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duchessfics · 5 years ago

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Business and Pleasure Part 3

Billie x Fem!Reader

Warning(s): NSFW, Cunninlingus, Fingering, D/s Dynamics, Some Language

Summary: This is the first time seeing Billie since having sex with her, but how do you navigate your working obligations and your feelings for Billie? And does she even feel the same way or are you expendable?

Word Count: 6210

A/n: Here’s part 3! I have a family gathering so if there’s errors I’m sorry! I’m trying to post this really fast. 😬 This one is less fluffy, but I still think it’s not too angsty. Definitely not as angsty as A Lasting Mark pt. 4. 😅 I hope you enjoy!

Part 2

After having Saturday off, on Sunday morning you wake up at 7:00 in the morning to get ready for the day and find yourself putting a little more effort into your makeup and hair. It’s not that you didn’t before, but it feels different when you see a person who you like and realize the feelings are reciprocated.

By 8:00 you’re out the door and driving over to Billie’s house. However, on the way there you stop at a nearby Starbucks to get her usual order: a grande nitro cold brew in a venti cup with two shots of espresso, two pumps hazelnut syrup, one pump vanilla syrup, a splash of almond milk, and a light sprinkling of cinnamon on top. You just order an iced coffee with an extra shot of espresso to keep you going. But you’re not finished yet.

Next you drive to McDonalds and buy the medium’s guilty pleasure: a sausage biscuit with hash browns. There weren’t many details in the NDA you signed when hired by Billie, but one of them was not disclosing her favorite breakfast choice or how much she ate it.

After purchasing the items, you speed over to the medium’s house so the items are fresh and before you get out of the car, you put the sausage biscuit and hash browns into a Starbucks bag you specifically requested to partially conceal her meal of choice, leaving the discarded fast food bag in your car. Because you’re working today, you let yourself in and hear Billie speaking from the nearby sunroom.

So you walk to the room that’s always so sunny and warm because of the expansive windows that span from floor to ceiling along the length of one of the walls. This is one of your favorite rooms in Billie’s home because you can see her polished backyard and it never fails to impress anyone who sees this gorgeous view, including yourself.

Billie sits in one of her cushioned chairs facing the windows so the natural light illuminates her face while one person does her makeup and another person fixes her hair. When she sees you walking in, a smile forms on her lips making your cheeks warm.

Fuck. Keep cool. Just like you practiced: calm, cool and collected.

“Morning, sweetheart.” She greets you. You give her a smile back but try not to act out of the ordinary since there’s others around. It’s not like the stylists take much notice. They’re used to you being around and are busy working on Billie. But honestly…you want to tread carefully. You sport a polite smile when you reply, “Good morning, Miss Howard. I got a small breakfast for you.” Then you hand her the coffee and paper bag with her food items.

That makes her eyes light up and she tells you, “Thank you.” letting her fingers linger on yours for a second longer than necessary. Before you can get too flustered you back up take out your legal pad filled with notes from your tote bag and say, “While you eat and get your hair and makeup done, I can tell you what to expect for the interview.” After finishing your sentence, you glance up and she says, “Go on.” Waving her hand as an emphasis.

You look to your notes and try to hide how your hands tremble in nerves. It feels like it’s your first day with her all over again. Then you clear your throat and begin, “The person interviewing you will be Robin Harker. She works in the television and film section of the New York Times and has interviewed Jennifer Aniston and Chris Evans in the past year.”

You venture to look up again and her response is to nod you on with a casual smile while throwing her hash brown packet in the bag.

What did you expect? For her to drop everything and proclaim her love for you? Get real. This is Hollywood.

So you continue with your notes, “I read through those interviews to get an idea of what to expect for questions and came up with some possibilities.”

“In both interviews she asked about how they got started and I’m sure she’ll ask you too. A couple ideas for responses are to explain the first time you saw an apparition and what that felt like. Or you could explain what inspired you to start a TV show documenting something so intimate. Those reading won’t be interested in the production details of a tv show. Something that will keep their attention is reading about the phenomenon of capturing the paranormal on camera. Sensory terms always keep people interested.

“I would also expect a question about what a typical day on you tv show is like. People will want to know things like if you see ghosts every day, how you prepare and protect yourself, and what happens after the cameras shut off. Basically, how you decompress. My suggestion would be to use more general terms. Crystals and stones are very popular at the moment so you could mention that. On the other hand, I would stay away from talking about essential oils, perhaps choosing incense or sage instead. There could also be a certain tea you drink or a bath product you use.

“I don’t mean to repeat myself, but the key is incorporating the five senses. For example, with your white light of protection you could explain how that feels both physically and mentally. Maybe you feel an electricity to it. The reader wants to feel a special connection and resonate with your words. The happy middle is sounding exclusive enough to stand out, but also relatable.”

You pause for a moment, knowing this is a lot. But this time you don’t look up before speaking,

“I promise I’m almost done. The final thing I would expect is a question about the validity of communicating with the paranormal. Rather than trying to reason with science, it will be more effective to take the angle of how much we don’t know. And how the concept of communicating with ancestors or non-human beings is not new and has been around that for thousands if not millions of years. You’re just using the tools available in the 21st century to provide insight and more information.

“There is also a chance that she’ll mention the influx of phony mediums out to make money on people’s grief. But if you bring up the large amount of people who claim to be doctors, psychologists, lawyers, and other professionals and base their knowledge off of google searches it should be sufficient. You can also remind her that viewers can take as much or as little as they want from the show. But don’t put it on them too much. People don’t like being blamed even if it’s the truth.”

You take a deep breath and pause a moment before slowly asking, “Does that make sense?” When you look up from your notes her face is partially obscured by the make up artist applying finishing touches. But she hesitantly replies, “I think so.” You back up a little to keep out of the way and assure her, “In case you forget something, I put the basics of what I said on a couple of post-it notes.”

Right away the medium lets out a sigh of relief and tells you, “Oh, thank you, sweetheart.” Your body warms at the praise and you’re glad you don’t have to look at her directly in this moment. Instead you calmly reply, “You’re welcome. I’ll plug in an extension cord with your charger so there won’t be a risk of your computer shutting down. And I’ll set up the post-it notes so you’ll be ready to go.”

When you begin to walk away, you hear Billie praise, “You really are an angel.” You smile and look back to thank her. However, it feels like a punch to your gut when you see she looks at her reflection and speaks to the makeup artist.

Shit. That hurt more than it should. You should’ve never done anything. There’s a reason for professional boundaries.

Before anyone can take notice, you step over to the formal sitting room that’s set up to look casual without being used.

Fortunately, the laptop and table are already set up so you begin your search for an extension cord, a sun filter to make her look well-lit, her wireless headphones, a box of tissues, and a water bottle. Finding all of those items is a job in itself. Then you start to set up, placing the laptop so it’s able to keep connected to the charging cable and you use the laptop’s camera on yourself to find the best angle.

It’s much quicker to complete the tasks of setting the water bottle and tissue box nearby but out of frame. Next you place the sticky notes along the top border of her laptop screen, but not obscuring the camera. So if she needs to reference them, she won’t have to look down.

Finally, you position the filter and set her fully charged wireless ear buds that are still in their case right beside the laptop’s keyboard. Once you’re finished you stand back to admire the set-up, feeling proud of yourself.

You may have screwed up in fucking your boss, but you’re a damn good assistant.

“Well look at this.”

You whip around and hate the fact that your heart flutters when you hear Billie’s voice. This time she’s alone and saunters up to you with a familiar smirk. Before you can make direct eye contact with her eyes and melt into a puddle of affection, you back up and gesture to the table while saying, “I think this should be everything you need.” She looks to the table and lets out a satisfied hum, but quickly returns her gaze to yours before purring, “I don’t know what I’d do without you, y/n.”

Then she moves to take your hand, but in your panic and self-preservation you back away, stammering, “I-I actually need to make a couple phone calls. And emails. Plus, I-I wouldn’t want to mess up your make up.”

For the first time you actually see her suave expression crack and you feel horrible right away. You know she needs to go into this interview feeling good, so you take both of her hands with your own and soothe, “I’m sorry, Billie. I didn’t mean to come off harsh. After this I’ll have lunch all ready for us to eat.”

Her lips return a half smile, but her brown eyes still flicker with doubt. So you continue and genuinely mean it when you say, “I know you’ll knock this interview out of the park. She’ll love you.” Then you place a light kiss to her cheek, taking care to not disrupt her makeup.

By now her confident demeanor is restored and you ask, “Do you need anything else before the interview?” She smirks and lowly teases while squeezing your hands, “I can think of a couple things, but we wouldn’t have the time.” You roll your eyes at the comment, but smile and ask, “Well would you like anything specific for lunch?”

Billie pauses for a moment before answering, “I’ll take some…Mexican food. I’ll say a taco salad.” You nod and tell her, “One taco salad will be out there for you when you’re done.” Then you release her hands and say, “I have your phone so there won’t be any interruptions, but if you need anything at all I have your messages set up on your laptop. And I told housekeeping to not do anything too loud or come around to clean this part of the house for the next two hours. So you should be good to go.”

Her eyebrows raise and she comments, “You’ve really thought about everything, haven’t you?” The compliment makes you look down and stammer, “Well I—I try to.” She chuckles at your bashful demeanor and murmurs, “I should thank you for getting all of this ready for me, sweetheart.”

You dare to look at her face and reply, “I’m just doing my job. But I’m glad you’re happy with it. I’ll see you at lunch.” Then you wish her luck one more time before walking out. After closing the door, you lean back against it, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath to re-center yourself.

Stop overthinking this. Pull yourself together and move on. You can look for another client after these two weeks. That’s it and you can make it two weeks. You’ve got this. You can handle anything for two weeks…

An hour and a half later Billie enters the kitchen to see you setting up her requested lunch with a freshly made strawberry lemonade to drink. She struts over and takes a seat at the island while saying, “Thank god. I’m starving.” You smile at her hyperbolic statement and watch her begin to eat. Then you return to your seat at the island next to the blonde to finish the remnants of your burrito.

Not wanting to stir up anything between you two, you ask, “Did the interview go alright?” She nods and replies after swallowing her bite, “It went exactly as your notes said. Of course there were some additional questions, but they were manageable.” Then the medium turns to face you and teases with grin, “It’s almost like you know what you’re doing.”

Your cheeks warm at the compliment and you look down to your plate, resting your chin on one of your hands as you twirl your fork in the remnants and murmur, “I only write down some tips. It’s your charisma that makes it good.” Billie chuckles and comments, “We make a good team.” For a moment you still your movements and glance at her out of the corner of your eye. But she’s looking to her salad. However, her gaze meets yours and she compliments, “Your hair and makeup look good today, sweetheart.”

She noticed. Billie Dean Howard noticed.

You can’t contain your smile but look back down to your plate before meekly saying, “Thank you.”

Billie continues to eat her meal while you throw away your takeout plate and utensils. Then you empty the clean dishes out of the dishwasher. However she breaks the silence by asking, “Did anything come up while I was in the interview?” You shake your head, finishing up as you respond, “Nothing for you to worry about. Just some requests for you to promote different products or companies.”

So she picks up her halfway finished beverage and tells you, “In that case I’m going to start packing things. But I’ll have my phone on me if you need me.” You automatically nod and try to conceal the crack in your voice when you reply, “Of course. And don’t worry about your trash. I’ve got it covered.” The blonde gives you her devastating smile and purrs, “You’re the best.” The butterflies in your stomach make a reappearance and you shyly tell her thank you before she steps out of the room.

After making sure she’s gone you let out a breath and lose the façade of being perfectly okay with everything. You try not to take it personally, but her distance affects your replies to phone calls and emails you respond to. Of course, you don’t sound upset or disgruntled. You remain professional, but don’t have the zeal and passion you usually have.

By late afternoon, you’ve contacted everyone who contacted you on her behalf. So you go onto google and search for PA openings. If nothing else you can leave at the height of her tv premier and make a clean break. However, before you can get to the second page, Billie texts you, “Could you come upstairs to my bedroom for a minute?”

Knowing her needs are your first priority, you exit out of the website and quickly reply, “Of course. Headed there now.” Then you trudge up the stairs, trying not to have any expectations.

When you enter her bedroom, she has numerous different clothing items laid out on the bed and you hear her rustling around in her massive closet that’s a room in itself. But she must hear you enter because she walks into the main room and says with a smile, “Y/n, just who I wanted to see.”

She sets the clothes that were draped over her arm onto the bed as she says, “I need some advice.” You step a little closer and reply, “I’ll try to help.” So she holds up one hanger that holds a silky, floral blouse and another that has a simple ivory undershirt with a dusty pink cardigan over it. Then she looks to you and asks, “Which one do you think looks better?”

You bite your lip and look between the tops, hoping this isn’t a test. Then you slowly answer, “I think they both look good…but the cardigan and shirt would be more conducive to the cooler temperatures in New York.” Billie grins and takes your advice right away, setting it next to her suitcase, however you hold up your hands and tell her, “Wait, I’m no fashion expert or anything. I can call your stylist to come over.”

The blonde chuckles and purrs, “Sweetheart, the only opinion I care about is yours. Now help me out with these other shirt options.”

The choices start off innocent enough, but soon she’s having you choose her sleepwear and intimates. While the whole thing feels a little arousing, you keep to the other side of her California king bed trying to be extra cautious. But she foils that plan by suggesting, “How about I try these dresses on and you can tell me which one looks better.” That makes you pause, but you can’t deny your curiosity to see her after she’s seen all of you.

And if she really didn’t want you to see her, she could change in her bathroom or closet.

So you nod and rasp with your suddenly dry throat, “Ok.” But her smile grows, and she asks in a voice dripping with innocence, “Y/n, would you be a dear and unzip me?”

You know exactly what she’s doing. But are you really upset? You’re finally getting what you’ve wanted since this morning.

At this point your throat feels too dry to speak so you dumbly nod and walk over to her side.

The medium’s eyes sparkle in lust and mischief when she purrs, “Thank you, sweetheart.” Then she turns so her back is to you and you walk up, feeling like you’re in a trance as so many emotions run through you at once.

The first thing you do is gather her silky smooth hair in your hand and drape it over one of her shoulders so most of it is out of the way, save for a few stray curls. Immediately her jasmine perfume envelops you and she doesn’t miss your deep inhale of the intoxicatingly sweet fragrance. Then your trembling fingers come up to the top of her dress and you take the zipper between your thumb and pointer finger, struggling to keep a grip of it with your shaky hands.

The room is quiet enough to hear the zipper slide down the back of her dress, stopping at the small of her back. You look to the well-endowed swell of her ass but flick your eyes up before she can catch you.

Billie twists her head to look back at you and once again your faces are inches apart from each other. Rather than saying anything, she leans towards you with hooded eyes and presses a light, questioning kiss. Then her eyes look to see your reaction and you reciprocate, slowly brushing your lips against hers.

Both of you move slowly while Billie fully turns around to face you and places her hands on the small of your back. The way you both take your time cautiously opening up to each other makes it seem like it’s your first kiss. But it feels nice to slow down and savor the moment.

This time when you smooth your hands up the exposed skin of her back she doesn’t protest. Rather she presses up against your body even more to get closer. So you work on the clasp of her bra and somehow undo on the first try.

Your lips part from each other and she helps you shrug off her dress and bra so the only items she wears are her panties and her pearl necklace. You pause and look over every part, trying to take in every detail. Meanwhile the blonde just smiles and tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear while crooning, “You like what you see, sweetheart?” Your eyes scan up her toned middle, briefly pausing at her rounded, perky breasts, before ascending past the string of pearls on her neck to her proud face.

You’re practically drooling when you whimper, “Yes. Billie you look…god you look perfect.” Her cheeks threaten to turn red while her smile expands and she murmurs, “Just like you do.”

Automatically you shake your head and look down so your hair falls forward to guard your face. But her hands cup your face and guide you to look back at her. Her palms feel smooth against the sides of your face when she kisses your lips and affirms, “You are perfect, honey. Now, how about you make yourself more comfortable and take off those clothes for me.”

In the far reaches of your mind, the thought of confronting her about everything passes through. But Billie Dean Howard is here, completely exposed to you and you don’t want to stop.

Your eyes flick down and you grin as you reply, “O-ok.” So she backs up to let you pull off your shirt and bra. But when you move close, she places a finger on your sternum in the valley between your breasts and says, “Ah, ah, ah, pants too.” You bite your lip to conceal your demure smile, ducking your head as you tug your pants down. After kicking them aside you come back up to the medium and being to kiss her again.

While it felt nice to kiss Billie the other day, actually feeling her flesh brush and meld against yours makes it even better. Every time you think you’ve peaked; she takes you higher than before. When you break to catch your breath, Billie breathes, “Where do you want me, sweetheart?”

Your brows furrow and she grins before asking the same question. The thought of ordering her around sends a thrill through you and you look around the room before hesitantly saying, “On the edge of the bed.” The medium nods and playfully answers with a wicked grin, “Yes, mistress.”

Now that makes you laugh and tell her, “If anyone is a mistress it’s you.” You move her clothes that were laid out on the bed to the side so they won’t get in the way and the blonde helps while teasing, “I’ll grant you the title of mistress for one day.”

Without thinking you roll your eyes at the supposed ‘generosity,’ making Billie raise her eyebrow and say, “Unless you don’t want to do this?” You place your hands on her shoulders and push her to sit on the bed while quickly answering, “I do!”

Your intense reaction makes her chuckle and purr, “Well your wish is my command, sweetheart.” Your body simmers with arousal and you guide her legs apart enough to step between them. Then you look down at Billie’s face and your hands come up to cup her face. In response she slides her hands up to rest on the swell of your hips.

However, you raise your eyebrow and mimic her when you ask, “Did I give you permission to touch me?” Billie takes her hands away and looks up to you through her long lashes when she says, “Sorry, mistress.” Letting her lower lip jut out enough to give a perfect pout before biting down on it. The way she worries her lower lip drives you wild.

But you want to tease her more. Why not take this opportunity all the way?

So you lean in to kiss her lips, but when she leans up to meet you, you back up to kiss the tip of her nose.

Her darkened eyes glow and the blonde chuckles before murmuring, “Such a tease, y/n.” That makes you giggle and this time when you lean down to kiss her, you meet her desired location. And even though your lips and tongues intertwine with each other, Billie stays true to her word and lets you lead her along. So you keep going, and don’t move her hands back when she smooths them up your thighs and pulls you closer to her after gripping your hips.

