#like hes also gone out of his way to speak spanish to spanish-speaking members of the mcsr community its just very sweet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

many-shades-of-violence · 2 years

Text

en español por favor

warnings: nsfw, teacher-student relationship, power play, size kink, doffy

requested by: @dressroba

pairing: Teacher! Donquixote Doflamingo x f! Reader

word count: 5k

a/n: Thanks for the request, love. Always happy to write for you. Hope you enjoy! <3

Despite what many adults liked to say, life as a student wasn't always easy. Especially in the case of poor you, this fact couldn't be truer at the time being. With the approaching campus festival, which you eagerly participated in organizing with a few other student faculty members, you already had enough on your plate, but unfortunately as with every semester, the final exams came closer by the second, just a second still looming far away in the shadow, but now closer than ever. Sadly, for you, this also meant that you once again had to face your absolute nemesis: Spanish.

While you actually were not a bad student per se, always very eager and fast at learning, since the change of your Spanish teacher at the start of last winter semester, it seemed incredibly difficult for you, to score any points in the subject your beloved old teacher, Mr. Corazon had tried teaching you so wholeheartedly. And that was all because of the fact hat he had broke a leg on ski vacation, needing a replacement for the rest of the quartal, bringing you into your current situation.

Gone were the pleasant hours full of fun educational and pedagogic worthwhile sessions that slowly but steadily brought you to the goal of speaking Spanish. Instead, you had to endure several times a week classes, which you had to almost force yourself into, since no other than possible Satan himself, had started teaching your class: Doflamingo Donquixote. Or how the class -besides that jokster Luffy, calling him Mingo- addressed him, Mr. Donquixote.

In fact, the tall man was not a bad teacher at all, quite the contrary as he was introduced to you by your director Mr. Sengoku, as one of the best educators from the country of Dressrosa. Still, you had great problems following his lessons, not because you couldn´t understand them, but for the simple fact that you were incredibly swooned by him, always needing you´re full concentration to not form any improper thoughts while in class. The fact that he always looked at you expectantly with his idiotic sunglasses, a smile on his lips, broadening his already handsome features even more, as soon as your gazes met, didn't make any of this better. And so, over the last weeks, your notes had slipped into the basement, always more concentrated on containing the wetness between your legs, than to be able to follow every word of Spanish that fell from his plump lips.

Now, most would certainly think that you still had your written achievements, but the thing was, that no matter how much you studied and no matter how well the material sat in your head, not a single word found its way out of your head onto the paper in front of your nose, to squeamish from the way he watched the class, pouncing like a predator on students like Usopp or Bartolomeaus when they tried to get a good look on their neighbors test.

And that was the situation you also found yourself in right now.

Sweat beaded along your forehead, the hot midday sun shining right through the large class window, shining into the room you were currently residing in, trying you´re best to remember what you had learned over the last few days. Nervously, you clicked on a mechanical pencil from time to time, biting your lip, when the letters just blurred in front of you.

Just as you were hopefully about to write a sentence on the page in front of you, a well to known deep baritone voice rang out, snapping you out of your thoughts, making you sit up straight as a candle in your chair. "Time is up. Please put down your pens and hand me your paper one by one on your way out." With one last panicked glance at the almost completely blank test sheet in front of you, swallowed nervously, tears nearly pricking your eyes from the once again shameful situation you found yourself in, while looking at the clock hanging atop the green chalkboard, the clock hands mockingly showing you the time: 16:00.

Just as you were about to turn your gaze back to your sheet a last pitiful time, your e/c eyes met no others, than those of your teacher, Mr. Donquixote. Well, if they weren´t hidden under his glasses that is. An icy chill ran down your spine as he gave you a horrifying smile, a small wince piping up in your lungs.

Before you knew it, your pen fell out of your hand onto the floor. Irritated, you looked down at the floor, dumbfounded that you had let your grip gone loose. Just as you were about to reach for the scuffed thing, your hand collided with that of someone else. "Ah, sorry y/n-ya. Here's your pencil." Your gaze met a pair of cool and calculated gray eyes. "Ah, thank you Law!" you uttered a bit embarrassed, carefully scratching at your cheek as you took the pen from your counterpart's strong hand.

"No worries." He flashed you a small smile, while he organized the perfectly filled out sheets in front of him. "So how was the test for you?" Interested, his gaze shifted back over to you, a quick flick to your blank paper already giving him enough of an answer, mentally face palming himself a bit for the question. "Well..." you gulped, the droning shuffling of chairs resounding in the background. "Let's talk about yours instead!” you chuckle emberassed, turning your sheet around. The fact that Law, top student of the class, had already seen it, was worse enough.

“Seems like you did great! But that´s expected of you I guess" you laughed.

"I wouldn't call it super, but it was okay. In the end it doesn´t really matter anyway. Doesn´t bring me far as a doctor.", he shrugged, suddenly stiffening a bit as he realized how insensitive his comment was. "Ah, sorry y/n-ya. Listen, if it helps you, we can always study Spanish together?" Just as Law was posing his question, a hoping look on his face, he was interrupted by the voice of Mr. Donquixote. "Trafalgar, l/n. Your tests. Now"

Startled, your eyes widen, your gaze quickly darting forward, only to look up at your blonde teacher's giving you a serious glance. Law only groaned in annoyance and stepped forward quickly, taking your test with him in a quick motion. Defiantly, he thrusts the assembled papers, into your tall teachers stretched out hand, a sardonic grin on his lips, when the blonde grips them.

