parted her thighs to accommodate his hips.

He groaned when she arched her back to cant her hips towards his, a muffled whine at the rub of his underwear he’d pulled on before getting into bed against her bare core. It was suddenly clear to him that it hadn’t been the alcohol making him dizzy the night before, but her, her kisses, the way her body pressed against his, the soft sounds she fought to hold back.

For a moment, that was all he heard–the rustling of the covers, her breathing quickening, his heart beating faster, louder, his name hanging from her lips once and twice and then again–and then the doorbell rang, and Frankie’s head snapped upwards.

“Were you expecting someone?” Camila asked, a little breathless, turning her head towards the door of the bedroom, the echo of the doorbell breaking the glass that had shielded them from outside, from the day ahead.

“I think it’s my mother,” he spoke in a lower voice, flinching at his own words, and the woman’s eyes widened as he snapped her gaze back towards him, a hint of panic crossing her face. “It’s alright, she’s just–she’s not staying, just passing through, I’ll–” he brushed his lips to the corner of her mouth as he moved from over her, the half-kiss hurried and messy. “I’ll be right back.”

He cursed himself as he stood from the bed, scrambling to find a pair of trousers to put on with a shirt that wasn’t wrinkled–he pushed the clothes from the night before aside, the doorbell ringing again and the realization of what was going to happen making him suddenly unable to look at her.

“Frankie,” she called softly, and he turned his gaze to a vague point of the duvet, right next to where her hand rested now that she’d sat up. “Where’s the bathroom?” she fidgeted with a loose thread of the duvet, and on her other side she drummed her fingers quickly. Nervously.

“Down the corridor to the right,” he stalled for a moment, then forced his gaze up. Her eyes were still wide, still worried. “I’ll be right back,” he repeated, and headed for the door before the doorbell could ring a third time.

The night before was a blur until the moment they landed on his bed–bits and pieces, snippets of songs and rumbles of music, bitter and sweet from alcohol and then her. They’d talked for so long, and yet he knew he’d never mentioned Alba–and with the way they’d moved through the house, she sure hadn’t seen any picture of her either. It was why he hadn’t brought anybody home in a long time–hadn’t even thought about it, before Camila.

“Ah, tienes mala cara,” was his mother greeting as he opened the door, and the little child in her arms immediately squealed, all but throwing herself towards her father. Frankie was quick to grab her, huffing out a breath that he hoped didn’t smell too much of tequila, stepping aside as the woman walked in.

“Hola, mamá,” he muttered, watching as she perused the living room. “¿Están bien?” he asked then, turning to look at the child with a smile–he couldn’t help it, the child’s joy infectious even when he felt like death. He needed water. And breakfast.

“Nuh-hu,” she clicked her tongue and shook her head, a smile already pulling at her lips. Frankie sighed. "¿Es bonita?” she asked–he felt his chest and face warm up, and was quick to glance away, focusing on babbling Alba instead. He could try and bullshit his way out of the conversation, but there was no winning an argument like that with his mother.

Mostly because he knew it was clear as day on his face that he’d actually had a great night.

“Sì, mamá, es muy bonita, pero–” she waved her hands in the air, as if shooing gnats away.

“Vale, vale, me voy,” she scoffed, walking back towards them. Frankie bowed his head, letting her kiss his forehead before she pinched the kid’s cheek gently, making her giggle again. “Ten cuidado, ¿sí?”

“No es como si me fuera a robar, mamá,” he chuckled, the sticky feeling of her lipstick on his forehead familiar and somewhat welcomed. He reached over to squeeze her shoulder softly, reassuringly, but his mother just looked back up at him with a sigh, patting the back of his knuckles.

“Me refiero a tu corazón, Cisco,” she murmured gently.

“It’s not like that,” he said quickly with a shake of his head, but his eyes trailed up towards the ceiling, where soft steps came from upstairs. His mother shook her head, humming her dissent as she followed his gaze. “Mamá–”

“Al menos pídele una cita,” she whispered, the steps drawing tentatively closer, stopping somewhere down the corridor. “Chau, nena. Proteges a tu viejo, ¿vale?”

Frankie scoffed, a quick peck to his mother’s cheek with a thanking under his breath before she showed herself out, one last glance over her shoulder, towards the stairs that creaked–the situation was almost hilarious, his mother trying to steal a look towards Camila while the woman tried to be as quiet as possible down the stairs. All the while, Alba squirmed in his hold, curious about the noise coming from inside the house, too distracted by it to see the door close in front of his grandmother.

Camila’s head appeared first, the rest of her body still a step back, and she glanced inside the living room with a careful gaze–she saw Frankie first, her expression relaxing. She took the final step forward and then stilled, her eyes falling to the kid still in his arms. They regarded each other, and Frankie had to clear his throat a couple of times while she pulled at the hem of his shirt over her wrinkled dress.

“Well, I thought it took longer to get one of them,” she tugged the sleeves of the shirt almost over her hands, taking a tentative step forward before frowning. “Didn’t we use protection?”

Frankie hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath until he huffed out a laugh, holding Alba a little closer before crossing the space from the front door to Camila. Her gaze flickered from him to the child, her giggled pulling a smile on her lips as she tilted her head.

“Hi, nena,” she whispered softly, pushing her hand out towards Alba. The child grabbed her index, tugging it towards her face and immediately trying to put it in her mouth. Camila snorted, keeping her head tilted to look at her face. “I don’t think that’s very tasty, honey.”

“Alba, don’t,” Frankie chastised softly, trying to pry Camila’s finger from her grip. “Sorry, she will try and put everything in her mouth lately.”

“That’s alright,” her voice had a softer edge, eyes fixed on the giggling child. Frankie had managed to wrestle her hand out of the kid’s hold, and was now wiping her hand clean. “So she’s–you have a daughter?”

“Yes,” he looked up from their now joined hands to see her nibbling at her bottom lip, the hand he wasn’t holding fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt, thumbing the loose button.

“Just a daughter?” she asked, her voice lower, and looked up at him. Wide-eyed, her bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly, Frankie’s heart clenched at the hint of doubt in her words.

“Oh, God–yes,” he spoke quickly, and moved forward as much as he could while still holding Alba against his chest. “I’m sorry–yes. Her mother and I haven’t spoken in months.”

The tension left Camila’s shoulders, a long exhale that tasted minty and made Frankie all too aware of his own breath–he tilted his head to the side, keeping only his gaze directed towards her.

“You’ve been raising her on your own?” at her question, Alba tipped herself forward, lounging for her with open arms–Camila’s hand rested on her chest before his own could, keeping her upright and stepping closer, a wide and gentle smile as she murmured something under her breath as she rubbed her thumb across the child’s chest. Frankie shrugged.

“My mom helps, keeps her some nights if she thinks I need it,” he watched the soothing motions of her hand, the way Alba’s breath began to even, how the woman’s eyes did not leave the child for a moment, how her cheeks had a gentle flush that was somewhat different from the one of that morning, in bed. “My friends too–some of them. Benny can’t be trusted with a child on his own, I’d find her with purple hair or something.”

“Sounds like a charmer,” she chuckled, and after another beat looked up, meeting Frankie’s gaze. He sucked in a breath, his head bowed awfully close to hers–he wasn’t sure why it felt different now, to be so near her he could feel the warmth radiating off her body. In the new light, he could see faint shadows under her eyes, some remnants of the makeup she’d tried to wash off clinging to her eyelashes, the freckles dotting her nose, the grays at her temples that matched his own.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, shuffling on the spot. “I’m sorry, Mila.”

“What for?” she frowned. Frankie’s gaze shifted from her to Alba, her head now tipped back against his chest, eyelids drooping. “Hey, it’s alright–it’s not like a child is something you discuss with a one night stand. I understand,” she sounded so genuine, Frankie’s heart clenched again.

His mother’s words echoed in his head: at least ask her out on a date.

“What if it wasn’t?” he asked before he could stop himself, and watched the circling motion of her thumb still on Alba’s chest stop–the child grumbled in protest, turning her head to hide in the crook of Frankie’s neck. “A one night thing, I mean. That is, if–”

“Yes,” she replied immediately, almost breathlessly, then cleared her throat. “I’m sure there’s plenty of kid-friendly places, too.”

“I –” Frankie hadn’t even thought of suggesting Alba went with them, whenever it was, wherever it was, if it ever was– he already imagined calling in favors, finding a babysitter. Camila hadn’t even hesitated. “Might be a little rusty, but I don’t remember dates including one-year-old kids, y’know?”

“Oh, you meant a date?” Camila’s head tilted to the side, and Frankie’s expression fell, the little smile that had begun forming dropping quickly as his lips parted. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” she said right away, covering her mouth to keep herself from laughing. “Bad joke, I’m sorry,” she repeated, moving a little closer to his side, dropping the hand she was keeping on Alba towards his arm, wrapping her fingers around his wrist as she moved close enough to rest her chin on the opposite shoulder of the one the kid was falling asleep. “Whatever works for you–I’d just like to see you again.”

“Even without the alcohol?” he tilted his head so that he was looking at her still–from underneath the collar of his shirt, bright against her neck appeared a bruise in the shape of his lips. He stared at it a moment longer, while her smile widened and she nodded, chin digging into his shoulder.

“Especially without the alcohol,” she echoed, and he let his eyes flutter shut with an exhale.

He let himself linger in the moment, Alba’s warm puffs of air as she fell asleep against him, soft body slumped heavily over him, and Camila’s weight on the other side, the barely-there contact of her body against his side, fingers brushing his wrist with the same circling soothing motion she’d used with the child, the other hand resting over his shoulder.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, afraid of breaking whatever spell had been cast over the three of them.

