#I tussled with how to write this for a year and still feel there's further ways I could've taken it but it already feels pretty long so

[mci-writing]

Hi I saw that your requests are open. Can I request a senku x female reader where he has a crush on an older tattooed foreigner who was on vacation in Japan when the world was petrified

I've had this sitting for a minute tbh, but mostly bc I didn't want there to be too many spoilers for anime-onlys 😭😭 mostly for how tattoos work,,, Don’t be surprised if there’s a heavy focus on language plot wise, I’ve been working on a lot of linguistics homework 😞

Anyways, hope you enjoy

Science Makes Age Complicated (Ishigami Senku x Reader):

Warnings: technically an age gap but also not (reader was once 2 years older than Senkuu, but now they're the same age due to time shenanigans), fem!reader, some language use (a few swears here and there), reader is American (RIP but it’s plot relevant), reader is implied to know an insane amount of languages (bc this is Dr Stone and it’s relevant to world-building)

"Think you can scrounge something up for her, Yuzuriha?" Senku parts the lush shrubbery for his friend, unresponsive to her obvious surprise at the sight before her. He figured it would go that way, considering how kept away the whole area is, but he'd rather start the spectacle with her big reactions instead of the loud and boisterous version involving the rest of their crew, "I'm more than sure you'll manage to make her something she's 1 billion percent comfortable in."

He'd considered this statue his secret weapon for the next part of their excursion. Well, that would be his explanation as to why he'd waited so long to unveil her and finally free her from her encasement. Really, he could never find the proper time to finally revive her, especially when every time it would feel right to, something else would arise that would require them to use the revival fluid for someone else.

When talks of traveling to the Americas came up, he knew it'd be the perfect time to properly reveal her and, hopefully, ease her into their current predicament. While Gen is a great diplomat, thew mentalist isn't exactly fluent in as many languages as the girl in the statue before them. Even more, if they are to run into more people (which they very likely are), it's better to have at least two representatives to talk things over. That's going to be his reasoning, anyway.

Deep down, he's a little nervous to finally see her again, especially now that he's technically older than her by a few months at least. The last time they'd seen each other had been the day before the petrification light, the two decided to spend time with each other before he went back to school. She was visiting Japan for a bit, a trip she'd planned to make at least once a year since the two had officially met in person while he had been in America. Back then, she'd been 17 to his 15, owning an American driver's license and a tattoo sleeve that left many of the older members of society scandalized.

"I don't think she's going to take being younger than us well," Yuzuriha mentions as she finishes up sewing the outfit she'd made for (Y/n). She worked fast, wiping the sweat that had accumulated on her forehead once she finished. She takes a step back once she's finished, watching as Senku steps forward, "Especially when she finds out how long it took for you to bring her back."

"She'll be fine. I'm 1 billion percent sure she's going to be grateful for it," He responds, popping the top off the tiny vial between his fingers. He doesn't stop the grin from spreading across his face as he lets the contents of the vial drip from the top of her head. The two watch expectedly as it eases its way down her body, stone cracking and parting in its wake, “She’s going to get to visit home, after all.”

The stone falls from her body, the life slowly coming back into her (e/c) orbs as more of her skin is revealed. Her tattooed sleeve remains, now accompanied by the petrification markings on her face and other parts of her body. A wave of confusion hits her as she takes in the unfamiliar surroundings, but her shoulders relax a little as she takes in the two familiar figures next to her, "Senku...? Yuzuriha...?" "Hey, (Y/n)," He immediately greets in response, an excited light coming to his eyes as ruby meets (e/c), "Looks like we're the same age now."

Yuzuriha flinches at his greeting, sighing with a shake of her head as she takes a small step closer to their friend. A nervous smile forms on her lips as she takes (Y/n) hands into her own, leading her out of the hidden away area into the light of the new world. She feels the grip tighten as (e/c) eyes dart around the surrounding forestry in an attempt to better understand the circumstances and environment, "We have a lot to catch you up on, but I'm sure if we ease you in slowly it won't cause you too much whiplash-"

"We don't have time for that, Yuzuriha. We still have to load the ship back up and travel to America," Senku waves the notion off, walking past the two of them and leading them back into the village. Neither of the girls miss the smirk on his face as he continues, unmoving as they gape at him like fish, "(Y/n) will catch up along the way."

He's bluffing, which they realize a little later when Ryusui recounts the plan to spend the next few days loading the ship and replacing the items they used on their last voyage. (Y/n) is assimilated faster into their new society than she can process, the rest of their group taking the basic information they're fed and working with it. Yuzuriha is eventually forced to leave her to fend for her own after a bit to attend to her own assignments and Taiju only stops to catch up for a bit (which is mostly him speed talking and making assumptions about how much she's been made aware of) before continuing to move along.

Senku doubts he'll ever admit it out loud, but he is grateful that they're the same age, even if he's technically older by a few months now. Standing next to (Y/n), who hadn't aged a day past the last time he'd seen her, was the reassurance he secretly needed about his own development. While his growth spurt, a result of the final pushes of puberty during the Stone Wars and roughing it during the New Stone Age, was the only difference he could notice next to her, (Y/n) had been hit with the whiplash of every other development.

To her, it felt like both a lifetime and a long night since she had seen Senku, yet he looked almost completely different and exactly the same. The remainder of his baby fat had rounded out of his cheeks, his face maturing nicely into that of a young adult, and he'd sprung up quite a bit in height. He was still lithe in comparison to Taiju, till thin and very much not built for too much physical labor, but he'd gotten a bit of meat on his bones to fill his arms out a little more. Despite that, he still looked like him, like the jerky boy she'd met by chance in middle school who would be the first person she'd show her newest tattoos to when she was 16 to get some kind of rise out of him.

Taiju and Yuzuriha were a further reminder of the weird passage of time, the two more developed in their own rights. He was beefier, still ever-muscular in a more defined way. His hands seemed rougher, but she didn't know if that had been due to the rougher circumstances or if they were always meant to get so rough with all the handy work Senku would put him up to. Yuzuriha had filled out a little, a few scars littering her hands from what (Y/n) could only assume was from her thread work she'd seem to consistently be working on since they'd gotten back to their stronghold. Her silky brown hair, which had once reached her waist and made a few of the girls from their school envious of its length, now barely reached past her shoulders in its bobbed shape.