"Here you go. I'm really looking forward to your correction.” “Don´t get so cocky Trafalgar.” The older man replies with a smirk on his face, as Law turned on the tip of his boots, walking back to his seat beside you to retrieve his bag. It did not escape your notice how your teacher's brow furrow, when he skimmed through the papers with his long thing fingers, a grim look on his face when he looked at, what you supposedly thought, was your test.

However, you didn´t have much more time to ogle his reaction, because of Law asking you a question. "So what do you say, y/n-ya? We could study at my place this weekend? You could also help me with History. I heard you´re really acing Mr. Crocodiles lessons." A smile spread across your own lips, grateful for the help he offered. "Thanks Law, you're a lifesaver! I would really like -"

"y/n? Do you have a minute? We need to discuss something." This time it was you who was cut off from your teacher’s voice. You stopped mid-sentence, an icy chill running down your spine when you heard him say your name. Panicked, you looked at Law, who only clenched his teeth disapprovingly, clicking his tongue in annoyance. "Well, I guess, we can talk more about this later." You nodded nervously at him, before he gave you an encouraging smile. "See you later then, y/n-ya. Don´t let him get to you too much. Spanish isn´t even your major.” A sigh left your soft lips as you turned to your teacher, dismissing Law with a weak hand wave. As much as Law was right with his assumptions most of the time, you weren't too sure if he was right this time.

"So y/n. Can you explain to me what, this is?" With a definite grip, the tall blonde Infront of you held your test in his tanned hand, the blank pages staring mockingly back at you. "My test, sir?" you stammered out, hands clamming anxiously when you realize how cocky that sounded. "I'm aware of that, smartass." he looked back at you fiercely, his sunglasses glaring at you admonishingly. "It´s blank. You didn´t even write your name on it."

A strained vein formed on his forehead as he pointed his index finger at the empty space, where you should have written your name. "Well…” uncertainly dodge his searching gaze. He sighs, shaking his head disapprovingly. “This won´t do.” You gulp, unsure what to expect. “According to the notes I received, you weren't this bad last semester…." “I guess, you´re right about that, sir…” you reply awkwardly.

„Then tell me. Why is it, that your grades drop all of a sudden, as soon as I start teaching you?” You stifle a gasp, sweat appearing on your neck, from his taunting tone. If you didn´t know it better, you could swear he was seeing right through you. And somehow, that turned you stupidly on.

“Are you having problems outside of your studies? You surely would confide in one of your many teachers, right?" He muses, the worried tone in his voice making butterflies bubble up in your belly. Your quick to negate him, raising your hand defensively. "No, no it's not like that!" "Then tell me.” He looks firmly at you. “Obviously you didn´t fall on your head, when I hear from teachers like Mr. Crocodile, how engaged you are in his lessons.”

Again, you dodged his searching gaze, not missing how annoyance spreads over his devilish handsome features. “Or are you that focused on enjoying Trafalgar swooning over you like a lovesick puppy in my class?!” With a venomous tone he snarls at you, the crude smile on his face spreading even further to show you his pearly white teeth.

Heat rushes to your checks, at his words, shocked from the revelation, dismissing his thesis with all you´ve got. "No! No! It's not like that, sir! Law and I are just friends." He starts to laugh at this, seemingly enjoying your reaction. “Fufufu, how cute.” You look at him surprised. “Cute?” you say once more, scratching your neck embarrassed.

He ignores you completely, one hand wrapping around his chin in a state of wonder. "But then, I still don't have an answer why your Spanish grades slipped so much from the moment I took over this class.” You look to the ground, the fact that he was mulling his thoughts over loudly, nearly made you wish to sink into the ground at this moment. For a brief second, he stops. Just when you try to look up, wondering what made him stop, you meet his gaze once again, everything nearly falling out of your face when you see the amused grin, he gives you. Your stomach drops when the next few words spill from his lips.

"Do I make you that nervous, birdie?"

For a brief second, time seemed to stand still. Transfixed, you looked at your teacher with your mouth open, unable to comprehend what he had just said. "Excuse me?!" “I think you heard just right. You know, it annoys me greatly that a clever little head like you, is not able to unfold its full potential under my wings, because you´re so busy ogling me at every free second you get.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks, trying to find any counter argument, to his, but failing horribly due to your throat suddenly being all dry. You startle when he starts to laugh once again. “Fufufu, so I am right.” Your eyes widen in horror, when a gentle yet firm reprimanding hand settles under your chin, making you see straight at him. “How dumb of me to worry about you´re wellbeing. You´re just a naughty little bird.”

You gulp, not able to form any cohesive words, the way heat pools around your legs while Doflamingo has his hands around your chin, nearly making you faint. “If that´s the case, how would it be, if we make a deal?” “A-A deal?!” you wince quietly, not ready for what´s to come next.