“Of course I am,” he felt her shift her weight forward before she kissed his shoulder from above his shirt. “D’you have your phone?”

“Back pocket,” he’d realized he pulled on the trousers from the night before as he walked down the stairs, and the phone was still there–before he could fix his hold on Alba and reach for it, Camila dropped her hand from his shoulder and took it, turning a little so he could watch the screen too as she thumbed in her number.

“There. Whenever you’re ready,” she smiled up at him, and almost put it back in his pocket, then stalled. “Actually, can I use this? Mine’s dead and I should get a ride back to my car.”

“I can take you,” Alba stirred in his arms, the few minutes of sleep seemingly enough for her, a grumble leaving her as she tried to squirm out of his hold and reach for the floor.

“I’m a big girl, Frankie, I can make it,” she smiled, and her eyes wandered immediately towards the child, gaze softening as he lowered himself carefully to let her down. Alba toddled towards Camila, her arms out for balance–it still astounded Frankie, the way she could cross rooms by herself now.

“I know, just–” he followed the child with his gaze, hands outstretched to grab her should it be needed. But she went on, straight towards Camila’s legs, arms lifted towards the hem of the shirt, tugging gently on it. “We could get breakfast–Alba, pórtate bien,” he chided.

“Breakfast sounds nice,” the woman crouched down, bringing herself at eye level with the child–her dress pooled around her ankles, and his shirt brushed the floor, Alba grabbing the hem and pulling it towards her. “I know, nena, it looks familiar,” again her voice softened, a mock whisper as she leaned in and pulled one corner up. “I stole it from your dad because I couldn’t find my jacket–but don’t tell him.”

Alba giggled, looking between the two of them but leaning against Camila’s bent legs, one cheek squished against her knees. The woman’s hand reached for her head, gently brushing her dark curls back and out of her hair. Frankie had only ever seen his mother use such tenderness with her. His mouth felt dry.

“Give me just a moment, I’ll be right back.”

He got ready in record time, brushing his teeth while simultaneously trying and failing to make his hair make sense–he pulled one of his caps on, not wanting to waste more time. A part of him was apprehensive, leaving the two of them alone–but the other trusted Camila already, and he hoped this once his gut would not betray him. He really, really hoped so.

When he returned–still in the middle of buttoning his shirt–Camila had abandoned her crouched position and was sitting on the floor instead, her back against the couch and her purse abandoned on the side, as Alba sat between her ankles and placed one toy after the other over the woman’s dress. She babbled as she moved a stuffed bear towards the other, which Camila held against her stomach, her eyes crinkling at the corners while she smiled. The moment Frankie walked back into the living room, she looked up towards him.

“That’s an interesting shirt,” she commented, eyebrows arching, unable to hide the grin as her gaze roamed across the print of his button-up. Dark green with a floral print, it had been a gift from his mother, and he rarely ever wore it, the pattern a little too bold for his taste.

“I’m behind on laundry,” he muttered, fingers hovering over the last button, eventually deciding to leave the neck a little open. “And you stole the other one,” he pointed an accusing finger at her, and Camila immediately brought one hand to her chest, stuffed animal and all.

“Who told you that?” she gasped in mock-offense, her eyes falling back to Alba who had been following the conversation, eyes wide and attentive, giggling between their words. “I thought we were becoming friends, and you went and betrayed me like this!”

“Don’t blame it on the child,” reaching their side, Frankie offered her his hand to help her up, and once she was standing, a couple of staggering steps before he steadied her, he lowered his head towards her a little. “Thief,” he added in a whisper, and Camila smiled up at him.

“Is this alright?” she asked then, almost tentatively. “I really have no idea where my jacket is,” she admitted, sheepishly. Frankie rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, gaze falling from her lips to the places his shirt draped over her shoulders and collarbones.

“Of course–I’m sure it’ll turn up,” he didn’t say it gave him an excuse to call her afterwards, to actually see her again if for a minute.

“Thank you,” she cleared her throat, letting go of his hand to reach up and fix the collar of his shirt, fingertips brushing his neck while doing so. “I was just messing with you–it looks good,” she hummed then, smoothing it across his chest. He scoffed, a light roll of his eyes before turning to pick up Alba, the child already lifting her arms towards him.

“Come on, I’m starving,” he said instead, and the woman scowled at his dismissal, walking just ahead of him to open the door for him and Alba–she’d picked one of the stuffed bears with her, and when Alba noticed she squealed happily, looking over Frankie’s shoulder all the while to keep her eyes on Camila and the bear.

The drive was quiet, except for the initial moment, the radio starting again where they had left it on a too high volume the night before–the final notes of The Chain leaving place to the beginning of You Make Loving Fun, a nervous laughter leaving them both as they reached for the volume at the same time. In the backseat, Alba squirmed in her booster seat but was otherwise unfazed, the bear secured in her arms, and they glanced at her half-guiltily before turning towards each other.

Frankie thought he could’ve kissed her right there and then, above the handbrake with their seatbelts pushing into their chests. He also thought he’d had the same idea the night before. Was sure of it, actually. He’d probably done it, too, the alcohol making him bold enough.

But he didn’t need courage, he realized. It was so easy to be at Camila’s side, to talk about nothing and everything all at once, to joke and laugh and listen to her hum along with the songs, watch as she looked into the mirror towards Alba and made faces at her that made the child giggle with unabashed glee.

He forgot, for the whole ride, that they hadn’t even known each other for a full day. It didn’t feel like it mattered anyway.

Inside the café–right in front of the bar they’d been the night before, her car the only one still in the parking lot–there weren’t a lot of people. They sat themselves in one of the corners, Frankie between her and Alba, and ordered an exaggerated amount of food with two strong coffees–acknowledging for the first time their hangovers.

Passing in front of the counter, Camila had gotten an orange, and as they waited for the food she began peeling, the oils soaking her skin that still smelled like Frankie–a combination from his shirt, his sheets, his soap she’d used to rinse part of the night from her. In the meantime they spoke of her job–a boring office job that she needed to pay rent as she looked for something she actually enjoyed–and his job which left Alba with her grandmother during the day, how he still tried to be home early every afternoon.

“Yesterday was an exception–I barely ever get out when I don’t have her, and most of the time I just get a drink and then go back home to crash on the couch,” he looked down at the small white plate in front of him, the orange slices she’d dropped there dripping juice down the sides. She’d done it without thought, alternating between eating some herself and giving it to him as she listened, stealing glances at Alba every now and again. “I don’t–I mean, it’s been a while since I’ve done any of this.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to apologize?” she tilted her head as he bit into one of the orange slices, then removed the skin from the remaining half and gave it to Alba, her hands already extended towards him. “I thought this was going well.”

“It is!” he said quickly, his thumb catching some of the juice at the corner of Alba’s mouth. Camila repeated the process–one slice for her, another on Frankie’s plate. “I just–I feel I might be rusty, and I don’t want to f–” he stopped himself, a quick glance towards the child, “to mess this up.”

“Frankie,” she lingered on his name a moment, soft-spoken and tender. It hung in the air a long moment as they were brought their food, her gaze on him like a rooting force. He exhaled slowly, and only when the waitress left did he manage to look away from Camila. “I haven’t done this in a while either, you know? Any of it.”

He took a blueberry muffin, split it into tiny segments on the plate still covered in orange juices before handing them to Alba one by one–at the corner of his eye, Camila still looked at him and the child, the cup of coffee already in her hands.

“You can go ahead, she’s been obsessed with these lately,” he murmured, and to prove his point the kid began stuffing her face with the bits. “You still seem to be more at ease with all of this,” he admitted then, his voice still low.

“What about tonight?” she tilted her head to the side a little, food still untouched.

“You said it yourself–that was the tequila,” with a sheepish smile, he looked up at her, wiping his hands on the nearest napkin. “Made me think less about the fact you actually asked me over like that,” at that, she gave a quick laugh–a sudden noise that seemed to surprise both of them.

“Sorry, just–” she cleared her throat and took a quick sip of her coffee. “Why’d you think I asked you?”

“I have no idea,” he shrugged, honesty weighing his words. Camila’s gaze softened.

“My last relationship ended a little over a year ago–yesterday was the first time I actually got a night out for myself,” she spoke calmly, and for the first time that morning she did not meet his gaze openly, rather focused on the table as she ran her index all around the rim of the cup. “I just wanted to have fun. I spent so much time during that relationship staying quiet, staying still, and I just wanted to sing and dance for a while.”

“That doesn’t explain me,” her expression shifted quickly, that same scowl from the house at the way he’d just brushed off her compliment. He almost apologized right away.

“You looked like you might need it, too,” she shrugged, leaning with her elbows on the table and cocking her head to the side again, meeting his gaze once more. “And I really wanted you to need it. Which made me really really nervous.”

“You seemed anything but,” she smiled then, lowering the cup to the table to fill her plate once she saw him eat, too.

“Liquid courage,” she said it almost conspiratorially–her voice low, not enough that he couldn’t hear her, but had to lean in a little. Camila’s gaze flickered from his eyes down to his lips, and when she reached over to rub her thumb at the corner of his mouth, Frankie’s shoulders sagged with a slow exhale. “We could just test out the waters, you know? Slowly. See where this goes–it doesn’t need to be a grand thing.”

“I can’t ask that of you,” her fingers were still brushing his face, and when he shook his head his stubbled rubbed against her fingertips.

“You’re not,” she replied in a soft voice, dropping her elbow to the table. With the motion, his head followed her hand down, resting his cheek into her palm. Like the night before, Frankie believed he couldn’t possibly get close enough. “I think it’s worth a try, if–I mean, if that’s how you feel, too.”