She feels so out of place...

~~~~

The rush of information coming to people’s senses is always amusing to watch, but (Y/n) is taking a little more time to process than usual. Even now, a few days into her now being free from the stone prison, she still has more questions. They aren’t particularly scientific, more so just random observations that she really wants the answers to. She’s also hyper-analyzed the villagers' speech patterns, having them repeat their newer slang and pronounce random words in Japanese, English, and German (something they did not realize they were fluent in until she came around). In return, they ask her questions about the past (mostly Senku, Yuzuriha, and Taiju), the sleeve on her arm, and why the hell she knows so many languages already.

Senku can’t really be mad about it slowly down progress, he’s sure he’d slack off a little too if they didn’t have so little time to prepare for their trip across the sea. Neither of them miss the way their eyes longingly stare at one another, meeting a few times before either is dragged away by the others they’re surrounded by. It’s even worse that (Y/n) feels she hasn’t been able to get any time alone with him since they made it to the village. She’d been made aware of their plans once her confusion died down a little, even taking the time to freshen up on the main languages she’d be focused on for their trip and doing what she can to pitch in. Unfortunately, their different preparations would barely, if ever, cross over. Lowkey, it had been killing both of them inside, but they kept up appearances for the sake of getting things done.

She’d learned from Gen, who gave her brain a break by speaking in English with her, that Senku had kept her relatively well hidden. He’d visit her often, but no one had put together that’s what he’d been doing until now. Yuzuriha made it clear she’d only learned of (Y/n)’s whereabouts a little before they’d revived her. However, the brown-haired girl did mention that a few passing statements he’d made in the past were starting to make sense.

It took the last night before the Kingdom of Science would set sail again for (Y/n) to find time away from the others. Despite the various discussions scratching her brain in the best way possible in a new world, the dark blue of the night accompanied by the low noises of crickets and crashing waves gives her the solace she needs. While everything has mostly settled, or settled as much as it can, it's still moving so fast. To her, everything was normal yesterday and then dark for longer than she thinks possible to comprehend, "Maybe this is how Sleeping Beauty felt..."

"I doubt that," A familiar voice speaks up from behind her, the heels of his shoes clopping along the ground as he approaches. The gravel scrunches as he shifts to sit next to her, deep zircon-colored eyes staring out towards the ocean's expanse. He scoots a little closer to her, his head tilting as his pinky reflexively reaches to dig out of his ear, "Considering she typically is depicted to have been a young preteen when she first fell asleep and an older teenager when she wakes, I doubt there were many technological changes to throw her for such a loop, especially if the story takes place in a fictional version of the middle ages."

His eyes shift to peak at her instead, his typical grin filing onto his face. Somehow, they're one of his few features to remain the same despite his growing age. He's one of the reasons she's out here tonight, gathering her thoughts privately one last time so she can tuck them away to focus her attention more on to returning civilization.

Of course, she always thought he was good-looking, most people did. However, where they were turned off by his passion for science and technical engineering, she found it to be all the more endearing for his character. He had his pesty moments, but so did everyone else in some way. It added to his charm, "Didn't see you as the fables type, Senku."

"Had a friend who was super into literature. She read it in different languages to challenge herself," He teases in response, his gaze turning back to the sight before them, "Wonder where she is now..."

(Y/n) tugs her knees up to her chest, the irony of the comparison not lost on her, though made completely on accident. She pulls them closer, resting her cheek on them as she takes in the boy next to her, "Maybe she's trapped somewhere in a stone prison back in the woods."

She watches his chest rumble with his chuckle, a soft breeze picking up and spreading the smell of salt water. He's closer now, the smaller changes staring her in the face and taunting her. She'd wanted him this close to her again, just for the reassurance, but now... She kind of regrets it.

"I would've found her by now," He mumbles, the sound just barely reaching her ears. A fond smile slowly eases across his mouth as he returns his gaze to her, "Would've taken me a while to finally see her like this again, but I think it'd finally be worth seeing her again. Even with the circumstances."

"I'm sure she'd be grateful to see you again too, even with the circumstances."

[marengogo]

Silver Lining - What If #8 : Min & Kook or Busan Brothers?

Neuron by J-Hope (with Gaeko & YOON MIRAE) focused playlist.

[Music is a very big part of my life and I’m MOSTLY INCAPABLE of writing without music, so I just thought I'd share what I am listening to while writing this]

🐺 — 🐺 — 🐺—

Ladies, Gentlemen and Distinguished Enbies: HELLO!

How is everyone? Hope you are all enjoying this little break, if you celebrate Easter, and if for any reason you didn’t get a break either you don’t celebrate Easter, or you are part of the “holiday working class” I hope you are at least safe and serene 💜. All that said, let me tell you;

It’s incredible what a few days off can do, aye?!

For one I've been very vivid dreams and, for two, I’m actually in the mood of writing posts, would you look at that! AND BY THE WAY I keep forgetting to do this, but I will at some point later today I need to write an advisory note for the Sonyeondan Colosseum as I haven’t been there in a while but I still get aspiring gladiators, who are dying to participate, and albeit fun, at the moment, I really don't have that much time, to provide these fighters with the appropriate match they deserve 😫. So it is only right that I rely the appropriate information, as I do believe I run a fine institution and as such I am sorry for allowing my administration to slack real life suddenly got so busy and interesting that I didn’t, and still don't, have time to play, but who knows what the future holds right?! There just might appear a contender so unique, I might not resist the urge for a little tussle.

Anyways, back to the topic of this post, as it is sort of a continuation of this one → Solstice & Equinox, it is indeed about the Jikook Travel vlog we still no absolutely nothing about, but of which I woke up with thoughts/ideas about, hence, why I’ve placed this post, yet again, in my Silver Lining series 🤡. In my previous post I tried to predict the vlogs' scheduling, in this post I would like to talk about the possible style this vlog might take, while making, as always, educated guesses and also diving into JK’s filmmaking style.

⚠️I MOST LIKELY WILL WAX HELLA POETIC OVER A LOT OF FILMMAKING STRUCTURES, SO BE HELLA WARNED⚠️

Let’s start right off the bat with:

Also if you are NOT familiar with “Youtuber” Jimin, below is a little summary:

As you can probably tell by some of the ss because there are so many more, believe me!, JM is very enthusiastic about vlogging and, as we all know, JK is very enthusiastic about producing video related content as well as taking it further when he directed Life Goes On for example. Both JM and JK consume copious amounts of video content, be it movies, dramas, anime or shows and they often seem to be watching the same shows as well. Reason why, perhaps, they often seem to be the only privy of their media related inside jokes.

Now, imagine loving to watch shows so much and having as a significant other someone whom not only has so much footage/pictures of you which will never see btw 🤡 but also has the skills to potentially make a show out of you, or with you, because they also enjoy the same thing, what would you do? Sure, you like travelling and he is not too big into that, but some time 7 years ago this person not only took you on a trip, but also found the most memorable way to immortalise this for you, resulting in this person producing more and more travel vlogs. Not sure if JK has come to enjoy travelling, but one thing is for sure; 

he seems to enjoy making one helluva good vlog out of it.

Now, before we get into the reason for my title (Min & Kook or Busan Brother?) let’s look into JK’s filmmaking style THIS IS WHERE I AM SURE I WILL NERD OUT, and in order to do this we will look into two of particular videos, as I feel like their travel vlog could be a mixture of this two: 

VIDEO 1: [BTS VLOG] Jung Kook l CAMPING VLOG

VIDEO 2: G.C.F in Budapest

Let’s start from VIDEO 1. This was a series of vlogs we got from each of the members and were posted on BANGTANTV between July 9, 2022 and December 10, 2022 as always with the Tannies, the actual filming dates may or may not be close to the time they were posted. There are many different types of vlogs out there, because many are the different interests of viewers out there. When looking at our boys, you can clearly see theri vlogs divided in 3 specific types of vlogs:

“HOW TO”-vlog: In this type of video, usually the hosts want to learn to do something, and so they either attempt or they are a master in said craft to do said something, while showing the viewer step-by-step, with the intent/hope that the viewer can learn or feel inspired to want to do it as well.

Jin

Yoongi

JM

“CELEBRITY LIFE”-vlog: This type of video, we follow a typical/particular day in the life of a celebrity. There is usually not so much editing done, and it gives very much the feeling of watching a reality TV show.

Tae

Hobi

“TRAVEL”-vlog: These are usually specifically about showcasing cities, spaces, activities. They are very action filled, so they will not have as many static shots as, for example, the previous two themes 

Joonie

JK

Even though JK and Joonie have the same style of vlog, there is something that JK has, which all the other 6 don’t, which is his own “colour”.

JK has a very specific style that is unique to himself within the group, and you can notice in the editing, which makes me think he often takes part in, whereas, even though the type of vlog is different for the other 6 members, the style of editing is the same for all of them. When I say that JK adds his own colour, I mean that, for example, he so often breaks the 4th wall in very conventional and unconventional ways and this is something I've noticed only he does actually in Bangtan. 

Aside from JK’s Film Colour, I do believe that this is also an indication of how long we can hope their travel vlog to be. In the end the main event was camping, with other events as well and it was edited to 45mins, which is a long ass video for this type of vlog, it basically means that they realistically had hours of footage and at least 3 type of campers, which I will get into in my next point.

GCF in Budapest has all of JK’s colours as of 2023. 

This video is the result of 6 years during which he filmed, edited and directed different projects. GCF in Budapest is very professional, and even though he didn’t do the final edit on this, he did direct it, meaning that there wasn’t a single shot that he hadn’t planned, requested or approved of. Basically, JK is the person that instructed other camera-people the times he wasn’t filming himself as to what shot he needed and wanted for the final project, all the way from principal, to secondary, footage I DON’T THINK YOU CAN’T BUT I’M ABOUT TO NERD OUT, RIGHT NOW. Following are the notable structures in this GCF, with related explanations/examples:

Non-static self-filming - This is the typical vlog style where the main subject is filming himself. But in his case he seems to favour this type of shots when he is moving the most, as if he wants us to fill like we are really travelling with him, as opposed to constantly placing the camera on the surface, not moving, and talking. 

B-Roll Footage - is also known as “filler footage”. Usually there is no talking or nothing of importance, but they are quite good for either transitions or comic relief. I LOVE B-ROLL FOOTAGE and JK uses it so well. I believe that b-rolls fit JK so well because of his personality, he tends to space out so often that, in the filmmaking context, this type of footage offers a way to show this dimension of his personality, for example, himself goofing off in the b-roll is perhaps what he does in his head when he is spacing out in real life. 

Traditional filming - This is your typical main subject being filmed by a camera-person. As there seem to be two different angles during this type of shot, there were at least 2 different people filming him I will not go deep into the type of camera/s that were you as this is not that kind of post. 

Establishing shots - This are shots that make the viewer know where and when something is happening, and they are extremely important in film-making, but not really in vlogging as the title of the vlog already tells you where and sometimes when, if not you’ll find out in the dialog you are, but it is exactly this kind of touch that makes his work feel very cinematographic.

All the aforementioned, are characteristics that I am expecting to see in their travel blog and I am soooooo much looking forward to check our the whole crew, if by any chance we get a roll end credit scene 🥹 to be honest, going back to video 1, since they were in each known location for more than a day, they could make at least 2 self-sufficient vlogs but hey ….

JK surely came a long way from GCF in Tokyo, didn’t he? And even though he hasn’t produced a GCF with the same colours ever since, there was something that was:

To me, filming is the art of skilfully deceiving, while  willfully being deceived, during a specific amount of time, after which we all go back to our realities unharmed or “not”, depending on the depth of the film.

Films are like magic.

But what is filming for JK? To be veeeeery honest with you, the person who has a future in acting amongst the Tannies is Kim Taehyung, yet, the two people who can for sure act, on the silver-screen, are Kim Seokjin and Kim Taehyung … so why do I feel like Tae is the only only that has a future in this field? Because Tae can live for and with it. Just knowing how to act is not enough, you have to want to be an actor, for real-real. You know how Hobi breathes dancing? Tae breathes out imaginary characters in a similar way, reason why I can see him having a very prolific career as an actor as well.

Now ... why do I bring this up?

If JK just wanted to become a movie director alongside being the amazing musician he is, he’s had the perfect subject/s to do so. So why has he been so fixated with filming JM? JM is not the type of subject you can use for a long film, sure, he likes to act with his friends, but I don't think that cinema glory is one of his objectives in life I may be very wrong. He can perform/dance like hell crazy for the camera, HANDS FUCKING DOWN, but, once again, serious silver-screen acting isn’t what he wants. So, once again, given a choice of Tae and Jin;

Why JM?

TIME FOR TIN HATS Y’ALL HURRY 👏🏾 HURRY👏🏾 HURRY! 📢

I, Marengo, think that JK had always intended to make GCF in Tokyo as merely a video to preserve the happy memories, during a hard moment in their lives, which they spent together. This video-gift was specifically intended, for JM, in the style that JM mostly appreciated at the time, which might have happened to be YT vlogs. While editing his video, JK perhaps realised that it might have been a bit on the nose, so he added establishing b-roll shots of Tokyo, thinking it might have been enough to divert the attention from JM; but unfortunately failed. For a few reasons, but mainly, the lack of any spoken words in my opinion. 

The thing is that for the purposes of what i think his objective was, words were absolutely not needed. “Look! See how happy you were here! It doesn’t matter how shit things are, we can still be happy; You can still be happy!” In the same way, with Life Goes On he wanted us to see their changed everyday life of the time, the sadness, melancholy and hope they all felt. Words were not needed, and this is the type of filming which is closest to the inner colours of Jeon Jungkook. JK is not the best with words, so I believe that he found in filmmaking a form of expressing himself in a more effective way.

HOWEVER, as we all know, even though Life Goes On was well received, GCF in Tokyo’s main critique was “Where is tokyo? All I see is JM”. Yet, his main purpose wasn’t Tokyo, the shots, the song, the editing, clearly indicated that. Nevertheless, if at the time, JM was indeed his queer interest as I don’t believe they were going steady at the time, he wasn’t going to jump out gun blazing to defend his choice; was he now? No, he left us to believe that he was gonna get better, and next thing he did was add more members and better establishing shots, but never forget; gcf in Tokyo is still there and still something he remembers fondly. 

Now as for the title of this post  😂😂😂. Be it straight, queer, interrational or whatever, there is one thing that most of couple YT channels have in common:

Their channel name is either a union of their name or there is and &/and to join siad names. When JM was pretending to have a channel with JK during this live → VMINKOOK LIVE he named their channel MinKook, because he was Min and he was Kook so, MinKook and let’s forget for a second that this actually resulted to be a very funny korean pun. I honestly do believe that if you are a platonic duo on YT you will very rarely use your name with your friends name as it seems like it is a universal YT truth that “” & “” channels are couple channels. So if anything, if JM was talking out of subconscious, he maybe had been watching a lot of YT couple channels, at the time, and thought it okay for them to have a channel name that matched the same energy? … 

🤡🤡🤡

So my question is: will the channel be named something akin to that couple vibe RISKY AF, WHY WOULD THEY DO THAT?? Or will it be something more like the Busan Brothers name that they are often given … HELLA SAFE, MAKES A LOT OF SENSE? I guess only time will tell! 

Ok then, hats off! Let's go back to reality, where we can happily keep waiting for this blasted travel vlog LOL.

Always respectfully yours 💜🫰🏾,

Marengo.

[farcicalhuman]

Deft in Spring // Eddie Gluskin x male oc

Content warning: DW n/a

There was little scarring on the tailor's face, it was astoundingly smooth. Sinclair had lived nearly half the life Eddie had, and yet his face was tousled with memories of admittedly stupid escapades. Being intimate meant to reveal those minute details, but it was if Gluskin was free of them. Eddie's face shone brightly in conversation erasing all ridges; dissolving them into that smug grin he always seemed to put on. It was so foul to Sinclair, for a man this awful, to be at peace. Despite having much preferred Eddie like this, he in no way could muster a reason that he should deserve it.

His forefingers made sure to be as delicate as possible during their descent. Even in their faltering as Sinclair grazed over from the temples down the fine stooped brow to his cheek. Keeping clear of his lips and mouth as if the man would snap at any trying movement. Getting Edward this still never mind lying before him on a Sunday morning was hard enough.

Sinclair would much rather not push his luck. He theorised over every tiny decision in the man's advances. Rationalising his lidded tired eyes as the sun's subject, Eddie's lack of vulgar comment merely a testimony to his fatigue, and even how Sinclair felt the further warmth of Eddie's face sinking into his leg. Like blood into sun-baked asphalt.

Not wanting to consider the idea, that in some roundabout fashion, Edward actually loved him. Deciding to get this involved with Eddie was already a death sentence; begining to enjoy the subdued side of a violent man would only worsen the whole situation.

Still, Eddie seemed to look much more manageable in this light. Caked not in viscus gore, but summer sunlight cushioned on grass that caressed his forearms where it could. It was beautiful. Sinclair considered he was wrong, not about Eddie's personality in anyway, but on Eddie's scars.

His hand swayed over the wrinkle caused only by a harsh scowl. Years Sinclair wasn't even cognisent for had etched in that fine crease, out of some long history of viciousness that Sinclair could've only caught a clue of right here and right now. When Eddie was lying with a neck craned open for him.

Eddie sighed quietly breaking Sinclair's concentration. Maybe Eddie knew, knew about Sinclair's microscopic discoveries. Hell, Sinclair would be embarrassed if he wasn't so strung out.

He was completely relaxed into him, they both were, no flex of muscle or bare teeth display of social confidence. Sinclair now thumbed a deep fissure in his skin a previously invisible wrinkle in his perfect features. Deciding to get a little bolder, Sinclair held his hand in place against the side of Eddie's head. It would be easy to say that Sinclair stroking and fine lining his fingers around Eddie's face seems like more of an intrusion. But frankly that just isn't true, not to Sinclair anyway, no he was taking too long.

Sinclair silently tussled with the jabbing thought that Eddie would notice any moment his lack of movement. Would Eddie view the light skirting movements less bothersome compared to this, feeling the heat accumulating betwixed their flesh.

Eddie would have to acknowledge the warmth and past that Sinclair. The man behind the gentle feeling he's been pushing to the back of his mind during this whole encounter.

JUST A SMALL PIECE FROM MY VAULT. When I say that I mean a small story rotting in my notes app...

I take it there will be some errors here I have a really weird habit of writing certain sections I think of them jumping to write others,, lolol

Still I'm glad to have it out there! I see little for outlast esp any Eddie x male fics. So, if anyone appreciates this just know I got more coming! Hopefully...

Maybe drop me a message lmk what you think!!

I have so much Sinclair lore and I try to keep it mostly canonical as possible with my Eddie portrayal,, (he's the worst)

[gemma-collins-ily]

First sleepover with Harry Potter?

Sleepovers with Harry Potter

a/n - this changed into pulling all nighters and cuddling with Harry I'm sorry haha. Wasn't sure how to extend this further, hope this is good enough, I'm trying to make a comeback from my writer's block! Xoxo ❣️💞

Warnings: none, let me know if you see any!

he always wants to make sure you're comfortable

this means he often waits for you to approach subjects

but this can backfire because it can often make you think he doesn't want to do something

so, Harry didn't say anything about sleepovers, ever

you would often pull all-nighters to finish the copious amounts of potions work for the next day

the work you had 'conveniently' forgotten about

until you check your timetable, and Hermione hits you over the head with a book to get you to start your researching

these all-nighters include beginning by reading every word, then gradually building to scanning through, if only to find the answers

so, Ron manages to find someone to copy from and you two are stuck into the early hours of the morning

the first 'sleepover' was accidental, Snape setting work for the next day after giving you a lot of homework due earlier that day too

this meant you had to stay awake for two nights in a row and that subsequently caused you to be extremely tired

you were just yawning trying to get through the comprehensive tasks, and by the time you had reached the essay question, you were leaning heavily on Harry

he too was writing, while occasionally pressing a kiss to your temple and resting his cheek on top of your head for a moment before sighing and carrying on

by the time you were done, Harry had a couple of paragraphs left and your head was propped on his shoulder as you whispered sentence starters and vocabulary to use

finally, he set down his quill and leant back on the common room couch, ready to go to bed when he heard a little whistling breath of air

he turned to his side and saw you, smiling wearily before groggily wrapping his arms around you and pulling you with him as he fully lay on the sofa

it wasn't planned, but wasn't entirely by chance either

in the morning though, when he tried to apologise, it seemed as though you didn't really mind

at all

"Sorry! Sorry, I just- I think I may have done it subconsciously or..."

Harry only heard you huff out a breath of contentment as you nuzzled your head back into his neck before shooting upright once more.

"What's the time? Godric, we're going to be late, Harry!"

it was sort of forgotten, just a casual thing

it was safe to say, it happened again

and again

and again

finally, almost every night you would end up leant against one another

it wasn't exactly a healthy habit, but you wouldn't change it if you could

because it meant you could spend time with him, even asleep it still meant a lot

the first 'official' sleepover occured at Grimmauld Place, you dragging in your comforter before plopping down on his bed

he grinned at the way your hair was strewn, with almost as much volume as his own tussled locks

you'd think he'd be awkward, but really he was pretty casual and just pulled out a board game

although, both he and your cheeks were dusted with a fine rose blush throughout the entire evening

it could be interpreted as a bit strange that you didn't really say much to one another, but it was more of a comfortable silence

it stayed that way until you went to get hot chocolate and when you withdrew from your cup, a squirty cream moustache adorned your top lip

his thumb had gently brushed over the milk and that was when you began to laugh and feel totally comfortable together

you only found it natural to curl up together, like you always had in the common room

only now, you were on a much more comfortable bed with a quilt wrapped over you, his arms enveloping you in something so him

simply being with him made you feel safe and finally, after all the year's drama, you were alright

just floating in one moment together, trying to immerse yourself in it all

you laughed when he began to whisper in your ear, warm breath fanning over your jaw

"How much do you bet on Ron and Hermione by the end of the year?"

"Absolutely nothing. They're totally gonna realise their feelings in a terrible situation, like seventh year or something."

"Really?"

He chuckled, eyes filled with mirth reflected in the dimmed lights. His lips quirked upwards in the corners, Harry pressing them together to attempt to suppress the smile.

"Yup. They're gonna take a while."

"I guess, we could always be... role models? I mean, just look at us, I'm pretty sure we're one of the only couples with a stable relationship in school."

"Role models? Harry, love, we do our work at five AM literally every night! We couldn't be prefects if we tried!"

"Yeah, might be right there. Or, we could just never tell of our late night homework sessions. Keep it a secret, y'know?"

You bobbed your head and kept murmuring to one another through the night. It seemed you couldn't really stop yourself from falling asleep in the end, yawns becoming more frequent and the pressure of Harry's arms over your waist and back lessening as you drifted off together.

Together at five AM. Just how it would always be.

whenever you need comfort or he does, you go to each others dorms at Hogwarts, and sometimes, you don't even have to

it's like your telepathic, just sensing when the other is in distress

so, you tiptoe down to the common room to find Harry waiting, or vice versa, arms open to welcome you or him.

it becomes something you don't hide, blatantly flopping together at seven after scanning through your timetable and asking Hermione if there's any homework

"I don't care if you don't tell the truth. Say there isn't any. I'm too tired for this."

"There isn't." She affirmed, smiling softly, not even bothering to rant about how you need to be more organised, only watching as you practically fell on top of Harry, his arms encircling you immediately.

"We're getting old, Har. Already sleeping in at seven."

"Love, that would be a great point if we were about thirty. We're not."

You gasped, mock offended as your palm raised to lightly swat his chest.

"You're going to think I'm old at thirty? Ugh, Hermione, see how he treats me!"

Your hand raised to your forehead as you failed to hide your grin, trying to be dramatic.

"No, (Y/N/N), I was just saying grannies don't have anything on us."

"They might go to bed later."

And he shushed you in a very over the top way before laughing with you, almost falling off the couch.

"They make me so disgusted with their cuteness, 'Mione. Can't bear it."

And you added in a teasing jest after overhearing Ron, "I don't think she can either. Well, Ron, looks like you'll have to go somewhere else with 'Mione, huh?"

All she could think of was one thought, one that clouded her head as her heart and eyes warmed for the both of you.

'Godric, I wish I have something like this someday.'

maybe you were role models, and you weren't even aware

was it possible, that it was only natural for you to fit with one another as you did?

it absolutely was

entirely plausible

[legends-live-in-memories]

Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century

AYO! Day 2 of MGI Trope Tussle! Team Enemies-to-Lovers for the win. I bring you another oneshot. but this time i used 3 prompts like a dumbass.

Fics Masterlist

Daminette Oneshot 4.3K words (no warnings except slight cursing)

Summary:

“Marinette is invited to the Super-Rockin' Wedding of the Century and she needs a date. Alya is both her best and worst wingman.”