“I'm making you an offer. You know, being the gracious teacher I am, I'd hate to see one of my beloved students fail their exams. So, I´m going to tutor you, until your grades get better. Under one condition that is. After all, nothing in life is free~” He looks at you wickedly, a predatory spreading over his features.

“And that would be?” you ask quivering, already having a faint idea what he would say. “For every time I tutor you, you´ll give yourself to me. Since you clearly have something going on for me, you can even see it as a win-win, for you.”

For a second, you look speechless at him, to shocked by his proposal. Then, not a few moments later you nod, a shy “Deal.” leaving your lips, not thinking once about the dangerous implications, this whole deal held for you, as well for him, you´re reasonable voice being gone too long for his overall looming presence.

He clapped his hands enthusiastically. "Fufufu, a smart decision. I expected nothing less of you, my dear.” He slowly moves closer towards you, his other hand finding it´s way to your side.

"What do we do, if someone finds out?!" you stammered, trying with all your might to suppress the heat in your cheeks. "Oh, don´t worry you´re pretty little head about that. I´m the one who´ll be in devils’ kitchen anyway if that would happen, so just let this be my worry.” With dilated pupils you looked at him, caught like a deer in the light of a headlight, your heartbeat pulsing so loudly you thought he could hear it too. "In the meantime, see it as our little secret.” You shudder when he lowers himself near your ear.

"Though, with the way you look at me in class, like a love-drunk schoolgirl, you really need to learn to contain yourself a bit more. I´m still wondering how Trafalgar even thinks he got a chance with you, when you so clearly want me.” Too embarrassed to answer, you look on the ground, the constant pulsing between your legs making it incredibly difficult for you to think properly.

You avoid his gaze for a moment, but when he calls your name just a few seconds after, you can´t do anything else but look up at him, entranced by how close he is to you, realizing the sweet smell of his perfume in your nose.

The moment you set sight on his pink lips it´s over for you, the last bit of fight your morale self could muster, crumbling underneath you. For a second, the entire room is silent. Only the soft inhale and exhale of your breath can be heard. Then you do what you've only dreamed of doing until now.

You overcome the last centimeters and reach for his lips with your own. The blond man waits not a second longer to greedily devour your lips, strong hands gripping tightly at your side, searching along the hem of your top for a way to reach the skin beneath.

You gasp out, a low moan falling from your lips as you let yourself fall into the hot kiss. Doflamingo doesn't miss this chance and slips his tongue into your mouth. A small cry escapes you when you feel a cold metal bar touch your sensitive muscle. A tongue piercing?!, you gasp exited, trying to find contact with the cold metal again, earning a warning groan from your smug exploration.

With not much room for discussion about who was the one to be dominated in this, you quickly let the tall man take his lead again, the whole situation reeking even more of a disgustingly sick and twisted power play dynamic than ever before. You moaned into the kiss hungrily, the heat in your core throbbing lewdly at the way your tongues danced with each other, the tension that had built up in you since you first saw him, finally being able to unload itself. You quivered when your teachers’ hands found themselves around your butt, thing long fingers moving precisely to grope your ass.

You only break the kiss of to get some fresh air in your lungs, shuddering when you her Doflamingo groan lewdly into your ear. “God, I´ve waited so fucking long to get a chance for this. You can´t imagine how much I want to fuck you right now.” Though actually, you could imagine it quite well, due to the way his cock pressed obscenely against you, the bulge in his black dress pants not letting room for much imagination. He grins at you, relishing in the way you look down, your mouth forming a surprised “O”. “Anticipating much?”, the blonde chuckles. You can only nod, before he hoists you up and sets you one of the many tables in the classroom, hands roaming greedily over your body, leaving no spot untouched.

You can only moan at the many sensations you feel. Only having a few sexual interactions, the determined and experienced way of Doflamingo handling you nearly made you dizzy. Your teacher seems to notice this, because in-between your exchange of sloppy kisses, he suddenly pauses gazing at you calculating. “With the smitten way you look at me in class I can´t imagine it, but you´re not a virgin, are you?” You shake your head, hands roaming along his chest. “Only been quite some time.”

You´re quite surprised when he starts to pepper your neck with kisses, feeling him grin wickedly when he finds a spot that you´re especially sensitive at, his longue pierced tongue dragging over it torturingly slow. “A pretty thing like you? Really? Man, those college kids today really don´t know shit.”, you moan loudly, when he bites into you, sucking on you as if to prove a point.

“You´ve made a good choice saying yes to this. You won´t regret it.” You smile weakly, an amused “And here I thought this was about me getting better at Spanish.”, immediately regretting what you said when he grinds his clothed dick at your groin, one hand gripping your thighs dangerously. “Oh, don´t worry birdie. After we´re done here, I´m gonna teach you so much Spanish that you can only think in that language, next time we fuck.” You shudder at his hard choice of words, once again realizing what you just led yourself into.

You´re attention gets quickly pulled back to the present though, when Doflamingo reaches inside your pants, slowly pulling them down together with your underwear. He hums appreciatively when his eyes fall onto your sex, not missing a moment to reach between your folds. “Fufufu, you dirty little thing. Already dripping for me. And just because of some kisses.” “Please don´t tease me!” you cry out, trying to suppress a shudder when he plunges one finger inside you, not waiting much to curl it inside you, while his thumb starts to rub your clit.