“I really do,” he murmured, and she smiled again, so bright and pretty his heart ached. “I just have no idea what to do.”

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” she shrugged, and then, lowering her head a little so she could look at him fully from underneath the visor of his cap. “Can I kiss you?”

The warmth in her voice took him aback, the knot in his throat melting with it, and before he could register he was even leaning further in, he nodded.

“Yes,” he added, pointlessly, feeling her hand moving to cup his chin, leading him close, closer, gently pushing his cap back so that it didn’t stand in her way. Camila’s kiss was delicate, nothing compared to those of the night before, nothing like that morning–chaste, familiar, almost casual, somewhat tender.

There, then gone, leaving Frankie with the thought he could be kissing her all day long and never grow tired of it.

“Where the hell have you been?” Santi’s voice sounded metallic and distant coming from the car speaker, his greeting as soon as Frankie called him back.

“I’ve got Alba, mind your tongue,” he retorted, watching as Camila’s car moved out of the parking lot, her arm sticking out of the window to wave at them. Alba laughed, returning the gesture and squirming in her seat. “Did somebody die?”

“Hola chiquitita,” Santi called, and Alba squealed in delight. Frankie suddenly wondered if he should’ve given her that muffin with all its sugar. “I could’ve died. I’ve been calling since yesterday.”

“Well, you didn’t,” for a moment he stared at the tail of Camila’s car–up until he could see, and then began driving the opposite direction. “What’s up?”

“No, not what’s up,” Santi argued, his voice growing in pitch. “Where have you been, Fish?”

Frankie flinched, shifting his grip on the steering wheel–he cleared his throat.

“I was on a date,” there was no going around it–not with Santi. A clattering and a muttered curse, Santi’s voice was suddenly closer.

“Excuse me?” he turned the volume down a bit, sighing as he tipped his head back towards the headrest, eyes still fixed on the road. “For the whole night?”

“Yes, actually,” he sighed, glancing towards Alba in the mirror–she was tilting her head at the sound of her uncle’s voice, over and over, as if trying to find him right there in the car with them. “My mom had Alba so I went out. Camila stayed the night. It’s not a big deal.”

“Camila, hu?” the other man almost taunted. “I’m assuming the night went alright, since it’s almost lunchtime.”

“We went for breakfast,” Frankie shrugged, even though Santi could not see him.

“You–” a pause, “wait, with Alba?” “With Alba,” he confirmed, a careful note in his voice.

“And it went–” Santi let the sentence linger, unsure. Great, Frankie wanted to say. It went great. I can’t believe my luck. It feels too good to be true. I’m afraid I’m about to wake up from a wonderful dream and be met with a disappointing reality.

“Alright,” he said instead. “Alba adores her, and she was–it was alright.”

“So, you’re gonna see her again?” he could hear the grin in his friend’s voice, and he almost rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to hear the end of it anytime soon, he knew. He also knew he didn’t care, Camila’s perfume lingering in his car, on his bed, the promise of going on a walk soon, to keep things easy.

“Yeah–I will.”

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s-lycopersicum · 1 year ago

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So, let's say you have a one-dimensional coordinate—which is just a number, really—between 0.0 and 1.0. Technically, this range should be exclusive, but 1.0 is just 0.9999... anyway, a number, right. Let's see... How about 0.786?

Now, we put that number (call it H) in base 4, Wolfram can help with that. It's likely we'll end up with a repeating decimal (as changing bases will often do) which isn't a problem, but I don't have all day, so let's say H = 0.3021₄. Note the base 4, alright? Alright.

Now here's our magic formula:

This is something like a state machine, but I used colors instead of arrows. The numbers inside are mapping between a base 4 number to a base 2 pair. That's how we'll get our two-dimensional coordinate. Notice how one base 4 will "split" into two base 2, isn't that beautiful?

To use it, we start in the red state, and "input" the first digit of H. The mapping then gives us the first digits of X and Y, and the next state to use. We then repeat until we're done! On keep going in towards infinity.

Here, see:

RED, H=0.3021₄ → X=0.1___₂, Y = 0.0___₂, PURPLE

The first digit of H is 3, and starting on red, that tells us that the first digit for X is 1, and for Y is 0. Then, we continue to purple. Easy, right? Now, the rest looks like this:

PURPLE, H=0.3021₄ → X=0.11__₂, Y = 0.01__₂, TEAL TEAL, H=0.3021₄ → X=0.110_₂, Y = 0.010_₂, TEAL TEAL, H=0.3021₄ → X=0.1101₂, Y = 0.0100₂, TEAL

And that's the gist of it! Now all we have to do is convert X and Y from base 2 to base 10 and we're done. Though a small caveat here is that four digits isn't nearly precise enough, y'know?

But that's it, real easy! A few extra points:

To map from two dimensions to one, you just run it backwards.

If you put it all in an actual state diagram, it looks really pretty, but a bit less readable.

The mappings in each state are derived from the curves above them. If you mirror those curves, you get a different set of states that can still be used the same way! Also, you need them for some other Hilbert curve variants.

Though I love the base 4/base 2 balance, the whole thing can be done in base 2, which means with a bit of work you can make a fixed-precision Hilbert curve mapping circuit!

Cursed to be the lone appreciator of the true beauty Hilbert curve, which is not in the rendered curves themselves, but on the intricate transformation of a number into a two-dimensional coordinate, and back again. The equilibrium in the numerical bases. The symmetry in the state transitions. Truly...

(↑ Lost in abstract delusions, please ignore.)

#whew that's all for now #see you next time #hilbertposting

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vinylspinning · 2 years ago

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Overkill: Under the Influence (1988)

“Transitional” is a big word to describe your average, blue-collar, no-fuss, and no-fucks-given Overkill LP, but it’s also appropriate for 1988’s Under the Influence, which arrived 35 years ago, and was surrounded by more accomplished efforts (I.M.H.O.) in ‘87’s Taking Over and ‘89’s The Years of Decay.

The former was basically an unstoppable force, almost too intense and fun to broker discussion, while the latter showcased much of the increased technicality and songwriting expansion initiated here, thereby exposing this third long-player’s flaws -- more so in retrospect than in the heat of the moment.

In any case, Under the Influence also witnessed the first alteration in Overkill’s ranks, as founding drummer Rat Skates had given his notice at the end of ‘87, after contributing to the altogether subtle !!!Fuck You!!! EP, and was replaced by Danish-born Bob ‘Sid’ Falck, formerly of Paul Di’Anno’s Battlezone.

Together with lead screecher Bobby ‘Blitz’ Ellsworth, lead guitarist Bobby Gustafson (that’s a lot of Bobs!), and lead bassist D.D. Verni, Falck soon got to work on new material with regular Overkill producer Alex Perialas under the watchful eye of Megaforce Records’ first couple Jon and Marsha Zazula.

And if I had to guess what it was that Overkill was Under the Influence of here, I would have to guess it was fellow New Yorkers Anthrax (then operating in their Among the Living glory), whose signature mosh pit-starting chug-chug-chug animates typical tracks like “Never Say Never”, “Mad Gone World,” and “Head First.”

(Can anyone remember if “Overkill III (Under the Influence)” was also inspired by a Stephen King book?)

Ironically, for all their standard-issue thrash metal ingredients (single-note staccatos, blistering leads, riffs for days), most of these songs forgot one key ingredient: speed, which was instead relegated to mere portions of “Shred,” “Brainfade,” and the otherwise painfully slow “Drunken Wisdom.”

So, despite a valiant effort from the surprisingly melodic, moderately memorable “End of the Line,” this album’s sole contribution to Overkill’s essential canon -- and also their biggest ‘hit’ -- was their latest street urchin anthem, “Hello from the Gutter,” which can still put a smile on my face, even today.

But it’s simply not enough, and that’s why I, for one, see Under the Influence as a backwards step for the men of Overkill, who largely sound like a blend of Anthrax and Exodus, instead of finding their own style, which was later described with terms like “less is more” and “simple but effective.”

Also hard-working, as the quartet promptly set out on tour across America with fellow thrashers Testament, M.O.D., and Destruction, before opening for the mighty Slayer, and then joining them and Nuclear Assault for a European jaunt that kept them busy until January of ‘89.

And yet, for all that exposure, Overkill’s record sales could barely keep pace with those of other second-tier thrashers, let alone sniff at the heels of the ‘Big Four,’ so the group was faced with another test of their mettle when they started work on their fourth studio album, The Years of Decay.

We’ll surely take that bugger for a spin next year, so stay tuned ...

More Overkill: Feel the Fire, Taking Over, The Years of Decay, I Hear Black.

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miekasa · 5 years ago

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the babysitter’s club (1)

+ pairing: levi ackerman + (fem) reader, featuring bright-eyed but very easily intimidated interns and part-time babysitters eren and armin who are trying their best

+ genres and warnings: modern au, parents au, fluff, yes the dog’s name is captain and he’s tiny what about it

+ summary: eren and armin are good subordinates, who happen to be pretty good babysitter, too. usually.

+ word count: 2.7k

+ notes: this was just something fun i edited and reworked again, also to provide some more insight about dad levi and my oc kids; this focuses only on holden, who is the oldest of the bunch, but you’ll more about the rest as they go

It’s not that Levi doesn’t trust Holden’s babysitters, he just would rather watch over her himself. Moreover, he would rather have the time to spend with his small daughter instead of having to leave her in the care of someone else who isn’t you, but sometimes life gets busy, and babysitters come in real handy.