For once she’s the one who gasps for air and you take the opportunity to place slow, deliberate kisses along her jawline down to her neck. Your lips gently kiss and suck at the delicate skin of her neck, but pause when Billie moans, “Don’t get me wrong, sweetheart, this feels amazing. But I don’t know if the makeup artist will appreciate having to cover multiple hickeys for filming tomorrow.”

On no. You completely forgot about that.

You automatically back up and stammer, “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, Billie. I never even though about that.” She silences you with a kiss and soothes, “It’s ok, sweetheart.” But the medium can tell you’re pulled out of the immersion so her thumbs brush along the swell of your hips and she purrs with a smile, “Now what do you want me to do, mistress?”

Her reassuring smile makes you smile and respond, “Stay.” Then you gently kiss down her neck to her collarbone. Along the way your lips brush against her pearl necklace, but when she moves to take it off you command, “No.” Her eyebrows raise, but she grins and answers, “Yes mistress.” Those words send shivers down your spine and by the low hum of amusement emitted from her throat you can tell she knows.

Then you resume your descent starting at her collarbones down to the swell of her luscious breasts. The medium gasps when you take one of her nipples in your mouth and tease her by sucking and nibbling at her sensitive bud. You look up to her face to see she closely watches you use your mouth on her one nipple while you tease the other with your fingers.

Then you switch sides and by the time you’re finished with her buds they are peaked and stiff. The sound of breathy moans and whimpers is unfamiliar to your ears, but progressively gets louder when you continue down to her navel. After teasing it with your tongue enough to make her gasp, you back up and pull off her lacy, cream-colored thong.

Once the garment is cast aside you take a moment to look at her most intimate area practically dripping with arousal. Then you look up to Billie with wide eyes and your mouth slightly gaped in shock. Before you can ask, she smiles and croons, “That’s all for you, baby.”

That’s all you. She gets that aroused because of you.

Your eyes gloss over with a concoction of happiness and unbridled lust and rather than taking the time to instruct, you grasp her legs and place them over your shoulders. Then you lean close and inhale her sweetness before delving your tongue into her velvety folds.

Her muscled calves flex against your back and she moans, “Oh god.” as your mouth sucks and licks at every part of her. But she lets out a guttural moan when you find her clit. Her low sounds of pleasure go straight to your own soaked pussy and you can’t help but squeeze your thighs in need. You look up to her face while you continue to tease her sensitive pearl and see she watches you with lust-blown eyes and her lower lip worried between her teeth.

You grin and back away before taunting, “Now don’t hold back, Billie. I want to hear all of those pretty little sounds you make.” That makes the blonde toss her head back in laughter before breathily praising, “Wow, you’re pretty good at this whole dominatrix role.” Even now her praise drives you wild. You grin up at her and reply, “I learned from the best.” Before diving back in.

This time her head falls back for an entirely different reason and she groans, “Fuck, sweetheart, that feels so good.” Her words make your stomach warm in arousal and you increase your movements driven by her praises in words and moans of pleasure.

Before long Billie crosses her ankles behind your back, effectively pulling you close to her pussy and unable to back up like before. But you couldn’t care less. Eating her out feels like everything you want and more. Your mouth mercilessly sucks and nips at her sensitive nub and she whimpers in a higher tone than even her regular tone, “Just like that, baby. I’m almost there.”

You happily listen to her request and within a minute her legs lock up, keeping you in a vice-like grip while she gasps. Then she cries out and unravels before your eyes, moaning and whimpering in a way that sounds like music to your ears while you lick up all of the sweet nectar she provides.

Before you get the chance to rile her up, she takes her legs off of you and scoots further back on the bed as she breathes, “C’mere sweetheart.” You whine at leaving her sweet core but listen and she guides you to straddle her lap so you face each other again.

You cross your legs behind the blonde so your ankles rest against the small of her back and wrap your arms around her neck before dipping your head to kiss Billie’s lips. She smiles against you and slides her hands up your back while kissing back, not afraid of getting a taste of herself. Even though you wished to remain buried in the juncture of her thighs a moment ago, being held close in her embrace as she takes your breath away is nowhere near a downgrade.

When you pause to catch your breath, you still keep your forehead down against hers and ask, “I take it you liked it?” She gives that warm chuckle that feels like an embrace in itself and purrs, “Oh I loved it, sweetheart.” Then you let out a squeak of surprise at her hand sliding beneath the elastic band of your panties.

How did she sneak her hand around to your front without you even noticing?

Your small sound causes her to smirk and she says with a dramatically innocent voice, “Let’s see how you’re doing.” And that smirk on her lips morphs into a shit-eating grin when her fingers slide down to find your core practically dripping with slick.

Your hips roll of their own accord when the pads of her two fingers brush against your clit. The instinctual reaction prompts Billie’s eyebrows to raise and she begins to make torturously slow circles over your sensitive bud. Meanwhile your arms shift so your hands can grip her shoulders while whimpering, “I’m not going to last long.”

The blonde giggles at your claim and leans up to kiss your lips, gradually moving her hand faster. Then she gets closer so she’s right beside your ear when she murmurs, ‘Are you all worked up from telling me what to do?”

Oh, you are definitely not going to last long at all.

A gasp leaves your lips and you shift in her lap responding, “Yes.” Now she moves her fingers in a steady motion and purrs, “But I think you liked something else too. I think you liked licking my pussy until I came. Is that what’s got you all hot and bothered, sweetheart? Acting so dirty and eating me out has you nearly creaming yourself?”

Her words prompt you to cry out, “Oh god, yes!” squeezing her shoulders and letting your head fall forward.

Her pearls feel cool against your perspiring forehead and her fingers speed up to the point of making you get those pre-orgasm twitches as Billie taunts, “Are you gonna cum, y/n?” Your eyes slam shut and you moan, “Yes!”

However somewhere in the recesses of your mind you remember her comment about good girls and whip your head up to look at Billie before blurting out, “Wait! I mean, can I please cum Billie?” The golden flecks in her darkened orbs spark in approval and with a satisfied smirk she responds, “Good girl. Go ahead and cum for me, baby.”

Your eyes slam shut just before a burst of white light shows up and you desperately cling to the medium, toes curling as high-pitched moans and whimpers fall out of you.

This time your aftershocks pass sooner and when she withdraws her two coated fingers you watch her languidly suck off any remnants of your juices. You’re still in a daze when she asks, “Do you wanna know what you taste like?”

Your brows furrow, but…you can’t deny that you are a little curious. And Billie had no problem indulging in herself. So you nod, albeit hesitantly. She chuckles at your timid behavior and teases, “I promise it’s good.” Then she takes your chin by her thumb and index finger to tilt your head down to meet her lips.

The taste has a tangy bite to it but also a subtle sweetness similar to the blonde, but not quite the same. Before you even realize it, your tongues are tangling with each other and your lips search and press for one another.

It feels so nice to be so close to Billie without all of the glitz and glamour. You’re together, unguarded, and sharing a passionate exchange for both parties. All that has stock in the world is you and her. However, eventually you have to breathe.

So you reluctantly break from her lips and come closer to tuck your head into the crook of her neck. At the same time your hands move to her back so you can hug her close. Her lips come down to rest on the crown of your head and you feel her lips curve into a smile. Then she shifts so her cheek rests against you, softly teasing, “I still need to try those dresses on.”

However she makes no move to get up.

So you snuggle further in, tightening your arms and legs around her and murmur into her hair, “Pack the red one.” She chuckles and smoothes her hands along the length of your back while asking, “What about the other one?”

You let out a sigh of contentment and bury your face further into the bend of her neck to conceal your embarrassment as you reply, “Than one looks good…But the red one…it’s flattering at all angles…and it hugs your form well…Trust me the red one will turn heads.”

She laughs and leans close to your ear when she murmurs, “I’ll pack it for you, baby.” Her voice immediately calms your nerves and you feel at home in her arms. After sitting in silence for a moment, you mumble against her neck, “What would you like for dinner?”

She slides her hands down to grip your ass as she replies, “You.” And that provokes your higher-toned schoolgirl giggle. Then you say, “Ok besides that.” Her lips trail down the side of your face until she reaches your jawline and murmurs, “How about…Italian.”

You feel her hands massaging your butt and before things get too heated you ease into sitting up straight to see her brown eyes slowly scanning over you. But you cup her face with your hands and guide her to look at your face, saying, “I’ll get dinner ready and you can finish packing. Ok?”

She grins and turns her face to kiss one of your palms before she teases, “As long as you can be dessert.” Then she moves further up to kiss the pulse point on your wrist and purrs, “And an evening snack.” Then she kisses the inside of your forearm, looking to you with a mischievous grin as she continues, “And a midnight treat.”

You shake your head at her behavior, but chuckle and respond, “Ok.” The medium smirks in victory and releases you from her hold. You slowly stand up, making sure to not lose your balance and throw on your clothes.

Before you walk out, Billie takes your shoulder and turns you to face her. You look to her with a questioning gaze and she pecks your lips, but keeps close when she purrs, “I’ll see you in a bit. Oh, and be warned, my stamina is insatiable.” That makes you giggle, and you assure her, “I think I’m up for the challenge.” Then Billie releases you with a smile and you walk out to the kitchen, not regretting spending the night here whatsoever.

Tagged: @marilynroselleprentiss, @saviorinsilk, @chokemepaulson, @versonstar, @find-me-a-constellation, @cordwliagoode, @psychobitchtess, @midnight-lestrange, @mysweetdelia, @venablesbitch, @peachesandlesbians, @nerdaroo, @cordeliafoxxe, @leskaksel, @lovelymspaulson, @grilledcheeseandguavajelly, @whatabluddymess, @natasha-danvers

Let me know if you would like to be tagged in later works!

#AHS #ahs fanfic #ahs murder house #ahs hotel #ahs apocalypse #ahs billie dean howard #billie dean howard #billie dean howard imagine #billie x reader #business and pleasure

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rosedavid · 5 years ago

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Ooh ... Childhood toy for the Merthur prompt please

Thank you for the prompt!!! I got too carried away on this one so I posted it on AO3

Here’s the link

however, in case someone wants to read it on tumblr, I’ll post it here too :)

...

Merlin heaves up the final crateful of his stuff. He looks over the tiny, ramshackle room fondly, a smile gracing his lips. It’s strange seeing it completely bare again, just like the day he first arrived in Camelot. Things were so different back then. Merlin never would have expected to be where he is today in his wildest dreams, yet here he is moving into the King’s bedchambers not as a servant, but as a companion. Despite his happiness about officially moving in with Arthur, leaving his old room is bittersweet. So many memories were made in this little room, from trying to turn a stone dog into a real one to clumsily trying to hide his spell book when Arthur came rampaging in unannounced. With one last glance and a deep breath, Merlin closes the door for the last time.

Merlin runs into Gwen on his way to Arthur’s (or, he supposes, his and Arthur’s) chambers. She’s long been promoted as a key advisor to the King, a position well deserved. Her affections have been stolen by Lancelot once again, and the two have been courting for quite some time. It’s obvious to everyone how besotted they are for each other.

“Finished moving in yet?” Gwen asks.

“Last crate,” Merlin responds. “Shouldn’t you still be in the council meeting?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

Technically, Merlin is supposed to be at the meeting. As Court Sorcerer, attending all meetings and royal functions is in his job descriptions. However, he skives off enough so that when a meeting is particularly boring, Arthur doesn’t even nag him into going realizing it’s a futile effort. Not to mention, today’s meeting was supposed to be especially dull. Arthur constantly reprimands him about his complaints, saying that “All meetings are equally important to the King.” Of course, they both know that’s not true, especially when Arthur continuously sends looks at Merlin throughout the meeting.

“Well, you know me,” Merlin shrugs. “But I actually have permission from the Royal Prat today. I’ve been so busy recently with these new magic laws that I’ve hardly had time for a break, let alone to move all my things into Arthur’s chambers.”

“Are you nervous?”

A few months ago, Merlin may have said yes. Despite him and Arthur being as close as they were for so long, a romantic relationship brought with it a lot more awkwardness and learning than either of them expected. It took some trial and error before they got back into a rhythm again and felt completely comfortable around each other. Now, though, Merlin can safely say that he’s not nervous about moving in with Arthur officially. It just feels…right.

“No, I’m not,” Merlin replies. “Although, I’m not looking forward to Arthur’s inevitable complaints about my stuff sharing his space.”

Gwen stifles a laugh. “He’ll get used to it, but he’ll never stop complaining.”

“Exactly. But you still haven’t answered my question. Did you leave because the council meeting is over?”

“Just about. I made an excuse of having a headache, which was about to be true if I stayed in there for any longer.”

“I bet Lancelot tried to carry you down to Gaius himself,” Merlin teases.

“I had to swear to him that I would go straight there multiple times before he let me out of his sight.”

They laugh together. Merlin adjusts his grip on the crate as it begins to slip out of his arms.

“Oh! I’m sorry. I totally forgot that you were still carrying that.”

“I’m strong Gwen, remember?” Merlin jokes. “Don’t worry about it. I always like talking to you. We need to catch up soon.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

They part ways. Merlin finishes his trek, a trek that he’s taken so many times before. Still, this time feels different. This time, he’s entering his room as well. He doesn’t have to worry about knocking or barging in unexpectedly (not that he ever worried about that before). Merlin kicks open the door with his foot, nodding at the guard that’s stationed outside.

He drops the crate with a thud next to the bed and looks around. Arthur’s chambers don’t look much different even with Merlin moved in. Merlin never had much stuff to begin with. In fact, most of his things came from Arthur eventually. A new wardrobe, nicer blankets and pillows, and even a magic book he came across while traveling. Still, his stuff is nothing compared to the grandeur of Arthur’s possessions. Of course, it doesn’t bother Merlin. He has everything he needs as long as they’re together.

Merlin finishes unpacking the crate, storing some books away and folding some cloaks. Then, suddenly, that’s it; he’s all moved in. He lives with Arthur. He gets to go to sleep and wake up every morning at Arthur’s side. They can eat breakfast together without Merlin having to walk across the castle and meet him every morning.

The door opens behind him. He turns and sees Arthur dressed regally, cape flowing behind him. He looks brave and fearless and powerful, as any King should. When he looks at Merlin, though, his expression melts into one of softness and adoration.

“Is that the last of it?” Arthur asks.

“Yup. I’m officially moved in! You’re stuck with me,” Merlin says, poking his side.

“Hmm,” Arthur contemplates. “Are you sure it’s too late?”

“Too late.”

“Well, then, I guess I’ll just have to make the most of it.”

With that, Arthur swoops in and kisses Merlin. A gloved hand cups Merlin’s face, while Arthur’s other hand sneaks down to the dip in his spine, tracing over it. Merlin’s hands fly up to Arthur’s hair, knotting his fingers in the tresses. Arthur’s mouth tastes like the watered down wine the castle staff serves during most meetings. Soon, Arthur starts backing Merlin toward the bed, and Merlin giggles when the back of his knees hit the frame. Arthur starts trailing kisses down his neck, just about to push Merlin down onto the bed when he suddenly stops, staring at something behind Merlin.

��Arthur? What’s wrong?”

“What is that thing?” Arthur asks incredulously, pointing toward their bed. Merlin cranes his neck behind him to see what Arthur is pointing at.

It’s Merlin’s stuffed bear. Beary, to be precise. Merlin has had him since he was a baby. According to his mum, the stuffed bear was always Merlin’s favorite toy. He remembers toting it around with him everywhere, especially before he met Will. It was a comfort object, something to keep him company when he felt most lonely. It helped him through a lot of dark times. Many nights, he remembers crying himself to sleep after being constantly rejected by the rest of the village. He would hold the bear tight to his chest all night long, refusing to let go. Now, it’s more of a comfort just to have it near. He brought it to Camelot with hardly any hesitation, as it was something familiar in a completely new place. He’s never thought to get rid of it, despite it being completely worn down and falling apart He’s had to resew Beary numerous times, yet the stuffing inside of him always seems to come out, and the button eyes always seem to be missing.

“That’s Beary, my childhood toy,” Merlin says simply.

“And why pray tell is it on our bed?”

“He is on our bed because he that’s where he belongs.”

Arthur stares at him. “You’re kidding, right? Why do you even have that thing, anyway?”

“He was my favorite toy when I was a child, Arthur,” Merlin explains, picking Beary up gently. “He always brought me comfort when I most needed it. I don’t know if you knew this, but I didn’t really have friends growing up besides Will. I was pretty much ostracized from the rest of the village. I guess you could say he was a friend of sorts.”

“And you brought him to Camelot.”

Merlin shrugs. “He still brings me comfort, when I look of him, and he reminds me of Ealdor and my mum. Plenty of people still have their childhood toys.”

“Girls, maybe.”

“Hey! Toys are for everyone. Didn’t you have a favorite toy when you were little?”

Merlin sits down on the bed and puts his bear back in the center against the pillows. Arthur sits down next to Merlin, so close that their shoulders and thighs touch.

“I did have a toy sword,” Arthur muses. “Father wanted me to start training to be a knight as early as possible.”

Merlin’s eyebrow furrows. “You didn’t have any stuffed animals? Or blocks? Or puppets?”

“I had books on Camelot and royal etiquette.”

Suddenly, Merlin feels a bit guilty. Although he knows Arthur’s life has been anything but easy, oftentimes he forgets some of the struggles he’s had to deal with. Merlin’s childhood was nothing to boast about, but he was relatively happy. He had his mother by his side, a loving and caring figure. He had his needs taken care of, as well as they could be for a peasant. He eventually came to have Will, his best friend. Back then, Merlin knew nothing about his destiny. Arthur, on the other hand, has known about his destiny to become King since the day he was born. And Uther was anything but a sweet, loving father. Arthur has told him stories before about leading raids as a teenager, killing while he himself was still a boy. Yet somehow, Merlin never considered that he didn’t ever have a childhood even though it makes sense.

“Well, since you’re sharing your chambers with me, I can share Beary,” Merlin offers with a grin.

“I’ll pass,” Arthur says dryly.

“Come on! He’ll be your beary best friend!”

“You’re ridiculous,” Arthur laughs.