Day 2 of MGI Trope Tussle, I used 3 prompts to make this thing: 1. "You don't have to like me, you just need to pretend you do." 2. "I like your costume. You look very cute." "Are you making fun of me?" 3. 'Write about a very unusual wedding proposal.' this is the culmination of all my efforts.

without further ado:

It was the biggest news on the internet. Global sensation, international rockstar, Jagged Stone, was officially engaged to childhood friend turned manager, Penny Rolling. Memes and fan theories stormed every corner of the web. Trending topics including #rockstar_wedding and #RollingStone permeated every social media platform. Guest lists were speculated, dress designers were tagged in every post that even mentioned the words ‘wedding’ or ‘bride’. It was total mayhem but none felt it worse than up-and-coming Parisian designer, M. D. Cheng, privately known as Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

The young adult was up to her neck in design templates, and was drowning in half-baked ideas and sketches. While the internet has only heard about the proposal for a solid two weeks at this point, Marinette was in the know for six months. Jagged Stone had contacted her in advance because he needed her help with the proposal itself.

And what a proposal it was.  

Jagged had outlined his idea in simple terms but it was still so mind-boggling that Marinette needed him to draw some visual aids to completely convey his idea. Initially it sounded simple enough but the more the man spoke, the more Marinette felt her brain fry at the mental picture. It first involved recreating a scene from Penny’s favourite movie. Which sounded rather romantic, if you ignored the fact that her favourite movie was Bride of Chucky. Then it involved Jagged dressed as the Tinman from Wizard of Oz. Oh, and the proposal had to happen on Halloween because that was the anniversary of their first date apparently, and based on everything else this plan entailed it might as well have been. Marinette’s role in all of this was to simply re-make the white wedding dress Chucky’s bride, Tiffany, wore because Penny already had the leather jacket to match. Of course she did. She didn’t even want to know how Jagged acquired the Tinman suit. Not her barrel of monkeys.

While many thought Jagged was the eccentric one of the pair, due to his loud personality and being an actual rockstar, the more Marinette worked for the two of them over the years, the more she learned how absolutely wrong they all were. It turned out it was Penny’s idea for Jagged to dye his hair purple, and she was the one to ask him out on Halloween all those faithful years ago. Her calm and collected demeanor was an impressive cover for the absolute weirdo she actually was. And Jagged had planned a proposal that was undoubtedly perfect for her. Regardless of how abso-fucking-lutely bizarre it was.

To each their own and let’s move on.

The set-up for the proposal started with Jagged, dressed as the Tinman, playing the part of Chucky, who begins the body-switching chant from the movie. Everything from that point on was resting on Penny’s love for the movie. Without hesitating, Penny, dressed as Tiffany, and playing her part, knew the lines by heart and immediately began reenacting the scene with Jagged. Her lines involved telling ‘Chucky’ to kiss her while she reaches for a knife that’s supposed to be in his pocket. Instead, as Jagged was still dressed as the Tinman, Penny pulled out a slip of paper. On said paper, the words ‘All the Tinman wanted was a heart’ were written in Jagged’s almost illegible chicken scratch. When Penny was distracted with the piece of paper, Jagged had gotten down on one knee and pulled out the engagement ring. The actual words of his proposal were never actually said because, upon seeing the ring, Penny flung herself into the man, clipping her chin into his metal-plated shoulder, but she wasn’t complaining.  

So that was how the proposal went.

Wedding planning started almost immediately since the newly engaged had already picked a theme. And this is where Marinette began to regret every life choice she has made since she was thirteen; starting with opening the mysterious box she found on her desk and ending with agreeing to being the main designer for the Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. One thing that wasn’t well-known but not a secret about Jagged was that he was a superhero fan. He grew up enjoying the fictional ones in his childhood comic books and he adored the real ones he witnessed in his adult life. His song that he dedicated to the teenage Ladybug was only one part of his… appreciation. His hero-worship went so far as to beieve that a hero-themed wedding was appropriate. Or he didn’t, but also didn’t care about adhering to societal propriety and went with that theme anyways. So the Rockin’ Wedding of the Century was now the Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. And twenty-three year old Marinette was incharge of the entire wedding party’s outfits.

Perfect.

As a small mercy from some god, both the bride and groom to-be had a rather short list of people in their parties. Marinette was also able to design appropriate hero-themed outfits for all of them and scheduled them for fittings in the coming weeks. That, surprisingly, was the easy part as there were plenty of heroes to draw inspiration from. However, that wasn’t the cause of her current crisis right now.

No. Marinette was up to her neck in unnecessary designs and ideas because she’s been avoiding one particular contingency in her acceptance of the wedding invitation.

She needed a date.

She needed a date because she had promised Penny that she wasn’t overworking herself and to prove it, she would bring a date to the wedding. Rather than call any of the people who expressed interest in her at some point in time, she designated herself to wallow in her situation and distract herself with designs. In the midst of her one person pity party, her phone rang under the sea of ripped out pages. She scoured for the device and hastily answered before she could accidently send the caller to voicemail.

“Hello?” She didn’t check the caller ID and was delighted at the sound of her best friend answering her.

“Marinette! How’s it going over there?” Alya’s voice was mixed in with the busy street life of Metropolis. She had moved there immediately after high school, snatching an internship with the Daily Planet and attending the local community college. She and Marinette don’t call often due to time differences, but when they do it’s like they’ve never parted. She always looked forward to her calls.

“It’s going great, Als,” if she ignored her current dilemma, then yeah, everything was perfect. “But you wouldn’t happen to have an available bachelor willing to be my date to the ‘Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century’ in your back pocket, would you?”  

Alya’s answering laugh was both comforting and teasing and Marinette felt herself missing her even more. What she said next, however, took Marinette by surprise.

“Actually I do.”

“Pardon?”

“Well,” she took a pause to build suspense. “I know a guy who knows a guy. But it’s nothing shady, I swear.”

“That’s not comforting.” Oh god. What has she unintentionally signed herself up for?

“You know my coworker, Jon? The guy who does the photography for all my field work?” Alya had met Jon as soon as she had started her internship. Both of his parents were top journalists at the Daily Planet so he volunteered to act as tour guide for all the new interns. He and Alya, from the exasperated stories Marinette has heard from Nino, got along like a house on fire. If he was involved, Marinette was starting to doubt even further that this was going to end well for her.

“Yes, I know Jon. How is he by the way?”

“He’s fine, but I remember him telling me how he tried to set up his best friend on several dates over the years and how they all ended poorly. He’s as approachable as a brick wall; not just a prick but the whole damn cactus. Or so Jon says.” How does that sound like someone Marinette wanted to bring along with her to the wedding? “But he’s totally your type so I could ask Jon to wrap him up in bubblewrap and send him your way whenever you want.”

“How,” and Marinette said this with a lot of feeling, “is he my type exactly?”

“Green eyes with daddy issues.”

“ALYA!” Marinette was absolutely floored at her bluntness. She wasn’t even sorry about shouting into the receiver.

“Am I wrong? You have a type and he fits that type. Jon mentioned how this guy and his dad hit several roadblocks when they first met. And I’ve seen pictures of him so ‘green eyes’ checks too.”

“That is not my type of guy.” She can’t believe this was how this conversation was going.

“Adrien.”

“I didn’t even know who his father was at the time, Alya.”

“Felix.”

“His dad is dead! That doesn’t count as ‘daddy issues.’” She can feel her cheeks flaming as the call went on. Any hotter and she was going to set her sketchbooks on fire. “Besides, I dated Luka so he doesn’t fit the criteria.”

“He’s an outlier and that’s only because his eyes are blue.” Okay, fine she had a type. “And besides, you don’t even have to date the guy. You only need him to accompany you to the wedding and you both go your separate ways after. No harm, no foul.”

Right. That was true. No strings attached. She could do that.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but,” she held her breath and let it out loudly, ignoring Alya’s chuckle at her dramatics.” Give Jon my number to give this guy. And send his number to me.”

“Wahoo! Look at you, girl,” Alya was hooting and hollering over the speaker and Marinette found herself going along with the theatrics. “Okay, I will. But I gotta go, my cab is here. Bye!”

“Bye! Stay safe. Oh before you go, what’s Jon’s friend’s name anyways?”

“Uh, Damian, I think.” The call ended before Marinette could respond, but it was okay she mused. Tossing her phone onto her couch, she flopped down onto her floor and stared at her ceiling contemplatively.

What could go wrong?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Alya had described this Damian guy as ‘not just a prick but the whole damn cactus,’ she was right. Marinette had been texting back and forth with Damian for a month, and the guy was making this idea seem less and less worth it by the day. Whenever Marinette tried to learn more about the guy, he would ghost her for days on end before replying with a half-assed response at best. She knew nothing about him other than that his first name was Damian and that he was from Gotham. She had no idea how the ball of life that was Jon was even friends with someone like Damian. She asked as much to Alya in their most recent call.

“How did they even meet?” She was pacing the floor plan of her apartment, ready to tear her hair out. “Did Damian bully him in school or something?”

“Apparently their dads knew each other and introduced them,” Alya sounded half awake, stifling a yawn; probably because Marinette had called her at 1 am, Metropolis’s time. “Their brothers being friends also forced them to get along.”

“And that’s another thing!” Marinette had paused in her pacing and was now staring intently at a potted plant in the corner of her living room. Any more rage in her glare and the plant would have wilted and died. “He doesn’t tell me anything about him. I don’t need to know all his personal information, but if he’s going to be flying out to Paris on my behalf, I think I at least deserve to know his last name.”

“Hey, M,” another yawn echoed through the speaker, “I love you, truly, but maybe this could wait for holier day time hours?”

“I guess,” a vindictive part of Marinette felt like this was payback for all those inopportune calls when Marinette was busy with clients. “Sorry for interrupting your sleep.”

“It’s no big deal. But have you tried talking to him about it? If he’s ghosting your texts, try calling him. If he ignores you then too then maybe you should try finding another person to be your plus one.”

“The wedding is in two weeks, Alya!” Marinette partially regrets waiting so long to vent her frustration about the situation but she had tried to tough it out. “I would have much preferred if you were my plus one. You sure there’s no way to convince your parents to skip out on the family trip?”

“Sorry, M. Once the news about the proposal hit the internet, I tried everything. I even tried to use work, saying that I could cover the ceremony for the newspaper. My folks won’t budge though. My dad’s aunt is important to him and he wants us all at the funeral.”

“Right, right, I forgot about that.” Now she felt like an ass. “Send you dad my condolences when you see him again.”

“Will do. Good morning, Marinette. And don’t worry too much about the guy. Everything will turn up great. I can feel it.”

“Thanks, Alya. Good night, get some sleep.”

The line went dead and Marinette let out a rather weary exhale. She had no idea how this was going to work. She pulled up her contacts and searched for what she had Damian saved as.

‘Douche’ flashed on her screen and she hit the call button without remorse. She didn’t care that it was also currently 1 am in Gotham. He didn’t deserve that much consideration from her.

“What?” His voice was gravely and deep. And also really pissed if his clipped tone was anything to go by.

“Damian? Hi, this is Marinette, the girl you’re accompanying to the wedding in two weeks?” Her voice was pitched as if she was dealing with an irritating customer. Fake and polite.

“I know who you are. Why are you calling me at this unreasonable hour?” Fair, but Marinette was still aggravated at him so she wouldn’t concede.

“I’m calling because we need to talk.” She heard him scoff over the line and she felt her blood boil even hotter. She took several calming breaths to reign her temper in. “Don’t hang up.”

“Look,” She didn’t give him a chance to refuse and kept talking, getting everything off her chest. “This wedding is important to me and I promised the bride I would bring a date. After that you can delete my number and we never have to speak to each other ever. You don’t have to like me, you just need to pretend you do.”

“Whatever,” he sounded less annoyed from when he first answered the phone. “I will act as cordial as the situation requires, and nothing more. I also have my attire secured for the wedding and accommodations in Paris already prepared. I will see you at the wedding.”

“Than—” The sound of the call ending interrupted her and her frustration was back tenfold. With a cry in anguish she flung her phone onto her couch and stomped into her kitchen to channel her rage into baking.

Three loaves of bread and a dozen eclairs later, Marinette felt calm enough to finish the final touches on her outfit for the wedding.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the day of the Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. The Rolling-Stone’s, as they were asking to be called, had kept the ceremony small. Relatively. Only two hundred invited guests, few of which were asked to bring a plus one. Marinette was over the moon at the array of outfits people were sporting. Some chose full-on cosplay while others, like herself, went for more subtle nods to the heroes. In honour of a previous Ladybug, Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, Marinette based her outfit off of Wonder Woman’s uniform, Hippolyta’s daughter. A navy blue sequined halter top bodice that flows into a blood red A-line skirt. She paired it with a thick silver belt, silver gladiator heels rather than boots and broad silver arm cuffs. It was simple but effective. Besides, all attention should be on the bride and groom today.

A tap on her shoulder caught her attention and she turned only to come face first with red with black spots. Ladybug. Someone chose her as inspiration. How flattering. Looking up to see who was wearing the Ladybug-themed suit jacket, she stared at a pair of deep forest green eyes and a sneer to ruin that ridiculously handsome face. She recognized him from the photo Alya had sent some time ago. Damian.

“Hi, Damian,” at least one of them had to be civil and Marinette knew it was going to be her. But the idea that of all the heroes for him to choose from he chose her sent her into poorly stifled fits of giggling. Images of him going ‘Lucky Charm’ and ‘Miraculous Ladybug’ were almost too much to bear.

“I don’t know what’s so amusing about my choice of attire,” his face was starting to flush in similar shades to his jacket and that made Marinette laugh harder. “Ladybug is a well respected heroine and I thought it appropriate to pay homage while in her home city.”

“No. No no. There is nothing wrong with it. I like your costume, you look very cute.”

“Are you making fun of me?” His irritation was rather cathartic for the still giggling woman.

“No, I just didn’t think you would have put that much thought into your outfit for today. You always gave me the impression that you were ready to back out at any time.”

“I made a commitment and I had all intentions to see it through the end.”

“Could have fooled me.” And her snark was back. Now was not the time to pick a fight with the guy, he did fly all the way to Paris on her behalf after all.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” and Marinette wanted to know how he managed to sound so condescending with that statement. “How did you even get an invitation to this wedding anyways? You’re not a celebrity and you don’t look like family either.”

“Actually,” she said it with more force than what was probably necessary but his slightly accusatory tone was just so irritating. “I am the lead designer for the wedding party,” her chest was swimming with confidence at the chance to talk about her job. “I’ve worked with the bride and groom for years; M. D. Cheng, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette will deny to her grave the rush of satisfaction at the absolute gobsmacked look on Damian’s face. A real fish out of water. Mouth open wide ready to catch flies. She wished she could capture this moment forever.

The moment was over too soon because Damian was regaining his composure and slipping into his default stoic expression. He cleared his throat and fixed a look at Marinette. It was rather intense.

“I believe I owe you an apology then.” He looked put-out at admitting something so menial. “I believed you were nothing more than a socialite chain climber.”

“A what?”

“When Jon reached out to me saying that a friend of one of his coworkers needed a date for an event, and when that event turned out to be the wedding of someone of such popularity, I figured you were only trying to increase your own social status by showing up with me on your arm.”

“And you said ‘yes’ anyways?” Marinette was confused but pieces of the mystery that is Damian were starting to fit in place. But something else stuck out as odd to her. “Also, how would you being my date increase my social status anyhow?”

He scoffs before answering. Bitch.

“What? It wouldn’t be the first time one of Jon’s set-ups ended that way. Besides, we’ve had an agreement that I can’t turn down an offer until meeting the person face to face.” Weird deal but some friendships are just like, Marinette supposes. “And being seen with me is enough to make anyone more popular.”

“...And you are?”

“Damian… Wayne…” He spoke as if he was talking to a small child. As if it should be obvious who he was like he was some celeb— Oh shit.

A name had flashed into her mind. On the finalised guest list, Marinette had only seen it once in passing, there was a name that belonged to someone Jagged was rather excited to see. He said the friend was an old college buddy. She remembered that much. She had completely forgotten that ‘a billionaire playboy’ was also attached to the name. Damian was the son of Bruce Wayne. Suddenly everything in the past few months made perfect sense. The cold shoulder, the ghosting, and his prickly disposition. He was overly guarded because he had justified reasons to be. Now she felt like an ass.

“Oh.” Real intelligent, Marinette.

“Oh? What, you didn’t know?” He sounded incredulous at the notion and he had every right to be. Marinette could only shake her head. Words were failing her now, her brain trying to rewrite the memories of every interaction the two ever had.

She was saved from further mortification by a call for everyone to find their seats. The wedding was about to begin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ceremony was beautiful. Penny’s dress was a silver grey, tied back with a golden belt. Instead of a long train, Marinette had attached a black cape that shimmered in the right lighting. Penny wore a tiara with two peaks to imitate the ‘bat-ears.’ A Batman-themed wedding dress was not something she ever saw herself making, but she was proud at how beautiful and confident Penny looked in it. Jagged was adorn in a royal blue suit with bold red lapels. He also had a matching red cape. His hair was styled in the familiar sleek way Superman wears it. The two made quite the pair.  

The reception was a lively affair. Jagged had dedicated several songs to his new wife and they dazzled the crowd on the dance floor. Marinette didn’t pay much attention to the speeches beyond a quick glance at Damian when his own father stepped up to the podium. He had buried his head in his hands, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. A courtesy pat on the back was all Marinette gave to him.

The two hadn’t really spoken much since the revelation that they had completely misjudged each other. The awkward tension was almost palpable. As Marinette was gathering the courage to speak to him, to try and officially clear the air, she was being dragged by one of the bridesmaids onto the dancefloor. It was time for the bride to throw the bouquet. All the unmarried women were being corralled into a tight cluster and Marinette got swept up in the tide.

Marinette wasn’t focusing on the actual game, trying her hardest not to get trampled, when she saw something move in her periphery. Years of being Ladybug had left her with finely honed instincts so she could not be blamed when she immediately jumped and caught the incoming object. The bouquet. She had caught the bouquet. Oh that was just her luck. Deafening squeals of delight brought her out of her own head and she was suddenly being embraced in Penny’s arms. She returned the hug, sharing in her delight, before breaking away to sit down.

“Nice catch.” His voice had surprised her, she hadn’t expected him to speak to her for the rest of the night.

“Uh, thank you. Just lucky, I guess.” Damian didn’t get the chance to respond because he was being dragged by his own father to join all the bachelors in catching the garter. Marinette was equally uninterested in this spectacle and had let her mind wander to other things.

A loud uproar caught her attention again and her eyes zeroed in on Damian holding the tossed garter. He made his way back over to her, dropping himself into his seat gracelessly. The two sat in silence, contemplating the implications of them both catching the garter and bouquet. The games were done purely for tradition’s sake, with total disregard of what it was supposed to symbolise. Still. One’s mind couldn’t help but wander. Minutes ticked passed and Marinette was beginning to wonder if someone was going to talk about the elephant in the room.

“So,” Damian’s voice was slightly strained, like he wasn’t used to being this flustered. It was kind of endearing. Wait what?

“So.”

“While marriage seems far out of reach for right now,” Oh god. He was going to talk about it. “How does dinner sound, next Friday?”

“Wait,” he wanted to spend more time with her? After their disastrous first impressions? “Really?”

“Really. I believe we started off on the wrong foot,” he let out a soft chuckle, almost self-deprecating. “Which isn’t really new for me, but it’s not everyday I meet someone who doesn’t recognise me at first glance. I think you’re someone who I would like to get to know better. If that is something you are also interested in.”

“Yeah,” Marinette knows all about wanting to get acquainted with someone who she’s had a bad first impression of. Just look at her past relationships. Wow, she really does have a type. Damning thoughts for later. “Friday works for me. Seven pm?”

“Perfect. I’ll text you the details then.”

“Wonderful, I can’t wait.”

The rest of the evening was spent in companionable silence with small bouts of conversation in between. They shared a couple dances on the floor and parted ways at the end of the night with budding anticipation for Friday.

As Marinette was preparing for bed that night in the comfort of her apartment, she sent a text to Alya that her friend would see later in the day.

You were right, I do have a type :(

[intangiblyyourswrites]

3!!!!!!!

Yes, I'm still writing! Though disclaimer: I feel super rusty like I don't remember how to write. It's been too long.

3. A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.

Set during BotW 2 based on the scraps we've received thus far, with the take that the Link we see in the trailers is actually not our Link at all. 😉

—Vulnerable—

Zelda startles at the eyes watching her.

It takes her a moment to adjust to the darkness. The moon had begun descending from the sky but the stars were still bright out. The chilled air bites at her cheek but her back is warm. Behind her, the fire sparks and crackles loudly despite what should have been dying light.

Jolting up to peer through the flames, she meets the piercing blue gaze of Link. Except he isn’t her Link—not with the way his hair unruly tussles and his arm glows an eerie green. The garb he sports mirrors that within a tapestry once adorned in the castle, and the look he gives her is weathered and old.

“What are you—”

The words choke in her throat uncharacteristically; the hairs on her arm betraying her nerves. He claims to be the Hero from 10,000 years ago, here to help seal Calamity Ganon once and for all, and yet—

“The more he tries to suppress me during the day, the more exhausted he is at night. It makes him truly vulnerable.”

Toneless and blunt. Seemingly disinterested if she hadn’t known better. If Link hadn’t warned her.

He wants something from you.

Her eyes narrow, fingers curling around her bedroll. “You could just leave him alone. That would solve the problem.”

“It would not. I would not be here if I was not needed.”

Zelda grunts in agreement. She can’t deny that he’s been a huge help—from decrypting the ancient Zonai scriptures below the castle to utilizing his right arm against monsters that roam the plains. His actions have been good, friendly even, and yet—

She clutches instinctively at the Master Sword, entrusted in her hand since its original owner cannot wield it. Because while the Sword that Seals the Darkness has always been held by Hylia’s Chosen, it burns this Hero of the Past.

He sighs in a way that’s not so much exasperated as it is tired. “You can lower your guard, Princess. If he truly did not trust me, he would not allow me within your vicinity. He does not fear that I will harm you.”

He’s not wrong. “Then…?”

“You remind me of her.” A scoff. “Well, of course you do.”

“Your princess,” she says without a doubt. A glint flickers in his eyes. “What does she have to do with all this?”

He stands slowly like he’s not trying to scare her, but the tension in his stance reminds her of a predator approaching prey. Just like that, he turns from weary spirit to marksman, as if he’s been waiting for her to utter those very words. His eyes, sharp like a cat’s, zeroes in on her as his silent step draws him nearer. Maybe she should run, but the shiver down her spine tells her he would enjoy the chase.

He crouches low, kneeling in front of her as his left hand grazes her cheek. The warmth she’s accustomed to is nearly nonexistent in his touch.

“Are you curious? Of what transpired 10,000 years ago?”

Her ears involuntarily twitch and she grinds her teeth together to temper any further reaction. She wonders if he has access to Link’s memories of her, of the knowledge of her traits and therefore her inquisitive nature, with his attempt to lure her interest just so. Or perhaps she and her predecessor had more in common than she dared to believe.

Zelda swallows, grip tightening on the hilt. She swears it pulses within her palm. “We know what happened. It’s recorded in the texts—”

He tsks, interrupting her in a way her knight never would have. “The stories are always told from an outsider’s perspective. Always stop after Ganon is defeated.” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Do you want to see it through our eyes?”

He says this gently, tone low and soothing, a stark contrast to how intently he stares at her. He harnesses her gaze as if he’s trying to peer into her soul, reaching deep to find remnants of something familiar. She doesn’t know what he sees, only that it causes his eyes to shine brighter and her own lids to grow heavier.

Her body sways forward and he catches her effortlessly, craning her neck up so as to not lose sight of her gaze. The gesture is intimate, the embrace natural like he’s held her like this before, but the books never spoke of such a relationship between the last Hero and Princess.

“I can show you what never gets recorded. What we hid for the sake of duty. What so many of us had to ignore in order to succeed, and how we are fallible regardless.”

His offer suddenly sounds much more enticing. The prospect of knowing a truth no one else knew. Of witnessing the success her kingdom failed to replicate a hundred years ago. Of deciphering why such tragedy had to befall them in the first place.

She knows better than to become a still target, and yet—

“How?”

He smiles, leaning in closer when she doesn’t fight him, a semblance of triumph etched on his lips. His breath fans across her face like a whisper, a promise carried into the wind. It’s then she hears it—a voice not unlike her own.

Gaze too long at the ocean and you’ll drown.

And in his—

Then let me drown in you.

“Kiss me, dearest Zelda, and I will show you.”