He still doesn’t understand why Erwin would schedule the both of you to attend such important work-related meetings on the same weekend; much less, to send you half-way around the world for yours, and then book Levi for damn near twelve hours on a Saturday. He would murder Erwin if he weren’t his direct boss, and a long-time friend. But shit happens, and while it’s a major inconvenience and pain in his ass to be working on a weekend, it’s good to know he could rely on the brats at the office to step up on such short notice.

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that if anything happens, I won’t hesitate to dismember you,” Levi says calmly, closing his briefcase after triple-checking its contents.

“Of course,” Armin stiffens visibly, awkward laughter seeping through his words, “Eren and I would never let anything happen to Holden.”

To his left, Holden has already tugged Eren to the coffee table for a game of children’s Scrabble, determined to show off her new skills. Levi smiles slightly as he remembers playing the game with her last week, and how awe-struck she was to have seen Levi create a word bigger than “unattainable”—which is currently the longest word in her four-year-old vocabulary. But he’s certain she would have no trouble beating Eren.

He gives Armin a slight nod. He knows Holden is in good hands; or good enough hands with Armin, anyway. It’s not the first time the duo has babysat, and for as air-headed and clumsy Eren could be at the office, he seemed to be pretty damn good with kids if Holden’s attachment to the brunette was anything to go by.

Levi recounts that you’ve questioned on multiple occasions why Eren was so dedicated to being your PA when he seemed to have a potential career in taking care of, and maybe even teaching children. Not that he’s not a good assistant to you, but he’s certainly not as organized or detailed-oriented as Armin. Levi shrugs away the thought. Eren’s career choices are none of his business; his only concern is that he keeps his daughter safe and sound.

“Right. My card is on the kitchen island, you can buy lunch and dinner or whatever, I don’t think there’s much in the fridge,” Levi informs Armin. He looks briefly to the clock on the wall; he really should get going. “Remember to walk Captain at some point, and no matter what Holden says, he absolutely does need a leash on him. If Erwin isn’t being a complete asshat, I’ll be home by nine. (Y/N) will probably still be on her flight, so call me if you need anything.”

Armin nods enthusiastically, promising Levi that they would take care of everything. They’d better.

“Alright, I’m heading out,” Levi announces, pulling his keys from the table near the door, “Be good, Holden. Tell Armin and Eren if you need anything.”

Holden’s head perks up at the sound of her name. Elegantly, or as elegantly as a four-year-old can be, she stands from her seated crisscross position, to run over to Levi by the door. He should remind her that she should use walking feet inside the house, but he can’t bring himself to, instead crouching down to meet her height.

“Bye, daddy,” she tells him sweetly. Levi reaches a hand out to ruffle the top of her head, much to the small girl’s chagrin. She sports a grimace almost identical to his as he reaches up to try and smooth out the aftermath of her father’s affections, “Daddy!”

Levi can’t help but chuckle, reaching two fingers out to poke at his daughter’s forehead. “Be good. I’ll be back soon.”

“Mommy too?”

Levi sighs, “No, mommy doesn’t come back until Tuesday.”

“That’s four days away,” Holden’s doesn’t hesitate to express her dissatisfaction. Levi nods, a little proud of how quickly she’d calculated that in her head, “Can Eren stay until Tuesday?”

“No, Eren cannot.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Holden crinkles her nose. Levi really has got to do something about her fascination with Eren.

Holden looks backwards to where Eren is still seated around the coffee table, he and Armin watching the father-daughter duo. After reconciling with the fact that Eren does, in fact, have his own home to go back to at the end of the day, Holden turns back around, and holds her hand up, palm facing Levi. He does the same, bringing his larger palm to hers, so that her hand is pushed against the middle of his.

Not one for hugs, kisses, or larger displays of affection, Holden simply turns her palm so that her hand grabs around Levi’s as best as possible, hooking her thumb around his pinky finger—what Levi’s heard the young girl call a hand hug.

“Bye, daddy,” she repeats, squeezing his hand, “Come back soon.”

Levi bends his fingers to wrap around her hand, “I will.”

“Keep an eye on her,” Levi reminds Armin and Eren, after standing back up and gripping his briefcase in his hand, “Don’t cause too much trouble.”

“Holden never causes trouble,” Eren says in response, but his words are spoken in coos to the young girl, who’s already back at his side.

Levi scoffs, “I was talking to you.”

“We’ll be fine, boss, don’t worry,” Eren chuckles with an awkward blush, “We love looking after Holden.”

“I’m not your boss,” Levi deadpans, double-checking his pockets for his keys, “You’d better hope everything is fine. Call me if anything happens, I’ll be back soon.”

With one final round of good-byes, and a wave from his daughter, Levi’s out the door, and stepping into his car with a grimace. It was just one stupid day out of his life. Besides, Holden would be fine with Armin and Eren; she always is. Levi is just grumpy that he can’t be the one to spend the day with her.

He sighs, reluctantly, putting his keys in the ignition. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could come back to Holden. Everything would be fine in the meantime; for now, he had to focus on how he was going to get himself to sit through Erwin’s long-ass meeting.

“Levi! Hi! Um… okay, so don’t freak out, but Armin and I are at the hospital with Holden right now—don’t freak out—because there was a small incident at lunch—don’t freak out and fire me please—but! It’s all gonna be okay, they’re already treating her and she’s doing fine now, so don’t freak—”

“Tell me not to freak out one more fucking time and I’ll castrate Armin and feed you his balls myself.”

“You sound a little freaked out,” Eren placates, wincing and holding his phone away from his ear when Levi growls in response.

“You have five seconds to tell me what you two idiots did to my daughter and explain why I shouldn’t decapitate you immediately.”

“It’s a funny story, actually—so, um, we think Holden might be allergic to nuts…?”

“What do you mean might be, Jaeger?”

Eren can feel his heart in his throat. He eyes Armin on the other side of Holden’s hospital bed. He looks no better—color almost completely drained from his face, but Eren doesn’t think he can say much else to his boss before his knees give out from underneath him.

“Uh, well, it was a lot of technical terms, and—I—um, actually I’m going to let Armin explain!” Eren hurries, all but chucking his phone at the unsuspecting blonde.

Armin’s blue eyes look almost grey with anxiety, but before he can protest, Eren is flailing his hands and pointing fingers and reminding him that Levi will kill them both if he doesn’t start talking.

Reluctant, and terrified, Armin finally lifts the phone to his ear, stuttering out a pathetic hello, but Levi cuts him off before he can say anything else.

“Save it. Send me your location, and pray I don’t kill you when I get there.” Armin chokes out a “yes, sir,” before slowly bringing the phone down to his side.

The good news is that Holden’s allergic reaction wasn’t too severe: her throat had been irritated, and hives had emerged as a result, but it hadn’t been closing up. And luckily, Eren had the endurance to run nearly a mile and half with a four year old tucked under his arm; because with the traffic Armin observed whilst he and Captain huffed and lagged behind, it would have taken thrice as long to get Holden to the ER had they waited and called for an ambulance.

Even better was that Holden was an unnervingly calm kid, even whilst having an allergic reaction. She looked almost back to normal now, save for a few red looking blotches on her neck and upper arm; and seemed more than content to be watching a video on Eren’s phone, despite the situation. She was a little bummed out to find out that she could never eat the new ice cream she liked so much ever again, but she seemed to quickly get over it once Eren reminded her that there were lots of other flavors out there for her to try. Flavors that wouldn’t make her choke to death.

Still, Eren and Armin could probably kiss their jobs goodbye, seeing as they had nearly just poisoned their bosses’ daughter. Holden seemed to like them enough, but, unfortunately, Holden wasn’t the Ackerman who signed their checks.

At the very least, Eren doesn’t think you’ll be too upset with him. He doesn’t think you’ll be ecstatic to hear that while you were away on your already inconvenient work-trip on the other side of the globe, that he also managed to land your daughter in a hospital bed… but you were the more forgiving one. Then again, maybe not so forgiving when it comes to the health and wellbeing of your daughter.

Eren falls back against the wall in dread. You weren’t even in the same country as him and he was worried about what you might say or do to him. Levi was probably less than twenty minutes away and fully capable of beheading him.

“You… uh, you think the Interior Branch is still looking for interns?” Eren breaks the silence, looking towards Armin, who’s taken the seat next to Holden’s bed, petting Captain robotically as the dog sits in his lap.

“I don’t think it matters,” Armin responds, “They won’t hire corpses.”

Fifteen minutes, and several run red lights later, Levi is bursting through the doors to the pediatric wing of the emergency room. He doesn’t care about the old woman at the reception yelling at him for causing a ruckus, or the other parents, doctors, or visitors eyeing him for marching around like he owned the place. Holden was in there somewhere, and he was going to get to her.

“Holden—oh, god, Holden,” Levi coos, frantic, as he marches into Holden’s room, scurrying to the side of her hospital bed. A cold hand reaches up to stroke her face. Angry, red bumps litter the sides of neck, her cheeks are puffier than usual, and the perimeter of her mouth seems a bit irritated, but Levi is relieved. She’s okay, his baby girl is okay.

“’M fine, daddy,” Holden assures him. She’s almost overly-perceptive for her age, able to pick up on her father’s out of character antics, and does her best to console him. “Eren ran with me all the way here when I started coughing and itchin.’”

Levi nods, the dark grey splotches in Holden’s eyes bringing him comfort, ensuring him that she was okay. “They gave me a shot, and I don’t like needles, but I didn’t even cry at all. Ask, Armin and Eren, they saw! Captain, too.”

“Brave girl,” Levi smiles, reaching his hand up to push her hair out of her face then leans over to press a kiss to her forehead.