You moan from the way he pleasures you, his experienced method being so foreign yet rewarding, that you quickly understand, why you´re best friend always liked to tell you, that “older men are the shit!”. You´re so much in thought, that you don´t even register how Doflamingo looms over you, entering another finger into you. You spread your legs automatically, hips bucking against his fingers, to find even more stimulation, when es scissors you open with quick decisive motions.

The time Doflamingo enters a third finger into you, marks the point, where you´re body reaches it´s first breaking point, the impulses you receive making you so hazy that the cord inside your abdomen snaps, your orgasm rushing over you in a hazed state. You´re attention only gets pulled back to reality when Doflamingo pulls his fingers out of you with a deep husky groan, looking at his hand with a dirty grin. “Now look at this. The little minx squirted on me.” He locks his eyes with you, his lips curling into a deadly smile, while he holds his wet coated hand up for you to see.

You blush madly, when he starts to lick your juices of his hand, not breaking eye contact with you. “D-Don´t!” you cry out embarrassed, nearly chocking when he flashes you his pearly white teeth. “And deny me such a delicious treat? You´re so silly. But I guess that just proves my pont that you can be glad, an older guy likes me shows you how it´s really done.”

You gulp at this, watching him lick the last drops of your cum from his hand, before plunging his mouth back on yours. You grimace a bit at the taste of yourself on your lips, but quickly forget it, when you hear the noise of metal clunking to the ground. Just a few seconds later, Doflamingo breaks the kiss off, pulling his dress pants down with a quick grip, showing you his long veiny cock.

You gasp at his action, more wetness pooling between your legs, when you see his sex in all his erected glory. “That won´t fit!” you gasp, a cruel mixture of fear and excitement bubbling in your belly. “Oh, it will, don´t you worry, love.”, he muses, pushing you down on the table you were resting on. “If not, I´m gonna make it fit.” You shudder at this, eyes widening in exitement. “Now, be a good little student and spread your legs for me.” As if your body moves on it´s on, you hear on his command, heat once again building up inside you, from the way he orders you around.

“Fufufu, didn´t expect my sweet little misfit to be so obedient. How cute. And here I thought I would have a much rougher time with educating you.” Gripping one of your thighs to hold you in place, Doflamingo hoists himself near your entrance. Just when his leaky pink tip nestles itself at your folds, his other hand wraps himself around your hip, stopping only for a moment, to look you once again dead in the eyes, his smile not once faltering from his features.

“Ready to get addicted?”

You just have enough time to nod, before he sheets himself into you, a pleased groan spilling from his lips, when your velvety insides suck him deep into you. You swear you could nearly faint, when he groans sexily into your ear, hands gripping flush around your hips to plunge himself as deep as he can into you. You gasp, at the delicious burn inside you.

“Told you it can fit. Well, we still got some ways to go, but I´m not a monster and force you to take it up the hilt at the first time.” He grins, stroking gently through your locks. A gentle yet in the end avid motion. “I don´t think this will ever fit without me tearing...” you stutter out, nails scratching into the back of his dress shirt, trying to get used to his grith. “Oh, you´ll see. You´ll be begging for more quicker than you´ll have this semesters grammar in your sweet little brain.”

“I don´t know if that´s a good thing though.”, you moan, moving your hips a little, making the man above you shudder. “Fufufu, depends on the perspective.”, he retorts, slowly starting to move inside you. Before you know it, Doflamingo had set for a rhythmic pace, fucking you into the table. A pleased moan escaped you, when the pad of his thumb finds back to your clit, drawing agonizingly slow circles, each time, sending small new shocks through your whole body.

You try to steady yourself but fail miserably because of the way he has locked you onto the table. You shimmy a bit uncomfortably, finally setting back on your forearms, but suddenly being hoisted up under your arms. “If you´re uncomfortable, just say so, stupid.” You´re once again surprised at the blonde’s forwardness, easily letting you be manhandled in the process, when he hoists his strong arms around you, pressing you against the nearest wall.

“Better?” You nod at him, thankful for his advances, wrapping your legs around him, as not to get accidentally impaled. He grins at your action, moving even closer to you, before starting once again to slide himself in and out of your dripping wet cunt. “Fuck, you´re sucking me up. You poor thing really wanted me bad, huh?” Doflamingo groans, fingers digging deeper into your plush thighs.

You nod, a low moan rippling from your lungs when he hits a sensitive spot. “Fufufu, well good that Teacher´s here to care for his little student.” Incredibly turned on from his dirty talk, your wall contract around him, urging Doflamingo to snap his hips even more into you.

“F-Fuck, Mr. Donqu-…” “Don´t you dare call me like that, when I´m balls deep into you.” You get interrupted from his venomous voice. “When we´re like this, I´m Doffy. Got it?” You nod once again in agreement, only being able to moan as an answer from the stimulation you feel. “Fufufu, how obedient you are. That really needs to be rewarded.” He grins, licking his thumb, before plunging it back at your red swollen clit, begging for more release.