“I’m sorry, Arthur, but Beary and I are a package deal. You can’t have one without the other.”

Arthur suddenly tackles Merlin against the bed, playfighting with him as they laugh. It doesn’t take long for them to eventually tire, though, leaving Arthur to collapse beside Merlin as they lean up against the pillows.

“I think the bear is more appealing at this point,” Arthur jokes.

Merlin mock frowns, reaching over Arthur to pick Beary back up. He nuzzles the bear’s face against Arthur’s neck, pouting at Arthur’s previous expression.

“Well I think you’re unbearable,” Merlin huffs, unable to keep a straight face for long. Arthur snorts, grinning with him.

Beary is then taken carefully from his hands and brought under Arthur’s scrutinizing gaze. “Why in the world would you name him Beary? That’s the worst possible name I could think of!”

“I can think of one worse name.”

“You’re just so funny, Merlin.”

Arthur then takes the bear in his hands and places it face down on his nightstand. He pulls Merlin’s body flush against his own. Thankfully, Arthur has forgone his armor for the afternoon, making it much more comfortable.

“Why did you do that?” Merlin asks, referring to his bear.

“Because I don’t want him to see this next part,” Arthur grins, causing Merlin to blush. He joins lips with Merlin again breathily, but Merlin pulls back before they can do much else.

“Does that mean Beary can stay?” Merlin asks smugly.

Arthur rolls his eyes, but it’s followed with a smile.

#merthur #merthur fanfic #merlin #bbc merlin #merthur fanfiction #fanfiction #merlin bbc #fluff

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chibipika · 5 years ago

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3, 4, 20! :D

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

Alright, so we all know that I want to write the AU of chapter 19 where Jade gets killed in front of Starr, but I wouldn’t say that that needs much context. I could pretty much jump right in, the only problem is… it’s just legit really hard to write. ^^; It’s just such a sheer level of guilt and self-loathing far beyond anything I’ve ever written. Maybe the experience of roleplaying Starr in Blacklight will help me get to a level where I know how to tackle it, because I really, really want to be able to.

Miscellaneous other scenes that I want to write that do require me to work out some annoying context include:

Sebastian meeting with Giovanni and demanding the position of commander.

Sebastian catching Latios (possibly will be included in a Chapter 65 extra.)

Confrontation between Starr and Ajia prior to the revolt.

Jade/Ajia/Starr pre-story friendshipping. I’m just really bad at slice-of-life and can’t think of how to make the daily lives of ordinary elementary schoolers all that interesting. :T

Chibi/Razors friendshipping. This is the epitome of “requires annoying context” because in order to write this, I’d have to figure out a lot of details for like, how the experiments were raised and trained, what experiences they had, where they were contained, etc. Everything I’ve come up with has some manner of logistical issues. ><

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

Right now my favorite sequences in LC are the dream sequences in chapters 46 and 47. Unfortunately, I can’t talk about why I like them because every sentence has the highest- spoiler-density possible. I’ll just say that I was really particular with the symbolism there.

Other than that, I’d definitely say that this paragraph from chapter 36 is way up there:

A blindingly bright flash of light shattered my field of view as a wave of psychic energy shot through my entire being. I was ripped apart, flipped inside-out, put back together, and then shredded once more, over and over into infinity. What felt like white-hot metal coursed through my veins, dissolving any and all sensations in a spiraling vortex of pain. And then my brain split open, unleashing a torrent of images from the past year. All of my panic, all of my uncertainty, every hesitation I’d ever felt from the moment the fight began suddenly bombarded my mind simultaneously, fighting for dominance.

In general, I really enjoy coming up with weird ways of describing inner turmoil, and I think that’s the main place where my descriptions could be considered decent.

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

Man, it’s hard to think of something I haven’t already rambled at length about, either here or on Thousand Roads. And by definition, I can’t point out all the clues that I want to...

In particular, I have an annoying tendency to hide clues in would-be errors, which usually manifests as (a) a character conspicuously refraining from doing something they should obviously do, or (b) a character doing or knowing something that shouldn’t be possible. I sure do love using that as a way to tip off readers, huh. Only problem is, if I haven’t yet earned a reader’s trust, they’re likely to just be like “ok but why did that happen.” It also means I have to be really careful to not have accidental inconsistencies.

As for recent hints... it’s probably pretty obvious that I enjoy dropping mentions that the psychic connection the chosen and patrons share is definitely totes psychic everyone. :V

Hmm, as far as anything else I’ve needed an excuse to ramble about...

So I’ve made the joke a few times that I’ve stumbled my way into writing Jade and Starr as moirails, and I very much want everyone to enjoy this as much as I do. For everyone who’s not Homestuck trash (I'm not even! I just absorbed it through osmosis!) that term refers to a close platonic bond between two individuals, one hot-tempered and the other even-tempered, wherein the latter watches over the former and keeps them in line. This will become more apparent during the checkmate arc of LC (chapters 55-59) and I’m very much looking forward to it.

A preview:

I grabbed her arm. “Ohhkay, let’s just… let’s just sit over here,” I said, tugging her over toward a couple of office chairs. Starting a brawl in the middle of an office was not going to look good on us.

“God, it would be easy to break his nose,” Starr muttered under her breath.

“I’m sure it would,” I said dully. “Which is exactly why we’re not doing that.”

I just really want people to care about these two. ;-;

[Here’s the ask meme if anyone else wants to throw me any!]

#antialiasis #writing #ask meme #LC

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ericsonclan · 4 years ago

Text

A Moment Frozen In Time

Summary: Willy comes up with a special day of fun for himself and Allison.

Word Count: 1947

Read on AO3:

“Just keep your eyes closed a minute longer!” Willy’s voice broke through the stillness in Allison’s mind as she walked hand in hand with him through the winter snow. Her bare feet drifted through the snow silently, completely unaffected by the chill. It was part and parcel of being an ice maiden: she never felt the cold. As they walked though, her nose tickled a bit as snowflakes began to gather atop it. She wrinkled her nose, trying to loosen the buildup without making a sound.

“Oh shit! Your nose!” Willy’s mittened fingers roughly brushed against Allison’s nose, removing the tiny pile of snow building there. “Sorry. I know you mentioned your skin attracts snow, but I didn’t think it’d get clumped on your face like that,” Suddenly his footsteps stopped. “OK, we’re here!”

Allison opened her eyes and saw… nothing. Well, nothing of interest. They were standing outside the gym at Ericson High beside the empty ice-covered football field. No one else was around since the grounds were closed for winter break. Willy stood with his arms outstretched, spinning round slowly as he proudly displayed their surroundings. “I figured what better place to have fun with your ice powers than at our own school but this time with nobody nearby to get trapped in ice!”

“You were the one that got trapped the first time,” Their first encounter back at the beginning of the school year had certainly been memorable with Allison freezing the entire pool and trapping Willy from the chest down in solid ice. They’d been fast friends ever since.

Willy shrugged happily at her point. “True, but I know better now. Besides, right over here by the field is…” he paused as he ran underneath the bleachers to return a moment later toting a hose, “This bad boy! I dropped by the field on my way to pick you up so I could get it out of storage, y’know, cuz they put it away during the winter so the cold doesn’t cause the rubber to get all cracked,”

Allison nodded. “So… what are we doing with it?”

“We’re doing… this!” Willy thrust the hose up in the air with exuberance only to pause when he realized his mistake. “One sec,” He scampered back over toward the bleachers, moving with a sort of waddle thanks to all the layers he was wearing. The sight made a smile tug at the corners of Allison’s lips. It must suck to be a cold-blooded swamp monster in the winter but somehow Willy had the same hyper level of energy as always.

Willy was back in a moment, the hose already dripping slightly from the water pressure. “Like I said, we’re doing this!” Thrusting his hand skyward, Willy pressed the nozzle on the head of the hose, sending tiny streams of water shooting up into the air. As soon as they reached their apex he withdrew the hose and cried, “Hit ‘em, Allie!”

With a flick of the wrist, Allison froze the falling droplets to solid ice. They fell to the ground with a silent plop. The pair stared at them in silence for a moment.

“That. Was. So. Cool!” Willy exclaimed, jumping up and down with glee. “You froze that water like it was nothing!”

“It is nothing,” Allison glanced over at the ice pellets that lay scattered on the ground before them. “They look like ice turds,”

Willy chuckled at the comparison. “I bet we can make them look even cooler! I just need to figure out the settings on this thing and-” he was cut off as a powerful stream of water erupted from the hose, hitting Allison directly in the face. The water froze on impact, covering her entire head in a fractured series of ice crystals.

Willy’s eyes widened as he realized his mistake. “Shit, Allie, I’m sorry! Lemme just… hesitantly he reached forward, pulling on a single piece. It came off effortlessly, the skin below looking as clear and smooth as ever.

“That’s one down. 5,000 more to go,” Allison noted dryly. She could see Willy looked worried at the statement, likely unsure how she was feeling about getting hit in the face. “It’s a joke. I’m bad at them,”

“Oh. Oh!” Willy chuckled in relief. “Thanks for not getting mad,”

“You weren’t mad when I froze you into the pool. How is this any different?”

“Huh. I guess it isn’t. That makes us even then!”

Allison smiled at Willy’s gap-toothed grin. “Cover your face. I’m gonna shake these off,”

Willy complied, immediately hiding his face underneath the confines of his scarf. Allison shook her head vigorously, like a wet dog. The ice crystals went flying everywhere, may sticking all over Willy’s puffy coat and the ear flaps on his cap. Once he sensed it was over, Willy popped out of his fluffy shelter and grinned at his new look. “I’m bedazzled now!”

“You never looked better,” Allison nodded approvingly. “Now what did you actually have in mind with the hose?”

Willy picked up the forgotten hose once more, this time aiming it safely away from the snow maiden. Once he was sure he had the proper setting he turned around. “OK, so the idea I had for your ice powers wasn’t ice turds although that was fun. I wanna go big, with tons of water! That way when you freeze all the water, we’ll have a whole ice sculpture garden!”

Allison’s eyes widened slightly at the thought, a smile flitting across her lips. “I’m in. Let’s do this thing,”

“Awesome! Let’s goooo!!!” Willy shot the hose directly into the air, twirling it like crazy before running out of the path of the falling water. Allison raised her hand and froze the water instantly. The spirals of ice look beautiful as they fell through the air but the entire structure broke into a dozen pieces once it hit the ground.

“Oops,” Willy looked at their shattered art. “Guess I gotta shoot it lower if it’ll last the fall,”

“Or you could aim it in an arc so it ends on the ground. You just have to move the hose in time so I won’t freeze all the water inside it,” Allison gestured to the hose whose dripping faucet was leaking everywhere, including directly onto Willy’s mittens. She didn’t want their fun to suddenly end with a trip to the emergency room and frost burns all over her friend’s hands.

“Yeah, good idea! OK, on the count of three then,” Willy aimed the hose with determination. “One, two… three!”

The arc of water that came from the hose froze perfectly, but immediately plopped on its side instead of sticking to the ground. Allison picked up the giant curved icicle and jammed it into the ground, impaling the frosty AstroTurf. The icicle still slumped over though, a half-hearted version of the glory they aspired to.

“Let’s try it again, this time from the ground up,” Wily suggested, repositioning the hose.

---

It was a series of trails and errors on their path to success. Dozens of attempts fell flat, broke or turned out as lumpy, gnarled messes. Many times, Willy released the water too soon or Allison got dangerously close to freezing something she shouldn’t. Slowly but surely though, their craft improved till finally they achieved one beautiful, clean arc of frozen water rising proudly from the ground. The pair smiled at each other, sharing a fist bump.

“We finally got it! Now the sculpture garden can really begin!” Willy cheered, running to a fresh patch of snow to begin another work of art. Allison followed along with a grin. They were going to fill this whole field.

---

They didn’t fill the whole field, but they did cover a good chunk of it: everything within the hose’s range. As their talent improved, Willy and Allison got more and more daring with their designs, building sculptures branching off from others, spiraling and glistening all over the field. Their laughter filled the air as they threw water all over the place, watching it glisten in midair before freezing it in perfect crystalline form. The sun shone down upon their masterpieces, reflecting off the sculptures and bringing their beauty to its full form. The two young teens danced amongst their creations, adding more and more to their garden as the hours whittled away.

At last the light began to fade, all too early in both their opinions. The pair shared a look as they saw the sun beginning to slip behind the walls of Ericson High. Slowly Willy lowered the hose, looking rather glum. “Guess that’s it for the day, huh?”

“We could come back tomorrow and make more,”

His face lit up at Allison’s suggestion. “That’s right, we could! Would you wanna do that?”

“Sure,” Allison shrugged, her body language nonchalant though her eyes betrayed her.

Willy seemed to notice the glisten in them. He smiled all the brighter. “I had buckets of fun today! Seriously, it was the best!”

Allison couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm; it was contagious. “It was pretty cool,”

“Should I walk you home? I know I promised your dad I’d have you back by curfew,”

Allison waved her hand dismissively. “Curfew’s still hours away. He forgot to adjust for Daylight Savings,”

“Still, we should probably get there before it gets pitch dark,” Willy eyed the sun, squinting suspiciously.

Allison chuckled. It was sweet that he was trying to be responsible. “We can take a minute,”

The two stood together surrounded by their ice creations in the light of the setting sun. The dimmer light seemed to lend a different feeling to its reflection against the ice, more thoughtful, almost nostalgic. Their crowning achievement, a massive archway with several intricate offshoots, soared above their heads, magnificent in its presence. It was a thing of beauty. The two young teens looked up at their masterpiece with pride before their eyes caught one another’s and they both suddenly looked away.

“Thanks, for today,” Allison murmured. “I had a good time,”

“Me too,” Willy’s voice was soft for once, almost reflective.

Allison studied the boy’s face, wondering if she should rethink her current inclination. But she wasn’t one to back down. Following her gut, Allison leaned forward and placed a quick kiss upon Willy’s clammy cheek. Her lips left the faintest mark upon his scaly skin before fading away.

Willy’s eyes widened in shock. He was still for a moment, almost as frozen as their sculptures. Then a goofy chuckle escaped his lips. “I knew it! I knew you liked me!”

Allison shrugged happily, smiling at him. “You got me,”

Willy surged forward, planting an enthusiastic, wet kiss upon Allison’s cheek, the mark freezing instantly against her skin. “I like you too,”

“So… this was our first date then?” Allison asked, looking down with a small smile as she traced the mark on her cheek.

“I guess it was. Did you like it?” Willy asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

“Best first date I ever had,”

Willy giggled happily at her words. He eagerly took her hand in his, his mitten feeling warm against her cold skin. “We can walk extra slow on the way back,”

“I’d like that,” Allison gave Willy’s hand the softest squeeze before they began to walk together. Hand in hand they left the sculpture garden behind, the ice still subtly glistening in the evening light. The world was still, nothing existing but the two of them as they exited the field at a slow meander. They were all but gone when suddenly a shout broke through the air.

“Shit, I forgot to put away the hose!”

#twdg #twdg willy #twdg allison #twdg wallie #twdg christmas #fanfic #we are monsters we are proud au #ericsonclanchristmaschallenge

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nellynee · 5 years ago

Text

FowlPlayAU (aka Miraculous Peacock Marinette AU)

Literally no one asked but I don’t care. An AU in which Marinette holds the Peacock Miraculous

This actually developed from a few different threads that I tugged on over the course of a few months.

I guess the starting point for this was probably the season 1 episode “Simon Says” with the very short but profound moment of understanding between Gabriel and Ladybug over the pedestal they both placed Adrien on and the subsequent really, really heavy handed comparisons everyone kept making towards everyone else about who resembled Emilie the most

Basically I thought this episode was the heaviest seed in the narrative of the parallels between Gabriel and Marinette, both fashion career focused workaholics who take way to much responsibility on their own shoulders and get obsessive to the point of destructiveness over their respective, similar love interests, and using those parallels as a point of interest in showing both Marinette's growth as she moves beyond that destructive mentality and towards regarding Adrien as a person and how Gabriel’s “love conquers all” mentality isn’t an inherently positive thing but no. *sigh* no, they needed more screen time for one time characters. It fleshes out the world,yes, but not the characters. LOTS of interesting long term threads were dropped in favor of broadening the cast to try and shoehorn that “kid superhero group” into the show that was originally tossed. Basically I’m saying that I do think Gabriel and Marinette have enough in common to surprise some people, including each other, and I’m a sucker for intergenerational friendships

The second main factor was the small subplot at the time of Gabriel suspecting Adrien of being Cat Noir. I got really interested after “Gorizilla” about what might actually happen if Gabriel did figure out that Adrien was Cat Noir at that point in the series (I have words about Cat Blanc, trust me. No those words aren’t “throw the whole mess out the window” because I actually love it. But many, many words) Going off the heavy handed implications that Emilie was the former Peacock, I thought it would be interesting, and in character, for Gabriel desperately analyze his son’s behavior as Cat Noir, trying to figure out WTF Adrien thinks he’s doing, only to realize that Cat Noir has some pretty obvious affections for Ladybug. This is unacceptable of course, but understandable in a “he’s a hormone ridden, teenage boy, and Gabriel was once too the same sort of boy in love with the same sort of heroin” sort of way. The obvious answer to getting rid of what is the only possible obstacle for his son’s cooperation (I was going off the pilot with the potential of Cat Noir as a Hawkmoth agent because of their familial connections) is to get rid of his affections, and since it has to be shallow, he’s too young and also Gabriel controls his whole life so it can’t be love, then all he has to do is shift his son’s affections. Cue an uncomfortable number of episodes in which Gabriel subtly inserts a B plot into his Akumatized villains by trying to push various girl together with his son in carefully controlled circumstances. Because this is before Kasumi, and again, those nice parallels between Marinette and Gabriel himself, he eventually after trial and error settles on Marinette as the perfect candidate. Thus, we get a series of hilarious situations in which Marinette and Adrien are pushed more and more into high pressure uncomfortable and intimate situations, losing time and ability to turn into their superhero personas as a natural deterrent to power creep and justifying the use of other Miraculous users a lot more.

I saw someone comment in one of their author’s notes on a fic a long time ago that they hated the trope of Marinette being an emotional Atlas and my instantaneous internal response that that kinda WAS Marinette's character early series, especially the origin episode, and that a lot of the most prevalent fics were written in that time period, and that really intense response from me really stuck.