Levi had almost forgotten that Eren and Armin were in the room until he hears a blundering cough from behind him. The younger boys look petrified, Eren practically shaking in his shoes, while Armin doesn’t even have the confidence to look him in the eye.

“We’re really sorry, Levi,” Eren apologizes, voice scratchy and wobbly, like he’d been the one to just get a shot, “We didn’t know—and when she started coughing and saying she couldn’t breathe, I swear, I ran here as fast as I could—”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s… fine?”

Levi sighs. Maybe he’d been a little harsh with them on the phone, letting his emotions get the best of him. He’d already been pissed off enough to not have the time to spend with Holden this weekend; hearing that she’d been hurt was just the final push over the edge for him, but it wasn’t necessarily Armin or Eren’s fault.

“I didn’t know either,” Levi exhales, reaching at hand out to pet the top of Holden’s head again, the young girl now distracted once again by the phone in her hand, “She’s never had a reaction to anything before, and neither (Y/N) or I have any strong allergies.”

Armin shuffles where he’s standing. “The doctor said she might be allergic to tree nuts. We, uh, we gave her pistachio ice cream after lunch.”

If there’s anything concerning Levi, it’s that they gave Holden ice cream before dinner, but he supposes he can let it go for now.

“Eren told me to try it, and it tasted good, daddy,” Holden interjects, “Before I started coughing, it was good.”

“Ah, well, you can’t—you shouldn’t eat things that make you feel sick!” Eren stutters loudly.

“But it was good,” Holden pouts, “And you said to try new things, Eri. I won’t know if it makes me sick if I don’t try them.”

Levi holds back his laughter. He knows that Holden definitely wouldn’t want to try the same same flavor again knowing now that she was allergic to it; she was just pulling at Eren’s leg. Levi would have to keep an eye out for the stuff anyway, especially if her oh-so-precious Eren has expressed any former love for it.

“Um, Levi, sir,” Armin calls, pulling Levi’s attention towards the blonde, “We didn’t know if (Y/N) would have landed already, but do you think you should call her, to, um, let her know?”

Levi’s face pales three shades when he realizes that none of them had already informed you that your daughter was currently hospitalized with a new found allergy.

“You can call her,” Levi says, a shudder in his spine at the thought of relaying this information to you, “That’s your death sentence, not mine.”

#aot x reader #snk x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman smut #eren x reader #aot fluff

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wherethingscomebackx · 5 years ago

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Top 25 Larry Fics of 2020

h 2020 was HELLISH. So thank you to all the writers, and I mean ALL of them, who kept us occupied as the world continues to burn.

You may be familiar with these lists:

Top 25 Larry fics of 2016

Top 25 Larry fics of 2017

Top 25 Larry fics of 2018

Top 25 Larry fics of 2019

We’re going on our 5th year!! As always, I read a lot of fic and the majority of it is Larry. I like making lists and I like Larry so I thought I’d do some minimal research of the top 25 larry fics published/completed in 2020 in order of least to most kudos (with links). All of these fics are top notch so you should all check them out!

25.) a trail of honey through it all by @yvesaintlourent (27k)

The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him.

Or, the TPH fic we’ve all been waiting for.

24.) even the best laid plans by @falsegoodnight (25k)

“Anyways,” Louis stresses, narrowing his eyes, “just let me say it and then rate how terrible of an idea it is on a scale from one to ten.”

“Alright,” Zayn agrees, sitting up expectantly.

“I want to ask Harry Styles to take my virginity,” Louis blurts, holding his hands out for emphasis.

The way Zayn’s eyes bulge is almost comical. “Negative infinity,” he says, voice choked. “Negative infinity times negative infinity.”

“Technically, a negative times a negative is -”

“Really negative infinity,” Zayn corrects himself, shaking his head wildly. “Louis, what the fuck?”

Or, Louis wants to have sex with someone and decides Harry is the perfect alpha for the job.

23.) A Distant Hazy Light by @greenfeelings (76k)

Life’s pretty ordinary for Harry. He lives with his best friend, got into university just like he’s planned, and manages to support himself just fine for an unbonded omega. If he sustains that lifestyle by getting paid to help alphas through their rut every now and then, that’s nothing to be hung up on. Until he’s hired by an alpha that turns everything upside down.

Or, Harry’s working on taking Louis’ walls down, until he builds his own up.

22.) Ghost Note Symphony by whoknows (96k)

Louis is on tour when he first hears about it. It’s all over the news – Harry Styles Attacked By Fan runs in headlines for days. It’s not even just the gossip rags, either. Actual journalists are covering the story. It would have been impossible to avoid hearing about it. Technically, Oli is the one who tells Louis about it, but it’s not exactly being covered up. Harry doesn’t answer Louis’ text asking if he’s alright, but that’s not really surprising. They haven’t spoken for months, and it’s been a lot longer than that since they’ve had a real conversation. The sting of the text going unanswered is still there, less painful than it might have been a few years ago.

It’s not that it’s easy to forget about, exactly. Louis has a whole life outside of One Direction now, though. So Louis goes on with his life, figuring that if Harry was seriously hurt he would have heard about it by now. He might currently be in the same country as Harry, but being on opposite sides of it puts enough distance between them that putting it in the back of his mind is easy. There’s nothing Louis could do, even if he thought Harry might want him to.

That’s why everything that happens next comes as a complete shock to him.

21.) Until by @allwaswell16 (38k)

Rural Eagle County, Colorado wasn’t the type of place to find a famous musician or actor. At least not until songwriter Louis Tomlinson showed up with pop star Niall Horan to visit his uncle’s horse ranch, and they just happened to find themselves next door to a reclusive former movie star.

20.) Strangers in Love by sweetums (42k)

Louis wakes up to find himself in a marriage with the last man he thought he'd ever end up with.

Prompt 51: An amnesia fic where louis and harry were enemies to lovers but after an accident, louis only remembers those memories that him and harry hated each other. now harry has to fix it. I think something like this less dark and less angsty compared to other amnesia fics and it could be funny

19.) A Long Way From The Playground by Pink_Sunsets (170k)

One Direction is broken up. They broke up five years ago. That should be the end of the story, right?

Harry is finished with One Direction. He now has a new life, one with two kids and a successful solo career. And he’s happy.

But a call one night from management flips Harry’s whole new life upside down, and he’s forced to face the life he had left behind.

As well as a certain blue eyed man who had left him behind.

18.) my love’s not simple (it’s fragile) by @falsegoodnight (27k)

“Can I take you out tomorrow?” he asks. “My shift ends at 7 but we can go for dinner at 8.”

Louis is silent for a few seconds and then, “Like… on a date?”

Harry swallows thickly. He hasn’t done this in years, hasn’t ever wanted to. “Yeah.”

He’s worried he’s misread things but then Louis raises his head to kiss Harry’s cheek. “Yeah,” he says easily. “Sure.”

Tension leaves his body swiftly. “Are you sure?” asks Harry. “I know we’re both so busy but I can’t not try with you, Lou.”

“Neither can I,” says Louis. “I think we can figure it out. I care about you a lot Harry. We’ve known each other for a week, but I already like you so much.”

Or Harry's new job is threatened by his impending rut. Desperate for a solution, he allows Niall to introduce him to Louis, an omega whose heat begins the same day. They click.

17.) Cocaine for Breakfast by @harryeatsburger (309k)

“It’s an easy job.” He continues, as if Louis wants to listen. “Like I said, a few trips. Parties, students, nothing dramatic.”

Louis gazes over to Harry. He’s looking thoughtful now, eyes on the green like he’s talking more to himself than Louis.

“Clubbing, drinks. Whatever, the business is just a side thing.”

That’s not how Louis remembers it to be, “You lying?” He honestly can’t tell.

Harry shakes his head slowly, meeting Louis' eyes.

“No,” He answers almost toneless. Harry clears his throat, “I won’t put you in any dangerous situation.” His voice is sincere, Louis can tell he means it, his jade green eyes glinting with truth.

or, - Louis Tomlinson is a drug addict, sent away from his beloved party-scene to recover. There, he discovers that small towns have just as much access to drugs as London did, plus something even better that he just can't get enough of. That something is a boy with green eyes and bouncy curls named Harry Styles. -

16.) Tastes like Strawberries by @sadaveniren (4k)

I’m stressed. I’m nesting and demand cuddles. Come over

Harry frowned and double checked who the text was from. Yup, it still said Louis - Grad, which meant it was from Louis from his grad school.

aka Louis texts Harry by mistake. It works out

15.) the way the storm blows by @rbbsbb (21k)

Louis doesn’t have a habit of thinking about Harry’s dick.

That would be weird, seeing as they’re best mates, and they share a flat, and they’ve spent holidays at each other’s family homes. Their friendship hasn’t ever risen to a point where Louis should want to see his mate’s dick, and he’s happy to keep it that way.

Except, all that Louis can think about is exactly that. The size of it. The shape. The amount of people it’s been in.

Maybe it’s the tequila talking, or the fact that Louis’ just recently walked in to an eyeful of Harry taking turns on some slags that he’s never seen before, but. Louis’ mind can’t stop obsessing over the idea.

14.) bruise you like a peach by @falsegoodnight (40k)

There’s two reasons Harry despises Econ.

The first is that it’s boring as fuck. The second reason is a bit more personal, a bit more focused in a way. As in it’s focused on one specific thing, or in his case, person.

His name is Louis Tomlinson.

13.) Watching The World Fall by whoknows (11k)

This segment has been going on long enough that Louis knows what’s coming before James starts in on it, trying to sell him on something he knows that Louis wouldn’t normally be buying. But there’s four cameras surrounding him, and an audience watching him expectantly, so if Louis wants to continue convincing people that he’s doing just fine, he’s going to have to go along with it.