She really shouldn’t.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Blighted

For my precious Sunshine, @5-secondsofcolor's birthday!! Which is technically now, because it is 1 AM on the 20th of May and I am a mad woman. Love you and I hope you have an amazing day, when you see this of course.

Here is your fic, FBI/Behavior Analyst!Calum. Female OC.

Ivy says she's cursed after taking the same career path that took her father's life. Calum's new on the team, a liaison and media specialist, but he's looking to get his toes wet.

AKA your regular old jaded pessimist veteran and bright eyed rookie buddy cop story. Please enjoy!

CW: In depth descriptions of death/crime scenes. Depictions of violence, gore, and blood.

Enjoy my masterlist (on a haitus)

Search for more writing in the h writes tag

________________________

The whiteboard never leaves. It glows behind her closed eyelids. When staring down at the neck of a bottle, she sees it floating just as the bottom of her drink. She’s cursed. But she knew that the moment she tried out for the academy. The second the thought floated across her mind, she would be doomed just like her father. Ivy tried her best to reroute herself--she got into the arts, was first chair flute in her highschool’s orchestra. She was president of the Homecoming committees her junior and senior year, and worked during the summers at her church's camp.

And yet when she went into school for her degree, she gravitated towards psychology and criminal justice. She saw her mother’s fear. The closer it came to graduation and the more the two of them talked about what she would do after graduating, the more the thought lingered, I want to get into the Bureau like Dad. But she couldn’t utter that. She couldn’t say those words without tears welling up in her mother’s eyes.

Ivy suspected her mother always knew about the desires. Ivy didn’t remember all the nights clearly, but sometimes she’d peek out her bedroom door and see the glow of the light downstairs. Ivy followed it, side stepping the creaky fourth step from the top and from between the banister’s she’d find her dad sitting at the dining room table. The kitchen light glowed from behind him and his tie would barely hang on around his neck.

“Boo,” he’d say quietly, knowing the slight shuffle of Ivy’s feet.

“How’d you know I was there, Daddy?” she’d ask, carrying herself the rest of the way down the stairs and make her way through the living room to climb into his lap.

“I can hear your feet above me,” he’d respond, pointing above them.

And they’d spend an hour, sitting at the dining room table. Ivy asked about her dad’s latest trip. He only ever told her when she was young that they were helping save people, putting bad people away. Ivy wonders if this is where it started. If this was where her father casted the spell, leaving Ivy somehow starry eyed about what it really was he did. Ivy would always look at this job with a little bit of that hope that her younger self had, and she’d always be fucked to never be able to walk away from this line of work.

It would kill her--much like it had killed her dad. But unlike him, she’d see the bullet spiral out of the barrel. Her dad had her and her mother to get back too. It wasn’t a weakness. Ivy admired her father for sticking with his dreams and also making the hard calls to make sure his family knew he cared too. But the need to decide would always be a slight hindrance, would always be the key to living or dying in this line of work.

All that’s left of her father, besides the memories and a few of his old t-shirts that got remade into pillows, is the whiteboard she keeps at her desk. There’s a whiteboard for the entire team to use of course. But this whiteboard is the one that her father used in his office. The one where he made his notes, scribbles. The one she’d write notes to him in the bottom left corner that never disappeared until she wanted to replace the note with something new.

“Thomas, look alive, and enjoy.” The manilla folder hits her desk with a quiet thwack. Ivy blinks from the whiteboard up to her senior officer. Kennedy carries on, dropping folders on every desk and each one of them stands without needing any further prompting.

Kennedy’s been in the field for years. It was all over his face with the deep frown lines. His brow seemed permanently furrowed, as if he questioned every waking second. Ivy liked to tease he worried even about sleep. But no one could sink a decade and a half into this line of work and not come out on the other side with a healthy amount of suspicion.

“And where’s this new guy?” Kennedy asks, glancing over the office.

Ivy looks up from her copy of the file. She heard rumors of someone else coming by the office, assisting them occasionally on cases. But those rumors floated around weeks ago, long enough that she chalked it up to just that--rumors. It doesn’t shock her though. Things start at rumors often, and sometimes they come to fruition and sometimes they don’t. Ivy follows Kennedy’s eyeline and doesn’t spy any new faces.

“Want me to keep an eye out for any lost souls?” Ivy offers, glancing back up to Kennedy.

“Nah, I need your eyes on this one. Head up to the conference room and I’ll be there once he shows up.”

With a nod, Ivy closes the file. She swipes the whiteboard from her desk with a couple markers and heads up to the conference room. The rest of the team sat flipping through their files too, Jenkins sitting right near the front but moved down one seat. They’re not new, having been around for a couple years. But Ivy can tell their type--getting in chummy with the boss, trying too hard. They’re a good addition, but Ivy’s waiting for the day they take a hunch and it doesn’t lead to the results they want. A loss will show their true colors, how well they can handle being wrong sometimes. No one on the team is perfect, they’re all hedging bets. Ivy’s taken her lumps of hunches being made too late, or the wrong bets placed. They’re not often. No one likes them. But they happen.

Diaz, Russell, and Burke and scattered throughout the rest of the table. The three of them have been there longer than Ivy. But they all accepted her with open arms. Diaz and Burke were more muscular. They had the brains to match, but they came up the pipeline from their local PD departments and aren’t afraid to get into a tussle. More often than not, Ivy winds up pulling Burke from fights than she’d care to admit. Diaz’s much too big for Ivy to attempt physically restraining, so she referee’s those fights that he gets into.

Russell’s their man behind the screen. He was good at getting through the internet loops, figuring out how to sort databases for the information they need without so much red tape and delay. He preferred to stay behind the lines, but could handle a tussle. Ivy doesn’t count herself as the brains. But her gut had some sort of true north needle that, more often than not, was right. She could see patterns faster than most, could sniff the air after someone and assess how much she could and wanted to trust. Kennedy consulted her often. Whenever she felt like she had something, he’d hush the crowd for her to formulate the full thought. Kennedy didn’t always agree with her assessment, but had to listen to it. He needed to listen to it.

“Nope,” Russell huffs, shutting the folder. “Fucking hell. Kennedy told me it was rough, but I didn’t--I didn’t think it was this rough.”

Ivy settles in next to him sliding him a marker. She draws roughly a tic-tac-toe board. “It not getting easier for you is a good sign.”

Russell makes his first move, the marker squeaking just a little. Ivy follows up with hers. She knows if she makes it too obvious, too easy, Russell will forfeit the game. So she tries to play along, like she’s vying to win.

Russell places his second X though his hands shake just a hair. “Yeah, but compared to you guys, I feel like if someone took a gnarly enough shit it would make me queasy.”

“A bad enough shit could do that to anyone,” Diaz pipes in, his own folder still open but his forearms pressed down over the photographs. Russell’s been around the block, definitely seem some rough things, but has always had a softer view of the world. Still wants it to be good despite all the bad he’s seen.

Ivy places down her second O, noticing the pretty obvious wide open spot she left Russell but looks up to Diaz. “I think I heard through the grapevine you were on the losing end of one of those shits yesterday,” she teases.

Diaz reclines into his seat, his chest bouncing with his laughter. “All because of your cooking Thomas.”

“My cooking is not that bad,” she defends, the cap of her black marker pointing him out.

Burke snickers too with a shake of her head and opens her mouth to speak but the room fills with the voice of Kennedy. “Aren’t y’all old enough to be left alone not to talk about shit for five minutes?”

“Never too old to talk shit, sir,” Diaz returns, his smile lifting only half his face up. He’s a charmer, whenever they go out to bars out manage to get a moment’s peace not hounded by work, he never seems to be at a lack of folks coming up to him. He’s already got a girl, but with the hair that cascades always neatly placed and the dazzling bright grin, anyone could fall for it.

Kennedy huffs his laughter quickly and then shuffles deeper into the room. “We’ve got a new friend, so let’s play nice.” As Kennedy makes head way, Ivy notices the man behind him. He’s tall. The black dress pants and black dress shirt don’t hide everything beneath them, but Ivy’s not too shocked to see people who work in the field like that with some sort of muscular physique. There’s something about his face though--something about the way his brown eyes dart around the room and his smile never shows any teeth that something familiar tugs at her.

Kennedy goes around the table introducing Ivy first, then going to Russell, coming down to Jenkins, Diaz, and then Burke. Each one of them lifts a hand or nods at their name. “This here is Hood, Calum Hood. Joining us as a new liaison.”

Ivy’s no good with faces sometimes. But names she hardly ever forgets. Hood, she met him once a few years back at a lecture. Not that she did them often, but Kennedy got more face time. But he made sure to spread the love between the team. He asked her to tag along. Calum must’ve been in the crowd, had to be, and had to have asked a question because Kennedy told her to remember that name. And she had.

Kennedy continues on with something. Ivy suspects he’s warning Diaz to keep any hazy tactics to a minimum considering how much of a mess they’re walking into. Ivy nods once more at him, and then faces back to the whiteboard, the tap on her arm prompting her too. I’m a scaredy cat sure, but not dumb, it reads in Russell’s handwriting. She spies his X in the bottom corner, opposite of where he would’ve won.

“Pull up a seat, Hood. We’ll have more time for pleasantries once we’re up in the air. But I want everyone to at least be familiar with this case.”

“Yes, sir.” His voice is smooth, Ivy notes. A soft volume and accented but smoother than she would’ve pegged.

The team breaks down the file, recapping mostly what they’ve already read but Kennedy’s old fashioned this way, needing to make sure people have done their homework. It’s an extra step than completely necessary, but having the quick meetings has always made this team feel more like a second family. There’s always a common goal in mind for them and they’re always reminded of it. No matter what happens out in the field, they all want the same thing.

“We soar in forty-five minutes. So let’s hope wheels can turn in the air. Hood, I need you to keep in mind the local PD’s been taking a lot of heat for the last couple of months. So we don’t want to take too much star power, we’re only here to assist and whatever we can do to put the local’s good grace back onto that PD we need to.”

Not quite what she expected, though with his demeanor and looks, he’s sure to work a crowd or newsroom well. She’s sure he’ll be on the ground with them too.

“Understood,” he replies and with that, all of them push away from the table. “Agent Thomas,” Hood says, reaching out almost as if to touch her elbow but never actually do it. He continues to speak once she looks over to him. “I-I don’t know if you remember. But we met at a lecture a couple years back that you held with Agent Kennedy. And I just wanted to say that I’m excited to be here, working with you all.”

“Thomas, here, does not respond well to flattery. Trust, we’ve all tried,” Diaz laughs, clamping down on Hood’s shoulders.

“I appreciate it,” Ivy responds. “Glad to have a fresh mind on the team.” There’s no smile, at least, not one she’d give Russell, Burke, Diaz, or even Jenkins. But Calum watches her give another curt nod with a quick quirk of her lips, and then leave, stacking her file on top of the whiteboard.

“Don’t sweat it. She’s in work mode,” Diaz assures. “We get off the clock and she’s a hoot. But on the clock, it’s strictly business. I will warn you, Thomas will burn you.”

Calum’s left, watching Diaz, Burke, and Russell leave. Jenkins turned tail the second Kennedy got done. It’s not that he wants to mix business with pleasure. He’s just been studying Thomas, attending as many lectures that she gives as he can. She didn’t always go directly by the book, there was something about her method that used the evidence, used science, but also had some sort of intuition. Thomas just knew things and when attempting to quantify it, she didn’t always have the words for it. Calum just wants to see that in action, understand what it is about knowing that isn’t always present in the facts.

The plane ride is comfortable. Plenty of seats even though they squeak just a little. Calum watches Thomas sit and everyone seems to sit spread out from there, keeping her at some sort of center. “Mobile. They don’t mind the hustle,” Ivy starts.

“Crossing state lines is risky, especially after the escalation,” Burke interjects.

“But wouldn’t that be a reason for it? If all the crimes look different, enough crossing state lines might make the unsub feel confident, like they’re getting away with something.” The entire plane turns to look at him. Calum freezes for a moment. He knows better. He knows so much better than that. Fuck.

“Valid. But we shouldn’t settle. Travel might be part of their job. We’ve got a good cluster to possibly estimate a home base. Get comfortable, perfect the craft here and then spread out. But why come back? Local PD's hadn't quite connected anything, until the return. More families, found exactly the same. Even when they cross state lines, all points wind back to a specific geographical location,” Burke returns.

“Hood, you got the inside of the media. What does it look like?”

Thirty minutes of his forty five was making sure that he could at least nail down this run through. And it’s easy, even with the squeak of Ivy’s dry erase marker, to run down the media reports, what information has been released and what hasn’t been released. He makes note of what the team doesn’t want to get out and what they do want to keep available to the public.

All the while, Calum watches the way Ivy writes over her board, the squeak over and over on specific strokes. He wonders for a moment what she’s writing, what it is that she needs to keep written track of. But he doesn’t get a chance to fully flesh out that thought before he finishes his spill and Diaz cuts in. They’re fast, not quite settling on any one theory. More like compiling the possibilities, not wanting to eliminate things but ranking how plausible they all could be until the pieces click.

The first thing after the flight lands, they head for the precinct. The lead investigator greets them, and there’s no pause. They’re pulled into the frenzy, looking at boards. Calum tries to keep his head in the game, but he is watching Ivy. The way she settles in her chair, her marker always moving. He’s not even sure it’s words anymore, just a constant circular movement. Sure he’s here to help regulate media outlets, and he can do that in his sleep if local PD and media follow his instructions to a T.

But he needs an in, to show he’s more than just the new meat on the chopping block. He’s worth something. “Is the last crime scene still available?” Calum asks.

The room turns to him, well most of the room does. Ivy keeps circling, but she speaks. “The plan’s to go in ten minutes. Whatever’s got you preoccupied, leave it in your go bag.”

Kennedy chuckles, tapping at her foot. “Give the kid a break. He was buried in news coverage the second we got into the door. But Hood, shake the cobwebs. This isn’t your small town’s rodeo anymore. If you need to be caught up, ask. But if you’re going to be in the room, keep those ears open.”

A task easier said than done, but he nods, resting his elbows on his knees. God, they’re going to think I’m an idiot. The room goes back to its normal buzz, but Calum keeps his head buried in his hands.

“Talk to me. What are your theories?”

Calum lifts his head. Ivy’s closer now. He can see the black marks on her hand from where she’s held it up against the swirls and lettering. “Clearly I’m barely treading water here.”

“First day nerves, but you can shake it. You wanted to see the crime scene. Why?”

“Why there? We have indications that the unsub spent a lot of time there, even with the interruptions they've seemed to caused. They're still meticulous. I want to follow their steps. What did they do first? And why? What do they need from a crime scene before it’s done?”

“Good. But what else?”

“What-what do you mean what else?”

She smiles, much different than the first one. It shows her teeth, a bit of a twinkle in her eyes. “What else?”

He goes quiet, reclines back into the seat and closes his eyes for a second. What else? There’s a lot else. “I mean, the next obvious thing is why these victims? But besides that, how comfortable is this person? Do they feel a need to be rushed, fast, get-in-get-out or can they blend in? I have a hunch they can blend in. Maybe people even trust them. They are perfectly ordinary and in essence, they have to be in order for the fantasy to work. Detection means they have to get sloppy. Being sloppy’s not an option, so blending in it is.”

“Bring that to the crime scene.” Something taps his knee and Calum cracks open his eyes to see her, standing. Her whiteboard still gently rests against his knee. She’s not looking at him though. Her gaze is locked onto the board next to him, displaying the crime scene photos.

“What’s your secret?” Calum asks. He’s almost positive she didn’t hear him due to Ivy’s lack of prompt response. But then she turns to him.

“Secret?”

“Thomas, Hood, you comin’ or what?” Kennedy calls. “I can deal without Diaz, but I need you, Thomas.”

“I’ll remember that,” Diaz laughs as they walk through the glass doors of the precinct.

It’s not Calum’s first time at a crime scene. But the second Calum steps through the door a chill runs through him. The carpet and walls are still bloodstained. Everything about it the scene just feels wrong, makes Calum want to immediately step back out of the house.

“You feel that?” Burke asks. She continues on deeper into the house, slipping into her gloves.

“This is when Thomas says she’s too Black for all this and gets the hell out of dodge,” Diaz barks. He squats down to the blood on the carpet. Ivy’s already deep into the house, seemingly guided by a force unwillingly to let her go. She doesn’t respond verbally, just lifts her hand, the middle finger extended out in the general direction of Diaz.

And Calum is standing near the threshold of the door, trying to pinpoint why it feels so cold in a house in Texas in the middle of the summer. His hands feel sticky even inside the latex gloves. His first step is shaky but he stops next to Diaz. “There are drag marks from the blood,” Calum notes. “This isn’t where they were killed, just staged.”

“The unsub staged all the victims here in the living room. We know that. Pictures show the parents at the ends of the sofa, children in the middle, dog on the floor.”

“But there’s blood on the walls. We know the Dad’s 6’1,” Calum returns.

“And we don’t have forced entry. So, whoever is wreaking havoc isn’t threatening enough for someone not to answer the door.”

Calum turns to the sofa where the family was found. “It’s picturesque, poetic even. You’ve got a whole family right here, at your will. They knock on the door. It’s dusk, sun’s just starting to set.”

“They have a ruse that gets them inside. We already know they have to blend in with the community. So what can you use to get into a house? Who gets into a house without a problem?”

Diaz goes into the kitchen where in the case file it mentions when the family was finally discovered food was still out on the table. “The window doesn’t have to last long. But it has to be just right. All three families were either eating dinner, or just done with dinner. So why dinner time?” Diaz turns from the stove to face Calum.

“It’s when everyone is together. They’re not just going after a family, but very specific family dynamics. Which means both parents need to present, two kids seems to be a minimum.”

“What’s the average dinner time you’d say? With this job, I eat whenever I fucking can. But before this, excluding people like us, when is the average person sitting down to eat?”

“6, 6:30 I’d guess. That’s assuming the average person is working a job that calls it at 5PM. A town like this is either on the verge of collapsing or being bought out. So I assume a lot of people are traveling outside to the city for work, so the commute might be even later. But I wouldn’t hazard any guesses that our unsub’s just haphazardly picking houses.”

“No, no, you’re right, Hood,” Diaz states, walking over to the table. “I guess what I’m saying is the timing. No one hears anything. But our unsub’s using a gun. That’s not quiet. And there’s not a lot of city noise this far out. They’re spending hours in the house and somehow getting out undetected. But striking at dinner time, with the setting sun, means this person’s around outside the house. But no one’s noticed anything out of the ordinary.”

“Hunting seasons,” Calum returns. “No one really flinches at the sound of a gun shot because people are hunting year ‘round here.”

“And it seems like humans are on the menu.”

“An appetizing thought.”

******

Ivy’s not sure when the chill finally left over the course of the day but it returns when she walks into the precinct and sees the entire room in a frenzy. Kennedy spies her and it’s just a look. Not much different than his resting face, but somehow she knows with that slight arch in his eyebrow. Another family--while they were proding over photos the killer was already moving on, already in the midst of their attack.

And it shouldn’t shock her. Well, to be more accurate, it doesn’t shock her and maybe that’s the thing that scares her. “I’ve been doing this too damned long,” she mutters to herself. “Hood, you’re with me. Get the address and let’s see what that gut of yours cooks up.”

“How’d--Is Kennedy going to be okay with that? The call just came in a few minutes ago.”

“Get the address and tell me how you like your coffee,” Ivy says. Kennedy’s going to come to the scene anyway, but she doesn’t tell Calum that.

There’s not another word before Calum passes in front of her. “Cream and two sugars,” he answers as he goes.

“So Black, got it.”

Paused at the desk of a detective, he looks over his shoulder. “Cream and two sugars,” he re-emphasizes with a tiny smile and holding up two fingers. Police station coffee’s never the best, but it’s better than nothing. When on a case, time is also imperative and they take what they can. Ivy fixes Calum’s cup first, slipping a lid on and keeping the stirrer through the hole. She pours her cup with no additions.

“Not even creamer? Not one?” Calum questions.

“Takes too much time,” she returns. “Burke, you staying?”

“Yeah, Russell got those files over just before the call came in. Besides that crime scene’s bound to be crowded as all hell and I swear if I walk into another house and catch a chill after seven years of doing this job, I just might quit.”

The two ladies laugh. Ivy recovering first to respond, “I need you to keep me sane even though you’re just as much trouble as Diaz.”

“Which is why I’m going to say here, work with Russell. We’re going to need Hood back before the 5’oclock news. Whatever you find at the scene will help solidify our profile and we need it soon. We need the hands on this clock, because it’s ticking ahead of us.”

Ivy nods. It’s no fun being behind. “Kennedy, we’re moving or we’re dying.”

“I trust you. There’s something off about that last one that I want to walk through again.”

“Let’s rock and roll,” she says to Calum, handing him his cup of coffee. “Mr. Cream-and-Two-Sugars.”

The drive is relatively short, all thanks to Ivy’s lead foot. But they need to get there fast, while things are still fresh.

“Did you always want to do this?” Calum asks in the silence of their drive. The radio doesn’t even play. Ivy knew he had questions. He wore them on his face, brows furrowing anytime he was the slightest bit hesitant about something.

“I don’t think I had a choice.”

“What do you mean you didn’t have a choice? We’ve all got choices.”

“My dad worked with the FBI until it killed him. And I think about how he used to tell me it was his job to help put bad people in jail. And I believed him.”

“The bug bit you before you even had a fighting chance.”

Ivy nods, taking a quick glance to Calum. “But if I had a prettier face, I’d stick with liaison too.”

Calum huffs out his laughter. “I went the journalism route first, sue me. Besides, that’s you admitting you think I have a pretty face.”

“I forget faces—so don’t think too highly of it. And I’m probably old enough to be your mother. You attended some lectures, I remembered your name. How’d you convert?”

It’s silent for a moment and Calum contemplates her statement, old enough to be his mother. “Given that my mother has shared her fountain of youth with my sister and I, you might be shocked to know I’m nearing 30. And I converted because of you and your work under Kennedy and his old superior Rogers.”

“All the greats,” Ivy teases, but she doesn't sound impressed. More like tired, used to it.

“But you’re different.”

“Yeah, because somehow the Bureau hasn’t realized their mistake.”

“Mistake?” Calum asks around his sip of coffee.

“Kennedy’s going to retire soon. He's done 15 with our unit. Another ten prior to that climbing through the ranks. Then they’re going to have to find a replacement.”

“You say that like it won’t be you.”

“Because it won’t.”

“You’ve been with Kennedy for so long. He’s obviously going to recommend you, Ivy.”

“He can recommend but people higher up get the final word.”

The truck stops just in front of the house, and Calum knows the most logical thing to do is just focus on the case, walk the scene. Do his job. But he reaches across the console and wraps his fingers around hers for a second with a squeeze. “You’ll get it. They’d be dumb not to bring you to the head of this team.”

“There’s an altar or a shrine. It’s small.”

Calum pauses with his hand on the door. Ivy continues beside him. “Go to the eldest child’s bedroom. In a corner you’ll see the small shrine. Our unsub left one at the last house. And the house before, I’d bet. And this house too. That’s what Kennedy missed. What other cops missed too. Make sure you get it photographed. Besides, I’ve been doing this job too long and don’t know if I’d even want the added responsibility if they promoted me.”

“How’d we miss that?”

“We didn’t miss shit. We saw it when we needed to see it. We see things when we need them.” It's the way she says it, like she has to believe that makes Calum believe too.

The sight rocks Calum--he knew it wouldn’t be easy. But he didn’t know it’d hit him like this. The room spins, just a little. And his heart racing. Mostly because he can’t stand the thought that this could be someone he knows. These people weren’t anticipating their would be like this. And what does that even mean for him? What does his end look like?

“Hey, whoa. Whoa.” An arm comes around his waist and he follows the lead of whomever’s grabbed him.

“I’m okay,” he breathes out. “I’m okay.”

“Yeah, I’m a fudge brownie. It’s okay to not be alright in there.”

Calum rests against the side of the house and squats down just a little. His elbows hit his knees. His breath is heavy, falls from his open mouth almost like he’s going to vomit. But his stomach’s not churning anymore. Not with the fresh morning air hitting his lungs. “Fuck,” he breathes out again, eyes blurring just a little.

“But you’re okay. Take a breather.” Ivy’s shoes turn up in the dirt. "Get him a water, will ya? Hood, take a minute. It's alright. I'll be inside when you're ready." Calum just watches her go. It takes a moment for him to lift his head. It has to get easier. Or least he hopes it does. It takes him a minute, inhaling deeply before he stands up straight.

The rest of them processing the scene goes by in relative silence. Occasionally, Calum pipes in with an addition to their theory. Ivy hums in agreement. And it’s not until they step out and slip out of their gloves that Ivy says anything. “This is why I drink my coffee black.”

“I’m sorry. I really--I don’t know why this one got me.”

“It’s the kids. Kids are the worst.”

Calum looks up to the sky. There’s a few clouds, but not many. “The photos are bad, but in person is way different.”

Ivy watches Calum, the way it takes him a second to come back to earth it seems. “Don’t ask yourself if it gets easier.” When his gaze lands hers, she can see the furrowed brow again. The question drips off his face. “You’ll only disappoint yourself. And this job’s not for the weak of heart. For the people that can’t take some losses with the wins.”

“You said it yourself. You wanted to put the bad people away.”

“Eight year old me wants to believe it’s as easy as putting the monsters away. Thirty-one year old me knows for a fact what the losses are, who gets caught in the cross-fire. It’s not easy, not in the slightest.”