Peacock aesthetic. yup, that alone gets an equal piece of the pie

So yeah, if any of that interests you, keeping in mind that on top of potential sympathy and understanding of his actions, Gabriel is still absolutly a shitty person, then the actual (canon divergent) AU is under the cut.

The actual thing diverts during Stone Heart, in which the moment Marinette decided to become Ladybug for realsies rather than try to faust it off Alya doesn’t happen. Rather than deciding to put on the earings, Marinette distracts the monster enough they can get away. Alya finds the earings, and takes up the Mantle of Ladybug.

This decidedly marks a regression in Marinette. Where as Ladybug, and with Tiki’s constant assurances and influence, Marinette learns to work past her urges to take responsibility for everyone’s emotions, Marinette has now lost that constant companion, and has to deal to with her new best friend’s time being diverted

Cut forward to “Stormy Weather” and Marinette has fallen into a vicious cycle of guilt. The little creature had told her it was her destiny to be Ladybug. And while we know that the situation with Hawkmoth is not much different than it is in canon, Marinette is totally convinced that the only reason Hawkmoth is still around hurting people is because she rejected the call. That guilt has built into a feeling of impotent inadequacy that convinces her that she’s no longer deserving of the Ladybug roll, and so she’s both unable to do anything, and responsible for Hawkmoth still being around.

The most prevalent of episode changes is Lady Wifi. It’s Marinette who’s akumatized, not Alya, and it’s a fairly traumatizing, but empowering experience for Marinette.

The ultimate culmination of this is this universe’ “Volpina” episode, where, in the background of main battle events, Marinette gains an understanding of the suspicions that Gabriel might be Hawkmoth, and in the climax of the battle, believing Adrien in danger, she confronts him, confirming his alter ego.

In a scene I have no time to actually extrapolate on, if your curious, just ask, Gabriel and Marinette come to a tentative understanding. He’ll give her the powers to protect his son, and she’ll actually have some sort of control in her life again. This akumatization takes the form of a faux Peacock Miraculous.

This marks the first half of her partnership as an antihero with Hawkmoth. (and yes, I do have the mechanics of how he can akumatized more than one person at a time without Catalyst, which will be extrapolated upon request, but this is long enough already)

Again, I wanna draw attention to those Sweet, Sweet Marinette and Gabriel parallels. Gabriel, through half truths and carefully peppered moments of emotional manipulation and practiced vulnerability, attempts to B plot Marinette into stealing the Miraculouses. Believing herself to be at least somewhat in his thrall, Marinette allows herself to empathize with his plight, and they build a surprising, if strained, raport.

After discovering that she is not, in fact, under Hawkmoth’s control Marinette rebels just long enough to have Hawkmoth take back his Akuma, and Marinette caves the next time Adrien is in Genuine Danger, stealing the real Peacock Miraculous and using it.

This marks the second half of their partnership, and Hawkmoth reveals that the miraculous is broken, and Marinette is now dying from it’s use, and that her only choice of survival is to help him make his wish. This evens out the power balance, at they both now have the same goals and powers independent of each other, but also ups ante.

That’s the most tldr general of overview, with other more specific highlights like

Ladybug!Alya having to reach her own emotional maturity, her earlier stint as a hero leaving her with a much bigger ego in terms of how she perceives her impact of the morale of the city and where her priorities lie in trying to boost that morale vs her personal needs. Ladybug!Alya tries too hard to take notes from already established heroes and public images. She still runs the Ladyblog, Spiderman style.

After quickly realizing (after some confusion) that the Ladybug he fought Stoneheart with the last time is not the same as the one he fought the first time with, Adrien gets a big old case of the pining sighs

Early series Adrien and Alya are both not the type to value secret identities, and so yes, they do reveal said identities to each other fairly early.

They also can both keep a fucking secret, so it works. They are secret BFFs

After the first time Adrien is rescued by the mysterious Peacock Holder, he figures out that whoever she is, she’s the original Ladybug, and more and more ends up distracted and drawn away from fights by her, the perfect reason for Alya to have to bring in other miraculous users. (the interactions tend to take place on moonlit balconies. There’s heavy Pilot influences here)

Marinette does this thing where she spreads her fan when she’s startled and hides her face. Mostly because Cat Noir wont stay out of it. The miraculous’ memory means she tends to fan speak a lot. Symbolism

Speaking of symbolism, the character designs are rife with them. I know exactly what Peacock Marinette looks like and there’s a reason for everything.

The subplot where (inspired by the pilot) Cat Noir finds out that there used to be a curse on the ring that could only be lifted by a kiss from Ladybug (thanks to her creation/retcon powers). Cat Noir convinces (inaccurately) himself that his destruction powers can totally do something similar with Hawkmoth’s mind control now all he needs is to kiss the Peacock user and she’ll be free! She’s totes not a bad guy!

Yes, Marinette does get a different miraculous ala being an episode helper, and her emotions are complicated about it

And other fun tidbits. This got way to long but I’m more than willing to extrapolate on anything more specific that anyone is curious about

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous au #peacock miraculous #mlb #peacock marinette #FowlPlayAU

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lovelylogans · 6 years ago

Text

where you lead, i will follow

previous chapter / chapter six / next chapter

start from the beginning!

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, complicated parental relationships, mentions of transphobia and homophobia, verbal fighting, top surgery mention, classism,

pairings: moxiety, logince

words: 5,414

logan's second birthday is altogether a bit noisier, a lot less well-dressed, and with much better food.

patton sends logan out to harass rudy (well, he mentioned maybe going to hang out with roman or talking to rudy, and picking at the errors in the courant won out when rudy managed to misspell something on the front page again) and virgil comes over to help patton decorate, toting the materials he needs to cook/already prepped food from the diner.

"what was his face like, last night?" virgil asks, as he's onto patton's ploy.

"confused," patton says, pleased with himself. "i really think i got him this year, v."

"it is a pretty good plan you came up with."

"hey, you helped too. you have, like. split custody of the plan. we communally raised this plan."

like the person the plan's for, patton thinks, but virgil's cheeks have gone red so he probably gets what patton's hinting at here.

but anyway, they prep the food and douse the house in streamers and patton nearly forgets until—

"oh god."

"what?" virgil says. "we didn't forget anything, we checked twice. but maybe—"

"no, no, not that, it's just," patton says, and chews at the inside of his cheek. "i might have tipsily invited my parents over to the party tonight."

"oh," virgil says.

"i—they've never been to the house before. the inn, a few times, when logan was a baby. the town square, that once. but never the house."

"that's... big," virgil says cautiously.

patton blows out a long breath. "yeah."

"should i...?"

"no way," patton says immediately. "you're staying. you're a part of logan's life too and i need someone to help my frayed nerves."

if your parents and i fight it'll do a lot more than fray your nerves, virgil thinks, but doesn't say. instead, he says, "do we need, like. a plan? backup plan? multiple back up plans?"

patton shakes his head, flattens his hands on the kitchen table. "i just—this is big," he repeats.

"yeah," virgil says.

"it's probably a while coming," patton says, and chews the inside of his cheek some more. "and it's been going so well lately."

"it'll be fine," virgil says lamely, as if he isn't mentally calculating every way this can possibly go wrong, and a few ways it can't.

"right," patton says, and blows out a forceful breath. "right, right. okay," he says, and claps his hands. "crisis over, time to hang up space-themed banners."

they do, and by the time patton's finishing affixing glow-in-the-dark stars to the ceiling guests are starting to trickle in—roman, who is also in on the plan, first—and patton gets some (logan-approved) music on, and then he kind of loses himself in greeting the citizens of sideshire that he and logan spend the most time with and get along with best.

logan and rudy walk in, to cheers, and patton surreptitiously checks his watch. 7:01. his parents are almost never late. he gets a drink for rudy instead of thinking about it.

logan's staring, eagle-eyed, at the pile of presents that's accrued by the fireplace. roman, cheerfully, is running interference to keep him from going over to shake them, or discreetly peel back a corner of wrapping paper to examine it, or—

roman's running interference, anyway.

someone rings the bell. patton jolts for the door, because there is one person (two people) who would ring the bell for a party in sideshire.

"mom, dad!" he says, smiling, conscious of the fact that he's in a sweater and jeans, casual in a way he basically never lets himself be at their house. he refuses the urge to start adjusting everything to make sure it’s all neat and tidy. "glad you could make it, come on in."

"traffic really is dreadful between our houses," emily says, and they file in.

"grandma, grandpa," logan says, rising from the couch, and suffering through the hugs he receives.

"grandma, look," he adds, and holds out his wrist to display the watch patton had helped emily pick out for him, the one with the galaxy-studded background that reminds patton of the opening theme of doctor who.

"why, it looks lovely," she says, sounding a little surprised that something that cost $13 could possibly look lovely.

"um, everyone," patton says, "these are my parents, emily and richard sanders. mom, dad, this is... everyone."

"hi," the room choruses.

"hello," richard says back.

"i'm emile," says emile picani, local therapist who had helped patton through a number of dilemmas free of charge back in the day, offering the first hand to shake. "we love your son and grandson."

"thank you," emily says.

"they're like our own belle and maurice!"

"without the beast, i'd hope, i don't want my son taken prisoner," patton intercedes, smiling at emile. "mom, dad, can i get you a drink?"

"stoli on the rocks with a twist," emily says.

"right," patton says, and escapes back in the kitchen, mouthing an exaggerated THEY'RE HERE at virgil as he does.

"how's logan?"

"happy," patton says.

"well, that's something," virgil says with a sigh.

"you'll be nice, won't you?"

"i will if they will," virgil grumbles.

"okay, well, their version of nice is different from my version of nice, so—"

"patton, i just tried some of these hors d'ouevres, they're unbelievable," emily announces, bursting into the kitchen. "who is your caterer?"

patton jabs a thumb toward virgil. "you've met him, actually."

she looks abruptly put out that she's complimented him. "ah."

"hi, mrs. sanders," virgil says. he only sounds a little stiff.

"we eat at virgil's practically every day," patton continues.

"something healthy, i hope."

"not if patton was in charge of it," virgil mutters, and patton "accidentally" jabs him in the ribs with a playful little glower.

inexplicably, emily smiles. "he always had a terrible sweet tooth."

"mom," patton groans.

"i have to sneak him his vegetables in a smoothie every morning," virgil says, cautiously friendly.

"virgil!"

"ah. it was waffles, for us."

"it was—wait, what?" patton says, blindsided by this revelation.

"we used to instruct the chefs to sneak vegetables in your waffles for years," emily says. "you never noticed there were seeds in your syrup?"

"okay, first of all, i was nine, second of all, you said they were maple seeds!"

"patton," virgil says, trying not to laugh.

"that's what they were?" patton demands. "i thought it was just that you had really fancy maple syrup or something!"

"patton," richard says, walking into the kitchen, "your fireplace doesn't look structurally sound, i have someone you can call to inspect it—"

"i'll get right on that, dad," patton promises, and passes over the drinks he's poured for them. "come on, we shouldn't all be hiding back here, it's a party!"

"once these are out of the oven," virgil says, and patton sighs but accepts it. not much of a party guy, his virgil. he'll let him have his introvert time but eventually he will come back in here and drag him out to sit in a corner by remy aserinsky, local café owner, supplier of coffee beans to the inn and the diner, and source of an slightly joking, intensely confusing feud with virgil that patton has no hope of tracking, even after almost exactly sixteen years of living in sideshire. (three more weeks, to the anniversary. he and logan and virgil have a little celebration about it.)

"let me know when they're done?" patton requests. "i'll plate them and bring them out."

"sure," virgil says absently, already moving on to prep the next thing. patton squeezes his shoulder, but drifts after his parents to head into the living room.

it's like a veritable merry-go-round of patton introducing people to his parents—or, well, a line actually kind of forms for people to shake their hands, his parents looking increasingly bemused with each. it ends up in a kind of pattern—people shake hands with his parents, wish his son happy birthday, split off into corners of the room to get food or drinks, and then find a place to settle.

"i'm larry, and this is my wife, dot, we live right across the street. such a good pair those are, nothing like my days back with pop-pop..."

"...taylor doose, grocer. very nice to meet you, it must have taken quite the pair to raise someone like your son, such a good man. i hope you're proud of him, we certainly all are...."

"...sookie st. james, i'm the chef at the inn, i really cannot tell you how much i love working for your son, best boss i've ever had, and logan's so smart when it comes to food combinations..."

"...jackson melville. no, taylor, i really think she's more of a meryl streep than a julie andrews, but of course—ow, you don't need to kick me!..."

"...babette dell, and this is morey, and this is our sweet little baby cinnamon." (patton cannot help but reach out to pet and coo at cinnamon, even if he sneezes immediately. stupid allergies.) "we're their neighbors, just on the left side. oh, morey, do you remember the time that logan decided our old tree stump was gonna to be a lightning rod? used to sit in the rain until patton would herd him back inside and even then he'd be glued to the window, waiting, he was such a cute little thing, always running experiments on the plants in our garden, and patton always tagged along as his lab assistant, kept helping us replant anything that got uprooted..."

eventually, patton ducks out of the receiving line. logan looks after him, and he's been splitting his gaze between people greeting him and his pile of presents. patton can't help but wiggle a little bit in glee as he enters the kitchen. logan has no idea.

"those done yet?"

"just about," virgil says. "how're things, out there?"

patton grins. "my parents are being thrown straight into the deep end of the people of sideshire."

"they met ms. prince yet?"

patton's grin widens. "nope."

virgil snorts. "well, good luck to them," he says, and turns back to the oven right as the timer starts beeping, tugging on a pair of oven mitts to pull out the latest batch of jam tarts, before plopping them all onto a wire rack to cool.

"this is the last thing, right?" patton asks, sidling up beside him.

"should be," virgil says. "we've got these, the hors d'ouevres are out, we've got chips and dip, we've got dinner, we've got dessert..."

"then i pronounce you done," patton declares. "thanks for being my caterer."

"i can't believe your mom actually liked my cooking," virgil says.

"well, it's probably genetic," patton decides. "sanders loving your cooking, i mean. logan does, my mom does, i do..."

virgil smiles at him, and it strikes patton very suddenly how close they're standing, without a counter or a table to separate them, the way it always does when they stand like this. so much of their lives are spent divided by a counter, or by patton sitting in a booth, and when they’re together like this, in a space away from everyone watching, in a space where it’s just them...

"plus you're a good cook," patton adds, forging valiantly ahead, trying to make his heart not react.

"am i?"

"the best," patton amends. "the best cook."

virgil's smile quirks at the corners, turns a little sweeter, a little shier, and patton's failed remarkably at making his heart not react.

"well," he says, a little gruff. "thanks. i guess."

"you're welcome, i guess," patton teases back. "we should head out into the living room, i bet logan's practically foaming at the mouth to open presents."

"i want to see the look on his face," virgil says, and double-checks that the oven's off (a habit) before following after.

logan does indeed look about five minutes away from foaming at the mouth. the receiving line's faded, and his parents are floating about the corners of the room—his dad looks like he's about five seconds from bolting, which patton gets, and goes to tug a little at his suit sleeve.

"here," he says, and presents him with a copy of the latest tabloid that taylor doose stocks at the grocery store. "i know it's not exactly national geographic, but there is a story in here about how people who are trying to help climate change are actually shape-shifting reptilian aliens who want to destroy all life on the planet."

richard blinks at it. "logan allows you to have this?"

"logan buys them," patton says with a laugh. "or at least, he makes a beeline for them when we're getting groceries and reads the headlines and gets increasingly gleeful with outrage, so i have to buy it for him, so he can rip it apart without holding up the line."

"ah," he says, and takes it. "well, thank you."

patton refills his drink, before he claps his hands to silence the party, and declares, "presents time!"

logan brightens, straightening up. roman's about to get up to grab his present, but patton wags a finger at him, mockingly stern.

"uh-uh, young man. you're last."

"but—"

"do you remember what happened last time you went first?" patton says, because he sure does. "you go last."

roman slumps back into the couch, mock-disappointed, and emile fetches his present for logan instead.

logan is delighted. logan gets to guess what his presents are (90% of the time, he's right, and 100% of the time, he's at least close enough that he isn't actually very wrong at all) and rip up a bunch of fancily-wrapped paper and monologue at length about it. patton's getting pretty delighted himself, because logan still doesn't suspect a thing.

the presents pile has dwindled down, and it's now the order of people that it's settled into for years.

rudy grunts from the corner, and hands over a tiny box to logan. logan frowns at it, and then at rudy.

"you never get me anything physical," he says, which is true. the usual gift from rudy is a story pitch of logan's choice that he can run on the front page. last year, he'd managed a profile of a chemist at the local state university who'd won some prize or other, and patton had been walking into recreations of experiments on his kitchen table for weeks.

"well, special circumstances," he says, and patton readies his camera, like he's been doing for all the presents.

logan rips off the paper, opens the box, and stares down at it, and then up at rudy, and then down at it again, before lifting up the professional blue lanyard.

"is this—?" logan breathes.

"press pass," rudy rumbles. "it's about time you stop heckling me to do more stories at the state level and do them yourself."

logan cradles the id in his hands, flipping it over to look at the photo—and then he looks to patton, because he surely recognizes where rudy would have gotten a photo from.

"now that you have a driver's license, i figured it would only be fair," patton says. "as long as you don't let it interfere with your schoolwork, which i know you won't, and as long as you don't become a total workaholic, i think you can ask me if you can take the car to run up to the capital if there's breaking news, don't you?"

a massive grin splits over logan's face, and—

"really?!"

"really really," patton promises.

"there's a press conference on monday afternoon, if you're free," rudy begins.

"yes!" logan exclaims. "yes, i'm free, what's the conference about—?"

"i'm forwarding the pr release now," rudy says.

logan's cradling the press id, and slings the lanyard around his neck, like he doesn't want to lose it.

"okay," virgil says, and nudges over a fairly sizeable box. logan gives him a curious look, but reaches over to take it, ripping the star-dotted paper.

he unearths a lamp that displays constellations around the room, and a leather bomber jacket covered with space patches: nasa and galaxies and one little “i want to believe” patch. it’s hand-stitched, but, well. of course it is.