“We have a whole host of single men backstage waiting to meet you, Louis,” James tells him. “We want to help you find love tonight, on Late Late Live Tinder. Is this okay? Do you want to play?”

It actually kind of makes sense that his first date after the break-up is going to be just as public as said break-up. Something like coming full circle.

“Alright, James,” Louis agrees, hopping down off his stool.

“Okay, come down to the stage,” James says. Louis can’t even tell whether the excitement in his voice is genuine or not. “Right now, come on down!”

12.) Quiet People Have the Loudest Minds by @2tiedships2 (38k)

Broadway shows were one of the few things that could keep Louis’ attention for a full two hours without needing to move about. But not tonight.

The alpha next to him was both infuriating him and practically turning him on at the same time. He needed to leave. The alpha, that is. Louis was staying.

Or the one where Louis is a nonverbal omega who has accepted the fact that he will never find an alpha that will treat him as an equal. On the other hand, he’s never met anyone like Harry.

11.) The Wrath of the Emerald Eyes by @purpledandeli0n (85k)

His chin is grabbed harshly, facing the two deep green eyes that have been getting on his nerves for the past ten minutes. The smirk on the man's face does not vanish. The grip of his hand on Louis' chin does not soften, his thumb at the side of his lower lip.

His smile widens as he answers Louis' question, ''My name is Styles, but you will call me Captain."

•

Pirate AU

10.) Canyon Moon by @eeveelou (40k)

For as long as Louis has remembered, he has been promised to be mated to Harry, his best friend and the future pack alpha. But Louis’s heart belonged to the forest and to the hunt more than he could ever imagine it belonging to Harry.

Then Harry’s father dies in a violent accident, and Louis’s future alpha disappears on the wind.

An A/B/O Lion King AU

9.) We Both Got Nothing to Hide by lovelarry10 (43k)

“Talk to me, Lou.”

“I can’t,” Louis mumbled, knowing he genuinely couldn’t say it. He couldn’t admit to what he was doing. “Don’t ask me to say it, because I can’t.”

“Then… I’ll try and guess. You’ve… got some stuff of Harry’s. Something of his to make it smell like him?”

Louis just nodded, eyes fixated on the floor. This was humiliating, but he knew Zayn wouldn’t stop until he found out what was going on.

“Okay. Like… a blanket, or a comforter or something?”

“Kind of…”

Omega Louis has a secret nest. Alpha Harry keeps losing his clothes.

8.) sleeping on our problems by @falsegoodnight (67k)

I’m in love with you, Louis thinks. He feels empty, weighed down by his sadness and the loss of Harry inside him just moments ago before his knot finally went down.

There’s moments where he’s sure Harry feels the same. Like now, when he’s gazing down at Louis with so much adoration and tenderness. It’s like they’re both on the cusp of something more, but neither of them ever say a word.

His confession is on the tip of his tongue ready to slide out like honey, and yet he remains silent. They both do, looking at each other and recognizing the reluctance mirrored in each other’s eyes. It’s then that Louis realizes they’re both scared.

Or Louis sleeps with Harry and they have more than just catching feelings to worry about.

7.) like it’s a game by @soldouthaz (32k)

there is little harry hates more than truth or dare.

and louis.

6.) before we knew by @falsegoodnight (39k)

“C’mon Lou,” says Zayn after a moment, He sounds even more exasperated than before. Louis sort of has a knack for exasperating people, especially people like Zayn who aren’t usually bothered by his brattiness. “Can’t you give this guy a chance? Harry Styles? Aren’t you curious about him at all?”

Despite his best efforts, Louis still flinches at the name. He really shouldn’t be so affected after all these years. He’s seen the name printed down the curve of his waist in obnoxiously and uncommonly large loopy letters every single day since his sixteenth birthday eight years ago. He’s very familiar with the name Harry Styles.

It sounds pretentious and Louis hates it.

He hates everything about his supposed soulmate.

He hates his large handwriting that stands out like a claim on his skin whenever he’s walking around shirtless. He hates his pretentious name. And now he hates his supposed curls and green eyes and dimples.

Or Louis has been skeptical of soulmates for years so it seems like fate when he finally bumps into the owner of the obnoxiously large signature printed into his skin since age sixteen: Harry Styles, a human rights attorney who is firmly against soulmates.

5.) Mine Would Be You by @crinkle-eyed-boo (114k)

Louis blinks his eyes open, his eyelids fluttering as the room swims around him. He takes several gulps of beer once he confirms that he’s definitely not hallucinating, that the very first portrait Harry Styles ever painted of him is hanging on that wall.

Louis stares at the wall, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest as he realizes that there’s not just one painting of him, there’s five, the portraits lined up like they’re some sort of storyboard depicting the rise and fall of his deepest love. His greatest heartache. A pain that cut him so deep that he left the fucking country, severing all ties with his life in New York, now suddenly surrounding him as if he’d never left.

Fucking shit motherfucker fuck.

Louis returns to New York City five years after he left it – and the love of his life – behind. He didn't intend to see Harry again, but fate has a funny way of pulling them together, whether they like it or not. After making a begrudging truce, they both start to wonder: Would it be so bad if history repeated itself?

4.) You’ve Got My Devotion (Hate You Sometimes) by @harryrainbows (95k)

Harry was in the biggest boy band in the world. He was also one half of the best (or worst, depends on who you ask) kept secret relationship in the music industry.

Now, almost five years on, after One Direction has broken up, and Harry and Louis' relationship has as well, a video threatens to put everything at risk.

One determined Irishman, a massive publicity stunt and two begrudging exes are all it takes to bring One Direction back to life and maybe, just maybe, Harry and Louis' mangled love life too.

Or: Harry and Louis are forced to fake-date after an old video from when they were dating emerges.

3.) The Space Between by @lads-laddylads (39k)

Harry Styles is the alpha rockstar who can’t sleep and doesn’t know why.

Louis Tomlinson is the omega PhD student who helps him figure it out.

2.) Nothing But You On My Mind by @absoloutenonsense (83k)

Louis Tomlinson is a PR manager hired to improve the image of royal bad-boy Prince Harry Styles. Unfortunately for him, that means being faced with the Prince's constant innuendos, incessant dirty jokes, and relentless flirting. Louis just wants to make it to Princess Gemma's coronation; once she's crowned Queen, his contract is up and he never has to see the Prince again.

1.) Collision by @tequiladimples (224k)

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.

(Featuring Liam, the big and not-so-bad wolf who’s got a thing for humans, Zayn, a human with supernaturally good looks, and Niall, the cupid who just wants his job to be easier.)

#larry #larry stylinson #larry fic rec #harry styles #louis tomlinson #fic rec #one direction #1d #one direction fic rec #larry fan fiction #updated because I'm an idiot and added a zarry fic

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ragingbookdragon · 4 years ago

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Through Hoods, Through Lace, Through Hearts--We'll Find Our Healing PT.1

Jason Todd x Reader Story (Arkhamverse)

Word Count: 2.6K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: I started playing Arkham Knight again and got inspired. Who woulda thought?? Enjoy! -Thorne

Gotham wasn’t exactly safe since Batman—or Bruce Wayne—had died. All things considered, it wasn’t as bad as it used to be now that Red Hood had moved in and started tackling the criminals Batman had left behind—permanently. Killer Moth had been the first and Roman Sionis was the second to go, and while Red Hood hadn’t outright claimed it, the leftover crew that hadn’t been pumped full of lead, had said that they saw the vigilante leaving, so it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. And it didn’t stop there.

Red Hood had started in on Penguin’s gang too. Now that Batman wasn’t around to stop the weapons and drug smuggling, it’d given the infamous gang leader a free ticket into Gotham. There were some reports about the neighboring vigilante Nightwing coming over from Blüdhaven to stop him. Rumor had it that someone said they even saw him and the Red Hood working together at one point, but it didn’t seem all to believable as the latter didn’t seem to be the partnering type.

That being said, with no one to stop him from killing all the criminals he wanted, a lot of the small-time fish got out of the business, not wanting to be met at the end of Red Hood’s handguns—it’s the exact reason she got out of the game. The money was good, and she was a damn good thief, but no amount of payout was worth her life. But somehow, trouble always managed to find her again.

***

Her file might’ve gotten deleted from GCPD’s database, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to take the easy way down the street and risk an officer recognizing her. She stuck to the back alleys like usual, ignoring the catcalls and sleazy comments about her outfit, but still keeping her brass knuckles around her hand—could never be too careful in Gotham.

Working an honest job sucked in her opinion, and the only thing more humiliating than working at Super-Babes was the number of tips she was getting at the end of her shift. Maybe if she smiled and flirted a bit more, they’d give her a tenner instead of a fiver. She’d half a mind to shove that five down the asshole’s throat after he ran his hand up the back of her thigh, but she was lucky that Tony had been working the kitchen shift—watching him throw the guy out on his ass was payment enough.

Even if she was managing to scrape by, working a restaurant job was kicking her ass, and something deep inside her itched for one more heist, but with the Red Hood stalking the city, there was no way in hell that she was going to risk it. The man had a reputation for leaving bodies and shell cases, and she wasn’t going to be the former. No, she was working towards a better future, getting back on track, and even if she was waitress, she was doing a lot better than most of the old crew. Most of them had either joined up with Black Mask, in hindsight, a horrible error on their part, or gotten thrown back into lockup. She was lucky—she got out during the recovery of Gotham after the whole Scarecrow and Arkham Knight deal. But that didn’t stop them from sending her the occasional request of her skills. All they received was a big ‘fuck no and fuck you’.