It doesn´t take more than a few quick swipes for you to come a second time, this time coating Doffys cock with your sweet nectar. “D-Doffy!” He groans pleased, at the feeling of your plush insides contracting and moistening around him, the way you moan his name, bringing him over the edge himself. He´s quick to pull himself out of you, setting you back down to the ground, quickly tugging his pants back on, a devilish smirk on his lips, when he sees his cum starting to leak down your naked legs.

Absoluetly fucked out and still in your post orgasm state, you stand there, trying to comprehend what just happened. The moment you meet your teachers’ eyes, you start to register what just happened.

“So, what do we do now?” you ask him, voice coarse and dry from all the moaning, slowly pulling your pants back up. “Isn´t that obvious? We still need to get that syllabus in your pretty little brain.” Dumbfounded you look at him, still way to fucked out to form a cohesive thought. “I need to get cleaned up and buy a coffee first.”

He grins devilishly at you. “En español por favor!”

“Doffy!”

This man would be your death. You were sure of it.

#one piece #op #donquixote doflamingo x reader #donquixote doflamingo #manga #one piece headcanons #one piece imagines #one piece x reader #doflamingo x reader

266 notes · View notes

ashtronomyys · 3 months

Text

Our Future Days

Chapter 1 - Pt.4

SoapGhost TheLastofUs Au OFD Masterpost (Includes Further Tag Warnings) Chpt1 Masterpost

~2.6k Words

Also! For characters that speak multiple languages, I didn't want to trust google translate to get phrases and wording right, so instead, I decided to use brackets [ ] to signal what phrases are said in a different language.

As a general rule of thumb, there will be a symbol at the end of a group of text indicating what language is being spoken, with [ar] = Arabic, [es] = Spanish, and [ru] = Russian.

Ex: “[Bye!] I’ll see you tomorrow.” [es] would stand for “Adios! I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I hope that makes sense but let me know if I just made it sound more complicated than it needs to be LOL

**********

The majority of Simon's body finally feels alive as he weaves his way through the more densely populated section of the city. Busy crowds move throughout the streets, and the occasional fellow patroller rides by on horseback, the crowd clearing up a path to let them through before swallowing it back up as soon as they pass.

With the whole base finally up and running, the city almost resembles something one would've seen pre-collapse, albeit, with fewer cars and a lot more deteriorating buildings.

Tall apartment buildings that have remained relatively unscathed now house the majority of the community members along these next few blocks. They spill out onto the pavement, striding between buildings as the sun continues to rise into the sky.

Simon adjusts his balaclava, the thin, black fabric covering his face from the rays, save for his eyes. The mask, in combination with the tall, formidable outline he makes up, leads to the sea of people parting for him, everyone unconsciously creating a wide berth around the man.

One of the many perks of the face covering, in his eyes. And a blessing too, after the way his morning started off, the last thing he'd want to get engulfed into the crowd as well, the thought of bumping shoulder to shoulder with everyone sounding like absolute hell right about now.

All the more reason for him to pack up his gear and head outside these walls for the majority of the day.

As he rounds the corner, the buildings give way to a large, open agora seated amidst the downtown area. The agora holds what was once a pristine, college campus, the library, residence halls, and lecture rooms reflecting sunlight off of the surviving glass windows.

Converted into the central base of a FEDRA outpost decades ago, then abandoned and left to rot, the buildings now serve as the main headquarters for the encampment.

The front consists of winding paths that converge in an outside plaza. A large bronze, abstract sculpture of a bear, the school's former mascot, sits in the middle, watching over the entire site. Simon passes the sycamore trees lining the pathways, walking straight to the cafeteria for his first stop.

Inside, there are a handful of lines wrapping around the food counter already. The smell of freshly cooked batter, eggs, and bacon hangs thickly in the air. Any other day, Simon would be powerless against the intense craving of a good, hearty breakfast. Today though, the fragrance only serves to make him feel nausea more than anything.

His eyes scan the room until they land on the two figures he’s come looking for. At a far off table, he spots the familiar braided ponytail and blue cap of Farah and Kyle respectively, the two chatting over their own plates of food.

It isn’t long before Farah senses him and waves him over. She nods her head without missing a beat in their conversation, and Simon pushes through the packed cafeteria to take a seat next to his patrol-mate for the day.

"Well there you are, was beginning to worry that you wouldn't show,” Kyle nudges him with his elbow, his hands occupied with the last quarter of an eggs benedict. “You better hurry if you hope to get anything ‘fore it’s all gone. Word got ‘round that Jerry’s crew’s behind the stove today, and then the place got swamped!"

Jerry, one of the refuge’s dozens of delegated heads of the kitchens, was a somewhat, highly regarded chef before the outbreak. Half the camp was convinced that the food came out at a much higher caliber with the man working as head chef in the back. Simon swore that half the camp was deluding themselves. Not that he didn’t at least try to like it, he just couldn’t find it in himself to care about what was on his plate. It was all food to him.

Suppose spending years getting by on scraps probably shot whatever sense of taste his palete had left.

"I'm good,” Simon sighs. “Just need to stock up on ‘munitions. I'm ready to head out whenever you’re done."

"Not getting anything for breakfast?" Farah questions.

"I’m good."

"You sure? You can pick off of mine if you don't wanna wait in line," Kyle motions to his plate, a singular muffin being offered up to him.