"cool," roman declares, then seems to remember who it's from and coughs. "um, i mean—"

"no take-backs, it's cool," virgil says smugly, as logan's shrugging it on, and smooths over the collar, tugging his press id so it's still front and center. it does look cool. a perfect balance between nerdy and cool.

logan smiles at virgil, just a little—the fact that virgil’s the closest thing that logan has to another dad has been an unspoken truth between them for years, now—and virgil clears his throat, trying his hardest not to look emotional.

“yeah, happy birthday, kid,” virgil says gruffly, and logan’s smile widens.

"we should plug this in," logan declares, holding up the lamp.

"not yet," patton chides gently, "you've still got a couple to go."

logan frowns. "no, just roman's. rudy, virgil, you, then roman. but you've already given me my—"

but he falls silent to see emile and remy carting in two boxes, and—

logan's jaw has fallen open. patton snaps a picture.

"you," he begins, and then, "you—"

"i got you!" patton bursts out gleefully. "for the first time in sixteen years, i have managed to get you!"

logan's jaw is still hanging.

"you didn't really think i'd just get you a puzzle, did you?" patton teases him gently, taking the larger of the boxes and setting it in front of logan.

"you," he says, stunned, "tricked me."

"i did," patton says. "i got a decoy present and i hid the real presents at the prince's apartment—"

logan swivels to glower accusingly at roman, who snickers, holding up his hands.

"—and i got you," patton finishes.

"i," logan says, and then, "i'm—"

"are you mad?" patton checks, suddenly worried that he's pulled one over on his son, and logan doesn't like being made a fool of, but he wasn't trying to do that he was just trying to surprise him, nicely, and logan—

logan just grins at him.

"you've finally managed subtlety for once in your life," logan declares. "i never thought i'd see the day. at last i have taught you something."

"hey," patton chides, but he can't help but laugh. "it might be your birthday, but that doesn't mean you can't get grounded."

logan scoffs and the rest of the room laughs.

"i could!" patton says defensively.

"that boy's never been able to stay in trouble with you more than a day in his life," babette says in the corner.

patton turns to virgil for someone on his team, but he just shrugs, putting his hands up in a don't look at me kind of way.

"fine, i'm a softie," patton declares, "but one who managed to surprise our own logan sanders, modern-day sherlock!"

there's a cheer. logan rolls his eyes at everyone in the room. (one man has escaped to the porch, and one woman is watching this display in the room, feeling very... thrown off.)

"open this one first," patton says, excitedly patting the box. for once, he has managed to surprise his son. he's absolutely over the moon (ba-dum-tsh!) with his success.

logan tears off the paper, and then he gapes at patton.

"no."

"yes."

"no!" logan says, tearing off the rest of the paper to stare in absolute delight at the telescope that patton's bought him—the one he'd gone on and on and on about when it first came out, excited over all the features and its capabilities.

"you like it?!"

"i love it!" logan says, so excited, so openly happy in a way he never lets himself be. patton's heart soars. "but it's way too expensive—"

"i know, that's what i told them," patton teases. "so i hunted until i got a discount."

"it's perfect," logan says lovingly, tracing his hands over the box, looking ready to cart it outside and set up shop to examine the constellations and ignore the rest of the party.

"you've still got another one from me," patton says, holding the smaller one forward. it's still pretty sizeable, but not to an absurd degree.

"dad, the telescope's already too much—"

"hey, it's your sixteenth birthday, that only happens once," patton scolds. "plus this one wasn't very expensive. c'mon, open it."

logan gives him a little smile—soft, private—and looks down, ripping open the paper to see the back of a frame for a poster. he flips it, and he stares.

"it's," patton begins. "it's the way the stars were in the sky, on your birthday. that morning, i mean, when you were born."

"dad," he says, soft, tracing the shiny silver lettering reading november third, the year of his birth, the astrological details of the placement of the moon and the sun, the shiny little five-pointed stars connected into constellations.

"happy birthday, kiddo," patton says. "eight."

logan's lip twitches up. "sixteen," he breathes back, and patton ruffles his hair, just a little, before he backs up closer to the wall makes a gesture at the rest of the room.

"and now, what we've all been waiting for," patton says, and begins a drumroll on his thighs. the rest of the room echoes it. roman hands over his box with a flourish, and logan tears open the paper eagerly.

"what's all this?" a familiar voice asks, and patton nearly jumps. he'd almost forgotten his mother was here.

"roman's present," patton says, in an undertone, but can't explain anymore because logan's lifting the lid off the box eagerly, unearthing a massive, massive sheath of paper. the cover of the book is decorated with roman's lurid doodles of stars, and galaxies, and what look like the gears of a watch, and stickers plastered over any available space.

"doctor who?!" logan says eagerly, and looks up at roman. "you wrote me into doctor who?!!?"

"i did," roman says. "you're a companion."

"with which doctor?"

"please, i know your passionate opinions about the benefits and drawbacks of each doctor better than that. all of new who, obviously, with cameos from the old ones."

logan beams at him, and cradles the papers in his arms, hugging them close to his chest, like it's something precious, something to be savored. and he does: logan has a space on his shelf saved for the birthday stories of years past. roman has to go last for presents, because logan will start reading the story right then and just about ignores all his other presents to get to the end so he can babble happily about it with roman.

logan's staring down at the papers, and roman's staring at him, wide-eyed, like he's seeing an eclipse, or a blood moon, or a meteor shower, or something equally cosmic and amazing, something that you only get the chance to see only every so often and something so beautiful that it stuns you, makes you think about the whole wide universe and everything that is and was and ever will be and how lucky you are to see this, this precise moment.

"what," his mother says, and she narrows her eyes suspiciously at them. even a totally oblivious stranger could see it then, at that moment, and emily sanders is not a totally oblivious stranger. "are they—"

patton taps his finger to his lips, eyes twinkling. later, he mouths at her, and she shuts her mouth grudgingly.

"hang on," virgil says, because he knows that the best way to keep logan from getting completely engrossed in the birthday story is to interfere before he can read it. "hang on, cake!"

"cake," logan says, distracted, and tears his eyes up away from the cover page. roman, similarly, tears his eyes off logan. "right, cake."

virgil ducks into the kitchen, and emerges carrying the traditional cake, stuck with sixteen lit candles, and sets it carefully before logan. patton switches off the lights and takes in a deep breath, and logan only pulls a little face that somehow seems magnified by the light of the candles, the only thing in the room ignited.

"happy birthday to you," the room sings, "happy birthday to you, happy birthday, dear, looo-gaaan... happy birthday to you!"

logan huffs a breath, then another one, and patton flips the lights back on as everyone cheers.

"okay, first cut," virgil says, handing over a knife.

"then toast," patton says, "then you can escape to a corner and read your story."

logan smiles at him and cuts himself a large slice, before passing the knife back to virgil so he can distribute the cake equally.

once everyone who wants a slice has got a slice, patton calls out, "okay, everyone, attention please!"

the room quiets.

"okay, i'll keep it short, because we all know how amazing virgil's cake is," patton says. "and technically someone stole the birthday toast on logan's actual birthday this year."

roman grins at him sheepishly.

"so i would like to propose a little toast to the one thing in my life that is always good, always smart, and always eager to take on the whole world. without him, i don't know what my reason would be to get up in the morning. my kiddo, logan. cheers."

"cheers!"

"and now in honor of this very special boy, i invite you all to dig in!" patton declares, and people split off into their own conversations, chattering away.

when the attention's surely off him, logan leans in to hug patton briefly before sliding off the couch to sit in a quiet corner with roman, eating cake and commenting aloud on the story, and patton rolls his eyes fondly at virgil.

he also notices that someone is not standing where she was before—and that that someone is climbing the stairs. patton follows after.

he turns a corner into his room to see his mother, holding up a quilt.

"i made that."

"really?"

"from logan's old baby clothes."

"how nice," she says, blankly, then, "that's quite an assortment of characters you've assembled down there."

"they're great people," patton says affectionately. "i really lucked out on living here, mom."

"that prince boy," emily says. "are they dating?"

"ah," patton says, and sits on the bed, shooting a discreet look out into the hall, before looking up at his mother with the distinct air of someone telling a secret. "no, but—and don't breathe a word to logan that i'm telling you about any of this."

she nods.

"no, they aren't dating, but logan's had the biggest crush on him. for ages."

"really?" she says, even more blankly.

"really," patton says. "i think logan's been in love with him since they were little, and roman's just as hopeless about it."

"really?"

"really," patton repeats, and sighs. "but roman went out and got himself a boyfriend, just last month. asked me about advice, actually, he said that he feels like he shouldn't wait around for logan to maybe like him back when someone he could grow to really like was right there, wanting him, and making moves to want him."

"what did you say?"

patton sighs even more. "i told him that he should have fun and to be careful, and to call me if he did anything that made him uncomfortable."

"did he?"

"he fell asleep without going home," patton says.

"he what?!"

"literally fell asleep, nothing else," patton says hastily, "but that's not like it particularly endeared anyone to that boy, i'm telling you."

"you don't like him?"

"he's part of the reason roman broke my son's heart for the first time, so no, i don't like him. and he..." patton hesitates, huffs out a breath. "you're going to be so smug about this."

"about what?"

"he reminds me," patton says, scowling just a little, "of those boys you always tried to warn me off of, and now that i'm a parent, i don't like them, either."

emily smiles, and patton waves a hand.

"i know, i know, you were right, et cetera, but. that's the situation with roman and logan."

"hm," emily says. then she says, “why were you and logan talking about numbers? when you gave him his present.”

“have we never done that in front of you before?” patton asks, distracted.

“obviously not.”

“huh, i guess. but, um, you know logan’s not the most effusive kid, and i’m a pretty effusive parent. so we made a code so that we could have the best of both worlds in public—i could tell logan i love him without embarrassing him, he could tell me he loved me back without admitting to feeling an emotion.”

“why those numbers, though?”

“there’s eight letters in i love you. and i love you too seems to imply multiplying by two, so—sixteen. eight, sixteen. just some sanders shorthand.”

she blinks, before picking up one of the (many) picture frames that patton has dotting his room.

"what's this?"

patton squints at the photo. "me, mom."

"i know that's you," she snaps, "you're wearing a cast."

"oh, yeah," patton says, and laughs. "yeah, that's when i broke my arm."

"you broke your arm?!"

"yeah, three years ago," patton says. "you know what a klutz i am, i stepped wrong on some ice outside of virgil's diner and now logan and virgil won't let me walk anywhere alone in the middle of winter if i'm not holding onto a railing or someone else, or something."

"i never knew that you broke your arm," she says, and patton can see the way she's drooping.

he's never seen her like that.

"oh, hey, mom," he says, awkward. "it wasn't a big deal, if i got really sick you would have known."

"yes," she says, "well," and sets down the frame. "i should check on your father."

"it was really nice that you came tonight, mom," patton says quietly. "it meant a lot. to logan," he tacks on.

"well, he is my grandson, after all," she says. "i should be here."

patton smiles. "i definitely agree."

he follows her down the stairs, and gets briefly waylaid by refereeing the terms of a feud he doesn't understand, and then gets waved out for being biased, and by the time that's happened patton looks up to see his parents approaching his son, and he hastens over in time to hear richard say "absurd, but entertaining," holding the tabloid back out for logan.

"hey, are you guys heading out?" patton asks.

"we had a lovely time, patton," his mother tells him, with a straight face.

"get that chimney inspected, i've sent you a number to call," his father says.

"well, thank you," patton says. "and i'll get right on that."

logan and patton watch as they leave, and then they both throw themselves back into a night of fun, and friends, and happiness.

(out in the car, emily stares out of the window and is silent for so long that richard has to say her name three times to get her attention. she's too entrenched in thoughts of that cheerfully cluttered house, small and lived in and messy in a way her and richard's house has never been, with frames fighting for space the walls, photos of logan and patton in the midst of stories that emily would have no hope of identifying, of her grandson's first heartbreak she's told about like it's a piece of errant gossip and her son's broken arm that's a funny story and the way patton had looked, here, dressed in that absurd sweater and those terrible jeans and with his hair a frightful mess, talking to that motley crew of neighbors that had been full of nothing but glowing, delighted praise for her son and grandson, the way patton had looked so right here, so comfortable and happy with himself and free, and how securely he has made his own little world and didn’t even seem to notice that she’s been shut outside of it, and the way he squirms and hunches over and avoids her world until he can't anymore, and how she has seen her son smile more in this night than she has since he was very small, and how her grandson had smiled more this evening than she had ever seen from him, and—

"he was right," emily says, choked up, wilting in a way that richard has only ever seen her wilt once, and his stomach plummets. "patton. he's right. he's a mystery to me, and i don't know him at all.")

#wyliwf #my fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #moxiety #logince

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apurebloodwitch · 5 years ago

Text

“...and when he went by me I felt all hollow inside he was so beautiful.” ~ Hemingway

(Hi. I don’t have a title for whatever this is, please forgive any errors.)

Sonny Carisi x OFC | Part I

The courthouse was beginning to fill up. Now that she and Menthon were situated in place, early, and she felt more collected having oriented herself, Alice was finally beginning to relax. With one hundred fifty eight pounds of freshly bathed and blowdried fluff laying across the cool marble floor in front of her, and the two seated in an advantageous place outside the courtroom in which their witness would testify, she settled back against the surprisingly comfortable wooden bench. She had felt her anxiety peaking as they were driven into Midtown that morning, rising and swelling dangerously toward the rim like the foam of a recklessly poured drink. She was overwhelmingly grateful that car service was a perk offered by her new employment. She wasn’t sure how she would have navigated parking and traffic, or the subway system, when winding roads through green mountains were more her forte. Every time she remembered that she was working in Manhattan permanently she felt queasy, until she reminded herself, as she did now, that she was more than capable of negotiating such a populated city. It was of paramount importance to her that she and Menthon be accessible to any clients who might need them, wherever and whenever that need might arise, and the notion of feeling less than in command of her surroundings was always of concern for Alice. The momentary dark cloud of distraction having passed over, she turned back to the hardback lined notebook she was scrawling in, bright cobalt ink flowing from the nib of her fountain pen on the weighty paper, trailing her hand across the page.

Sonny remembered receiving an email to the effect that the new program was being instituted, and had filtered the message into his “to be read” folder, but he hadn’t anticipated the level of intrigue he would associate with the arrival of the Courthouse Dogs themselves until he saw her sitting on that bench, sun beaming through the window behind her, igniting the red gold tones in her auburn hair. He had turned the corner, expertly negotiating around others en route to their own destinations, while checking his messages, and stopped in his tracks.

She reached up and threaded her fingers through her hair, tossing it a bit absentmindedly. Menthon raised his head and looked up at her, and Sonny, unequivocally blocking traffic, his phone forgotten in his hand down at his side, watched as she placed her book beside her and leaned over to scratch his head and rumple his ears. She happened to look up in that moment, and in raising her eyes met his. Generally disinclined toward acknowledging strange men, especially those staring openly, Alice made the first of innumerable exceptions to follow and smiled, her dimples appearing on her rapidly flushing cheeks. Sonny, extremely pleased with this gesture of warmth and friendliness, grinned back in return.

Just then, Olivia arrived from the opposite direction, her eyes scanning just long enough to locate the Saint Bernard and his owner/handler. She commanded such attention in her elegant prowess that Alice’s attention was immediately diverted and she looked in her direction just as Olivia asked, in confirmation,

“Alice Haversham?”

Alice rose from the bench and stepped carefully around Menthon, smartly feminine in a calf length fitted cornflower blue knit sweater dress with bishop sleeves and box pleats at the hem. Alice reached out and shook Olivia’s hand, and as they exchanged pleasantries, Sonny saw his opportunity, striding confidently over to the pair and tucking his phone away.

Olivia was crouched down, petting Menthon as Alice related some additional details about the new service.

“It’s a fantastic program, something we needed,” Olivia was saying as Sonny approached.

Alice would kick herself for how utterly ridiculously she had conducted herself in her introduction to Detective Carisi; as he stood just a few feet from her, lean and utterly dashing in his perfectly fitted and well styled three piece suit, she failed to take the initiative and put out her hand and introduce herself, and instead, with a brightness to her voice and a repeat of the same, warm, flagrant smile she had given him only a few minutes before said only “Hi.”

He grinned, again. “Hello,” and then remembered himself, putting out his hand “Detective Carisi, Manhattan SVU. Call me Sonny.”

“Alice Haversham, Courthouse Dogs Program. I’m assigned to your precinct, with priority, but we’ll be assisting throughout Manhattan when we aren’t directly engaged with SVU.”

It hadn’t been her imagination. Aside from the firmness of his handshake and the surprising tenderness associated therewith, he had indeed, unintentionally, brushed the center of her palm with his fingertips as they pulled away.

“This is Menthon,” she said, gesturing to the dog, and Olivia stepped back to allow Sonny to greet the Saint Bernard. Alice watched as he crouched down and started rubbing Menthon’s face and neck.

“Hey buddy,” Sonny said. “Beautiful dog.” He was admiring the brand new navy vest emblazoned with the New York City seal and the bold white text designating him as a civil servant.

“Thank you,” Alice said. “He’s an excellent clinician. We’re very honored to be working with SVU.” She was so taken with how enamored Sonny seemed to be with her dog that she forgot to offer him one of the many hand towels she carried in her tote bag to protect his suit from the inevitable arrival of drool.

“Alice will be coming to the station tomorrow to brief us on the services that she and her partner can offer us,” Olivia said.

Sonny looked up at her, another smile delivered in her direction.

“Looking forward to it!” he said. Menthon nudged him with the top of his massive, blocky head, demanding further attention.

“Miss Haversham!” A man’s voice called across the expanse of the hall. Sonny tried to hide his smirk. Miss, he thought. Miss. Good.

The three turned to the sound of the voice and a middle aged man waved to her, his other hand occupied in the grip of a little girl in a pale pink lightweight spring jacket, a woman following closely behind. Rafael Barba’s colleague, prosecutor Lana Shore, had wasted no time in enlisting the help of the new Courthouse Dogs program in helping her witness, Emeline Gray, six, who had watched a shooting unfold in the street below her bedroom window and was to give her testimony that day.

Alice gestured to them to come toward her, and Sonny and Olivia stepped to the side.