“(Y/N), (Y/N), (Y/N). Finally tracked you down.” Speak of the devil.

“Alex,” she sighed heavily as she turned halfway, catching sight of her old partner—and old flame, but that wasn’t important. “Figured you would at some point.” Her eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

Alex chuckled and leaned against the wall. “No need to be so touchy. I just wanted to talk.”

(Y/N) shook her head and hiked her purse higher onto her shoulder, fingers tightening around the brass knuckles in her pocket.

“If it’s not about my next shift at Super-Babes, I don’t give a rat’s ass what it is,” she countered, glaring at him.

“That’s where you’ve been working?” he questioned, but his tone gave way to the knowingness in his gaze. “Really?”

“Not like there’s anywhere else for ex-thieves to apply, Alex,” (Y/N) grumbled. “Employers are pretty meticulous when it comes to criminal records.”

“I’m not.”

She glowered at him. “I’m not interested in whatever you want me to do for you.”

“Even if you’ll get paid?” he suggested.

“I can’t believe I’m going to ask,” she sighed, eyes narrowing at the grin that split across his face. “What are you doing?”

Alex pulled out a file and walked up to her. “I knew you couldn’t resist a big payout.”

“Fuck you,” she grunted, swiping the manilla folder from him. “Shine a light for me.”

He pulled out his phone and flicked his flashlight on, watching as she read the papers, occasionally flipping the sheets.

All at once, she paused and gaped at him. “Wayne Manor?” She blinked. “You wanna `excavate Wayne Manor?”

Alex nodded and turned the flashlight off, stowing the phone back into his pocket. “Good plan, isn’t it?”

(Y/N) breathed in shock and lowered the folder. “Are you insane?”

“I’m failing to see your issue with this.”

“You want to excavate the home of a dead man. You really can’t see the issue with it?”

“That he’s dead?” Alex offered. “Technically that’s not graverobbing. He’s been dead for like a year and a half.”

(Y/N) turned and took a step. “That’s not the issue Alex!” She spun back around and hissed, “Bruce Wayne was Batman.”

“Keyword was. Not anymore.”

“I don’t give a shit. If Bruce Wayne was Batman, then there’s a very strong chance that there’s still defenses laid around the grounds.”

“In that pile of rubble? Not likely, but that’s why I need you to help me.”

“No,” (Y/N) declared. “I’m not going anywhere near that place.”

Alex let out a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. “And why not? You never really liked Batman. Didn’t he put you in jail once or twice?”

“Bruce Wayne was a good man that did his best to help this city whether he was dressed as Batman or not.” She affirmed. “He saved people, gave them jobs, helped them turn their lives around. No,” she shook her head. “I don’t want any part of this job, Alex. Now, later, or forever. I’m trying to do better, and you should too.”

Alex scoffed. “Oh please, getting tips for dressing like slutty Wonder Woman isn’t doing better (Y/N), and you know it.”

She ignored the insult and shrugged. “Maybe not, but I go to sleep at night knowing that I’m not going to get shot by Red Hood or some greedy gangbanger.”

At that, Alex paused and stared at her. “Are you really afraid of that prick?”

(Y/N) scowled. “That pricktook out Black Mask and his entire operation within twenty-four hoursthen immediately turned his attention on the rest of the scumbags in this city.” Taking a step towards him, she added, “He doesn’t break bones and leave you lying in pain like Batman did, Alex. He makes sure you don’t get up again. Ever. I’m not risking my neck for anything that’s stuck in Wayne’s basement.”

The man across from her was silent for a moment, then sighed. “I can’t sway you in any way?”

She yanked her hand out of her jacket pocket and flashed the knuckles around her hand. “I’d stop swaying and start running instead.”

Alex opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was, “Oh fuck!” then he spun around and hauled off like his ass was on fire.

(Y/N) stood there dumbfounded. Sure, she could be intimidating, but there was no way she was that scary. Instead of questioning it, she shrugged and shoved the folder into her skirt, then turned sharply on her heel to start on her way back to her apartment. Until she walked straight into someone’s chest.

She gasped as she stumbled backwards, knowing she was going to fall on her ass when strong hands grasped her upper arms, keeping her upright. (Y/N) looked up and met the very man she’d been talking about. Suddenly, Alex’s explicative and escape made perfect sense.

“Oh fuck!” she blurted out, and impulsively swung her knuckled fist at the jaw of his helmet. He caught her hand with an ease and spun her around, pressing her front up against the brick wall.

“Fuck me. Oh, fuck me,” she hissed, cursing herself for not telling Alex to stick it where the sun didn’t shine the second he found her. Now here she was about to get murdered by a trigger-happy vigilante with a grudge.

“Really? Right here? But someone could see us?” The humor in his tone drew a startled laugh from her and she pressed her cheek against the wall, so she could see him.

“I swear to God I don’t have anything to do with him. Fuck, I’ll tell you whatever you want about him and his plan if you don’t kill me.” (Y/N) sucked in a breath. “Please don’t kill me. I swear I stopped pulling heists after Halloween last year. I work a decent job. I keep my nose clean. I don’t get involved in that shit anymore. Please, God, don’t—”

“Will you stop talking for like ten seconds?” Red Hood griped, one hand leaving the grasp he had on her arms behind her back to feel around her middle.

“HEY!” she shouted, thrashing wildly. “GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!”

He pressed her harder to the wall. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Calm down.”

“I’ll calm down when you get your fucking hands out of my skirt your fucking pervert!” (Y/N) spat, leaning on one leg to kick at him with the other.

“All I want is what’s in your skirt,” he sighed and pressed one of his thighs against the one kicking him. “Christ,you’re a handful.”

“And you’re a fucking sicko!” she retorted indignantly. “Is this how you get your rocks off? Assaulting innocent women? You’re so fucking disgu—”

“Got it,” Red Hood declared, and yanked out the file she’d shoved in the side of her skirt. (Y/N) fell silent when he held it beside her head. “See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

She could tell he was smirking behind the red helmet and she scowled at him. “You’re fucked up, buddy.”

Shrugging, he flipped open the file and started reading. “Would’ve been easier if you hadn’t tried to run on me.”

“Well excuse me for thinking I was about to get murdered and having the initial instinct to haul ass.”

Red Hood chuckled at that, and despite how wrong the entire situation was, the low drawl made shivers go down her spine.

“Wanna tell me about your friend?” he coaxed and (Y/N) froze.

“He’s not my friend,” she suddenly protested. “I haven’t been around Alex since last year.”

“Really? You two seem fairly chummy.”

(Y/N) craned her neck to look at him. “We used to fuck when we worked together.”

“Mhm,” he hummed knowingly. “Lover’s spat then?”

Barking a laugh, she countered, “Like you wouldn’t believe.” She stared at him. “I got out when you started putting people down. Didn’t want to be a casualty.”

“That’ll do it,” he snickered. “So, you don’t know what Alex’s been up to since last year?”

“No, and I want it to stay that way, but he thinks that if he waves enough heists in my face, I’ll cave and run back to the money.” (Y/N) groaned and rested her head against the wall. “Look, I don’t know what he’s planning, and I don’t care. I don’t want anything to do with whatever that plan it. Honest to God.”

She gazed at him, feeling something akin to tears gathering in her vision, and pled, “Take the file. Hell, take all the money I’ve got in my purse if you want, just don’t kill me.” A single tear ran down her cheek. “Please, I’m begging you. I don’t wanna die now.”

Red Hood’s weight disappeared from her back and he murmured, “I’m not going to hurt you. I want the opposite in fact.” The honesty in his words made her body feel weak and her knees started to go out beneath her. “And there she goes.” He caught her before she fell.

Gently lowering her to the ground, he helped her sit against the wall. (Y/N) leaned her head back and let out a long sigh.

“Oh, thank God.”

He laughed. “Life flashing before your eyes?”

She gave a half-hearted smile. “You’ve got no idea.”

This time when he laughed, it was dark, and it made her stomach churn. “Actually, I do.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over them, then he knelt in front of her, handing her purse back to her.

“Here.”

(Y/N) took it with a nod and stared at him. “So, what happens now?”

He was quiet for a moment, then he waved the file. “I go stop your friends from digging around Batman’s home.”

“Good luck,” she replied, starting to her feet when he tutted.

“Ah-ah-ah.” He motioned for her to sit back down. “We’re not done yet.”

She grunted at him. “What do you want?”

“Information on your friends.”

(Y/N) felt her brows furrow. “Can’t you find that out yourself?”

Red Hood shrugged. “I could, but I’m always looking to make my job easier.” He observed her for a moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of hundred-dollar bills.

Waving it in front of her, he said, “You tell me what you used to do for them and what all they’ve got going on, and you can have this.”

(Y/N)’s jaw went tight as she stared at the roll. That could pay rent and bills for at least two months. She needed the money. Her eyes darted to the mask and she swiped for the roll, but he raised it out of her reach.

“Nope,” he ribbed. “Info first.”

“Ass,” she grumbled, but conceded with a sigh. “Fine. Have it your way.” (Y/N) clambered to her feet and dusted off her tacky skirt, watching as he did the same.

“Follow me to my apartment.” Before he could say a word, she thrust a finger into his chest. “And do it from the rooftops so people don’t see you.” Her face set in a glare. “I don’t need any unwanted guests trying to get in because they saw you following me.”

She started off when Red Hood grabbed her forearm, not harshly, but firm enough to make her stop and stare at him questioningly.

“What’s your name?”

She blinked, not expecting that. “It’s (Y/N). (Y/N) (L/N).”

He nodded. “And what did they call you when you worked as a thief?”

(Y/N) huffed. “Not everyone has an alias, Red Hood.”