The sweet aroma of blueberries leaves a fruity, acrid tang in Simon’s mouth, and it threatens to make Simon gag.

"Not hungry,” he declines, coming out rather clipped, so he adds on, “Rough night."

Kyle and Farah nod, nothing more needs to be said between them, thankfully. They both refrain from pressing on the issue and roll right along with the conversation.

"That makes two of us,” Farah relates. “At least you're not playing nurse for your idiot brother while he licks his wounds back home."

Kyle giggles around the sip he takes from his cup. "I still can't believe he banged up his bloody wrist that badly, what the hell was he thinking?!"

“He wasn’t thinking,” Farah rubs at her temples in annoyance. "You wanna know what Hadir did?" she says to Simon. "He went out partying with his friends and drank more than he could handle. Apparently, he got into an argument with another guy and he ended up tripping and falling down the steps outside the bar. Not an actual fight… the handrail, is what injured his wrist…” A few Arabic curses tumble out of Farah, condemning him as an idiot or something of equivalence based on her tone.

Simon snorts through his nose. He really pitied the poor girl. Her brother, Hadir, has surely made the most out of luxuries afforded to them now that they’ve found safety here, easing up and letting his guard down in every sense of the word. This was far from the first time Hadir had done something stupid and landed on his ass, leaving Farah to begrudgingly pick up the pieces left behind by him.

"So is he out for today then?" he asked.

She nods. "Nova is going to cover for him while he's recovering for the next two days.” Farah groans, rubbing more circles into her temple. “His wrist is barely even sprained, but of course, he wants to be a baby about it and beg me to help him with everything. Like I'm his butler. Constantly."

"I'm sure that'll work out well for him," Kyle remarks.

"This morning it got him a package of ibuprofen thrown at his head. I don't know where he'd be without me."

"Dead," both men reply in unison.

The table erupts into a round of laughter. At least if there’s one thing Hadir’s misfortune can provide, it’s free entertainment.

"I'd better get going. Still need to see who his replacement for the day is, I’ll catch you guys around,” Farah gets up to set her tray away, nabbing Kyle’s empty plate for him and earning a courteous nod as thanks.

Farah pats their shoulders as she leaves. “[Good luck.] And stay safe," she emphasizes that last part to Simon, squeezing his shoulder just a little bit longer in their own subdued form of a hug. [ar]

Kyle begins to crumple the wrapper off his muffin into a ball. "Alright, guess that’s our cue to start heading off too. Let's go see the cap'n for briefing then, yeah?"

"Let's," Simon agrees. He is more than happy to leave sooner rather than later.

Kyle tosses his trash into a nearby bin and they make their way across the campus. They pass through hallways lined with classrooms and lecture halls. The rooms in this section are mainly used for storage, whiteboards that were used to teach lessons now hold a list of all the reserves and resources stowed away.

The walk through the hallway has them passing poster sheets that cover news about the encampment. Simon glances at the papers, skim reading updates on the latest reports, current inventory, and the newest infected sightings.

Everything covering the inside of the encampment was pretty standard, nothing out of the ordinary, it was the accounts of things outside of the walls that had more troubling news. More infected must’ve been migrating from the south lately, seeing as there was a warning to exercise caution in the area. And on top of that, it looked like Nikolai was organizing a hunting party to help cull the numbers later on in the week.

Always needing the help, but never having enough of the volunteers, Simon is already planning on lending a hand for that endeavor. And fuck, if that wasn’t a good way to summarize what a lot of their issues boiled down to lately! Having not enough scouts and armed guards meant that the regulars like Simon and Farah nearly always had to pull the extra weight by pulling double shifts and all-nighters, the small cluster of volunteers becoming overworked and spread thin anytime the hordes of infected started to grow.

And that was one of the things that worried him the most. They were nowhere near as strong as Simon would’ve liked to defend as large of a base as they have. Sure, they’ve successfully dealt with all of the hunters trying to seize their land and resources so far, but for how long would they be able to last with such a limited number of safeguards? Especially with the number of outside forces, human or not, seeming to only grow in size the longer time goes on…

Or maybe he was just getting more and more paranoid. The others certainly seemed to think so, telling him he’s sounding more and more like the harbinger of doom found in every classic horror movie every time he voices his apprehension.

While Simon was lost in his thoughts, the pair evidently made it all the way up the two flights of stairs and have nearly made it to the central hub by now. Kyle finally interrupts his downward spiral by nudging him at his side.

"Might want to shake the gloomy look you’ve got going on, unless you want an earful from Price," he warns.

"I look gloomy?"

Kyle simply blinks at him. There’s enough of an answer in his expression alone that Simon doesn’t have to ask him to elaborate.

"Hey,” he turns to face Simon, walking backwards down the hall with him. “You positive that you're all good for today?"

Simon pauses for a moment, moreso to give his answer a little more weight and substance to it than for him to actually consider himself.

"Yeah, I’m alright. Tip top shape even." He attempts a reassuring smile, the balaclava blocking most of it, though that may actually be working towards his benefit in this case.

"How much did you sleep last night?" Kyle suspiciously eyes him.

Simon shrugs. "Most of the night... save for maybe an hour or so before sunrise." It's a bit of a stretch, but Kyle doesn’t need to know that.