“We all officially start tomorrow, and Lucky the Lab is assigned to the precinct this case came from, but we were available early.” The little girl skipped over, tugging at her father’s hand to get to Menthon, sliding down onto the floor with him and putting her arms around his neck. Alice watched with pride as he gently rested his massive head on her shoulder, tucking his head ever so slightly to offer her the security of his protection.

Olivia and Sonny backed away to allow the family to interact with Alice and Menthon in preparation for the trial.

“We’ll see you tomrorow,” Olivia said quietly.

“A pleasure to meet you both,” Alice said, and diverted her attention back to the family.

As they were driven east along the northern shore of the island, the windows partly opened to admit the cool, spring air, her interactions with Sonny playing out in her mind over and over on a loop, she looked down at Menthon, who was laid out on the bench seat, his head resting on her lap.

“Menthon,” she said, getting his attention, and raised his eyes to her.

“Hi?” She said, mocking herself, looking to him for confirmation of his disbelief at her foolishness. Alice Haversham, Master of Science in Clinical Psychology, highly proficient handler and adept trauma respondent. She would make a point to make her credentials known in tomorrow’s briefing. She was aware of how bureaucrats could be dismissive or skeptical of the documented benefits of animals in trauma therapy, despite all of the research confirming how positive the impacts were proven to be. She did not necessarily fault hardened individuals who looked cynically upon something that may seem as trivial and frivolous as ‘petting a dog,’ as she had heard it referred to, but she was frustrated by the opposition that she had occasionally been given when she had gone to bat for it as a necessary service. Thankfully, she was assigned to SVU, where, she was certain, the particular brand of assistance offered by a canine clinician like Menthon would be appreciated, based on the delicate nuances of interacting with and serving special victims.

She rolled the window down further, breathing deeply of the briny sea air.

“Hi,” she said again, shaking her head and laughing to herself.

#sonny carisi #svu #detective carisi #dominick carisi #detective sonny carisi #law and order svu #carisi #sonny carisi fic

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tarralin · 6 years ago

Text

For @asprettyasarose

Distractions

300 Follower Raffle: Silver Prize

Prompted by the snap below from THIS GAME by @jgjmk4-2.

~☆~

Like a cloud…

The hotel bed was the softest she had ever been in, far more luxurious than her own with feather down pillows and blankets to boot. No wonder she fell into a deep slumber almost immediately…

“Everybody up!”

Before it was shattered by a metal spoon banging around in a pot like a cattle call.

“Masa!” She groaned while jumping out of the fluffy heaven to face a glaring squint at the One-Eyed Dragon. “Is that really necessary?!”

“Got you two up, didn’t it?” His spoon wavered purposely between her and Mitsunari in the neighboring twin bed, equally disgruntled as her and suffering the worst case of bedhead she’d ever seen on the poor angel. Masa didn’t give a chance for rebuttal before tossing her weekend bag haphazardly in her arms. “Sun’s out, fun’s out. Move it!”

“It’s five a.m., the sun isn’t even up yet!”

“Will be soon and we need to get to the beach before all the good spots are taken. Breakfast is ready, you should be too.”

“I thought the hotel served a continental?”

“Pfft, like I’d let you eat that insult for food! Hurry up or it’ll get cold.”

~*~

Masa was right.

The group arrived early enough to watch the sunrise over the Miami horizon and were still beat out by several other spring breakers already set up near the water. Coolers, umbrellas, and blankets sprawled the ocean side intermittently as beachgoers lounged and prepared for the day’s activities while Nobu worked with Ieyasu to erect a means of shade for the group.

“Do we really need two canopies?”

“We’re a big enough group already,” Masa started as he prepared a few watermelons for splitting before continuing with a brow waggle and what she assumed was an attempt at a wink. “Plus Mitsuhide when he shows up and– of course– any lads or lasses we pick up along the way.”

“If Mitsuhide shows up, you mean.”

The news that Mitsuhide would be stuck at his internship longer than previously thought had definitely thrown a rain cloud over the trip. Yes, this was a group trip. Yes, they had all planned it for months. Yes, she loved everyone… but it just wasn’t the same without her most favorite person there.

“Chin up, Lass, he’ll make it. In the meantime, could you help Yasu tie down the sun wall?”

With a sigh, she turned to make herself useful when Yasu’s head snapped in the direction of the parking lot as Hideyoshi and Nari carried the last load to their spot. “Hideyoshi… What. Are. You. Wearing?”

“What, my swim shorts?”

“Those aren’t shorts. That’s thread holding hands.”

“I’ve had them for five years, they’re comfortable.

Yasu shook his head as he continued tying the canopy wall in place. "And the entire beach is about to have a free show if you even go near the water.”

Hideyoshi brushed off the salt lick’s comments and he unloaded sports gear for the day. “Princess, what things did you have in mind to do this week?”

“Volleyball, build a massive sand castle, there’s a cave system nearby… oh, and the firework show tonight.”

“A cave? We can go early and be back by lunch. We may even find some shells for the castle.”

“I’ll get my bag!”

Hideyoshi, Princess, and Nari soon found themselves amongst a tour group in the depths of an expansive cavern system, lead by a tall guide who seemed to enjoy flirting with his charges more than detailing the tunnel’s geology and history.

Their arrival at the cave’s gift shop and restaurant marked the end of the tour and their time to return to the beach. Choosing the shoreline route back to their camp, Hideyoshi spotted a cluster of tide pools hidden among the rocks that boasted various colored shells for decorating the castle.

But first… Masa drafted them into the traditional suikawari. She and Nari were both blindfolded and spun until all sense of direction was lost among the shouts of their friends as they attempted to guide the two toward the targeted watermelons. Nari was still swinging his tree branch into the sand wildly when she felt her own strike down upon a melon and triumphant cheers went up around her.

After lunch was sand castle time! Nari volunteered to help lug and lump out damp sand for her as she sculpted out the castle’s base. It wasn’t long until her vision started coming to life, drawing attention from friends and passersby alike.

“Are you sure you’re not meant to be an architect, Princess?” Nobu’s question over her shoulder rose a giggling response as she continued.

“This is just a hobby, I burn out too quickly to make it my life. Fashion design is where I’m supposed to be but don’t be surprised if you find me helping Mitsu from time to time.” Once finished, she dusted the excess sand from her arms and legs while neighboring beachgoers took turns snapping selfies.

Time to hit the water!

The guys already had a turn or two in the water except for Hideyoshi who seemed to think someone needed to keep vigil under the canopy. “Hide, nothing is going to run away if you go for a swim.”

“It’s not something running away I’m afraid of, it’s something flying away.” Just as he finished his statement, a trio of seagulls landed nearby as if they had been summoned. “Those three have been terrorizing other groups and one managed to carry away a whole bag of chips on its own!”

She couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled as she gathered loose items together into a basket so he could enjoy the water himself. “Well, the bags are mostly air now days anyway… there! Safe and sound from winged pilfers.”

An hour later and she was desperately scouring through the racks of a swimsuit shop for a pair of trunks she knew Hideyoshi would like despite the emergency. Yasu’s snide comment from that morning became reality when they made their way out of the water only for a round of wolf whistles to alert them to his missing shorts that were nowhere to be found, presumably swept out to sea. Finally, her eyes landed on a pair of red and light green trunks in his size. Praises!

Pink and orange were just streaking through the sky when she tossed Yasu the new shorts to wade out to Hideyoshi who remained submerged to his shoulders in the ocean. Princess held out a prepared drink to him once he finally made it back to the canopy, which he downed in no time. And then another… and another… until he was chatting with any and all who would listen, free show forgotten as the sun sank lower in the sky behind them. Slowly, the bright vibrancy of day turned over to the comforting dark of night.

A sudden stream of flame into the sky signaled the start of the light show. Rapid firing of colored flame and the booming of lit powder reached her from the ocean deck and suddenly– on an especially loud explosion– the empty space beside her was claimed as someone dropped into place.

“Miss me, Mouse?”

The start pulled a quick squeal of surprise from her that died when the light caught the intruder’s eyes– yellow gold, the same as the flickering flames falling into the sea.

“Mitsuhide!”

His lips claimed hers on the next explosion before they even finished his name. Chaste and sweet at first but soon grew passionate and needy until he restrained himself. “You didn’t answer my question.”

She laced a hand through his hair to pull him back to her, finishing what he started and answering his question– without words– at the same time.

“You didn’t have to stay at the internship?”

“Scheduling error. A costly one, since I missed the original plane and then had to book a new one, but here I am.”

“You’re still in your work suit.”

“Hmm, indeed…” he teased his lips across her ear in the lull of the firework display. “I’d hope you’d help me out of it.”

“Mitsu!” She hissed, hoping their friends hadn’t caught that line.

“What?” He grinned like a true fox that had just caught its mousey prey. “You know I have no sense of beachwear.”

“That is not at all what you meant and you know it.”

“Aww, has my mouse reached her limit so soon? I should probably take her to bed then…” Without further warning, he was on his feet, lifting her in his arms, and toting her off the beach.

~☆~

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen nobunaga #ikesen masamune #ikesen mitsunari #ikesen hideyoshi #crack fics #ikesen crack fics #my writing #ikesennw #300 followers

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numberonehalfdadinthegalaxy · 6 years ago

Text

We arrived at the party about when that the police ships were pulling away, followed by a generous range of nuclear missiles. My heart sank. I suppose Gamora was lying to me about the fireworks.

Perhaps it was a realization that was a long time coming to me, but there was little time to reflect on this. Ronan was already gliding the Sanctuary II over to the right side of the Milano.

As the intern slowed my flagship to an even stop, I took a deep breath and gazed upon the many broken-down speedsters littering the spacescape below.

Though I had fought many things bigger and grander than a horde of Ravager-hovels, something about the sheer number of ships seemed to produce unexpected intimidation in my heart.

I suppose I had never really been what they would call a “party animal.” Even in my childhood upon Titan’s gardens of bliss, it was always my brother, not I, who had the lion’s share of mirth, celebration always his “thing.” But that fact was acceptable for I always had much to do and little time to waste on frivolity.

It was an irony he’d enjoy that my task now took me into the midst of what looked to be, as he would put it, a “banging” party.

Nebula squeezed my hand almost tight enough to cut off any semblance of pulse still pumping through it. Clearly a gesture of comfort that I well appreciated. “So,” she muttered to me, metallic voice echoing in the interior of the spaceship like the ring of a bullet, “Are we going or what?”

I straightened myself up, smoothing over any wrinkles in the suit Ronan had so careful picked out. Not the kind of person that I would have expected to be a fashionista, that Ronan. But all the same.

“I’m ready, my daughter.”

“Good.” With the confidence expected of the daughter of a Titan Eternal, Nebula strode out of the cockpit and down the tentacling tube that hung strung from Sanctuary to Milano like a parasite. I followed her, head somewhat bent-- not out of any sort of anxiety of course, but simply because the ceiling was too low.

And together, we entered the chaos and cacophony of the party.

***

I suppose it was a bit optimistic on my part, even in a room full of drunken pirates, to expect that it would be over five minutes until the two of us were recognized.

Dodging between scuffles, spooning and all the other sort of tomfoolery one would expect at a party thrown by wanted criminals, I was seeking to find, someone, anyone who looked mildly similar to the descriptions the media had given of the Guardians.

Best as I could remember there were five of them.

A genetically modified rodent, schooled in the intricacies of explosive weaponry and sharpshooting.

A botanical being, strong as a galactic toothhare and indestructible save by fire and ash.

A warrior brazen enough to call himself “the Destroyer.” As though he too was tasked with a quest to save the galaxy from ignorance and greed.

A paradoxical pirate captain, half Earthian and half something wilder, more ancient than that.

And finally a huntress. Unshakable warrior. My daughter Gamora.

I had to find her, had to understand the width of the gap that so suddenly had grown between us.

But alas Fortune was not of the same mindset. It was barely a few minutes before the (admittedly strange) sight of a Titan Eternal and galaxy-class assassin weaving through the crowds drew attention-- and with that came recognition.

“Eyyy,” a voice slurred from behind me. I whirled around, unsure if it was I who was being addressed. But the sight unfortunately only offered confirmation. A man dressed in the rags of a Ravager, eyes clouded by spirits stumbled toward me. “Ain’t you Thanos? The Mad Titan?”

I would not flinch. After all, he was drunk. The situation could still be...salvaged. I took a breath and tried to act as disgusted as the rest of the world felt when it saw me. “Your accusations offend me grossly. Systems forbid I should ever be ever be mistaken for that purple error of nature.”

For a moment I thought I had done it. The man’s eyes drooped back into his sockets and he let out a short moan-- something about me “talking funny.”

Then he screamed.

Though I like to think of myself as a being of great restraint, I will admit that I punctuated the ear-curdling shrieks with a few cuss words of my own.

Thankfully, Nebula by now could not hear them, already having disappeared into the throngs of partygoers-- all shape, size and species-- that swarmed to me en masse. From prior experience, I knew that their purpose was to hunt me, tear my flesh to pieces for destroying exactly one half of their civilizations as to to save the rest of them.

And I understood their actions. How, after all, could I fault any single one of my foes when I had taken away so much from them-- family, friends, normalcy? Fear and hatred came far more easily than rationality to the grieving mind. Indeed, as long as this fact held true, I would be mad to expect any of the survivors to understand the importance of my solution.

All the same... I could not allow this mismatched group of pirates to strike me down.

So with a heavy sigh, I reached for my Infinity Stones, hidden away in a breast pocket because Ronan had thought they would clash with the outfit. The jewels warmed to my touch and responded to my call, enveloping the room in an uneasy scarlet haze. With a snap of my fingers, there now were dozens of Thanoses, each like an image reflected in an infinite mirror.

The pirates halted in confusion and I allowed myself a brief smile. I had learned the trick from my first intern, and though he had been less than helpful, I still used the tactic-- convenient and remarkably nonviolent-- to this day.

Now the problem was reduced a simple matter of sneaking away undetected in the midst of this chaos.

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done when you’re an eight foot tall Titan Eternal.

“Excuse me,” I muttered slipping between two Skrulls hurling shot glasses at one of my doubles.

“Pardon,” I called to a what looked like a genetically modified labrador in a spacesuit as I almost stepped on his tail.

Neither of the groups responded and I knew that the Reality Stone was shielding me somewhat, hiding me away from any set of prying eyes.

I crept closer and closer to the door, careful not to let impatience or anxiety get the best of me. But they would not. I could not have made it this far to my goal without learning to quiet the din of emotions in my head.

At last I was only a few feet from the door, the air alight with shouts and saturated with the smell of alcohol. I drummed my fingers against my side, a nervous habit I had never quite been able to shake, as I lay in wait for an opening. Patience, I thought, Patience yields perfection, Thanos.

The crowd cleared a path almost as though it heard my silent demands.

I took a step.

And then came the explosion.

It was a Type-Y bomb, I could tell that by the size of the blast. Technically illegal in more than 97% of the galaxy and most certainly not approved as a party favor. For a few moments I was knocked to my knees but I rose quickly. Ronan would be furious if I managed to ruin the suit on the Milano’s dirty floors.

“Everybody put your hands up above your heads where I ken see’em.” A sandpaper voice cut through the cloud of haze. Around me, most of the pirates raised their hands, with what appeared to be fearful recognition of the noise’s source.

I, however, did not join them.

This was a game I had played before and one I had known for decades how to win.

I would keep to the shadows where the smoky air and Reality Stone could do their best work; I would find out who I was dealing with, and then I would strike. Patience. That’s the way the great thinkers of Titan had done their work and that’s how I would do mine.

Finally as the dust settled and even my own illusions faded, I finally began to get a glimpse of the man who set the bomb. Except it wasn’t a man.

The creature appeared to be dressed in what was a child’s sports jacket and shorts and was toting a gun nearly as large as its own body. Something clicked within my synapses: I had found my first Guardian.

“A’right. A’right, what’s the big idea here, ya scum?” The rodent took a step forward with enough swagger to fit the dictator of a small planet. The same pirate who I believed had screamed at me earlier in horror stared down the barrel of the Guardian’s gun.

“I, uh…”

But before the man finished, he was cut off by a reedy voice emanating from behind the trigger-happy raccoon. “I am Groot.”

I sighed-- how long had it been since I had practiced any of my Groot-speak? Too long, apparently. But I could glean some clue of what the living tree was saying from his smaller friend’s response.

“Yes, Groot, I can call them scum. I mean, they ain’t my friends, they’re Quill’s.”

“I am Groot.” The tree’s tone was a specific shade of patronizing I remembered from my daughters’ teenage days.

The raccoon rolled his eyes. “I know we’re the ones hosting the party. But why would that made us have to treat ‘em special? They’re lucky to be here.”

“I am Groot.”

“You’re lucky to be here too, and not grounded.”

“I am Groot.”

“Why? Don’t be askin’ me why! Because you haven’t done anything but play that stupid game in weeks!” The first Guardian shifted his gun as to put his hands on his hips. If he were actually on the same scale as the tree, I suppose this might have been found intimidating. But as it was, the companion- Groot- just gave the most indignant of sighs and returned to the glowing screen at his fingertips.

The pirate at the two’s feet raised his hand and gently tried to push the gun so that it was pointed anywhere else but his face. “Hey, uh, man. I was kind of hoping to tell you that--”

The raccoon whirled around baring his teeth. “Hey buddy, can’t you see that I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”

“I mean yes but--” The Ravager shifted his gaze around the room uneasily as though he could sense that I was still here watching.

“Then why don’t you just shut up, huh?” The raccoon jiggled the gun around a bit for effect. “Don’t make Quill have to wipe your brain guts off the floor.”

“No, it’s just--”

“Brain. Guts.”

At last the pirate rose his voice in a understandable desperation. “The Mad Titan is on the Milano!”

It was dead silence after that. The two Guardians stared at the mercenary, jaws hung open in shock as he dove under one of the tables. His body shook as though I was, for some absurd reason, about to strike him with the very rage of the universe itself.

Hmm. The Mad Titan.

I never did like that title.

With a sigh, I stepped out from my place in the shadows and turned to face the two Guardians. All around us, the room reeked of whispers, no one quite able to raise their courage enough to speak aloud.

So I did.

“Greetings Guardians. My apologies for dropping in on you with such little warning. I fear, however, it is a necessary evil. You see I’m looking for one of your comrades, Gamora, and would be greatly indebted to anyone who would help me find her.”