Chuckling, he retorted, “Yeah, but someone as pretty as you no doubt had one.”

She felt her stomach flutter at his flirt and her cheeks warmed as she looked away and replied, “They used to call me, ‘The Lady in Lace’.”

“The Lady in Lace?” he repeated, then stood next to her and pulled out a grappling gun. “Have a matching outfit, Lady Lace?”

(Y/N) shoved him in the side. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I think I’d rather see,” Red Hood flirted and pressed the button, shooting off towards the roof of the building.

It was gonna be a long night.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader imagines #jason todd x reader imagine #jason todd imagines #jason todd imagine #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x reader imagines #red hood x reader imagine #dc comics #dc imagine #dc imagines #batman arkham knight #arkham knight #arkhamverse

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lightswentdim · 4 years ago

Text

Fade Into You - Chapter Five

SUMMARY ✦ Your feelings for Vader are starting to become harder and harder to control.

WARNING(S) ✦ a little suggestive, slight nsfw warning

MASTERLIST ✦ Here.

Sweat brimmed and trickled down the edges of your face, hair sticking to your forehead as you moved to the side, avoiding Vader’s blows with skillful accuracy. Kicking outward, your foot came in contact with his ankle and he was sent flying to the hard ground of the training. After what felt like a long time of training, you were finally starting to gain the upper hand. The two of you have been in the large training room for almost four hours now, the fatigue of your muscles starting to catch up to you as you try to regain some breath. There was a pause in movement, both of you acknowledging that you won this round fair and square. You stood above him, hands behind your neck to open up your lungs and took deep breaths, glancing down at the floor at Vader, who laid there face first, seemingly trying to access his mistakes in combat.

The days went by a lot faster now that he gave you something to do. As much as you didn’t want to spend all your time with a Sith, you would rather be training with him than sitting in your room doing nothing. You’ve been here for six days and six nights, meaning that almost a week had passed by after your supposed capture. Although you were a ‘prisoner’, you didn’t feel like one. If anything, this wasn’t half bad compared to your long extended times on Republic war ships during the war. It wasn’t like the temple, though it would have to do for now.

“I think we should stop for today,” Vader said, pushing his body up off the floor with his arms and standing before you. You gave a small nod, silently thanking the Maker that you didn’t have to pretend to fight him again. Vader was strong and good at complex blows, one hit and you were thrown backwards onto the ground. You were smaller than him and that allowed you to gain more of an agile advantage, but you were tired from training with this brute of a man, who obviously has spent a long time by himself in this very place, practicing his fighting style for hours on end.

He pushed past you, his arm coming in contact with your shoulder. Your skin seemed to buzz wherever he touched you, making you wonder if you had the same effect on him. It was hard to ignore the way that you felt whenever his hand would graze your thigh if he backed you up into a corner, or the way that you would blush every time he caught you staring at him for too long. And you knew it didn’t go unnoticed, Vader knew the way that you looked at you and yet said nothing. It was somewhat of an unspoken thing between the both of you.

Soon enough you were in your bathroom, stepping into the hot shower that awaited you, longing to feel the strain in your muscles be relieved. While the steam and water enveloped you, you got to work cleaning off the sweat of the day. Your fingers hit your waist and you trailed it over again, coming to that moment where Anakin had touched that same spot. He always took off his gloves when he was training and it was always his bare hands that touched you. You closed your eyes and did it again, pretending that it was his hands instead of your own. Even better, your thoughts took it to a new height and you pretended that the hand was replaced with his lips, pressing hot kisses to your stomach and hip bones. You almost trailed your hand farther down until you realized what you were doing, jumping slightly and opening your eyes, being met with nothing but yourself alone in the shower. Alone, fantasizing about the man that you were supposed to hate. It felt wrong and yet, a part of it was appealing to you. He was appealing to you.

“What is getting to your head,” You mumbled to yourself, shutting off the water and stepping out, wrapping yourself in a towel and making your way to the room. Vader had allowed you to have some books to entertain yourself, which you rarely did anyways since he started letting you out of your room, with you knowing that he could sense where you were any time in the castle. Not that you could leave anyways. You were sure that you could figure out a way if you were particularly crafty, though you never made an effort to. That was something that you were still unsure of, even if the reason why was deep within yourself. Dressing was easy, opting for a white shirt and black pants and brushing your hair out. From there you made your way out of your room, going to the kitchen attached to the dining room where you knew where he was. Not only could you sense his presence there, but you and him always ended up meeting in the kitchen of all places.

As expected, he was there, already sitting at the head of the table eating his meal.

“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” He said, glancing in your direction before going back to his plate. “I wasn’t sure if you got too carried away with yourself.” His tone was jovial, almost as though there were hidden implications behind it.

You thought back to the moment in the shower and pushed the thought from your mind. “What do you mean?” You asked, not exactly looking for an answer as you tried to make your shaking hands busy with something like fixing up a plate. Maybe you were just playing dumb so that he wouldn’t know what you were thinking.

“It’s strange. Now that you’re here sometimes I swear I can feel what you feel,” Vader explained. “Not all the time, just in cases of extreme.” You could sense it too. The worst was when Vader was angry alone by himself, you could feel it festering up inside of you as well, making you feel things that you didn’t want to feel. You were never an angry person, especially having the anger of a Sith. It wasn’t in your nature. Though you were becoming painfully aware that it was in Vader’s nature to be angry like that. What was he always angry about? What made him this way?

You knew what he was implying, whether you wanted to play dumb or not. Those feelings you got about him when you were alone, when you almost let your hand slip down your body. You weren’t sure if you should feel embarrassed that he had felt you at such an intimate moment, or if you should play his teasing game.

Playing dumb seemed to have a better effect. And then maybe you could get the feelings for the Sith to stop. “Are you saying you felt one of my emotions a few minutes ago?” You took your plate, which was now filled with different types of fruit and a piece of butter spread on it, and sat down on the opposite end of the table, taking note of his foot that grazed your own for a moment.

Vader’s gaze once again met yours, yellow eyes staring directly into your own. There was a playfulness about his nature now, unlike the one that he often had. If he was rubbing off on you, perhaps some of you was rubbing off on him as well. The human side of him was beginning to come out. The lightly tanned features of his face sprung up when you gave him the same look, feeling a sense of confidence run over you. A grin splayed on his features, “You could say it that way.”

“Well, are you going to elaborate?” You asked. “If we’re to truly get to the bottom of our connection, you should voice your findings.” The look that he was giving you, it was intoxicating, you could feel it go straight to your head and it was as though you were on cloud nine. There was something thrilling about his eyes never leaving your own. You leaned slightly into the table towards him.

Vader cleared his throat. “Something to do with my hands . . . Then my mouth?” The words left his lips and you shivered, the trance he seemed to have you in breaking and you were once again left in that state of panic of your emotions. The Temple taught you how to control emotions, the ones of anger and revenge and fear. But never these ones, ones that were purely animalistic and carnal, ones you hadn’t felt until getting closer with Vader. Was this the Dark Side tempting you? Perhaps this was his plan all along, to get you to respond positively to his touch and take you to the dark ways of the Sith. But the more you thought, this didn’t feel or seem like anything of the teachings in signs of the Dark Side that you had been conditioned to recognize. This was something completely different and so utterly human. “You know that the real thing is better than your thoughts, right?”

You didn’t know how to respond. Your body seemed to do it for you, clenching your thighs together to try and alleviate some of the pressure that was beginning to lightly build up. You had never felt this way before with another person, it was strange, but not unpleasant. You weren’t stupid, you knew what the desire was (The Temple wasn’t that useless about emotions), though you didn’t know what to do about it. Your face was blank, staring back at him.

His gaze faltered. “You haven’t ever-”

He was cut off by you standing up from your seat abruptly, the table bumping into your thighs and making the things on the table shake. You knew what he was going to say, You’ve never done that before? And you weren’t sure you wanted to hear him ask it right now. This was beginning to be too much for you. It was one thing to be thinking this way about Vader, though now that he knew about it, you weren’t sure what to do about yourself. You hadn’t felt this strongly about anyone before, especially in this type of case. You hadn’t ever felt the desire for another human. Sure, you knew that others were attractive and there were a few moments where you thought about the possibility . . . But nothing hadn’t ever gotten to that point before. It wasn’t supposed to get to that point. You knew that there were loopholes in the Jedi Code, that technically Jedi were allowed to engage in such activities, though you tried your hardest to take the Code to heart as much as possible.

You took your plate into your hands, steadying yourself on your feet. “I think that I’m going to eat in my room. Goodnight, Anakin.” You didn’t give him another glance and made your way to the exit.

“Wait, you’re just going to leave-”

“Goodnight, Anakin,” You pressed, walking out the door to your room which seemed one hundred times farther away than it actually was. The moment you reached your door, you opened and closed within a second of each action and set your plate on the table next to your bed, getting in under the covers and sitting there, trying to catch your breath.

You had to be more careful. That’s what you ordered yourself to do. You had to think back to the Temple and what your Masters would say about these feelings. That they could go just as easily as they came and you had the ability to speed up the process if you really put your mind to it.

Though as you tried to clear your head through mediation like you knew Master Obi-Wan or Master Fisto would tell you to do, all you could think of was Vader. You thought of his face and how good it would look while he was on top of you, how soft his hair would feel between your legs, and how his lips would feel on top of your own. The thoughts were addicting and soon enough, you didn’t even have the willpower to stop them, succumbing to the feelings and eventually slipping your hand past your lower stomach late at night when you were sure Anakin was asleep.

#Anakin Skywalker #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker smut #anakin smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker fluff #suitless vader

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