“Innocent lives do add up.”

“Which is why I try not to do math on the job. They all slip up. They all reach a point where their methods don’t satiate the need. They all make a fatal flaw and counting the unfortunate lives on the way to that will have you walking from the Bureau faster than you can blink.”

“So what makes you stay? If it’s all so fucking bad, what keeps you going?”

Ivy nods to the car, pulling the keys from her pocket. “We need to solidify our profile and you need to run press ASAP. But to answer your question, the thing that keeps me going is that fact that they do get caught eventually.”

******

Eventually seems to come up faster than Calum anticipates. He was sure it would take weeks. After getting back to the precinct more information in Russell’s digging found a connection between all the families, a Venn diagram that overlapped to their X on the map. Another couple of days and it all unravelled. It’s a blur, when he tries to think back to it, on the plane. The only grounding thing is when one of the children, a little girl about 6, pointed out the tattoos on his hands. In all this time, he was sure the tattoos would be a barrier to entry--they’d somehow put him in a place that others would think he was nothing but trouble. But somehow, despite the terror she had done through, that little girl liked his tattoos, found some sort of comfort in them.

When he told her they were for his parents, she smiled at him. She said she wanted one for her parents too and then asked if he had anymore and how old he was when he got them. All of which Calum was more than happy to answer while the medic checked over her. Her older brother came soon after, asking a few questions, but overall he was much quieter than his sister. Understandable for what was endured. In the end, Calum’s just glad he didn’t see them staged on a couch, bleeding out onto the cushions.

There’s a small bit of turbulence and the shakes cause Calum to open his eyes for a moment. Ivy’s seated across from him, whiteboard on her lap, headphones in her ears. A tic-tac-toe grid drawn across it in the middle, but in the corners are some swirls, a crude drawing of the shrine from the case. Calum leans forward and tugs on the board just a little. She lets it go without a fight and hands over the marker.

Calum makes an ‘X’ in the top left. “You said this job doesn’t get easier.” He looks up to see if Ivy can hear him and is relieved when she pops out one her headphones. She raises her brows like she wants him to continue with the thought. And Calum’s not even sure he should. Instead, he hands over the board back to her. If seeing death doesn’t get easier, then maybe it just means he gets better at it. Maybe it means that not being okay with death is a good motivator to keep down this path.

“The job doesn’t get easier. You’re still human. You still want a spouse and a kid. You might want two dogs and a cat. You might want that white picket fence one day. You’ll want to close your eyes and not see death. You’ll want to walk down the street and see humans as humans again. You’ll have nightmares. Don’t hide from it. Nothing’s wrong with you for wanting that. But we’re in a world now where we see the horrors--what’s on the other side of everything you wanted. It’s a liminal space and it’s heavy to wade through.”

“I just want to not freak like I did the other day. It’s not easy. But sometimes I fear that maybe I bit off more than I could chew.”

Their game of tic-tac-toe has been forgotten, placed in the seat next to Ivy as she leans forward in her seat. “You said you were converted because of me. What exactly about me was it?”

“You just know things. When you walk onto a scene, you have an air of knowing. How can you just pick up on it in a snap?”

“Well,” Ivy laughs, “if that’s the only reason you want in, I warn you to get out.”

“I want to help. I want to save people,” Calum adds on. But then it hits him. Maybe this wasn’t the business of saving people as much as it was stopping people. Sure, they prevent future murders, but that didn’t always negate for all the lives lost. But they did save that family today. He saved that little girl that wants tattoos like his. “I want to save people and I want to stop people as well,” he finally adds on.

“There will always be monsters in this world,” Ivy warns.

“And there will always be heroes.”

“Make no mistake, Calum. We don’t have capes. We don’t swoop in all the time at just the right moment. Sometimes we are late. Sometimes we’re reacting more than we are being proactive. Sometimes we fuck up.”

His heart stops for just a moment at the mention of his first name. He’s always Hood, or at least has always been Hood. Just like she’s always Thomas to the team. But she said his first name. Unmistakably so. “Did-did you just use my first name?”

“You used my first name, first.”

When had he done that? He didn’t recall, but he couldn’t combat it either.

“Look,” Ivy continues, “the fact remains. We will fail. We will make the wrong call, or the right call just by the skin of our teeth. We will walk down the wrong direction only to figure out, we know it’s the wrong one. We get it right. A lot more often, we get it right and we minimize the death count. But we’re human--you don’t have to take it on if you don’t want. You don’t have to suffer.”

“If I don’t suffer and win, then that little girl suffers and loses. Then the next person loses. And the next. Their suffering or mine--the choice is clear.”

Ivy studies Calum for a moment. She sees the resolve on his face. Just how much sacrificing himself is a no brainer for him. It was a no brainer for her too. But admittedly, she was cursed. Maybe Calum wasn’t. Maybe she could save him, even if she couldn’t save herself. But she wasn’t in the business of saving people, only stopping them.

“I can’t stop you, can I?” she asks.

“Stop me from what?”

“Stop you from killing yourself with this job.”

“If it’s killing you, then why don’t you leave?” His head cocks to the side, now intrigued by her honesty.

“It’s like you said, I got bit before I could escape. I’m cursed. Are you?”

The little girl flashes through his vision again, and his chest tightens for a second before the relief kicks in. He could chase that feeling, the knowledge that he saved someone, one person. And that he helped put away one more person causing harm. “I am now. Ruined--because even though I can’t save them all. I can save some. I can help keep some people safe. I don’t think there’s a better reward than that.”

With a nod, Ivy looks back to their game on the whiteboard. They would’ve tied, she can see it after where she placed her ‘O’. But she hands it back over to Calum. “Kennedy’s going to shit himself when he realizes he’s got too hard heads on his team.”

“You’ll shit yourself when you realize you’re inheriting the second hard-head on the team after Kennedy leaves.”

Ivy scoffs. Of course, Calum still believes in the shiny idea that hard work yields rewards. “And this is where I can still tell you’re new to this--the dreams are still shiny and ideal.”

“All the work you’ve invested, they’d be--”

Ivy interrupts him. “I know, they’d be dumb not to.”

“Then why do you keep saying it won’t happen?”

“I’d call my pessimism a curse. But at this point, I think it’s a personality trait and the truth.”

“And let me guess, this is why you take your coffee black too.”

Ivy winks at him before her smile takes over her face. “You know it.”

[dansnaturepictures]

Rutland Water blog 1: 20/08/2021-Lyndon Nature Reserve Part 1 of 2: Ospreys, dragonflies, Muntjac and more 

As mentioned in my post about 19th August on 20th August we headed to Rutland Water, where we came every summer between 2008-2019 to visit the Bird Fair, rightly not going ahead this or last year due to the pandemic. But our wild year aligned for a trip to the nature reserves around this enormous reservoir to be very useful so me and my Mum came away staying Friday night and returning Saturday night to visit the Lyndon and Eglton Rutland Water nature reserves. I didn’t take my laptop on a one night stopover so the blogs about the time away are retrospectively posted so will read in the present tense of the date at the top. I have four blogs about the two days away, two each day and the part two of the days carry straight on from part one and its both part twos that have my Wildlife Sightings Summary for each day. Writing this bit at the time of posting: I shall aim to have part two up for each as soon as I can after. 

So going back to Friday now; today on a pleasant journey from Hampshire to the East Midlands I knew we were approaching this area that means so much to us when I saw the picturesque agricultural landscape of Leicestershire which is the heart of England. The landscape was painted well with an interesting summery shade of brown as it was all journey and so often is at this time of year. There were nice well grown and vegetated road verges too. Today we started this trip as we do every one here by coming to Lyndon nature reserve at the south of Rutland Water. As we came down the steep winding road towards the visitor centre which was adorned by pink great willowherb, it was great to see the stunning scenery and get tremendous views down into Rutland Water. I took the first, third and fourth pictures in this photoset here today. 

It was so brilliant to be back, and not much had really changed in the initial glances here. There were dragonflies, for me a key wild attraction of this reserve flying around from the off. I did wonder, with dragonflies being something I have focused on a lot more the past few years, whether me associating the Bird Fair with being a strong point in my year for dragonflies was because it stood out against the rest of the year where maybe I didn’t look for dragonflies a lot. But being so focused on them now particularly with the Lakeside walks working from home seeing some I can say once more as I address below this is an extraordinary and special site for dragonflies. And I was reminded how brilliant it was for them today.

Something that is new since I last came here as I said when I went to Blashford Lakes for the first time since early last year recently is the depth of my interest in and more knowledge of flowers. Today I saw so many lovely flowers, including the sweet great willowherb that was widespread today as well as purple loosestrife and water mint fitting for beside the water, with ragwort too, bee nettles, nice pink marsh woundwort in front of hide and some bright red fruited cuckoo pint looking stunning and red near the visitor centre both new for me, the similar to the woundwort hedge nettle, self-heal, Herb-Robert, red campion still going strong, rosebay willowherb, yarrow, cow parsnip, hemp acrimony, a tiny forget-me-not, scabious by the visitor centre and some nice yellow flowers by there too. It was also great to see some sloes whilst walking around a key image of this time of year.

Such a key part of our Lyndon and Bird Fair visits are going in the huge selection of varied bird hides with different habitats. In the first we went into, the first going west from the visitor centre it was great to notice a bright Great White Egret lurking at the end of the water. This has became a really key bird for Rutland Water but I believe this is the first we saw at Lyndon.

On the way to the next hide we got an early key moment of the trip when I was stunned to see a deer skulking out of vegetation, running across a field over the fence and back into the thick vegetation at the base of the water. I was amazed to get a clear view of it to be able to see it was a glorious Muntjac Deer. It was a stunning view of this sweet little mammal. I was so happy and thrilled to see this exceptional species. And there is a big history with this mammal and our Rutland trips as it’s my fourth ever sighting of one, and three of them were at Rutland Water. The first ever one we saw at our first ever Bird Fair at Egleton the part of the reserve the fair is held. And then we didn’t see one again until one at Lyndon in 2019 when we were last here. This is the third year running I have seen a Muntjac Deer now after seeing one at Blackwater in the New Forest in 2020 which is really smashing for a species I saw early on in my wildlife interest and then not again for a few years. This sighting made me feel very happy.

And then it turned into a brilliant few minutes as first of all typically for the species on the wood of a bench outside the second hide along was an excitingly red male darter dragonfly. And after photographing and examining it I was thrilled to see the jet black with no yellow on the side legs to show it was a Ruddy Darter and not Common Darter that I have enjoyed a lot this year. This was a very precious sighting for me as a year tick and I didn’t see one last year at all so this felt really good. I initially tried for photos with my normal lens which I had on at the time. I tend to use zoom lenses for dragonflies whilst my macro lens and all its closeup detail would maybe be the preferred option like all other insects. But the dragonflies land less frequently than butterflies say and after faster so I don’t normally have time to get my macro lens out or bend down to get the picture. Rare macro dragonfly pictures I’ve got in recent years have been down to luck at having my macro lens on my DSLR camera at the time. But this one was landed so frequently, always returning and settling again on the wood so I had time to get the macro lens out and take pictures possibly the extra bit of details I needed to get the ID over the line which I got the second picture in this photoset of. A brilliant view of a fine dragonfly and flipping back to the time of posting for a second I didn’t realise until I got home that Friday was ten years to the day that I saw my first ever Ruddy Darter dragonfly also at Rutland Water one I am fond of so this was special. 

Then in the hide we spotted a blue beauty of a big dragonfly parading in front of the hide over vegetation, it was the smashing species a Migrant Hawker one I see as a very notable species. I have seen these three years running now too with sightings of one on different days at Lakeside last year sandwiched by today and last time here in 2019. It was fantastic to see a couple of these together. And with that the two dragonfly targets I had for this trip big parts of it for me had been seen which I was thrilled with almost straight away. It took my year list to sixteen making my year list my joint second highest ever levelling my 2018 total and behind only my 2019 total now, with my mammal year list on the same amount and riding high when comparing to past years too and I know today will be a big dragonfly focal point in another very successful dragonfly and damselfly year for me. 

In the hide too I liked seeing a Little Grebe pair on a nest which was very interesting as I’d not seen them on a nest before unlike their cousins the Great Crested both grebe species on nests a very notable thing around the reserve lately it seems. There was a bare tree covered in Cormorants which was great to see with another one further up too as well and a Grey Heron flying over was nice.

A big event of the day occurred afterwards as we made it to the hide at the end, one of the two you can see the Ospreys within. It’s always a big moment whenever we come here and I was so thrilled today to see one as soon as we got into the hide a possible juvenile we think and it stayed sat on the Osprey pole for the whole time we were in this hide. And it was fascinating to see it had a fish in its talons. It was such a precious view of a bird that has been one of my very favourites for so long and such a key part of this usually annual trip for us. I was so delighted to see three more Ospreys join it as the time in this hide went on sitting on posts, the nest the one that has a webcam on it which I quite often watch and going through the big and prominent trees. It was wonderful to see and there was a very key moment of the whole trip when one Osprey flew out over the water in pursuit of a Grey Heron for a bit of heavy duty aerial tussle which put a lot of the ducks up unsurprisingly. This gave me some of best flying Osprey views for a few years it really was spectacular. I loved watching this and taking in the pure joy and pleasure of seeing it and taking photos as I did the whole time with the Ospreys. I took the fifth, sixth, seventh and ninth pictures in this photoset of the Ospreys still and flying today.  After being so lucky to see the Rutland Water originated bird at a local reserve for us Fishlake Meadows to keep Ospreys in our lives this year and last I was so grateful to get to see these here today.

Also from this hide it was great to see the quirky scene of some cattle in the water which is a strong memory. A Pied Wagtail made a great sighting here too and it was delightful to see a charm of Goldfinches fly down onto the shore of the water with their splash of colour a few times. Lapwings were all over the place here which was brilliant too and it was entertaining to see them together. I reflected on how I’d probably not seen the two of them together before. Common Terns sat on posts and hovering made a great sight here too as it so often does and I liked seeing lots of Sand Martins with later on seeing them at the third hide along landed in vegetation which was very interesting to see. It was a splendid day of egrets and herons with Great White Egret, Little Egret and Grey Heron all present which was very interesting to see and is always brilliant to see. On a good run I am on for them and a great year I’ve had for them Stock Doves were a highlight this afternoon too with one flying over and one by a nest box type area. I took the eighth picture in this photoset of one of a few Greylag Geese about flying in to land on the water too.

I also had a great moment with my macro lens again when I saw two sweet orbweaver spiders very intimately on webs over the hide windows. It was interesting taking one spider picture and seeing the shadow of a prominent clump of trees which I always enjoy when coming to Lyndon across the lake behind it and this was the tenth and final picture in this photoset that I took today.

[metalheadcowboy]

A Harringrove thing based on Elio and Oliver’s first kiss in CMBYN, brought to you by a lot of support via @thesummerof84 and @pretty-bratty (Who, not to mention were supposed to stop me from writing this, but I digress 😂✌️)

Steve knew what he was doing when he took Billy to his favorite spot, a spot that was all his. It was the spot where he came to read, he couldn’t even begin to remember how many books he’d read here. It had to be in the hundreds by now at least. What could he say, he’d become quite the bookworm in recent years.

“Oh my God it’s, freezing!” Billy exclaimed and he couldn’t help but look back at him with a lazy grin.

“Spring’s in the mountains, the Alpi Orobie,” Steve explained, wading further out into the crystal clear, almost picturesque, water, “The water comes straight down from there.”

When he came down here, Steve liked to take a few seconds to just admire. To admire the beauty that was his own personal hideout, not that it was exactly hidden. It was just that nobody else chose to come down here. Their loss.

He could tell that Billy was doing the same exact thing by the lack of conversation. Every other time it seemed the older man couldn’t shut up, but now he was quiet as a mouse. Funny how beautiful scenery could do that to a person.

When Steve turned around Billy was still looking around, hair freshly slicked back from the cool spring water. He looked good like that, with his chest exposed and the sunlight hitting him just right. He looked kind of like a statue you’d see in a museum just less... grey?

He didn’t really think about what he was doing before he kicked water in Billy’s direction, letting his body run on auto pilot. It was hard not to just give into whatever urge his body was feeling when Billy was around, it was weird. The older man just made him feel so free, so open to do whatever he pleased, even if they hadn’t even known each other for a month.

He smiled softly when Billy kicked back, giving into his playful nature. Then all was quiet again, nothing but the soft brush of the wind and the chirping of birds from the trees.

Billy was the one to break it this time.

“I like the way you say things,” he said, quickly catching Steve’s attention, “I don’t know why you’re always putting yourself down, though.”

Steve sighed heavily, slinging his arms around at his side, looking down at the water. He didn’t really have an answer- or rather there were too many to say in one go, so he picked one and rolled with it.

“So, you won’t, I guess.” It was true. If he put himself down it didn’t leave room for anyone else to do it for him. Smart if you asked him, ‘stupido’ if you asked his mother.

“You really that afraid of what I think?” Yes. But Steve didn’t say that. He just stepped closer, but still kept his distance, looking up at Billy. Billy and his pretty blonde hair and his pretty blue eyes and his-

“You’re making things very difficult for me,” Billy expressed, softly punching his bicep as he moved to walk around him. But Steve wasn’t having that, oh, no, he wasn’t going to let Billy get away that easy. He turned around, quickly moving to punch at his solid back, slightly harder than Billy had done to him. He grinned punching again, and again, and again before finally wrapping his arms around Billy’s neck and jumping onto his back.

He laughed gleefully as Billy tried to fight him off, big hands grasping at his forearms trying to pull him away.

At the end of their little ‘tussle’ they were both half wet, but not mad about it by any means.

Steve sighed contently, using his hands as a pillow as him and billy lied under his favorite tree together. The large tree provided adequate shade while still letting the sunlight through to warm their skin. it was perfect, now was perfect, perfect with Billy by his side.

“I love this, Billy,” he gushed, looking up through the branches of the trees, up at the blue sky littered with fluffy white clouds. The weather during the summer was amazing, always. Sometimes it rained, but even on those days the weather always seemed to fit the mood so right that he was fine by the soft sound of rain hitting their roof or the loud boom of thunder shaking the ground.

“What?” Billy questioned curiously. Steve could feel his eyes on him, boring into the back of his head, but he paid them no attention for the time being, living in his own fantasy world that was this, that was them.

“Everything,” Steve further spoke. He couldn’t understand how someone could love this. Love the day, love the environment, love Billy. He sighed again, an action that seemed to take up any silence that may occur. The grass beneath him was soft, like a nature made bed, he felt like he could drift off right now had he been alone.

“Us, you mean?” Billy asked with a certain amusement in his voice that made the corners of Steve’s lips upturn into a smile. He could tell that Billy felt it to, he knew it as good as fact that he felt the same way, even if he wouldn’t admit it directly to him.

“Eh, it’s not bad,” Steve played off, as though Billy couldn’t see through his window-like facade, “It’s not bad.”

Before he had any more time to think, much less say, anything else, he saw Billy out of the corner sitting up. He was instantly intrigued, but kept his eyes trained on a specific tree branch as if to act disinterested all the way up until Billy’s finger was dancing across his lips in a playful show of affection.

He was almost too easy, opening up his lips to invite the finger inside, but the request was declined as Billy’s finger simply touched the tip of his tongue and continued lining his lips, ever the tease. Finally, his index finger along with the rest slid down to cup his chin before sliding off again.

He took it as Billy’s own invitation, as him making up for passing Steve’s up only seconds before. Steve swore he had never sat up quicker in his life, ever an eager, hormonal teenager, but it wasn’t just that, it was about Billy. It was about his tricks, his teasing. He was just too enticing, it wasn’t fair.

When he was fully sat up, using this elbow for support, Billy’s finger was back on his chin, guiding Steve’s lips towards his own. They both took the open approach, but Billy being Billy didn’t close the space. Steve could play that game too, could take things slow no matter how much his body begged for the soft of Billy’s lips against his own.

So, he simply stuck his tongue back out, forcing down a smile as he licked a stripe from Billy’s bottom lip to his top, hitting solid teeth along the way. He could just imagine Billy’s face, his shit-eating grin, his half-lidded sparkling ocean eyes. It just wasn’t fair how gorgeous the older man was, wasn’t fair how easy it was to fall into his trap. But all the same he wasn’t trying to get out, not by a long shot.

After what felt like years, decades, centuries, their lips met. It was the most amazing mixture of velvety smooth and fiery warmth and Steve was sure that he could never go another second without Billy’s lips on his. Their lips fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, like they were made for each other. As they kissed he couldn’t help but let his mind wonder what other things would feel good together, but that wasn’t a worry at the moment.

They kissed again, and again, and again, until Billy broke away, cutting off his supply like he was an addict and Billy was his drug.

He fell back into his original spot, torso twisted this time so his belly was to the ground. He was breathing heavier than before, pursing his lips as if to chase any lasting feeling of Billy on him.

“Better now?” Billy asked, as if he only did it to tide Steve over, dickhead.

Steve blinked a few times, trying to decide if what just happened was real or if it was just a tame wet dream. But, when he felt the grass between his fingers and the cool breeze drying his spit covered lips he knew, this was no dream.

It had only been a few seconds but he needed more.  He unintentionally halfway climbed on top of Billy, hurriedly kissing him before he even had time to think about it. He got a few kisses in before he was pushed off again with Billy chanting a string of “No, no, no, no.”’s

But why not?

Steve landed flat on his ass with a huff, using the momentum of the push to turn back to the blonde man.

“We should go,” Billy said, sitting up straighter, Steve quick in his tracks sitting up to question his decision.

“Why?” he asked, hoping that maybe he could possibly change his mind,persuade him to stay here with him for a while longer. Though, the odds of that happening didn’t look too go. 

“I know myself, Okay? And we’ve been good.” Billy started and Steve wanted to stop him, ask him what exactly had been good, the five seconds of kissing? He wasn’t wrong, it had been good, but why stop now when they could have so much more.

“We haven’t done anything to be ashamed of and that’s a good thing. I wanna be good, okay?” Everything coming out of Billy’s mouth at this point might as well have been ‘Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah’, because he wasn’t listening to a word of it, but he was nodding along like he was. Maybe he was being a brat, but he didn’t care because Billy was giving up on them before they even started and it wasn’t fair. Nothing about this felt fair. Because it was obvious that he wanted what Steve wanted so why not just have it?

Suddenly Steve reached between Billy’s legs and grabbed his soft cock through his shorts, staring dead at him.

“Am I offending you?” Steve tested, jostling Billy’s junk around while the other man just looked as calm as ever. He knew he thought this a lot, but it stood as true as ever, it wasn’t fair.

He thought maybe they were getting somewhere when Billy’s hand landed on top of his. But, sadly, moments later his hand was pulled away from his crotch and planted back in his own lap.

“Just don’t,” Billy said with a cocky smile that Steve wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss or punch off his face. But Steve kept his hands to himself, against his better judgement and let Billy move on. Though the thought and taste of his lips still lingered in the back of his mind.

“I think it’s starting to get infected,” Billy marveled, revealing the large wound just above his hip. It did look pretty nasty he had to admit.

“We can stop at the pharmacist’s on the way back,” Steve suggested, ever the people pleaser.

With a simple, “Excellent idea.”, from Billy and a hand extended to Steve which he used to get up they were off. But Steve never forgot the plush of Billy’s lips or the way they tasted like smoke and spearmint gum.

He was determined to taste it again before the day was over.

[ticklishpeter]

oh, diego (diego/basically everyone)

SELF-INDULGENT FIC HELLO!! i truly had lots of fun writing this and i’m,,, just so soft for this boy. i hope y’all enjoy!!!!

summary: there were two things diego just never grew out of: his love for knives, and his unbearably ticklish tummy.

word count: 2,776

7 months.

Seven months of the seven tiny superpowered babies living in Reginald’s household. Grace, of course, couldn't comprehend that fact; and Reginald was always too “busy” to. Making her rounds through the halls, she found herself stopped outside of the master bedroom, suddenly attentive towards a familiar sound. 

“Oh, Diego,” Grace muttered over the sound of his loud crying coming from the second crib in the lineup of seven. He’d always been the loudest crier.

“Hey, silly,” she smiled, reaching into the crib to hold the baby. Bouncing him up and down, she hummed a little song.

His dark eyes stared at her, within seconds he'd quieted down, even beginning to smile a bit.

“There's my boy.” Grace wiggled her fingers lightly on his tiny stomach, chuckling at the bubbly laughter that the action produced.

Tummy raspberries always had done the trick for Diego. He could be crying one second and squealing with sweet laughter the next, which is exactly what happened that night; he got all tickled out.