The murmuring among the pirates grew louder and I began to hope that this encounter could reach a peaceful end. But all the while the Guardians’ gazes remained inscrutable. Finally, the raccoon opened his mouth--

“Bitch please.”--

leveled the gun at my chest and fired.

As the bullet hit my rib cage, I realized again to bitter disappointment I had been too optimistic.

“You know,” The words came out as a cough as the stones did their work to knit my tattered flesh together, “I really had high hopes for the two of you. After all, if Gamora had deemed to extend the hand of friendship to you both, then I assumed you to be more than a trigger-happy genetics experiment and a gaming-obsessed tree.”

“You take that back!” The rodent cried and attempted, again, to express his rage through violence.

Unfortunately I was done with the formalities. The Space Stone stopped the detonation before it could get within a few meters of me. Along with the following spray of bullets, river of flames and somehow, another Y-Class Grenade.

As a former tax-paying citizen of the galaxy, I was truly disturbed by the amount of illegal weaponry that was available to this raccoon. As the father of a woman who had spent the last several months with this creature, I was terrified.

“Please. I meant no offense,” I said, taking great measures to keep my voice as calm as possible. “Just show me where Gamora is. I must speak to her--”

The raccoon let out a low growl “Over my dead body--”

“I am Groot.”

“--and Groot’s dead body too.”

I shook my head, confused. It was not like living beings to demand their own death, particularly over something as menial as preventing a conversation. “Are you certain that’s your request?”

“It’s not a request, grapenuts,” The raccoon managed to load yet another bomb into the front of his gun, then caressing its trigger in what I supposed was one final attempt to look “badass”:“It’s a promise.”

“Very well then,” I shrugged. The minds of these creatures were not mine to fathom. “If you insist--”

“Wait.”

My words were interrupted by what appeared to be another Ravager. Ragged leather, cybernetic accessories, scruffy face marked with poorly hidden panic and yet-- his voice sounded somewhat familiar. “No dead bodies. Not today. Not on Christmas.”

At last I placed it.

“Quill! I don’t suppose you could help me locate Gamora? Your two friends over here have been inexplicably uncooperative and--”

“Hold on a moment,” The human’s face pinched in confusion, “First thing-- how in the Seven Systems do you know my name? And second thing, what the hell do you want Gamora for?”

The raccoon cut in, jabbing the star captain in the only place he was able to reach-- which was, unfortunately, the groin. “It’s Thanos, ya bastard. What do you think that he wants with Gamora?”

“I am Groot.”

“That’s right, Groot-- bloody murder!”

Slaughter-- is that all they expected of me? Even with my own daughter?

I believe I was, as Star-lord’s species would say, beginning to reach the end of my rope. “I do not desire to kill Gamora, nor do I understand the path you have taken to reach that conclusion. I merely wish to speak with her-- which is actually the same method by which I learned your name, Peter Quill.”

The human looked bemused for some reason.“You and Gamora… have met?”

“Yes-- the two of us have known each other for years.” I replied with a hint of frustration. What did Quill think-- that I was just another absentee father?

The Guardian’s face was punctuated with confusion, even more confusion-- and then at last resolve. “Well you still can’t see her. And if you don’t get out of here in the next five minutes then I’m… I’m calling Nova Corps.”

“Even though they hate us?” The raccoon muttered. “Dude.”

“Yes, even though they hate us.” Peter Quill declared, glaring at me with an insane courage that I actually found impressive. “Because, you know what? They hate Thanos more.”

Unfortunately, I could not deny this.

Nor was I in any mood to deal with the Nova Corps tonight.

So perhaps in a last ditch effort to make Gamora’s friends see reason, I threw my hands up in exasperation. My voice, almost of its own accord, called out as though directing a question to the universe itself: “What must a man do to see his daughter in this galaxy?!”

The reactions I was expecting:

Anger.

Empathy.

Or even pity perhaps.

The reactions I was not expecting:

Utter shock and--

One face, the most important face of them all, turning away as though I had taken her wildest dream and turned it to ash.

#thanos crashes a party #the dad titan #thanos #guardians of the galaxy #a very guardians Christmas #gamora #marvel rp blog #marvel #mcu rp blog #mcu #rocket raccoon #rocket raccoon and groot #groot #peter quill #star lord #very #long post

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highpriestessthings · 3 years ago

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currently thinking about the guy I met at the subway

So I’m on my way to meet my friend and I message her “ayo I’m leaving” and she’s like “nooo you’ll be so early and you’re gonna have to wait for me bc I live far away and I need to change busses and stuff” so I’m like lol don’t care I’ll wait anyway no need to worry. When I get there she’s still on the bus and messages me “lol it started raining so badly” and I don’t really believe her from the first time because the area where I was waiting was still sunny. Then of course it had to HEAVY RAIN/STORM 2 minutes later so I enter the underground passage that leads to the subway. There was I, next to a giant pillar and texting my friend that yes it actually rains here, I’m inside the passage etc. Nothing special YET.

While texting, I notice this guy who walks by myself with his bicycle and gives me that scanning look and while passing he turns his head around to see me like a freaking owl.

Then he stops at another pillar (like 2 m away from me) and buys himself something from the underground shop. I was kinda nervous and anxious, like how do you react when a guy scans u up and down with his eyes and stops 2 m away from u and the only thing you two are doing is exchange quick sights with each other? I was looking when he wasn’t, and when he did look back I was looking at my phone again and vice versa. He wasn’t ugly or creepy, actually really handsome, taller than me, a very nice manbun., nice eyebrows and moustache, but again, what was I supposed to do. Some more awkward minutes go by, my friend hasn’t yet arrived and I’m still texting her what’s happening while she sends me videos of the rain and lightning seen from inside of the bus.

I notice the dude going up the passage stairs outside, but without taking his bicycle. Then, he comes back, takes his bicycle and comes to me and says, in the sweetest&softest voice ever “Hey, I noticed you’re still waiting here, I checked outside and the rain stopped, so you can go. But if you want I can stay with you here, too, and have a chat together..” AND WHEN I TELL U MY HEART STOOPPED.

Then I smile but I had lipstick on my teeth and he laughs and tells me ab it AND I PANICK SOOO MUCH but assures me it’s all good now and we both laugh.

i say I like his bike, like the dummy I am.

ERROR 404

And I was sooo enamoured but also reluctant to talk to strangers and I just say “oh well I actually do meet with someone and now I’m just waiting for them to arrive, but thank u for the invitation” and he says something like “well we could chat until your friend comes” and my brain stops again. He compliments my look (and yes I was looking really good and pretty, italian cottagecore kinda look) and asks if I’m in UNATC (which is like film&theater university here in RO) so I brush it off saying I’m not in uni yet, I’m turning 18 in a month etc AND THIS MAN STOPS AND LAUGHS AND IS LIKE “well I must stop assuming people’s ages haha, I’m always wrong”. I asked him how old he was and he says 27 and at this point both of us probably know that there isn’t anything beyond that so we just continue this convo and I tell him I want to go to UMF (med school) and he continues it by telling me ab his neighbour and friend who are in med school or finished it or sum (i don’t remember I was looking at his face). He tells me I’m pretty again and compliments my tote bag (which had “The Kiss” painting by Klimt on it) and says the reason he went to Art school was because of this painting, and also the reason he dropped out.

After a bit he finally takes his bike, compliments me one more time and we say goodbye to each other. Such a cool guy, hope his life is good. I meet with my friend and tell her about everything and we have a good laugh about it, especially because while I was going down the stairs to the passage I send her a vocal like “omg what if I meet a sexy guy here that’s also hiding from the rain haha”. I may have manifested my thoughts too much :)) but I wish u guys similar experiences.

#love #subway #romania #meetcute #rain #passage #underground #unexpected #shortstory #tuesday #owls

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baker-mayfield · 8 years ago

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Just Keep Breathing - Seth Rollins (2)

A/N: sooo I’m back at it again. here’s part two!!! honestly didn’t think you guys would enjoy it as much as you did. thanks to all your nice comments and likes. it means the world to me. as usual, sorry for any errors or mistakes. i tried to read over and find them all. next time, i’ll try to work on keeping it shorter lol. enjoy! edit: i totes forgot to add in everyone that wanted to be tagged!

TAGGED: @shieldgirl95 @spine-buster @alexekaydus (if you want to be tagged let me know) <3

WORDS: 2.3K

WARNINGS: angst and swearing.

Here I was at Summerslam,the biggest party of the summer. Any other time, I would have been happy to be here. Okay, I was happy to be here. I was in the presence of some of my old-time favorites backstage.

The inner fan girl in me just couldn’t stay calm about it. When I arrived to the Barclay Arena, I had a hoodie on along with a hat and sunglasses. No one was supposed to know I was there. I was supposed to be this big secret, which I liked. It meant the longer I could go without Seth knowing I was backstage. However, that didn’t stop me from telling Becky the big news. It just happened to slip out of my mouth “by accident”.

I was sitting in the women’s locker room, far away from the small corner of the arena I was supposed to hide in until I had to go into the crowd mid-show. I couldn’t help myself. She was my favorite person, and since she didn’t have a match tonight, I figured we could keep each other company until I made my debut tonight… In a few hours.

“Remember when you got so nervous you almost puked?! I swear I saw you turn green.” Becky mocked as she brought up that dreadful moment of my life. I always cringed at that moment. If anyone had a bad debut, it was me. I was 100% sure that Hunter used me as an example of how bad your first match can be.

“Thank you, Becky. You try stepping in the ring with Charlotte and tell me you wouldn’t be nervous!” I laughed while shaking my head. It was the first time I had to fight someone and it meant something. “The only thing I could think about was me stepping in the ring with Ric Flair’s daughter. Okay. He’s a legend which meant I was facing a legend’s daughter.” As if that made a difference. Becky was still laughing her ass off and I waved her off.

“I’ve faced her so many times, Y/N! Just admit it, you were nervous! Poor Seth had to be a trooper and tell you that you didn’t suck because… you did.” Becky was still laughing and by now, I had stopped. I played with the sleeves of my sweatshirt and forced myself to smile. Seth. I had totally forgotten about him. Now, all my worries were coming back up again. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean….”

I waved her off and continued to smile- even if it was only a half ass one. She would have never said anything on purpose to make me uncomfortable. She knew more than anyone that Seth was literally my world. When we broke up, she had been the one that I cried to for hours. Even when I had cried about everything on repeat - she would listen to me cry and tell me all her bad puns.

“Becks, it’s fine. I’m a big girl. I can handle seeing my ex boyfriend. After all, we’re co-workers. We can handle this.” As I spoke, I was sure I was talking just to convince myself rather than her. I didn’t know how well I can handle this, but I was willing to try since we had no choice but to be on the same brand these days. Becky sighed and she opened her mouth to talk again. “No, I don’t need you to kick his ass for me.” I laughed while shaking my head. Becky wanted to fight him the moment I had texted her a long essay about what had happened.

She nodded her head and placed a hand on my knee as she looked at me. She was probably looking for any hint of nervousness. But, I should admit- I was hiding how nervous I was pretty good. Maybe it was because I had already came up with a list of worst case scenarios and all my options. Most of them ended with me calling it quits and just walking out and going to ROH. Hell, TNA sounded good right now. I refused to be that girl to have her life dictated over a stupid ex.

“If you need anything, call me.” Becky told me while smiling. “If you had came up two years ago, we wouldn’t have to worry about you cheating on me with another best friend!” She pouted with a wink. She was still a little upset that I had moved to the main roster a year after she had been moved to Smackdown. After all, she was the one begging for me to come to RAW before the break up even happened.

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I will take you on that offer.” I told her while standing up and leaving. We said our goodbyes as I left the locker room.

With my hands in my pockets, I walked to my designated area. My hoodie was up. The baseball cap covered my face. There was no way anyone could’ve leaked that I was backstage. I looked like I was ready to join The Usos at any moment. I understood that management wanted to keep me a secret. But damn. Couldn’t they have given me Brock Lesnar’s locker room and let him change with the other guys? It was the least they could’ve done. On my way there, I had bumped into someone. I quickly said sorry without looking up at the person.

“Watch where you’re going!” They shouted at me. I cringed and just kept on walking and I could hear the person saying something but I didn’t stop to talk to them. I wasn’t supposed to be talking to anyone.

When I was far enough to look at them without them noticing, I looked at them. More like, I stared until I recognized the person. I must sound like an idiot but there are way too many guys with long black hair on the roster. But then, I saw the words Crossfit. If I didn’t have to throw up earlier, I sure as hell did now.

I just stood there staring at Seth. It had to be Seth. No one religiously wears shirts that says Crossfit the way he does. Actually, I don’t think anyone liked Crossfit as much as he does. He looked a lot better now that there wasn’t blonde in his hair. I told him it was a stupid idea, but he went ahead and dyed a section of his hair blonde. I wouldn’t stop with the bad jokes about him never letting go of his emo side. Thankfully, he listened to me. I made him promise that once the blonde fade, to never dye his hair again or I’ll break up with him. It seems really ironic now. My heart was skipping beats as I thought about the last two years and I thought about our past. I was surprised that he didn’t recognize me. Maybe it’s not too late for me to tell Vince that I would rather be fired than be on RAW.

After a moment, I picked up my feet. No, I didn’t need to fear Seth. This was what I’ve been looking forward to for years. It’s my fucking moment. He wasn’t the only person that can run the place. I was going to be the future of the Women’s division. If he didn’t like that I was there, oh well. I worked my ass off for two years. As ungrateful as I sound, I really wanted this too.

It was during the RAW Women’s Title match. Sasha Banks vs Alexa Bliss. I was in the middle of the crowd, blending in until my cue. I watched as Sasha climbed onto the turnbuckle ready to do a frog splash. Alexa was laying on the ground. Sasha was too busy hyping the crowd when I ran down to the ring and pushed Sasha off and watched as she hit the apron. I was wearing my hoodie and hat. The crowd was booing and chanting for Sasha until I took off my hoodie and hat. Throwing them into the crowd. It was at that very moment- I felt like I had the world in my hands. There was no longer people booing for me, they were also cheering me on. I smiled and did my finishing move on Sasha before sliding out the ring and embracing in the cheers and boos. The referee had rung the bell, disqualifying Alexa Bliss, and all I could do was smile. Other than the fact that I was trying to play a major heel, I was happy that the fans were actually reacting to me. I was no longer the NXT girl. I was the future of the Women’s Division. If only I could hear what Corey Graves had to say about me. Thank God for the WWE Network.

After going out with the girls, I was sliding into my hotel bed. Thankfully tonight wasn’t one of the nights where I was the life of the party. I had only been on the main roster officially for a few hours. I charged my phone for what seemed like the first time in forever. Just as Nia Jax and I were about to take a picture, my phone died much to my disappointment. I wanted to see the fans reactions, which were so far nice and positive. I rolled over to start to sleep, which is when I heard my phone go off. I was going to ignore it, but it seemed like one ding after another. Groaning, I rolled over and read the messages…

Unknown Caller: Hey, it’s Seth… I have no idea if you changed your phone number by now.

Unknown Caller: Wow, wouldn’t it be funny if you did?

Unknown Caller: Your debut was amazing, and I’m happy for you. You’ve worked so hard for it

Unknown Caller: You’re mad at me, I know but since you’ve blocked me on everything else I didn’t know how else to contact you…

Unknown Caller: Fine, you don’t have to respond to me. But, you can’t avoid me forever, we’re on the same show.

I cringed and closed my eyes enough to take this in. He texted me. After two years, he texted me. He didn’t text me when I won the NXT Women’s Championship, so what’s so different now? Matter of fact, he texted me five times. It shouldn’t be a surprise that he knew my number. He was the only one that can remember it and had to repeat it back to me one million times during our friendship and relationship. Leave it to Seth to remind me that we were on the same show. I turned the sound off and put my phone down as I laid down. Do I text him? Do I not text him? After all, it’s been two years. Clearly, I’m not upset anymore… I sat up and replied to his text message.

Thanks.

Straight to the point. There was nothing to show how upset I was. No hidden meanings, just me telling him thanks. My debut was amazing. Instead of thinking about it some more, I laid down and went to sleep. I’ll deal with it in the morning. If I see him tomorrow night- oh well. We’re grown adults, we can do this.

RAW was done for the night. I made my RAW debut by surprise attacking Sasha in the middle of her promos before dropping my own about ‘why Kurt Angle needed me on the RAW roster’. I was pulling my luggage behind me and on my way outside with Alexa and Sasha beside me. While the three of us were laughing and joking, I stopped and looked at Seth, who had done the same thing. That was the first time we saw each other all night. It was an uncomfortable silence as Sasha and Alexa head to our rental car. “I am still driving!” I yelled after them and Sasha waved me off and I rolled my eyes.

It seems like he had a lot to say, and for once I had nothing to say to him. After our breakup, I had so much I wanted to say to him. But now that we had to work together, I don’t think I could. Instead, I just looked at him. He was a stranger to me instead of the guy that used to make me feel like the most important girl in the world. This Seth wasn’t the guy who would go to every McDonald’s while we were traveling just to find one who’s machine wasn’t working

He laughed at me, and shook his head. “You were such a bad driver...” I couldn’t help but smile at him. It wasn’t exactly a lie. There was a reason why I bought him a coffee tumblr for all those long nights that he had to drive.

“Yeah, but not anymore. You’ll be happy to know that I don’t miss exits anymore.”

“Oh really? About time.” He was still laughing at me, and I couldn’t help but join in. I was terrible and Seth always made sure to joke about it with everyone on the NXT roster.

“So, um. Thanks for those text messages last night. They were… Nice.” I told him while looking down at my feet.

He nodded his head and began to look at his feet too. “You’re welcome.” He looked ahead of me, and I looked behind me, seeing that there wasn’t anyone there. “I have to go. I think Cesaro is waiting for me. You know how he is.” Just like that, he grabbed his suit case and started walking outside.

“No, this won’t be awkward at all.” I mumbled to myself as I walked outside too.