"Mm, if you say so," he hums. "Just wanna check in with you, Ghost. I’m not gonna push the issue, but,” he stretches out the word, “I do wanna remind you that we're a team out there. Gotta both be of sound mind if we’re gonna watch out for each other, you know?"

"I know, Gaz,” Simon sighs. “Believe me, I wouldn't be here if I didn't think I could handle it today. You can still count on me to have your six out there. Genuinely."

That’s probably the most authentic statement he's said about his condition all morning. And it must show, because Kyle seems to finally relent on his grilling.

"Good. That’s what I want to hear." His back aligns with the push bar on the conference hall door. Before he pushes it open, he stops Simon with a hand to his arm. “Just promise me that if you feel unfit for it, and you need an out, you’ll let me know, yeh?”

Simon nods. “Copy.”

That one was probably another lie, but Kyle should hopefully be none the wiser to it.

They both push open the double glass doors and step into the large conference room. The main command center for the base is full of life by now, dozens of patrollers parade around each other, weaving through the handful of circular tables. Maps of the surrounding area cover the tables and more white boards are marked up with lists of their current supplies, schedules, and diagrams of recent infected numbers.

An older man wearing military fatigues and a boonie hat is delegating runs to a group near the middle of the room. Even from across the room, the frustration lying in the man’s body is noticeable, the hands balled up into fists on his hips giving it away. The group begins to dissipate at his dismissal, and Simon follows Kyle’s stride over to the man.

"Mornin' Price!"

Kyle’s cheery tone seems to work like a balm for the man, the furrowing of his eyebrows instantly smoothing over at the sound of his voice. He turns towards the pair, bushy, mutton chops framing his growing grin.

"Kyle, Simon! You boys getting geared up to head out?" Price’s booming voice carries over to them as he walks over.

"Yup, all set cap'n. Still just the standard shopping center run, right?"

"Well, yes and no," the captain leans and talks in a hushed tone. "I also need you two to do me a solid and circle by the eastern highway on your way back. I don't know if you got word, but Hadir is gonna be out of commission for a few days. And it being so bloody short notice,” the man grumbles, “I had to have Nova pull a double-shift for today. I'm having her and Farah move through only half their run, and I was hoping you boys could help cover the rest for them."

“We’ll take care it,” Simon answers for them before Kyle gets the chance to speak. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Kyle’s nose faintly twitch, but he remains silent.

"Perfect!” The captain claps them both on the shoulder. “I appreciate it you two. And I’ll be sure to let the girls know that they owe ya." He winks as he trots over to the marked up map just behind the trio, motioning for them to peer over the map with him.

"So, with that figured out, you guys'll start on the northern end of the Woodhurst district. Same as usual, pass through the storefronts, clear up what you can, jot down what you can’t. There hasn't been any reports on much movement so it should be a walk in the park. And afterwards..." Price thinks to himself for a moment, running his hand along his chin.

Kyle's eyes scan over the map as well. "And maybe as we come back, we take a right near sixth street and ride up the overpass?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking. It’d give you a nice visual on the highway, might be a few stragglers that could do with some clearing out… How does some sniping practice with a couple of the big guys sound, eh?"

“Works for me,” Simon agrees. Popping a few heads off some infected on the highway does sound like a decent way to pass the time.

"Sounds like a plan, we’ll radio in what we see," Kyle says.

"Alright then, I won’t keep you both any longer. Let me know if anything comes up," Price lifts a stern finger, "And you know the rules. Keep in touch, keep it safe, and watch each other’s backs, yeah? One Four One!"

The two reply with the end of the mantra in unison. "And all for one."

**********

*Thump*... *Thump*... *Thump*... *Thump*

Johnny passes the time away by throwing a bouncy ball towards the opposing wall. He catches the red toy from his spot sprawled out on the floor, the sound of the ball’s rebounds echoing throughout the empty house.

*** To be continued in Pt.5***

More than a month later but we're back. My bad lmaohsajhdk I hate having a job

#soapghost #ghostsoap #fanfic #long fic #ghoap #john soap mactavish x simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish #ash writings #ofd #fic in progress #Slowly chipping away at this in between being overworked and run down from my job #Wish I could just be perpetually unemployed so fucking bad man #still having so much fun with this au tho

9 notes · View notes

hey-i-am-trying · 4 months

Note

Hey! This doesn't have much to do with the rest of what anon's have explained already, as I found their summary pretty on point on the whole Otipep situation, but I also wanted to give my two cents in and that is: Even if the Admin did continue being Pepito, I don't think they would have gone far. And this is not because of their behavior or the fact that they bypassed the first week of development with 07, but it was because the type of role they were looking for would never fit in with the Hispanic crowd.

Considering the most active Spanish speaking CC's that were in the server, like Roier or Mariana, they tend to have a very a light, joking, kind of chill way of role-playing. They prefer being humorous (as we all saw with Roier's tapes) than making profound and deep RP narrative lines. And Roier is the most RP driven out of the Hispanic members! The Admin and the character they wanted to portray might have been successful with other content creators like Philza or Bad, who enjoy playing out more serious story lines, but it would have never been played out the way that it was intended with the creators that the Admin was paired up with. That's why I was a bit confused reading the declaration on twt because you only need to watch one stream of Roier's to notice, he has very little serious moments and most of these are also tinted with comedy. And I'm sorry, but in my opinion, if you know who you're going to be playing with, as an admin and NPC, you need to adapt :/ So yeah, as a Hispanic watcher it felt really out of place, not only in the progressing narrative that had been presented but also in the community's ambience and general preferences when it comes to RP.