“Goodnight, silly.”

No more tears left his eyes that night, as he dozed off alongside his six siblings.

4 years.

“Oh,” Grace hummed, noticing the warm glow of Number Two’s Batman lamp through the crack of his door. She opened the door further, only to find him twirling a slightly rounded, tiny, ‘child-safe’ knife that he'd gotten for his birthday; purely for practice purposes. “Diego, sweetie, it's time for bed.” Her voice was soft and sweet, much unlike Reginald’s. 

“But I don't want to,” he whined, typical for a four year old, as he sat up in his bed, back resting against the wall and his legs sprawled out in front of him.

Grace thought for a moment, looking at the floor with a small smile, before looking back up at her clearly sleepy son, “Well, what if I told you…” She sat at the edge of his bed with wide playful eyes, “that the tickle monster says it's time for bed.” 

“No he didn't,” Diego crossed his arms, holding his chin up high towards her with a knowing smile.

“Yes, he did,” Grace corrected him, “and he's right here!” Growling playfully, she grabbed at his tiny thighs, pinching up and down.

A loud squeal escaped Diego's mouth, “No! M-m-mama,” he giggled, instinctually twisting and turning his body to and fro.

“Sh, sh, shh,” his mother chuckled jokingly, “You don't want to wake the others, do you?”

Diego slapped a hand over his mouth shaking his head, attempting to stop the flood of giggles, only to squeal again, perhaps even louder, when he felt Grace’s mechanical tickling fingers move their way up to his tummy. 

“Mama,” he giggled, arching his back and kicking his little legs.

“Who's ‘mama?’ I'm the tickle monster, remember?” Her deep, gruff, pretend-voice mixed with the teasing made little Diego laugh even louder. She took advantage of his PJ shirt riding up slightly, slipping her fingers underneath it, poking curiously at his belly button, “What's this? A tickle button?”

Diego screamed the highest-pitched scream you would ever hear out of a little boy, “NO,” he hiccuped, curling up his body and attempting to roll onto his stomach in defense, “No more tickle monster! Tickle monster, go away! I'll go to sleep! Promise!” he laughed, slapping at Grace’s hands.

As soon as Grace let up, Diego settled his head back onto his pillow, wary about any additional tickles that would ensue if he didn't.

“Goodnight, Diego,” she laughed, placing a kiss to his temple and tucking him in under his matching Batman blankets.

He slept with a small smile throughout the night.

7 years.

It was sparring time; everyday from nine to noon. Diego hadn’t slept well, as it was his first night without a night light, which he never admit to the others. With the lack of sleep, and the totally unfair matchup of him and his super strong brother, he was a bit slow today. 

Luther and Diego tussled on the floor, surrounded by padding and soft mats in case of any throwing around. All had been going as it always did, until the wrestling ceased,  “Oh!” Luther yelped at the super sudden movement and wince beneath him. 

“Diego, are y-?” Thinking he had hurt him by accident, his eyebrows furrowed in surprise when he saw a grin on his smaller brother’s face. Noticing Diego’s firm grasp on his wrist, in addition to the fact that his hand was pressed to his stomach, everything clicked.

Diego practically saw the lightbulb in Luther’s brain turn on, and he began to squirm. “N-No,” Number Two whined, a strain in his voice as he tried hopelessly to push the strong hand off of his middle.

A chortle left Luther’s mouth as he began to wiggle his fingers. The screech that followed made a few of the other siblings stifle their own laughter. 

“Stop it! No -” he growled, trying not to laugh, twisting his body around as he pushed as hard as he could at his brother’s tickling hand. “Dad! One’s ch-che-...cheatihihing! - AH!” 

Why wasn’t his father doing anything? Was this fair? It sure didn’t seem like it.

Luther’s tickles were relentless, and surprisingly light, which only made things worse. The high-pitched scream that escaped him made him blush as he squeezed his eyes closed, “S-s-stop it! Sh-shut up!” He could hear his siblings laughing at the probably pitiful sight.

His legs kicked and drummed at the matted floor beneath them as he reached an arm out to smack the floor, tapping out. “Stop, stop! O-Okay! I give.” 

He stood, pout plastered on his face, as he bumped Luther with his shoulder and made his way over to his siblings.

11 years.

“Oh,” Five scoffed and crossed his arms, “Diego, c’mon! We don't have all day.” He stood alongside his four other crime-fighting siblings, in line for their monthly physical exams. 

“Sh-shut up. I-I can … d-do-do it,” he muttered, readjusting himself on the paper-covered table. The scowl on his father’s face made him want to cry, so he closed his eyes, gripping the sides of the table in anticipation.

“Diego, sweetheart, you have to relax your stomach, dear.” Grace stood over him, on the other side of the table, opposite Reginald. 

He relaxed his muscles as much as he could, before tensing them back up with a sharp gasp when he felt his mother’s cold robot hands touch his stomach. “No!” Squeezing his eyes closed, he whined and turned his head away, trying his hardest to focus his mind on something other than his poor ticklish middle. 

Mere seconds after the examination continued, Diego was sitting straight up, covering his middle, and looking at his father with puppy-dog eyes, “Ca-c-can I have a b-...break, please? M-m-m-...maybe Five can go?” His stutter always became especially prevalent when he was nervous. 

“No,” Reginald snapped, “Number Two, we don’t have all day, and three of your siblings still have yet to be examined. We need to be wise with our time.” 

Diego closed his eyes again with a nod as he settled back down onto the table. 

“I'll try to be quick, sweetie,” Grace said to him over the squeak that left the boy’s mouth when she placed her hands back onto the hypersensitive skin.

Diego’s lips formed a straight line as he tried to keep his laughter at bay, but as soon as his mother reached his lower tummy, he broke, drumming one foot on the table. A stream of uncontrollable giggles, punctuated by snorts and squeaky hiccups, flowed out of his mouth as he grabbed at the table, ripping the paper in the process.

He held onto her wrists as she finished up the examination, as if it would help him feel more in control and therefore, less tickly, to no avail. Trying his very hardest not to pry them away, he wriggled and screeched at the feeling of each finger prodding into his belly.

“Aww, what’s the matter, Diego? Ticklish tummy?” Klaus laughed, elbowing a giggling Luther. Allison laughed as well, glancing over at Five, who was trying not to smile, and Ben, who was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, almost.. Nervously?

“Okay,” Grace’s kind voice piped up, seemingly a millisecond before Diego was on his feet and storming away, arms crossed and face red.

18 years.

Klaus caught Diego stealing another piece of their birthday cake, “Hey, you already had your piece,” he tattled, pointing at him, which directed Allison and Luther’s attention to him. Sighs and scoffs from the both of them only made him want to steal the cake more; he loved making his siblings mad. 

“Oh, Diego,” Allison exclaimed in an almost warning tone, “We’re 18 now, and you're… well…being a little bit of an ass,” she chuckled, turning to the rest of them, “I think he's deserving of 18 minutes of tickles, don't you guys?”

“N-no - hey,” Diego grunted, feet suddenly lifting off the ground before he could run, “P-put me down! Luther!” He kicked and writhed as much as he could within his brother’s strong hold, his arms flailing at his sides.

Luther had picked him up from his underarms, which had made his shirt ride up, and Diego imagined it looked absolutely pathetic.

“Oh, look Klaus! You remember how ticklish he was here, right?” Allison poked at his exposed tummy once, before laughing at the way he thrashed.

Diego’s eyebrows furrowed as he frowned, still using all his might to escape the situation, “No, I-I… I’m not,” he growled.

“Really,” Allison mused, her voice dripping with mischief as she crossed her arms and looked at him.

“Timer’s set! - It’s showtime.” Klaus stood and cracked his fingers with a smile before wiggling them teasingly towards Diego’s torso. 

Number Two silently cursed at the giggle that had bubbled up in his throat. Looking at those goddamn fingers and knowing how much they were about to tickle was enough to make him squirm like mad. “St-stohop,” Diego kicked a leg out, as if he could push his two menacing siblings away, but they just kept coming closer.

Diego let out a strangled noise and his smile grew bigger as they moved towards him. Why could he already feel it? … Or at least, he thought he could, because the second he felt ten brutal nails touch down on his stomach, and ten more fingers wrap around his sides, he was done for. He yelped and twisted fervently, “F-f-fuck OHOFF -” he guffawed before his laughter immediately went silent. 

“Sorry, Allison, did I hear him right? He said he’s not ticklish?” Klaus inquired, an eyebrow raised as he squeezed expertly up and down his smaller brother’s sides. 

“That’s what I thought he said too. But look at him now! He’s so giggly and squirmy! Looks pretty ticklish to me.” Allison smiled with a shrug, poking all ten of her fingers into the flesh near his waistband. 

“Shut up,” he squeaked, definitely trying to sound intimidating, but he ended up sounding just like he did when he was seven years old, which made him blush at himself, attempting to hide his face in his shoulder. Falling into a fit of snorts and cackles when Allison and Klaus burst into a cacophony of “tickle, tickle, tickle”s and “kitchie koo”s did not help his case in the slightest as he felt his face heat up and he kicked his legs around helplessly. 

“Aww, isn’t his laugh just the cutest?” Klaus cooed, skating his fingers around to his stomach. Allison nodded as she shook her hands into either side of his belly button.

Diego’s eyes wettened and his struggles became weaker, “Shut up,” he mouthed through silent laughter. A loud hiccup made him whine and hide his face again.

Needless to say, Klaus and Allison took their sweet time; 18 full minutes of unbearable torture. 

Some birthday, Diego thought, about an hour later when he came to. And he never even got his extra cake.

25 years.

“Oh, Diego,” A blissful sigh left Patch’s lips as she plopped down onto the bed next to him, “You're so fucking good at that.” Her hand traced over the scar on the side of his head and down to his chest.

“You’re so fucking good at all of it,” he hummed, slapping the other’s butt before moving his hand up to hold her waist. Their lips found each other’s, both sighing into the kiss. That is, until Diego angled his head away with a sharp inhale. He just couldn’t help but notice Patch’s nails tracing little shapes right below his chest. A gulp.

Patch’s eyebrows furrowed as she moved her head back to look at her boyfriend.

The corner of his mouth twitched as he squirmed ever-so-slightly.

Not slightly enough.

“No way,” Patch grinned, “Are you ticklish?” She spidered her fingers over the side of his stomach. 

“N-Nohoho,” he pressed his lips shut after the unfairly cute giggle slipped out. The eye contact seemed to make it three times worse. 

“It sure sounds like you are,” Patch only smiled bigger as she continued to scribble her nails around Diego’s toned stomach, laughing at his dramatically violent reactions.

He laughed louder than her though, cackling when she pinched the area right below his belly button. He flung his legs up, getting his knees as close to his chest as possible… but god damn it, her hands were still there. His curling up ultimately made it more difficult to get away from them. “S-stop,” he whimpered between bouts of laughter, letting his legs kick back down, only exposing his worst spot more, “Eudorastopit!” Rolling onto his stomach, he managed to push her wrist away.

“You are never gonna be safe now, you know that?” She propped herself up on her elbow, smirking down at the blushing man as he tried to recollect his breath.

“I know,” he mused, unable to help but smile as he turned his head away from her.

30 years.

It had been so long. Diego’s days in the 60s, upwards of 80 days, to be exact, had not been ideal. Of course, he’d met Lila, which… well, he wasn’t complaining about; but he wouldn’t say he was thankful for the asylum experience.

So when he’d gotten out and found himself residing at Elliot’s loft with his siblings, he was… happy? Even more so when he saw Klaus & Allison walk in the front door alongside Five.

He’d greeted Klaus with a mere “Oh, you are drunk.” Hardly even a greeting.

Allison noticed this. “Hey, Diego! Can’t say hi to nobody?” she later exclaimed across the room.

“Hi, Allison,” he muttered unenthusiastically, turning towards the stairs and away from his sister.

“What was that?” she called over to him, only for Diego to respond with a snarky middle finger and another indistinguishable mutter under his breath.

Allison cleared her throat, almost in warning, before opening her mouth when Diego still didn’t pay her any mind. “Hey! I heard a rumor that you stopped in your tracks,” she smirked knowingly. 

“Dammit, No! — Allison,” he growled, fearing that he knew what was about to happen, according to his previous experience with getting stuck by her rumors.

She made her way over to her brother, who was struggling to move his legs. Crossing her arms, she stood next to him.

After poking experimentally at his side, she relished in the giggle that left Diego’s clearly reluctant grin. “I missed you, Diego.” Allison moved to his stomach and dug all ten fingers into it, knowing that his tough-guy front wouldn’t last for long.

“Shit! Fuck!” He squeaked out a variety of expletives and let out another small giggle before cursing at himself and falling into hysterics, in and out of silent laughter, “Okay, stop! S-stop it,” he growled, opening one eye to glare at her, which had perhaps been the least intimidating glare Allison had ever seen.

“You know what to say to make me,” she smiled, raising her eyebrows, and continuing to wiggle her fingers over any part of his belly that she could reach.

“ACK! — H-Hi, Allison,” he choked out through his laughter before tripping backwards over a step, now able to move.

“Thank you!” Allison couldn’t hold back a chuckle at her ticklish brother.

“Jesus,” he muttered, shooting his still-grinning sister another glare as he made his way weakly up the stairs.

“Sure didn’t miss those manners,” she called behind him as she followed him upstairs, not without noticing the snickers from the other siblings, who’d been watching the whole time.

“Oh, Diego,” they thought to themselves. Oh, Diego.

[assassins-and-hidden-blades]

Miracles -- Part 2

A/N: I didn’t mean for this to happen, for the record, but I couldn’t help myself. Hence, 3.5k words of Jacob saving his 4-6 year old adopted daughter. Because I was writing out “Y/D/N” wayy too many times, I just decided to call her Lily, as a general name that most people would like (i think). Also, I cannot write pricks for the life of me; maybe I just need to go on an asshole writing 101 course or something. Feedback greatly appreciated; hope you all enjoy it!

Link to Part 1 is HERE

Kinda requested but not really

Warnings: Biological father being a proper prick, swearing, child kidnapping, violence (if there’s more lmk), happy ending tho :)

Tagging: @yourlocalfrenchie​ / @marshmallow--3​

It had been six months since Jacob had met your daughter and had offered you a job as a Rook, and he had managed to pay Lily’s school fees as promised, every single term. No longer being hounded by the Headmistress was liberating, and you felt like an entire burden had been lifted off of your shoulders. 

Jacob had often met you in the playground near the school as you watched your daughter play. As you talked about work, she played. As he became more of a familiar face to her, she began to act more like herself and less shy; in more recent times, she would hug you once school ended and when Jacob showed up, she dropped everything to greet him with the same enthusiasm as she did you, before eventually returning to her friends, who would excitedly chatter about the man in the top hat next to her mother. 

Obviously, Jacob had been delighted to become more of a father figure to Lily, and always picked her up with a spin whenever she ran up to him. His laughter mixed with her squeals of joy as they spun made your heart leap. 

“How was school today?” he would ask, resting her on his hip as she joined the conversation. Sometimes she would be joyful, flooding him with every detail she could remember, being met with interested noises from Jacob as he tried his best to take in every single word she was telling him. Other times, she would react to his questions in the opposite way, where she just nuzzled her head into his neck, silently asking for him to just cuddle her. On these occasions, she had already bawled her eyes out on your shoulder, and was just seeking additional comfort in her second favourite person (you obviously always ranked top). 

Either way, Jacob would be there to wholly engage with Lily; something her biological father never bothered to do. You were more than glad that you would never have to deal with that bastard of a man ever again. 

You told Jacob the truth as to why you weren’t married during your chats on the playground. He couldn’t help but feel anger towards him. You told him not to worry, that you hadn’t seen him for years, but the thought that he was still out there and could still come back to torment you made his blood boil. 

Every Sunday evening, you would have a knock at the door. And every Sunday evening, Jacob would be behind that door, a lopsided grin on his face and a bag of food in his hands. It was usually meat, potatoes, bread, eggs, and sanitised water. Every time you tried to tell him that he didn’t need to waste his money on you and Lily, he shushed you. He told you that it was what he wanted and he most certainly is not wasting his money when it was for the most precious family in London. 

You had fallen even more in love with Jacob over the past half year. He fully reciprocated with love for both you and Lily, and you couldn’t feel happier with your life and the people in it. Jacob would spend more and more time at your house as months went by, leaving only to work and head back to the train, but he would always come back to you and Lily. 

You were his family now, and he was yours.

----------

It was late afternoon one day, and you and Jacob were walking Lily home from school, a hand in each of yours, swinging her between you. You got to the front door of your house before Jacob was called down the street. “Boss! There’s trouble down by Emmanuel’s!” 

He acknowledged the Rook before kissing your head. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

“Take your time; it is Sunday, after all,” you smiled softly.

“What about me?”  Lily complained at the lack of attention. 

Jacob crouched down and hugged her, kissing her temple. “Of course! I could never forget you.” Standing up, he tipped his hat to you, before he ran to catch up with the few Rooks who were leading him away. 

“Come on, inside now.” You ushered Lily inside, a small smile playing on your lips as you shut the door.

----------

The sun was disappearing when you heard a knock at the door. “Lily, do you want to get the door for Jacob?” You heard her footsteps as you finished cleaning the plates and silverware for dinner. Lily opened the door.

Then, she screamed.

You whipped around, moving around the table to see who had just grabbed your daughter’s arm. There were two men in red, standing behind a man in a black coat and gloves, fingers wrapped around Lily’s arm. 

“Thomas,” you breathed. 

“Y/N.” He picked Lily up properly, clasping his arms around her waist.

“Mama!” She began to cry, reaching out for you.

“Let her go, Thomas. Please, just let her go.” 

You went to grab her back before he hummed condescendingly. “Na-uh.” He pulled her away, gesturing to the brutes either side of him, who revealed pistols in their waistband. You stopped in her tracks. “What do you want?” You tried to keep your tone level. 

“Look at you,” he tutted, eyes running over your trousers and jacket as he avoided the question. “And people wonder why I didn’t marry you.”

“Thomas, let her go. She’s a child.” 

“But she’s what I’m here for.”

“Leave her alone, Thomas; just leave us both alone and never come back.”

“Believe me, Y/N, you won’t see me again.” He let the brutes brush past him into the house. “And you won’t see her again, either.” 

You lunged for him, but your arms got caught by two pairs of hands. “Lily!” You screamed for her in desperation, heart breaking at the sound of her crying for you as she was pulled away from the house and into a carriage. Stuck in a tussle, you were pulled into another room, trying to reach for a weapon or something, before you were thrown to the hard floor. You tried to scramble up, but the door slammed in your face a second before you could get to it. As you turned the knob, you heard a click; they had locked it. As much as you rammed into it, that door wasn’t going to budge, and the windows were too small for you to fit through. You quickly relented to the demands of your body going into shock and panic, collapsing against the door in tears. As you tried to get your breathing under control, you heard a familiar voice that got you to your feet again.

“Y/N? Lily?”

----------

Jacob had tried to finish the job as soon as he could in order to get back to you; the Orphanage was back under control of the Rooks, keeping them out of the factories for the foreseeable future.

He carried his cane in one hand and his bag in the other as he came down the road to your house, finally ready to relax for the evening. Though, when he came to your door, his heart stopped. 

It was left ajar.

A cold sweat dripped down his spine as he pushed the door open with the closed fist holding his cane. “Y/N? Lily?” He saw the familiar telltale signs of a scuffle and dropped the food on the table. 

“Jacob!” 

He turned his head to your voice. “Y/N?” He heard the pain in your tone, which further entertained the very terrifying thought that something was very, very wrong.

Were you hurt? Injured? Dying?

 His eyes landed on a door, with a chair being propped underneath the knob. He snatched the chair out of the way and tried to open it. When it didn’t budge, he took a step back. “Get away from the door!” His heel came up above the handle, breaking the handle. The door flew open. 

Immediately you ran into his arms. “He took her and I couldn’t stop him and I don’t know what he wants with her and--” 

“Slow down, love. What happened?” He was relieved to see that you were physically unharmed. Maybe kicking the door down wasn’t the best way forward.

“They came and took her, Jacob! I don’t know where they went or what they want…” you trailed off as he brought you back into his chest, rubbing his hands soothingly over your arm. He kissed the side of your head before leaning down to his ear, a calculated movement that hid a motive more sinister.

“Give me a name.” The growl that left him wasn’t aimed at you, yet the tone still made you shiver. 

“Thomas Lynch.”

Once Jacob recognised the name to belong to the man who once tormented you, he tensed. Not only was he an utter cock, but he was the brother of the Templar who controlled The Strand. There was little doubt that he himself was one too. Jacob pulled you away from his chest and cupped your cheeks with his hands. “I’ll get her back, I promise.” He left his cane on the table, allowing his hat to join it. He stepped outside, and was stopped again by the sound of your voice. “Be careful, Jacob. Please be careful.” You worried for Lily’s safety, but you also worried for his.

“You know I will.” He smirked at you before he pulled his cowl over his eyes. Although there was his usual mischief in the upturn of his lips, there was something else as well. As he disappeared over the roof of the building across the street, you could finally put your finger on it:

He wanted vengeance.

----------

Jacob went straight to Clara O’Dea. “Find Thomas Lynch,” he said. “I’ll pay you double if you do it in half an hour, and triple if you do it in ten minutes.” Clara was unsettled at the foreign tone in his voice, but, at the mention of triple his usual price, she didn’t bother to question it. 

A street urchin ran up to the two of them nine minutes later with a piece of paper in his hand. “He’s here.” In the next few moments, you would have only known that Jacob Frye had spoken to Clara O’Dea by looking at the reward she held in her hands.

Luckily for Jacob, he knew the general area, and ran faster than he had ever run in his life. He sprinted over rooftops, never once faltering in his speed. As he approached the address, he slowed down, eyes scanning the street below and inside every building. He picked up the pace to jog to the end of the street when he did a double take, stopping in his tracks. 

He saw inside one window a small girl, curled up on an old bed in an otherwise barren bedroom, face hidden in her arms. 

It was Lily. 

He took a running jump, landing on the rooftop beside the house. He climbed onto the bricks until he was at the window. He knocked lightly with one finger, and watched as she looked up. For a second, she recoiled from the strange figure in the window, but when she saw the waistcoat, his necklace, his beard… 

Jacob pushed the fabric off of his head and upturned his lips at the visible relief that flooded through her body. Jacob tried to prise the window open with his fingers, straining at the unexpected resistance. When she realised that he needed help, Lily scrambled off of the bed and came to try and unlock the window from the inside. The lock was on the top of the window, and Jacob pushed hard to at least try and force the lock out of place, but with only one hand, it wasn’t exactly easy. Lily tried to jump to reach the lock, but after each failure she became more frantic, tears starting to flow freely. “I can’t!” Her voice was muffled as she put her hands against the glass, desperately wanting to hide in his arms. 

Jacob’s heart broke as he watched her cry. But he had an idea. “Is there anyone inside?” he half-mouthed. She shook her head. “I’m coming in through the back door.” 

As he began to descend, he heard a muffled cry. “Please don’t leave!”

He put a free hand against the glass, opposite hers. “I’m not going anywhere; close your eyes and count to ten. I’ll be there when you open them.” 

Reluctantly, she nodded, putting her hands over her eyes. 

Jacob dropped down onto the street, before slipping into the alley beside the house, turning into the back garden. He took out his lockpicks and began to pick the lock by thrusting the pick against the pins once, twice, and three times. The lock clicked and turned in three seconds. Once he was inside, he didn’t bother to close the door, and ran up the stairs. He opened every door on the landing, before reaching the one at the end of the hall. As he rattled the handle, he heard a whimper from the other side. 

“Lily, it’s me.” He kept his voice down in case there were undesirable people around, and took out his lockpicks again. When it clicked, he shoved them in his pocket and slipped through, closing the door behind him and kneeling in front of the child who had reached ‘nine’. 

As her hands fell away, she jumped into his arms, bawling into his shoulder. “Oh, sweetheart…” he picked her up and sat on the bed, feeling the urge to calm her down. Jacob pulled away to adjust her so she was sitting sideways against his chest and pulled out a flask of water. “Have a drink.” She gulped it down, the events of the evening dehydrating her. As she pulled the flask away from her lips, she had calmed down a bit, the action causing her to breathe properly. Jacob took her face in his hands. “Do you know why he took you?” 

Lily nodded. “He said tomorrow I’m going to a factory. To work.”

Jacob couldn’t help but feel guilty; he managed to protect an orphanage of children he had never met but failed to protect the one he cared about most. “I will never let that happen.” He hugged her tightly again. “We need to go. Are you ready?” She nodded into his neck. He sat her on the bed before moving to the window, unlocking it and pushing it open. The window resisted against his efforts, groaning and pushing back, but he eventually managed to push the frame back properly.

A scream made him whip around, his pistol in his hand in a fraction of a second. A man had grabbed Lily by the torso, a knife hovering against her ribs. “You must be Mr Lynch.” Jacob raised an unimpressed eyebrow. 

“Jacob Frye; we meet at last.”

“Let her go.”

“Drop the gun.”

Jacob stood firm, but faltered slightly at the movement of the blade. 

“Drop. The gun. Slowly.”

He sighed through his nose, hesitating before he raised his hands in surrender, bending to place his firearm on the ground. He rose as slowly as he descended. 

“Kick it away.” 

His boot brushed against the floorboards, the clattering of the pistol leaving him almost defenseless. 

Almost.

Thomas chuckled. “This is supposed to be your new father?” He sheathed his knife and grabbed Lily’s jaw, forcing her to look at him. Jacob clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing. “Look at him. You think he cares about you? He pointed a gun at you!” 

Jacob felt a fire begin to itch his knuckles -- an urge for them to connect with this man’s face; an impulsive urge he was trying to resist. 

“No, he didn’t.” Lily spoke at last, a stronger tone than before. “He was pointing it at you.” Her teeth sank into her captor’s hand and her foot went between his legs. As soon as her feet hit the floor, Jacob sprung into action, ushering her into the corner. “Get under the bed; cover your eyes and ears.” He strode towards Lynch and immediately grasped his collar with one hand connected his face with the other. Again and again, his fist collided, spurting blood out of Lynch’s nose and mouth.