#wwe imagines #seth rollins fanfic #wwe #let's see how this goes #imagines #seth rollins imagines #seth rollins

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mdarwin · 5 years ago

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’Tis a Gift - Spring 2017

’Tis a Gift

’Tis a gift to be simple, ’tis a gift to be free

’Tis a gift to come down where you want to be

And when you find yourself in the place just right

’Twill be in the valley of love and delight

--Joseph Brackett, 1848

“Hey! Oh my god, it’s so great to see you. How are you? How have you been? You look great!” Tabitha shouted all of this as if through sense memory, and threw her hands up for a hug. Sarah was accustomed to how uncomfortable these questions made her, and steeled herself against Tabitha’s high energy with deliberate, full breathing and a small, consciously fixed smile, just friendly enough to pass without producing a sense of falsehood. She was grateful when the embrace came to an end.

“I’m okay. It’s okay. It’s -- I’m -- things are okay… What have you been up to?”

Tabitha, too, was thrown by the inconvenience of being asked. “Umm…” She stalled with a deep breath and a distracted glance at her phone while Sarah quickly ordered a black-trenta-no-ice.

Sarah took in the Columbus Avenue Starbucks, noticing in small ways that it was one of many settings in which she felt she didn’t quite fit in. It was standardized and digestible, and so were its patrons. Sarah dressed in a normative enough way, if a bit unconcerned with this neighborhood’s value of thinness, and perhaps with a bit more aggression left over from teenage years at Sarah Lawrence than was altogether necessary. Today she was wearing cropped, grey leggings with a soft-black, moth-eaten pullover sweater loose enough to hide the now seventeen pounds of excess belly fat that the waistband of her leggings were cutting into. On her feet were black, flat-soled, cotton mary janes.

By the window sat a very tall, bald man in his seventies at a table with a white tall cup, lid off, and the Times, holding the pages up but falling asleep. A fit blonde with sunglasses kneeled in front of her young son, wiping drips of caramel from the boy’s drink off of his shirt as her own coffee sat, ignored, on the counter. There was a wiry kid in his early twenties whose eyes were glued on Tabitha from above the screen of his gaming laptop, and at the table closest to the restroom was an obese woman in her fifties reading a paperback, making notes both in red pencil on the pages, and under her breath. Sarah felt more confused by her own position in the Starbucks with Tabitha than by the obscure sonder that each customer she laid eyes on might feel the same.

This mid-afternoon meeting with Tabitha was the highlight of Sarah’s social life extending in a few weeks in either direction. She had just come up on the 1 train from her one bedroom on Gramercy Park, which had been passed down to her from her father, Bernard. She had moved into that apartment in September, the day that NASA announced their discovery of water on Mars, and she had spent most of the eight months since going out mostly just to walk Anger, her terrier mix. Sarah felt her psychic floor -- the stability, or, alternatively, the treacherous, shifting instability in the baseline of her thinking -- start to devolve towards a loose netting in her feelings of inadequacy and awareness that spending so much time alone crippled her socially. But Sarah managed to slam her energy at full speed with a thud into radical acceptance: She is only what she is, and she is all that she is. Each moment contains all possibilities, and in its manifestation, is wholly without error. Her psychic floor reformed to a substance both soft and solid, offering the reliance she’d come to depend on of the resolute immovability of own existence, perfect, like all products of reality. She welcomed the relief as her heart rate settled from its brief episode of misbehavior, and she felt the discontentment of the moment before flowing outward from her fingertips, tailbone, and crown, leaving her suspended in reality, and only reality.

This took eight seconds. Then, Tabitha spoke.

“I’m waiting to hear back from this professor whose classes I took a few years ago about a job on a project he’s working on. It’s a documentary on this type of meditation that this woman in Brooklyn teaches, where they do it inside a swimming pool.” Tabitha’s name was called. She picked up the white paper venti from the counter and gave the barista a broad, sweet smile and a “thank you.” That smile shifted back into a straight mouth as she turned to Sarah. “The editing wouldn’t be too tough, but it’s, you know, a real project. It could be a big thing for me. But he keeps saying he doesn’t know, and then, I mean, that won’t pay, so for now I’m doing some editing and design stuff at Mode. You know Mode, right?” She took a tiny sip of her coffee, to gauge its temperature. Sarah nodded. “Mm. So, yeah, Mode is great, but I spend so much time at that office I feel like I haven’t had time to do something like this --” here, Tabitha motioned to the space between Sarah and herself before continuing “ -- in six months. I would rather be putting all of that time into something where I have more creative control.” Sarah got the idea that some of what Tabitha was saying was embarrassing, some was exasperating, and some of it was a humblebrag.

Sarah noticed Tabitha reach into her bag, quickly, twice in a row. “Do you have eggs in baskets right now?” Sarah asked, nodding towards the source of distraction.

“You know it.” Tabitha rolled her eyes. “Kill me.”

The barista called Sarah’s name, and it was he, now, who smiled sweetly, adding a moment of self-conscious eye contact, as they reached towards each other. Sarah catalogued the smile. He had fuzzy hair sticking out a couple of inches from under his cap, and a fleshy, freckled face. He was a moreno with two lip rings and the men’s version of her glasses, the black acrylic in a flatter line across his brow than her subtly angled ones. Sarah was still feeling a bit raw from the onslaught of extroversion since coming inside, but managed to give an economical nod and smile back and allowed the eye contact to linger for a moment, then went to treat her coffee with cream and Splenda.

“Outside, on the bench?” Tabitha asked.

“Yeah, let’s.”

Sarah and Tabitha had gone to Emerson Prep together a few blocks north of this Starbucks. The bench stationed outside had been a favored smoking spot for Emerson students during breaks and after school, but the year that the two girls became close they developed a social authority together, and during afternoons of drama or secrecy would effectively prohibit other students from loitering in the area of the bench, instead using it as a VIP section of 73rd street, inviting only the useful.

They sat down, and Tabitha rearranged a few items in her brown checked Neverfull tote, deliberately placing her phone on top with its screen facing up. The afternoon sun was bright, and the approachable May warmth made Sarah feel carefree.

“Who’s on the docket?” Sarah nodded again to Tabitha’s phone.

“Three major entries to the spreadsheet. One is definitely going to be my husband. That, or I’ll just stab myself in the fucking neck.” Tabitha settled from a mode of unnecessary exuberance into a soft and self-aware fluidity with Sarah, when they sat down on the bench. Their bench. They hadn’t seen each other for a year, but things were starting to feel like they used to.

Sarah noticed that Tabitha had gotten a blowout recently, the dishwater-brown hair that Sarah knew to be quite lank naturally offering Tabitha’s small face a robust frame of volume and waves. Tabitha was wearing a linen shift dress in off-white, which was loose around the neck and in the bust but strategically taut over her midsection -- a luxury Tabitha had always been afforded, but had only discovered three years ago, at 22 -- and she was shod in camel-colored Toms. Tabitha was tiny and groomed; Sarah was lush, syrupy, and spotted. This had worked small miracles in their friendship over the years when it came to dating, but the real difference between the two was that Tabitha’s appetite consisted of a sweet tooth for fleeting ideals, while Sarah seemed to sleep through relationships, rolling over in the dawn throughout the years and squinting to find herself in subsequent, equally comfortable ones.

“What’s the draw with this one?” Sarah asked, reaching into her white canvas tote printed with Well, you better look good doin’ it! for a glasses case and replacing her black frames with larger, tortoiseshell prescription sunglasses. She drew up her right leg on the bench and hugged her knee.

“Just… too charming. Like, criminally charming. The conversation we had in person on the first date might be one of the best I’ve ever had, and the memory of it is… plaguing me.” She drew out these last words with a hint of irony, but Sarah knew how pervasive this condition really was.

“So, is he not present?” Sarah thought that a more realistic question would probably be, is he not interested?

“I mean, it comes in the smallest doses. I’m --” Tabitha jumped because her screen had lit up, then, a moment later, she slumped back in defeat. “Like that. It’s that whole… thing that happens. This time it’s… an aphorism from Poshmark? Torture. Every time an app wants to sell me something, or when it’s some work email alert, or just other texts coming in, I’m convinced it’s going to be him. Because, then, when he does text, I’m fully, balls-out convinced that my life couldn’t possibly be better than it is, and so I’m going wanga-wanga-wanga between these two opposite states, and the rollercoaster feels like I’m taking drugs and it’s not even fun in any way… more just like I’m going to have an actual heart attack. And I know it’s not really even that good to begin with, but my brain doesn’t. My heart doesn’t. I spin out.”

Sarah took a moment to recognize Tabitha’s disconnectedness with her own psychic floor, and to distance herself from it. “What was your last interaction?” she asked, looking down through the clear plastic lid into her coffee. The sight of the friendly beige comforted her, in its reliable promise of small, solitary pleasures.

“I texted him a few days ago.”

“And nothing since?”

“Just my pal, Poshmark.”

“What did you text him?”

Tabitha unlocked her phone and sheepishly handed it to Sarah with the text open.

“So, what you’re actually saying is that you sexted him… at 9 AM… on a Wednesday?”

Tabitha laughed and buried her face in her hand and groaned. “I know… I know.” Then she straightened herself up and shook her head, focusing on Sarah. “But so, okay, distract me from the prison of this pathetic lack of psychological autonomy. Where are you living?”

Sarah poked at her drink with the long, green straw before answering. “My dad’s place.”

“Oh, how is that sweet old coot?”

“Actually, my dad’s gone.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hospice. In New Jersey. His heart’s not good. And… his thinking is going, too.”

“Jesus. Are you okay?”

“You know what? I am.”

“What happened?”

“Well, he is eighty this year. But he got sick a while back, with pneumonia. He wasn’t taking care of himself. He had been really stressed, because of stuff with my brother.”

“Fucking Zev,” Tabitha exhaled passively, shaking her head slowly at the latent memories.

Sarah fidgeted with the buckle on her shoe. “He came back,” she confessed.

“What?” Tabitha shot forward. “What happened?”

“He’s been out of treatment for years,” Sarah said. “I don’t know how long. You know, this place that my parents got to take him, they could only keep him for the maximum sentence he would have gotten here, which is seven years. And even that was legally difficult, I think, because he turned eighteen so soon after he got there. They were, you know⏤” Sarah air-quoted, “‘doing us a favor.’ He came back east, and just showed up one day at my mom’s door in Fort Greene.” Sarah looked up past the awning of the restaurant next door to the left, away from Tabitha. “She… She let him stay.”

“Oh, Sarah… No…”

Sarah felt unsure about going further, remembering all of the responsibility that Tabitha had generously accepted throughout the years of their friendship. Tabitha had been Sarah’s first stringent ally against Zev’s actions⏤the first friend Sarah had even told about what had happened in 1996. Tabitha had criticized Sarah’s parents for their decision to treat what Zev had done as a medical issue instead of a criminal one, quietly sending him to the discreet Irons Center just outside of San Bernardino instead of jail. But formality and convention in the face of such a problem was never what Sarah needed, and the bemoaning and regretting of what had already come to pass hurt more than it helped. Still, Tabitha had always said all of the things that she was supposed to, as a good friend and a good citizen, while holding a restrained resentment for the Katzes. Sarah tolerated all of it, grateful for Tabitha’s tact in skirting around any actual accusations of the risks implied by the strange privacy that Sarah and Zev’s mother, Rachel, had demanded. Bernard had been, at the time, Sarah’s impotent defender, and had devoted his retirement following the divorce to bringing Sarah joy, which often included spoiling Tabitha with attention and support, too.

But Sarah knew Tabitha had wanted to say it: Rachel’s fear and Bernard’s complacency would eventually hurt someone else. She looked up at Tabitha with a slightly broken spirit and said softly, “T… he did it again. Another girl.”

Tabitha’s hand was limp on her phone, its demands on her psyche forgotten, and her whole body deflated. “How -- how old?” Tabitha choked.

“The same. Five.”

Tabitha sat up and studied Sarah closely. After a minute of consideration, she simply asked, “Sarah, are you going to be okay?”

Sarah looked at a spot on the cement a foot away from the bench. Decade-old, blackened gum was attached to the sidewalk in a flattened, near-perfect circle. Surrounding it were smaller specks, and Sarah noticed that they, too, formed near-perfect circles, spiraling out from the gum. “Something happened around then, when he came back home. Well, actually, it wasn’t a thing that happened, per se. It was… all things,” Sarah struggled to explain. She looked at her knee and scratched at a tiny hole in her leggings, avoiding Tabitha’s gaze in apology for how this was going to come out.

“I was at the aquarium and there was just this… this shattering, like the world was glass. And, like, in the glass breaking, all of this new surface area became available. A baby beluga in a tank came at me, in the window where you look at them from. And it scared me, because just a second before, there was nothing there, and then all of a sudden there was this whole whale bouncing its head into the window, right at me.” Sarah looked up sharply at Tabitha, to see how ludicrous she sounded.

Tabitha looked back at her, eyes incredulous, demanding some meaning to the story. Her shoulders were hunched forward, expectant, her mouth hanging open a little bit, as if just punctuation were falling from her lips, the questions themselves not formed.

“And then, there was this dinging. This high-pitched, sweet dinging, coming from some clock, or something. There was a baby in a stroller eating pink ice cream. I felt like the whole world managed to fit inside that clock’s dinging.” Sarah had been practicing how to make this next part clear. She shifted to face Tabitha more fully, and said the words she had rehearsed the day before, with furrowed brow and mounting ferocity. “And it was just like, ‘how can this be?’ How is it that we get to manifest physically? How, through unimaginable unlikelihood, am I so fucking lucky that I get to lay my eyes on this baby and his ice cream?” A deep breath. Sarah checked Tabitha’s face for a reaction, but it was blank. Tabitha’s mouth was closed. She was still hunched, but not forwards. She had shrunk away from the assault of the frenzy that Sarah’s speech was gaining.

“Everything around me started looking so much bigger than it had a few seconds before,” Sarah continued, “but… the shapes had all changed. The baby… he wasn’t necessarily a baby. He was… he was some congregation of matter that did him the service of letting him think and feel, and against all odds, that baby was going to grow, when, really, time is just a -- an accident,” Sarah laughed, then looked away from Tabitha, and started shaking her head back and forth, as if looking to the pieces of this story, like she could reach out and pick up those pieces and hand them to Tabitha. “But in this extreme unlikelihood that we could even be here, why should I be conceptualizing things that aren’t?” Sarah sighed and released some of the physical tension her body had been gaining, and leaned back into the bench. “I got really dizzy. I felt like I might fall, so I went and sat down, and at first I didn’t want to catch any glimpse back at the whale tank, because, you know, it scared me. My heart had jumped so far out of my chest when that whale came at me. But why challenge some less than desirable state? Why question any part of this? It’s unlikely enough that I have the privilege of feeling anything at all, so why play scorekeeper in regards to the quality? The gratitude is almost too much to bear… So I looked back at the whale.

“My dad is dying, T, and the nails in that coffin have busted out of our family into another one. And maybe we’re fucked for having allowed Zev to end up living where the neighbors had kids. But, what, do I spend my time wishing that what was, wasn’t?” Sarah said, looking straight across Columbus. “Since that day at the aquarium, something’s changed. I’ve felt like this congregation of matter that I am has shot in a billion different directions, and the space that that matter travelled through caught all the meaning I had been missing. And I feel so threadbare sometimes, like some rug that’s lived a thousand lives.” Sarah felt like the wind had been knocked out of her, having finally found the words and the audience to say what had been building inside her for so long, and she took breaths so deep that Tabitha could see her chest rise and fall. “There are these open spaces in me -- newly exposed surfaces -- and I’m a sponge… But not for information or experiences in the way that we’re all so intent on valuing them, but for the experiences for their own sake. For the self-perpetuating value of being conscious. I consent that it’s fucked that things are what they are, but how could it be fucked that they are? And they are, aren’t they? They just are.” Sarah let out a small, manic laugh. “I’m here, and every moment is fact, non-negotiable. But… I don’t see it as just the facts. I see it as exquisite.” Sarah looked Tabitha square in the eyes, and with a trembling, desperate smile said, “And how dare we want for anything?”

Sarah and Tabitha agreed to stay in better touch, and made plans for drinks at Sarah’s place for Thursday night. They walked towards Central Park and parted ways at its edge. Tabitha walked from there to the east sixties, where she would dig in her closet for a box full of notebooks that she and Sarah had filled together while at Emerson. She would spend the night looking for clues that Sarah was going to eventually have a breakdown, but all she found was the quick wit, level head, and unending trust that had convinced her, eleven years ago, to commit to this girl with everything she had. She knelt on her floor surrounded by the notebooks for hours, then went to bed early, accidentally leaving her phone unplugged in the kitchen overnight.

When Tabitha left, Sarah took the C from 72nd to 23rd listening to Geggy Tah on her headphones, then walked east on 21st street to the ambient orchestra of passing voices, menus being recited in the outdoor sections of Park Avenue cafés, and a piano being played determinedly, with consternation, from the open window of a brownstone. The sun twinkled through the trees in Gramercy Park as Sarah walked slowly along its fence, dragging her fingers on the black, rusty bars of the outer perimeter. Inside the park, twin boys in uniforms with huge, light brown afros sat with an iPhone and shouted corrections to each other about a video game, and a young mother rocked a large stroller absentmindedly while reading what looked to Sarah like Hesse’s Siddhartha, but she was sitting too far into the park for Sarah to tell for sure. A tall woman with long locks chased a giggling girl with straight blonde hair in circles, singing “there’s a rat in the kitchen/what you gonna do?/I’m gonna GET that rat/that’s what I’m gonna do!” in a deep Bahamian accent.

Sarah remembered, for one of only a few times in her adulthood, how Bernard used to sing to her while they walked around the city, when she was too small to keep up with him. He sung so that she would spin and dance, turning their pace into a game. Flooded suddenly with the memory of one of the few tunes he could get out in his unsure tenor, Sarah realized why he had chosen it.

“’Tis a gift to be simple, ’tis a gift to be free,” Bernard had sung, and Sarah would let go of his hand and fix her eyes on her own feet as they stepped in trepidatious care to avoid tripping. “’Tis a gift to come down where you want to be.” In size 13 patent mary janes and ankle socks with the frills turned down, she found her footing and took bigger, circular leaps. “And when we find ourselves in a place just right/’twill be in the valley of love and delight.” Here, Sarah would look straight up towards Bernard because the rhythm of the song shifted. It was her favorite part. “When true simplicity is gained/to bow and to bend we shan’t be ashamed/to turn and to turn will be our delight,” and Sarah saw the sun through the trees above her and the shoes on her feet below her, and it was the space between the two which was hers, “for by turning and turning we come out right.”

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