Once he had taken out his anger on his face, Jacob bent down to Lynch’s ear. “Rest in peace, you prick.” His life ended with a hidden blade sheathed up his chin. He used his clothes to wipe the blood off of his hands. His body was aching, and he could feel the effects of the day’s events taking its toll as the adrenaline wore off. Once they were mostly clean, he leaned under the bed. “Come here; keep your eyes on me.” Lily reached out for him and crawled out from under the bed, never once breaking eye contact. Once she stood, Jacob picked her up. “Close your eyes and don’t open them until I tell you.” With her head able to look over his shoulder, he didn’t want her to look behind him and see what kind of person he really is. 

He leaned out of the window and shot out his rope launcher, taking her at least two streets over before he ducked down into the street. Lily was startled at the movement through the air, and buried her face into Jacob’s neck.  “You can open your eyes now.” He called for a cab, a green carriage pulling over. He told them your address, stepping inside the carriage. 

----------

To keep your mind from worrying, you took the time to clean up the fallen chairs and to try and fix the handle of the door to the bedroom. You needed to replace the wood, which was irritating, so you tried to think about how much the wood is going to cost instead of whether your daughter is alive or otherwise. Still, you knew that you placed your trust in the right person.

A knock on your door caught your attention. You moved quickly to open it, and all but shook in relief at the weary look Jacob was giving you through his lashes, a sleeping child in his arms. “Thank God.” You kissed Lily softly on her forehead so as to not wake her, and softly met Jacob’s lips with yours. “Are you alright?” You brushed your fingers against his cheek as he nodded, the bags under his eyes and the soft upturn of his lips telling you all you needed to know. 

“I’ll put her to bed,” he murmured, pecking you on your forehead before he walked to her room, an aching limp in his step. When he was out of sight, your knees almost buckled as your stress dissipated. Taking a deep breath, you leaned against the table for support. 

Jacob came into the dining room a few minutes later, taking off his leather coat. He collapsed in a chair, exhausted, leaning his elbow on the table and placing his head in his hand. That’s when you glanced at the blood on his shirt and waistcoat. “Jesus…” you moved to get first aid supplies. 

“It’s not mine.” With his eyes closed, he couldn’t tell what you were looking at or what you were doing. 

You unbuttoned his waistcoat and the bottom half of his shirt, and he didn’t realise what you were looking at until he felt a harsh sting against his right side. His free hand clutched at your wrist as he winced. Opening his eyes slightly, he could see the blood on your fingers and the puncture wound in his side. “Oh.” He released you. 

“‘Oh’, he says,” you quipped sarcastically. You grabbed some cloth and doused it in alcohol. “Brace yourself,” you warned, before slowly pressing it against the open wound. He let out a pained groan through clenched teeth, wanting to move away but just not having the energy to.

As you cleaned his wound, you took out a needle and some thread. “Straighten up a bit.” Jacob obstinately agreed, lifting his head up as he adjusted himself carefully in his chair. His tired eyes squinted down at you as your fingers worked carefully at the tissues, sewing them together with practiced care. “It was my fault.” He couldn’t stop the guilt from speaking. 

You stopped. “What?”

“The Templars wanted to take over Emmanuel’s to increase the child labour in their factories. They couldn’t keep the children after we got there, so Lynch got desperate. He went to where he knew he could get one without any issue.”

Sighing, you rubbed his thigh comfortingly. “Jacob, stop blaming yourself. This was his doing, and he probably would’ve come anyway. You just saved more lives, Jacob. You should be proud. Besides, it turned out that it was an issue after all.” You continued closing the wound.

Although he was shattered, he couldn’t help but smile adoringly at you. “I love you.” He said suddenly. 

You didn’t pause or look up in fear of ruining a stitch. “I love you too, Jacob. I really do.” 

You finished the stitches and bandaged his waist, before grabbing one of his extra shirts from your bedroom to wear instead of his bloodied ones. As you reached out for his arm to go around your shoulders, he leaned forward to kiss you. You reciprocated quickly but pulled away. “Rest now, kiss tomorrow.” 

You hauled his arm over your shoulder and helped him to the bedroom. 

“I can do that.”

[feed-your-neopets]

Valdemar x Devil!Lucio Fluff (One-shot)

Writer Preface:

First, I haven’t written fanfiction in years. Nor have I read a book recently. So, don’t feel bad about pointing out grammar mistakes or spelling mistakes. It’s been a while since I’ve done anything like this. Also, my knowledge of the science and medical world is pitiful. Please, let me know if I said something ridiculous.

Second, it is cannon that Lucio has a New Jersey accent. It may enhance the story to imagine him with it, because I did while writing this.

Third, this is just slow, awkward, fluffy Valdemar x Lucio stuff. I was trying to piece together how a relationship could even develop between them, and I love the challenge of unlikely, cursed pairings. I was thinking this would probably take place in Muriel’s route (so, smoll SPOILERS from this point on). I would think Lucio’s social circle would be dwindling since – ya know – he merged with the Devil and all. Lucio would definitely be longing for friendship and companionship. Valdemar will humor him if it means they get new things to study. Get that bag, Valdemar.

---

The salon was one of the few rooms left in the palace where one could find some peace. Ironic, as this room was once one of the livelier places in the palace. After all, the salon was where Countess Nadia would entertain her guests. Now, it was an echo of its former self.

Since his resurrection and merging with the boss, Count Lucio ran with a different crowd, and these new guests had a habit of “borrowing”. Not that Valdemar cared about the state of the rooms throughout the palace, nor the drunkards who sloppily paraded through the hallways with pockets full of silverware. However, the room was simply lacking. It was not quite the same without Countess Nadia’s fingers gliding across the ivory keys with precision and grace. Instead of the haunting melodies of a grand piano and the idle chatter of the other courtiers, the room was filled with the distant echoes of intoxicated partygoers reciting a rather impolite folk song about a sea captain’s cousin.

However, Valdemar was paying little attention to the commotion outside and quietly sipped their tea. They chose instead to focus on the decorating choices they felt were an improvement. For example, the dying flowers wilting in waterless vases were a nice touch. Additionally, the portrait that Count Lucio had commissioned in his mother’s likeness had some alterations. It was laying waste on the ground below where it was once proudly hung. The vandalism was done with such intention that Valdemar was certain the count had crossed out the eyes himself. Valdemar pondered if he had done so in a fit of rage. The count had such a temper, and judging from his interaction with his mother, there was a lot of emotional baggage to unpack. While the symbolism was a tad on the nose, Valdemar appreciated the irony none-the-less. It was Lucio who murdered his own mother. It was only fitting he should be the one to remove the light from her portrait’s eyes too.

Without much warning, the doors of the salon burst open with a bang; shaking the few portraits that still hung on the walls. Yet, Valdemar sat unflinching despite the abrupt entrance from the count.

“Alright, I’ll catch you guys later.” called Count Lucio to a chorus of guttural cheers and whooping from the end of the hall. Valdemar peered at the count from over their teacup as they took a long sip. They had been wondering what was taking the count so long. He had been the one who had requested a meeting with them. To keep them waiting seemed in poor taste.

“Crazy guys.” chucked Lucio to himself before turning his attention to Valdemar. “Hey, there you are! Where have you been? You weren’t at last night’s party. You missed Vulgora tackling several new recruits. You should have seen them go at it. We were taking bets and everything.”

“Hm.” hummed Valdemar as they peered into their teacup, finding more interest in the way the tea leaves settled to the bottom of their cup than Lucio’s story. However, Lucio did not seem to notice as he reenacted the punches and kicks of last night’s tussle; knocking over a chair in the process. “But hey, don’t worry about missing it. They’ll probably do it again tomorrow night. You’re gonna love it.”

“I am sure, my count.” lied Valdemar.

Lucio seemed convince Valdemar was genuine, and with an exaggerated groan, he slumped into the chair next to them. Valdemar watched as he adjusted the scabbard on his waist, the end of which clanked aggressively on the hardwood floor. His legs then spread out for maximum comfort as he sunk into his seat. It would seem he was finally situated, and he looked merrily back at Valdemar expecting them to speak first. The quaestor closed their eyes. Admittedly, their patience was wearing thin. With a short sigh, they placed their teacup on the table and prepared themselves to address the count.

“Is there a reason you have called me here today, my count?” asked Valdemar as politely as they could muster.

A spark of realization lit in Lucio’s eyes. “Oh, yeah, that’s right! I gotcha something.” said Lucio as he started rummaging through a small satchel. “I felt like we left it kinda weird at that old broad’s house, and I been wanting to make it up to you.”

“Old broad?” whispered Valdemar to themself as they searched their lexicon for a translation.

“Yeah, you remember. I gave you her heart. I was weird about it, but you were just asking for your payment.” explained the count. “It is nothing amazing, really. You probably have twenty of ‘em, but I was traveling through the market, and I saw it, and I thought - do you know who would like this? Quaestor Valdemar - so, I got it. No big deal, ya know?”

From his bag, Lucio pulled out an adult human skull. Embedded in the eye sockets were large rubies that burned in the orange glow of the setting sun. The count placed his gift in Valdemar’s hand, who made quick note of the condition in which the skull was in. In short, it was nearly perfect. The dental work was most fascinating to Valdemar. Not a single tooth was crooked or missing. No sign of disease or decay. Whoever extracted this specimen knew what they were doing. Valdemar was so transfixed by the skull, they almost forgot Lucio was still in the room.

“Yeah, I thought you like that.” said Lucio as he leaned forward in his chair. “I got that off a guy who was selling all kinds of wild, kooky stuff.”

Valdemar was quiet as they studied the skull. They were far more impressed by the specimen itself than the embellishments. Gemology was not at the top of their list of the most appealing subjects, and frankly, they thought the rubies were rather gaudy.

As they pondered the feasibility of extracting the gemstones without damaging the bone, a visibly nervous Lucio shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the silence between them.

“I -uh- I got it because the eyes remind me of your eyes.” said Lucio. As the words left his mouth, he instantly wished he had just swallowed them instead. He was not prepared for Valdemar's undivided attention. Their eyes were fixed on Lucio. Their expression was blank. Their entire form was eerily motionless. He immediately felt the need to elaborate. “Ya know, because the rubies are pretty - pretty like your eyes.”

To Lucio’s relief, the compliment was enough to break their stare. No one had ever called their eyes pretty before. Creepy. Unsettling. Unnatural. But never pretty. Pretty was a meaningless word. Pretty was objective. Pretty could not be measured. Pretty was unscientific. Yet, the word bounced around in their mind, unextrapolated and uncategorized. Valdemar wanted to dissect its meaning. They wanted Lucio to elaborate. What did it mean to have pretty eyes?

"Hey, is that thing broken?" asked Lucio. who had unknowingly grounded Valdemar from their slow spiral into the definition and interpretation of the word pretty.

"Pardon?" asked Valdemar.

"Did that bastard give me a busted skull?" asked Lucio gesturing to a fissure starting from the bottom of the eye socket across the cheekbone.

Realizing what the count was referring to Valdemar had to stifle a laugh. "No, that is a zygomaticomaxillary suture. You'll notice the second one, right here." They turned the skull to allow Lucio to see the other fissure reflected on the other cheekbone.

"Oh, so it's okay then? It's not broken?" asked Lucio.

"This specimen is in excellent condition." reassured Valdemar. A moment passed between them before the quaestor softly cleared their throat, and managed a polite thank you to the count. They fully intended to investigate the skull further for any clues of what may have lead to the specimen’s demise. They loved a good mystery. Afterwords, it would look lovely in their display cabinet - pretty ruby eyes and all.

“Right, so that guy I got this skull from. He has other things too. Goopy things in jars. Dead things in jars. Dead things out of jars. Drawings of bones and meaty parts. Books. Does any of that sound interesting to you?” asked Lucio.

Valdemar considered Lucio’s offer before replying, “I suppose that I am always in search for new specimens to add to my collection. Additionally, this could be an opportunity to ask the merchant where the rest of the remain’s of this specimen can be found.”

Their response seemed to greatly please the count as he leaned back in his chair. For the past few nights, he had done nothing but party - which he loved to do, and would surely want to do again - but sitting with Valdemar, as the sun lowered into the horizon felt nice. Not to mention, they knew a lot, which Lucio appreciated. Having them around could be quite helpful to keeping his kingdom. Additionally, he was curious as to what was under their bandages. His money was on horns, but it would be fun to confirm his suspicions.

“Great, I’ll take you down there sometime.” said Lucio. “And, if you see anything you like, consider it yours.”

While material possessions never interested Valdemar, the idea of discovering something new was quite alluring. Perhaps, the merchant had a sealed jar of an entirely forgotten disease, or maybe they would uncover an ancient tomb that described a real account of an unsolved death of an entire village. The more they thought about it, the more exciting the prospect became.

“Would now be an appropriate time?” asked Valdemar who had moved to the edge of their seat. Their body was stiff with anticipation, as they leaned over ever so slightly towards him. A coy smile spread on Lucio’s face. He knew the moment he agreed, Valdemar would be sprinting for the door. Frankly, it seemed cruel to make them wait another moment for his answer.

“I’ll have someone fetch two cloaks and a carriage.”

END.

[skyrim-drabbles-n-stuff]

Miraak x Reader (Sfw drabble)

(jealous Miraak? Jealous Miraak 💖 plus I’m definitely going to write a one shot later with miraak and a baby dragon)

If someone was to go around asking just what it was a dragonborn, no, what two dragonborns did with their free time they’d likely get many answers.Most would guess that the Dragonborn pair would be out helping some unfortunate soul. Others would assume they’d take their part in whatever political issue was present. Perhaps some would even guess the two would be spending their time to meditate on the voice, ponder the inner working of what it was to be both human and dragon.

No matter what the masses would guess, they’d likely be mistaken in this case. Instead of some grandeur quest or political scheme, the two dovahkiins were engaged with the striking simplicity of hiking.

Between the familiarity of your homeland and the comfort of finally returning to your love after days away was more than you could hope for. Even if your “love” was more interested in interrogating you. Of course, you should’ve known him better. A year being back in the land of mortals did nothing but intensify his underlying separation issues. No matter how much he didn’t want to admit it, you grounded him. You gave him a stability that made him weak. So, going off to some remote part of the hold with a random companion at your hip made him nervous to say the least. Even if he said it was perfectly fine.

Regardless of what he said, in the kindest words, he pretty much griped the entire way up the mountain side. Luckily it was a familiar path for you two, one of the first places you took him after your arrival on windhelm’s docks. It was a nice view for sure, a sturdy rock formation protruding off the mountain. A natural overhang of thick stone protecting you from the fall of snow or whatever else the weather may offer.

“Ready to take a break yet?” You were well aware he was still in the middle of some ridiculous explanation telling you that he most definitely wasn’t jealous of some other man and that you were completely mad if you thought so.

It was his scoff that made you turn. Yet another thing you should’ve known better to do. Nothing quite gets under the eldest dovahkiin’s skin like being interrupted.

The instant your eyes met it became a challenge to not laugh and thank the gods simultaneously. The will to praise the divines came from his own decision to leave his beloved mask at home whilst the sudden desire to laugh was caused by...well..for starters his hands were still held up, froze mid gesture as though further emphasizing the fact you interrupted him. Secondly his face was red in a way he just couldn’t blame on the chilly air. The bits of his dirty blonde hair he had loose were beyond tussled, likely from him running his hands through it, and finally his breathtaking, unnaturally glowing emerald eyes were heavily hooded by the intense furrowing of his brow.However, no matter how comical it was there was no denying he was angry.

You didn’t really expect him to answer you now and his arms transitioning to being crossed only confirmed your suspicions. It was when he rolled his eyes you realized he wasn’t just angry actually, he was hurt. Upon this clarity a deep pang hit your chest, guilt suddenly creeping in your gut. The feeling only worsened the longer you stared at him.

This certainly wasn’t how you planned your “off day” to go.

Nevertheless you set down your knapsack with a resonating crunch from the small pile of snow it landed on. For a moment you were tempted to fixate on the bag, hell, anything to distract you from the fact you were the one completely at fault. Sure, he was complaining and probing for questions but..it was fair. Annoying, but fair. You definitely wouldn’t appreciate him going off last minute with some attractive company.

Considering such things you sighed, eyes hesitantly going back to his clearly disgruntled bulky form. A small frown laced on your lips as you took a couple steps toward him, just enough to stand about toe to toe. It was discouraging to see how his expression was unfazed despite your close proximity. Nowadays he’s usually quirk a brow or give a tiny smile.

Putting all your effort into being steady you put a trembling hand on his chest. Without even thinking about it your fingers gingerly clenched the thick material, a habit you acquired ever since the first time he kissed you. Perhaps the gesture triggered a similar thought in him as well, because even though he was angry he couldn’t stop himself from relaxing against your touch.

“I..I’m sorry for that.” He swallowed hard, curious to see if you would drag out the apology any further. He didn’t think it was appropriate to necessarily beg for forgiveness over it of course, but he wouldn’t be totally opposed either way. “I should’ve been listening.”

Your other hand rose to cup the side of his face, your thumb tracing the pronounced diagonal line of his cheekbone. “You’re important to me..” you sweetly cooed, understanding it didn’t fully absolve you of brushing his words off. Thankfully it was somehow enough to cause him to soften, leaning into the hold of your hand ever so slightly with an abrasive brush of his stubble.

Now it was his turn to sigh. A dense puff of white smoke seething through his nostrils as he did, highlighting just how cold it was around you.

“As you are to me, my dovah jud..” he somewhat grumbled, anger ebbing away in the matter of a few seconds. Realization came to him as well. Not only did you both earn and deserve his trust but there was only a handful of times you both could spend together without the worry of what comes next lurking in the back of his mind. He’d be a fool to take any bit of it for granted and he’d be damned to ever be considered a fool.

Besides, the longer he looked into your glimmering eyes the more he felt himself be subdued into a gentle calmness.

“I was wrong for dismissing you like that. Miraak, I’m also sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t want you there with me.” There it was, the magic words that completely unbound him from his desire to stay agitated. A serene look in his eyes replacing the previously harsh glare as he let his arms encircle your waist. “The last thing I meant to do was hurt you.”

“Very well.” He hummed, slowly beginning to grin just like you anticipated. Soon enough he only further reassured you of his forgiveness by giving a quick kiss to the tip of your nose. “And yes, a break would be most appreciated now.” Finally an answer to your question.

Much to your relief he unwound his arms from your waist in favor for taking a seat against the cool stone under the rock formation, beckoning you over immediately. You gladly obliged of course. Tucking yourself into his side, delighted by his warmth you were more than apt to finally rest. You were truly elated whenever he cast one of his arms around you once again, this time pulling you as close as he could.

A few moments of peace went by until....

“Zu’u los hin arhk hi los dii dovah jud.”

[theoriginalladya]

Dragon Age II - Meghan Hawke/Nathaniel Howe, Sebastian Vael *ears perked* *grabby hands* :D for your WIP folders?

Hehehehe   Thought that might get your attention! :)

Okay, so let me start with Meghan and Nate.  Meghan is the only Hawke I’ve ever played (dual wielding rogue).  I ended up playing her twice because on my first playthrough (romanced Fenris) the save I tried to import didn’t work, but I didn’t discover it until Alistair showed up and I knew that language I needed to hear, and I didn’t.  Okay, not so bad.  So I reimported it, it took this time, and I romanced Sebastian second time through in the game.  Great - now I have some baseline on both of those romances.  

That said, I already knew Meghan wasn’t going to be with either of them in her story - she ends up with Nathaniel Howe who she meets when he is still a squire for his lord in the Free Marches.  In fact, they meet in Kirkwall as he is waiting on the ship that will take him back to Ferelden.

Going to put under a cut because this got long really fast! lol

(And I do not vouch for any of this as I first wrote it about six years ago, possibly longer! lol  I’ve certainly learned a LOT more about writing since then, so these will inevitably get cleaned up before I think of posting them in future)

Deep in thought, Meghan left the table and returned to the bar.  She waited to be served another and was considering looking to round up a game of Wicked Grace to entertain herself with when she was unexpectedly and quite rudely hit in the back.  The move shoved her belly first into the bar counter, and the edge caught her just beneath the ribcage.  “Ooof!” Her breath was forced out of her lungs, and for the briefest of moments, Meghan thought she saw stars ….

“Maker’s breath, are you alright?”

Blinking back pain and trying to suck in enough air to breathe let alone reply, Meghan coughed harshly and finally resorted to nodding.  Her vision wasn’t quite back to normal yet, but a strong hand at her back pounded a few times in an offer of help -- help?  How does this help?  

Almost as if he sensed her thoughts, the hand grasped firmly at her shoulder and he guided her to sit on a nearby bench.  She recognized that it was a he, despite still being doubled over from pain.  His voice had that soothing baritone feel to it, very similar to the voice her father once had.  

Once seated, he left her side, returning a half moment later.  He dropped a tankard on the table beside her with a not so gentle thud and both he and she ignored the suds and ale that sloshed over the side, dripping down to form a ring around the vessel.  “I must apologize,” he told her, dropping to a knee in front of her to bring them to eye level.  

Meghan lifted her head, still searching for enough breath with which to speak, when she met cool, steely grey-blue eyes.  Blinking, her mouth worked again, but still nothing escaped that even remotely resembled words.  At best, a rough grunt slipped past.  His eyes narrowed in concern and he moved to her left as if to pound on her back again.

Meghan reacted instantly.  Straightening, she lifted her hand, warding off his actions, and finally drew in a deep breath.  “No, thank you!” she rasped.  She pulled in another immediately following, and then another.  Absently, she rubbed at her ribs where they’d hit the counter. “I’m … good.”

“Are you certain?” he asked.  The look of concern on his face didn’t fade.  If anything, Meghan noticed, his brow seemed to furrow more deeply.  “I would hate to think that I --”

She managed a lopsided smile, waving her hand back and forth between them.  “I’ll be fine,” she promised, this time with better vocal projection even if it was still rough around the edges.  “What -- what happened?”

He grimaced. Glancing around, he pointed towards a mild brawl taking place that was now moved onto the far side of the tavern. “I guess I walked into the middle of something.”

Meghan’s eyes followed his direction and she spotted a pair of vaguely familiar faces in the center of the tussle.  Sighing, she shook her head.  “Willis and Farlan are always in the middle of some ruckus,” she assured him.  Her voice was stronger now and she straightened further.  Reaching for the tankard, she took a careful drink.  Tilting her head slightly to the side, she observed, “You aren’t from these parts, are you?”

The concern finally eased from his face, but Meghan wouldn’t say it softened his features at all. Dark hair, light eyes, and eagle like features even down to his unfortunately large ‘beak’.  Still, he wasn’t entirely unattractive, and Meghan had to admit the caramel smoothness of his voice more than made up for any perceived deficiencies so far.  

“I’m not, no,” he agreed.  Rising, he took a seat on the bench next to her, his eyes drifting to follow the activities across the room.  “My name is Nathaniel Howe.  I’m a squire for Ser Rodolphe Varley.”

Meghan frowned, searching her memory for any information on that name.  She’d heard it a time or two, but had no first hand knowledge. At the same time, something about Nathaniel dropped into place for her.  “You aren’t from the Free Marches, are you?”  When he looked startled, she smiled.  “Your accent -- Ferelden?”

Slowly, he nodded. “I’ve worked hard to disguise it,” he admitted, “and thought I’d made progress.  Obviously, I was mistaken.”

Dropping into the Fereldan tongue, Meghan gave him a sassy grin and extended her hand. “Meghan Hawke, lately of Lothering. My family and I fled to Kirkwall when the Blight started.”

“Lothering?” His look of astonishment faded into a half smile of amusement.  “Your accent, on the other hand, is quite good.”

“My parents were originally from Kirkwall,” she explained.  “They moved to Lothering before I was born.”  She took a healthier swallow of her ale.  “Can I buy you a drink?” she asked after a moment.  

Nathaniel chuckled softly and shook his head.  “It is I who should be buying you one, I think,” he told her.  

Meghan jumped to her feet, only the slightest of tightening at the corner of her eyes indicating any residual pain left from her injuries.  “Nope.  This round is on me.”  She left him before he could protest, returning a couple of minutes later.  Handing him the tankard while regaining her seat, she reached for her own and lifted it to clink against his.  “We Fereldens have to stick together.”

Now, let me tell you a bit about Sebastian in this world.  I adore Sebastian, good parts, bad parts and all the in between.  I’ve always thought he got the short end of the stick on some things too, and I wanted to include him more predominantly in this series of fics, so I’ve sort of broadened his horizons, so to speak.  

Now the clip i’m going to share technically is a part of Serafina and Alistair after the Blight, but it happens in Kirkwall (long story there, too), so I sort of wedged it in on this side of things to make it easier to find in my notes.  You see, he and Serafina met years ago when she is visiting Orlais.  Neither has seen each other since then - about five years previous to this moment.  This is how they bump into one another after all that time...

Their path took them into an open courtyard and for a moment, Serafina’s steps slowed.  

“Did we take a wrong turn?” Alistair asked, his eyes searching the area.  

“I think we must have,” she replied.  “Oh, wait. There’s the Chantry.”  She pointed across the way.  “I think we need to head that way.”  Her hand drifted to a stairwell to the right of the building.  

Alistair’s eyes lifted to view the large building looming over the city.  “You know,” he mused in a tone only she could hear, “I’ve always heard how the people of Hightown think themselves above those in Lowtown, but I didn’t think it was so literal.”

“Hmm?”  Serafina glanced around.  Smiling gently, she nudged him in the arm.  “There is a lot of history here,” she agreed, “but most people tend to forget the simple yet more important aspects of it.”

“Oh?  What do you mean?”  He stopped walking, pulling her over to the center of the courtyard near the Chantry Board.  

Casually, she pointed to the exits to the immediate area.  “What do you see?” she challenged.

Alistair blinked. “Stairs?”

Serafina nodded. “Where do they lead?”

He frowned. “Down?”  

She nodded again and waited, her eyes meeting his.

“To … Lowtown … Oh!” Blinking, Alistair tilted his head to his right.  “Stairs lead up and down.”

“Exactly.  They might find themselves above those whom they think they are better, and their history certainly provides enough reminders that even the bloodiest of battles have not reached these heights,” she pointed out, “but the fact remains that when that happens, they are still stuck. Those stairs are their only way out. If a siege can be held long enough, they have no means of escape.”

“Thankfully,” he muttered for her ears only, “Denerim isn’t set up the same way.”

“There is that,” she agreed.  Then, walking out into the middle of the square, she turned in a slow circle, eyes lifted and surveying the architecture and situation of the buildings surrounding them, “On the other hand, it’s difficult to argue that it isn’t a pretty view.”

“And clean,” Alistair interjected as his eyes followed her.  Granted, certain parts of Ferelden’s capital city were better tended than others.  He wondered how much that had to do with the Blight and civil war or simply because Cailan had been king.  His eyes fell back to her after a moment and he stiffened when he realized …  “Watch out, behind you!”

Serafina, eyes still on the buildings around them, stumbled as she stepped backwards into someone. She caught herself awkwardly, but didn’t quite lose her balance.  “I’m so sorry!”  A strong hand at her arm helped her maintain balance, and she dropped her eyes … to an unexpectedly handsome and familiar, if somewhat older, face from her past. Gasping, her own eyes widened.  “No!  It … it can’t be!” she breathed.  “Sebastian?”

Startled, the man released his hold on her and took a step backwards.  “I’m sorry.  Have we met?” he asked.

It was all Serafina could do to break her gaze from his.  When she did, her eyes trailed over the rest of him.  He stood before her, just as vibrantly muscular and male as she remembered, now dressed in armor that clearly had Chantry’s influence in the design.  That, perhaps, answered a question.  However, some things remained the same.  The blue of his eyes.  The velvety roll of his voice and the soft burr as he spoke ….  

It stung a little that he didn’t recall without some prompting, but considering the circumstances that led to that night, it wasn’t much of a surprise.  “Five years ago in Val Royeaux,” she murmured quietly.  “There was a masquerade and …”

Recognition hit him instantly and he took another quick step backwards from her.  “You!” he gasped, face paling with shock.  

She nodded slowly but remained where she was.  She didn’t realize Alistair had joined her until his voice, quiet but urgent in his concern for her, penetrated through the fog of surprise.  “Are you alright?”

[exosmutfactory]

How I Look On You 003

Chun-hei is stuck between feeling too busy to commit and too young to settle down. And with her bustling book publisher business, bachelors and alike are all swarming around her for a chance at publicity. She’s doing a good job at keeping the men at bay—until Byun Baekhyun, that is. Doesn’t mean he’ll have it easy though.

Part 1 |  Part 2 |  Part 3 ✓ |  Part 4 |  Part 5 |

•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •

The Struggle

---

Uh, I make my money, and I write the checks

So say my name with a little respect

All my girls successful, and you're just our guest

Do I really need to say it?

Do I need to say it again, yeah?

You better stop the sweet talk

And keep your pretty mouth shut

---

“Fuck,” I pant, leaning back into my seat. “Mmm god, Baekhyun.”

The raven moans from between my legs, sucking harder on my clit as I tug on his hair in abandon.

“You’re so fucking good,” Purring lowly while running a hand through his hair, I tighten my grip again; arching against his mouth when he lightly drags his teeth across the sensitive bud. “I’m close.”

“Mmm.” He slides a finger inside, slipping in another one when he receives no resistance from my sopping core.

My moans grow louder in volume as he repeatedly hits my g-spot; that familiar knot in my stomach getting ready to release with every suck and swirl of his tongue on my clit. When my orgasm hits a loud ringing fills my ears; black dots circling my vision as I stare up open-mouthed at the ceiling. Thighs quivering around his head as he keeps lapping at my aching folds.

“You taste so fucking good,” He growls, moving between my parted legs while I look up at him in a daze. His hard member sliding along my soaking core causing both our breaths to hitch.

“Baek,” I panted, gripping his shirt. Please.

He slips inside; all hot, rigid and raw. I can feel every vein on his cock as I tighten my greedy walls.

“Look at you,” He grunts, snapping his hips and bottoming out with every thrust; the painfully good pressure at my cervix leaving me breathless. “So needy for my cock, baby. Have you missed me?”

Digging my nails into his leather seats, I can only moan and gasp with his every move; that familiar feeling of blooming pride swelling in my chest. My back arches to new heights when he roughly rubs my recovering clit; a cry pulled from my lips when he speeds up his rough movements. Sex is always good, but fuck, Baekhyun’s sex is out worldly.

“Fuck you look so beautiful like this,” He breathes; hair dangling in his brown eyes that are filled with an emotion I’m too blissed out to decipher right now. My grip on his back deepens the more that all too familiar knot forms in my stomach.

“Chunhei.”

It takes all my effort to open my eyes and meet his again; a flow of pleasured noises I haven't made in years falling from my lips when he tilts my hips at a higher angle and slams right into my spot. I can only describe the look in his eyes as fondness as I tip over that blissful edge.

“God.” Baekhyun groans, hips stuttering at my spasming walls gripping his cock. His head snaps up from our joined parts, “W-Wait where can I cum?” The breathy tone of his voice has me tightening even more around him, pulling an almost pained moan from his thoroughly kiss-swollen lips. “Fuck baby, I can’t-”

“I-Inside.” I gasp, wrapping my thighs tightly around his waist, “Fill me up, Baekhyun.”

The whiny moan from his lips as he cums is devastatingly adorable, although I’d never tell him that. Or how right it feels to have his warmth filling up my walls. Can’t have him getting too attached now, can we? 

Our heavy breaths mingle in the heat of the fogged-up car as I move to reach for the tissue box on the passenger’s seat. “My meeting is in 30 minutes,” I sigh, trying my best to ignore his tempting kisses on my neck.

Baekhyun pauses, making a noise in protest. “10 more minutes with me?”

“Baek, after all that you’d be lucky if I came in 40.” I chuckle breathlessly, checking my Rolex. “Didn’t you say you had somewhere to be as well?” Quirking a brow, I turn back to him, blinking at the odd look in his eyes. He shifts his brown orbs away before I can identify it. “Yeah.” He clears his throat, leaning back to help clean up the mess. “I have to show an intern around.”

“Ooo that sounds like fun,” I smirk, laughing at the sour look on his face. “Oh come on, it can’t be that bad.”

“Imagine having someone ¾ s of your age following you around,” He grumbles; nose adorably scrunched as he gently wipes our aftermath from my inner thighs.

Ugh. Accountants and their ways of math—but wait. I tilt my head, “How old are you?”

Baekhyun freezes, hand right over my mound before mumbling something under his breath.

“Hmm?” I tuck a red manicured finger under his chin, looking into his sparkly brown orbs.

“I..” He hesitates, gulping. A red hue covering the tips of his ears. “24,” He mumbles.

“..Huh,” I lick my lips, grinning; keeping his gaze locked on mine. “And you’re just telling me this now?”

“Y-You never asked,” He looks off to the right before meeting my eyes with his defensive ones, “What? Is it a problem?”

“No,” I insist, shaking my head with a coy smile. “Just making sure,” My finger lightly traces down his neck to his delectable collarbones; his gulp adding sparks to a cooled down flame, “I’m not corrupting you.”

Baekhyun looks up at me then in all his unbuttoned shirt and sex tussled hair glory, biting that damn bottom lip of his, “And what if you are?”

I scoff, snarling playfully and giving him a light shove, “You wish. Come on before we ruin your seats.”

Together we finish cleaning off ourselves and the driver’s seat. Throwing used tissues in the trash bag under the passenger’s seat and looking all over for my earring and his tie. “Here,” I gently take it from his hands, straightening it, “You’re looking a little crooked there.”

Baekhyun says nothing as I end up retying the knot; his gaze burning on my concentrating form.

“There,” I smooth it out with a small smile, reaching for my purse while he runs a hand through his hair and steps out the car. The cold wintry air feels amazing on my heated skin.

“So,” He clears his throat, avoiding my eyes. I lightly tap my nails on the dashboard, very aware of the ticking on the clock. “Can I...see you after this?” He falters, peeking meekly over at me.

“I need to be able to walk tomorrow, Baek,” I mumble, reapplying my lipstick in the mirror.

“T-That’s fine, I mean...” He rocks back on the balls of his feet, “Do you.. want to go out for dinner or some-”

Wincing a little, I murmur, “I’m staying later to monitor everyone during overtime tonight.” My chest tightens uncomfortably after I utter those words. And even more so when I see the crestfallen look on his face.

“Oh..” He rubs the back of his neck, looking down at his shoes before meeting my eyes. “Are you free anytime this week?”

I don’t say anything—I can’t bear to as he looks at me with those damn sad puppy eyes that tug at a deep place hidden inside my chest. So I lightly shake my head, clearing my throat before returning my focus back to the purse in my hands. And the vibrating phone in my lap. “I’ll have to sprint if I plan to make it on time.” I note, eyes wide at the “2 minutes to spare” reminder flashing across the screen.

Baekhyun merely nods, moving out the way as I step out into the cold. The temperature is nearly unbearable as I take a step away from his warmth.

“I’ll text you the next time I’m free,” I mumble, throwing him one last look over my shoulder. I pat his arm while walking pass, trying to ignore the dejected look on his face. “See you ‘round.”

“Yeah,” He murmurs, the rest of his words taken away by the mid-December wind.

I huddle further into my wool coat as I round the corner. Quickly making my way into the building despite the light layer of ice covering the sidewalk before my gloveless fingers go numb. The gust of heat greeting me once I step through the door doing little to warm me up on the inside.

“Chun-hei!” Snapping my head up, my eyes widen at the frazzled secretary near sprinting across the floor, “Jihun, what-”

“You’re 10 minutes late!” She hisses, grabbing my wrist before bolting back over to the elevators. “Thank goodness the illustrator was able to distract the reviewers and the author with a selection of book covers. Your ass needs to be in there now.”

I give a speedy reply, thankfully making it to the meeting room in one piece despite our haste through freely cleaned, (and slippery,) floors. It takes everything in me to stop Jihun from literally bursting through the door before quickly checking over our appearances and walking through the entry with the expected swiftness and grace.

“Good morning everyone, sorry I’m late.” Briefly glancing over the blank and slightly irritated expressions on their faces, I drape my coat over the back of my chair, swiftly moving to start the presentation on the whiteboard. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

➽➼►♦⇔♦➽➼►♦⇔♦➽➼►

“I know you’re happy getting dicked down on the regular, Chun-hei, but fuck.” Jihun paces the empty room, running careful mint-green manicured fingers through her hair, “You’ve never been late to a meeting before.”

All I can do is press my forehead to the table and groan. Please don’t remind me. Thinking about all the nonsense I spluttered to Baekhyun in my hurry to escape makes me wince. Overtime? Being busy for the rest of the week? I just sent my workers off on a mini-vacation for being so diligent these past 3 months.

“Really, I know it’s doing you some good, but you’re really distracted now too.” I know she’s only speaking the truth, but it still hurts my pride knowing that someone—a horny man none the less—has managed to cloud my judgment again. To knock me off my tight-knit schedule and mess up a little of my reputation. And only with keeping my bed warm every now and then? Has my self worth stooped this low?

Or is it my guard being let down around him; my subconscious muses.

I shove that thought down fast.

“Jihun,” Her name comes out more whiny than intended. Though it stops her right in her tracks. “What?”

“I need help,” I mumble. In more way than one if I’m being honest. 

“With what—Baekhyun hasn’t done anything has he?” Her heels click rhythmically as she approaches the table, taking the seat next to me. “If he fucked you over, I swear-”

“No, no,” I shake my head, waving my hand around, “None of that. I need a drink.”

“..A drink?..”

“Straight up vodka,” I lift my head, nodding to myself, “And five shots.”

She gives me a pensive look, sharp eyes quickly picking up on the situation. “I’ll call the girls.”

Giving an appreciative hum, I let my head drop back to the table with a sigh. Willing away the thoughts of black hair and hypnotizing brown eyes. What the fuck have I gotten myself into.

“Let me get this straight,” Minji taps her chin, a glass of mojito resting between her fingertips, “You’ve been sleeping with this guy for a few weeks-”

“Months,” I mumble petulantly, nursing my own glass with shaky hands, “Over two months.”

“Over two months,” She repeats, “And when he asks you on a date, you freak out.” She concludes, setting stunned eyes onto me.

I shrug despite the lump in my throat; tugging uncomfortably at the neck of my crocheted long-sleeved black dress, “Pretty much.”

“Girl!” There is no time to avoid a snack to my arm. All I can do is cover the throbbing area and whimper at the pain. “He likes you, dummy!”

“Sure he does,” I roll my eyes, ignoring the fast pace of my heart; leaning against the counter when the room starts to spin. “We could say the same about-” I hiccup, “-Seojun.”

“Seojun has been far up his own ass since day one,” Jihun’s voice manages to float over the headache-inducing bass of the club. Perfect nails sticking out like sore thumbs under the neon lights, “It’s our fault for giving him the benefit of the doubt.” 

“How nice of you,” I murmur, taking my last shot glass with a sigh.

“Anyways,” Minji perks up, energy cranked up to 100 as she drunkenly sways to the unfamiliar dubstep, “I think you should totally give this Baekhyun guy a chance.”

An unwanted warm feeling blossoms in my chest at the prospect. I shove the drunken hope down quickly and make a noise in protest, “But-”

Another smack. “No buts!” She huffs. Jihun stands behind her covering up her snickering with a shot glass. “If you keep going on like this you’ll have too much money and not enough kids to help with college tuition—and I know you want to pay that college tuition-”

“But if said college tuition didn’t exist-” I almost trip over a stool trying to lean back from her raised hand and narrowed eyes, “Okay okay, you’re right!”

“Damn straight.” She huffs, turning to Jihun. “I can’t believe Seoyeon isn’t here.”

“Nah, it’s alright,” I drape my head over my folded arms, closing my eyes. Instantly being greeted by the sight of pink pouty lips and brown kicked puppy eyes. “She’d ruin the mood.”

“True, she gets all stiff when you mention men,” Jihun murmurs; cheeks already rosy as she throws back another shot. Sighing while taking a look around, “But why isn’t she here? It’s not like her to miss the opportunity.”

Minji starts to say something but makes a gagging noise.

My eyes shoot open as I quickly move out of her range, looking her over frantically from a safe distance. “Min!” Jihun pats her gasping form on the back, carefully setting down her mojito before resting a hand on her shoulder, “Are you okay?” Our petite friend refuses to respond, an action that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand as she gazes with an open mouth somewhere behind us; face turning pale. Curiosity getting the best of me, I slowly turn around to follow her line of sight.

I honestly can’t say that I’m surprised.

Seojun eyes me from across the room; brown hair messily swiped across his forehead. Seated in a booth with his shirt unbuttoned and two attention-seeking women pressed to his side. Dark brown eyes sweeping over my form. It’s sad to admit that that is how he won me over a year ago. There’s no denying his genuine model-quality looks, I’m just pissed that he used my name to get the career and the girls... And everything else he wanted. That familiar shit-eating grin on his face making my blood boil.

Someone blocks him from view; a woman with peach-colored hair that causes a spark to light up in his dark brown eyes. All I can determine is her familiar stature before a gag rings in my ear and the fluid I wanted to avoid the most falls down my dress.

I squeeze my eyes shut as Jihun pulls a sick Minji away, using all my willpower not to yell at the drunkenly swaying woman while bidding them a gruff goodbye and heading out to call a cab.  A few tears escape my eyes when the disgusting substance starts sticking to my skin. Great, this is exactly how I pictured my night to go. I manage to give the driver an address before curling up on the backseat, mindful to keep the mess from spreading to the back of the cab. The last time I rode in one of these vivid in my mind while idly running my fingertips over the back of the leather seat. A small smile curling at my lips. Huh, one night stand turned into something more, hm? 

I’m startled awake by the driver, leaving him with 5 dollars extra before stepping back out into the cold night. The apartment complex in front of me making my eyes widen in realization. Have I seriously memorized his address after riding in a cab with him about two...three times? I’d call another cab if I could remember the password to my own phone.

Next thing I know, I’m swaying a bit in front of his door. Second-guessing myself a moment too late when he’s already pulling it open; yawning like a baby lion and sleep-dazed brown eyes widening significantly. “Chunhei?” He breathes, face painted in disbelief.

I stiffen, suddenly sobering up and turning red in realization. Showing up at his doorstep at who knows what hour after practically running out on him this morning? I look down at my ruined dress, feel the sticky streaks of mascara on my cheeks and gag at the overwhelming smell of sweat and alcohol now that I’m out of that stuffy environment. Am I out of my fucking mind!? I gulp, palms getting ridiculously clammy. “I...” His sparkly brown eyes aren’t helping either. I turn away, already heading back to the elevator, “I-I’m sorry, I must have sleepwalked-”

“Stay.” He utters; soft and inviting.

I look down at his hand circled around my wrist, hoping he can’t feel my heartbeat as I follow it up to his cute face. Sleepy brown orbs eyeing me knowingly. There’s no use trying to hide how my gaze sweeps over his fluffy bedhead and pouty lips swollen from sleep before meeting his again. Even in nothing but a wrinkle white t-shirt and flannel pajama pants, Byun Baekhyun is the most stunning man I’ve ever seen.

“Okay,” I whisper. Stiffening again when he gently smiles, sliding his hand down to hold mine. He giggles—actually giggles—at the unsure look on my face before leading me into his home. And really, if I wasn’t so messy I might even give him a... hug.

•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •

Part 1 |  Part 2 |  Part 3 ✓ |  Part 4 |  Part 5 |

Hi yes this chapter is late because I was 2 seconds away from scraping the whole thing, but I think I managed to finish it okay? It's not what I originally planned but when does a plan ever go perfectly? XD I hope you liked it anyway♡♡

Thank you all for supporting this story, have a good weekend! 

[willowistic22]

Dot : #3 Newsies OC

Ok hehehe new newsies oc lol. Kinda my first ever OC but I’ve only gotten around to write a proper character sheet for her now. So yay I got it done after like..... months already??? whoops 

Basic Info :

Name : Nora “Dot” Conlon

Birthday : July 29th

Gender : Female (She/her)

Heritage : Italian

Family : She is Spot’s little sister. They’re just a year apart. Their father looked after them for the most part till he died when Nora was 9 years old (Spot 10) and they were taken care of by their uncle, which is their father’s younger brother.

Appearance : Nora is basically as tall as Spot, but her features are more feminine and small compared to Spot’s big and muscular ones. Jet black hair, almost dark brown when the sun shines on it but it’s actually just black, gently curled at the end when it brushes with her shoulders. Honey eyes like her brother. Ivory tinted rose complexion but it’s cleaner than Spot’s. Natural peach lips. So basically a female version of Spot Conlon.

Further description :

- specifically canon :

Nora isn’t exactly a newsie. She’s mostly a seamstress at a local tailor shop but sometimes sells newspapers on her days off. Though she does have a dream of being a book author. Her lucky selling spot is at a local market or sheepshead at times. Spot and Nora’s uncle was already struggling living on his own, and was made harder after taking two kids in. But he couldn’t abandon them since they’re family and he owes their father (who is his older brother) a lot. Spot was already a Brooklyn newsie before the siblings had moved in with their uncle but permanently slept at the Brooklyn Lodging house when he was 12 to make more space at the apartment. He frequently visits his family for the occasional dinner.

At times, Nora would sleep at the lodge as well. When she’s done selling and got carried away hanging out with her brooksie friends till it got too dark. Or Nora just felt like spending the night with her brother by her side. She gets along with the other brooksies. She teams up with Hotshot to play tricks on Spot or the other brooksies. She hangs out with Smokey (my other Brooklyn OC) on the side while the two watch the brooksies from the docks dipping in the water since Nora doesn’t really like swimming in front of a lot of people who are mostly boys. She bonds with the other newsies through casual conversations, messing around, and sometimes the small but kind gestures she does like sewing the tear in their clothes, giving away stuff, bringing them some food, or helping them go back to sleep after waking up from a nightmare. She’s also very good at various card games and has been known to be the best at them. Though, she gets very competitive when competing with Race because they’re just both equally good!

When the strike happened, she was 15. She felt unsure about it. Unsure whether to tell Spot to get Brooklyn to join or say nothing and agree with his decision in not joining the strike. But when Brooklyn did, Nora supported the Brooksies by providing the food they couldn’t pay. She meets the Manhattan newsies that way but has already met a few before the strike, like Albert because he's been friends with Spot since before the strike. Nora meets Kathrine and Sarah and instantly becomes friends. She frequently third wheels them on secret dates, and it covers it up to look like a casual girls night!

- specifically modern :

His uncle’s finances can barely support a family of three, so Nora works part time as a seamstress after school. Despite her skills at sewing, she has a passion for writing and photography. She later works for a magazine mostly as a photographer but sometimes as a columnist for a certain section. Her dream is to be a wildlife photographer because she loves animals and traveling!

So I’ve mentioned that in the modern era Spot, Hotshot, Albert, and Smokey are street racers (well in their teenage years at least). Nora is no exception. She’s a badass behind the wheel. Spot taught her the ropes and soon learned a few more tricks on her own. Despite her brother’s support in street racing, he explicitly means cars. Motorcycles on the other hand is a different story. Spot knows Nora can keep herself safe on the road whether it’s with a car or a bike, but some people don’t. Unlike cars, bikes don’t have doors or any other form of protection from getting hit. Spot knows how to ride one, but barely uses that skill to get around because of that specific reason. So instead she asks Hotshot to teach her. Other than her car, she goes around the city with her vespa or borrow Hotshot’s sports bike if she wants to feel a bit like a badass.

Nora wasn’t introduced to Spot’s Manhattan friends until she had reached adulthood. Race and Spot’s relationship was still casual for so long and after talks with Nora their relationship got serious. It took years to convince his brother to trust his feelings and he feels it’s the best thing Nora has ever convinced him to do. So one night where the huge friend group was planning a hangout, Spot invites Nora to tag along. Despite her friendliness, she doesn’t really extend her hand in friendship with others often so it got her a bit nervous and needed to change her outfit about seven times before arriving at their hangout place. She still didn’t like her outfit. To her surprise, she clicks with the others just fine! Spot was glad since she doesn’t have many friends in general. She hates everyone from her old high school other than Spot, his friends Nora has adopted to be her own friend, and probably like two other people from her grade (i.e. her best friends).

- applies to both :

So Nora is a very tough girl that doesn’t like taking shit from anyone. Yes, she’s kind hearted, friendly, and graceful in general. But get on her bad side and she’ll beat the crap outta you! Spot taught her how to fight by giving her little bits of advice throughout her life when she’s required to use her fist. It’s to the point where Spot got her alone and properly trained her how to punch. And with such an inquisitive nature, she kept on asking for more which led to her fully being able to defend herself by the age of 14. She may seem friendly on the outside, but that doesn’t mean she’s your friend or even trust you. Nora displays the difference between tolerating and liking someone.

Her untrusting instinct towards people in general came from her bad experience from being abandoned by her mother. No one ever knew why the woman abandoned her family in the first place. Her father tried his best to be vague any time his children asked, but it was safe to say there was a more specific reason why she left. Their father’s last wishes before he passed away is to not answer that question. It frustrated the siblings but they honored it at the end. Nora hated the feeling of being abandoned. When she got older, she began to understand the concept more and had a short period in her life where she had trouble with her self image. But she picked herself up and became the woman her friends know and love.

Spot and Nora are actually really close. Nora was the first one that started calling him Spot because anytime the two holds slingshot competitions, her brother is always spot on. Ever since that started, Nora always refers to him as Spot. Occasionally, Spot calls Nora dot after joking about the little black dot just below her right eye. It became a brand for the two. Spot and Dot! Their personalities range from ‘the-exact-same-person’ and ‘polar-opposites’, there is no in between. They’d do anything for the other. Other than perhaps Racetrack and Hotshot, Nora is the only one that gets to see Spot vulnerable. Heck, she was the first one! Is Spot the overprotective big brother? Yes and no. He knows Nora can handle anything that comes her way. She doesn’t need help when someone is bothering her. Spot would hold her hat and proudly watch her tussle with a stranger that decided to get on her bad side. But there are times where she trusted the wrong guy with her heart. A few devastating heartbreaks indeed but she was lucky that it didn’t do much damage, other than maybe ruining her trust in others more. And to that, Spot hunts those assholes down till they get a proper beating :)

It was a pretty funny story of how Nora and Crutchie met. She fell for him. As in she tripped over something while walking and landed on Crutchie and caused the two to fall on the pavement. In canon era, Nora was in Manhattan and was running late to be somewhere else. She tripped and fell on top of Crutchie, causing all the paper he still needed to sell to fly off to the distance. After apologizing, they had a short conversation and it got her mesmerized by the boy. In modern era, the same thing happened. Only it was Crutchie’s textbooks that fell and he’s the one running late for one of his morning classes. Their conversation was short after that but they impressed the other quite well. They met up again when Spot invited her to meet his friends from Manhattan. They had a more in depth conversation on their own while their friends were having fun and Nora was definitely crushing on him hard.

(I still got more headcanons for her but that would make this post even longer. Feel free to ask questions if you’d like to know more about her!)