Thank you both so much for sharing! I decided to post the two asks together because I believe they compliment each other a lot.

I think understanding the context that the og admin had like 2 days to come up with Pepito story is really important. I find really strange that Pepito, the character, seems to have been intented to be latine or at leat hispanic when the og admin is european and is not hispanic, I am unsure if this decision was made by the admin or if it is how they were instructed to act, but it is odd.

I do not think they had much time to research and understand better what time of rp Roier and the other parents do.

This is not an excuse for the admin, as I still believe they were rude and after so much to reflect about her actions, still come out as being dismissive of their own actions.

However, this is a bit of a larger reflection on the administration and whoever was resposible to instruct and coordinate the egg actors.

I do not understand why the og admin couldn't be up front about being a non-native speaker, the originals eggs were paired with their parents regardless of their nationalities and native languages. Pepito has always act younger than the other eggs so having a charcater that speaks manly spanish but is not a native speakers wouldn't be terrible odd and left room for the parents to be the ones teaching Pepito about the spanish language and latin culture.

It feels like in this search of having Pepito being only seen as hispanic character, the actor and any othe staff involved in this forgot that there are culture nuances to languages that can't be thought in a class.

Thank you again for everyone that shared and I am sorry again to Roier and his community for the things that happend.

#qsmp #otipep #qsmp discourse

9 notes · View notes

sheakspeare · 1 year

Text

It's week 1 of the #OdysseyReadalong2023, and we've read books 1 & 2 so far. I'm gonna leave some prompts for discussion about Book 1 below. 💙🌊

🌊 — “Tell me about a complicated man” (Od. 1.1)

Emily Wilson translated the Greek πολυτροπος (transl. polýtropos) as ‘complicated’ to describe our hero, Odysseus. This epithet means much-turned, alluding to the ten years he spent at sea trying to get back home after the war.

What do you think of Wilson's translation? I personally like it because it introduces us to a very nuanced character.

How is this word translated in your version of the book? In my Spanish copy, Luis Segalá y Estalella opted for ‘man of many wits’, referencing Odysseus' cunning.

🌊 — The proem

In the first few lines of the poem, Homer tells us how many obstacles Odysseus faced in his return (eating The Sun God's cattle, being hidden in Calypso's cave for seven years, Poseidon's anger after Odysseus blinded Polyphemus, etc.).

This introduction follows Horatio's advice (Ars Poetica 148-149) and transports us swiftly to the very heart of events, as if we already knew: “Semper ad eventum festinat et in medias res non secus ac notas auditorem rapit”.

It introduces us to a complicated man, indeed. A man who has destroyed cities and endured pain. A man who tries to get his men home, but fails. A man who faces many trials in his path.

Which bit are you most excited for?

🌊 — The Oresteia

Zeus mentions “Aegisthus, who was killed / by Agamemnon's famous son Orestes” (Od. 1.29-30).

He is alluding to the events that take place in Aeschylus' Oresteia, where Agamemnon is murdered by Clytemnestra and, in turn, she and Aegisthus are killed by Orestes. By doing this, the poet undoubtedly wants us to relate Aegisthus to the suitors and, consequently, Orestes to Telemachus and thus compare Clytemnestra to Penelope.

What do you think of this comparison?

🌊 — The gods' influence

In Od. 1-66-67, Zeus says Odysseus is “more sensible than other humans, / and makes more sacrifices to the gods”, which puts him in Zeus and Athena's favour over other mortals. However, Poseidon's rage prevents him from accomplishing his mission.

Do you think it is better to be known by the gods, or remain anonymous?

🌊 — Xenia (ξενία)

The Greek concept of hospitality is also ever present in the story. It finds its roots in generosity, gift exchange, and reciprocity.

Od. 1–113 marks the beginning of a typical scene, that of the “reception of a guest”, the structure of which is as follows:

the guest arrives,

a member of the host's family or household notices their presence,

they go out to the front door to give the guest a warm welcome,

they take the guest by the hand,

they usher the guest in,

they invite the guest to take a seat,

they offer the guest food,

they ask the guest questions.

and, finally, the host used to give a gift to his guest at parting.

Thus, in the aristocratic society of the Homeric poems, a travelling hero could acquire many riches. Would you travel over the wine-dark sea to foreign lands, or would you stay home?

Telemachus' reception of Athena (disguised as Mentes) is a perfect example of what good hospitality is. Along the story, we'll also find examples of bad hospitality (such as that of the suitors, who slaughter the palace’s livestock).

🌊 — Royalty

It is clear from Od. 394-398 that kingship was not hereditary in Ithaca. With Odysseus gone, a king must try to assert himself by marrying Penelope or, simply, by force. Even if Odysseus were to return, he would have to contend with the suitors for the throne (Od. 2-246-251).

🌊 — Telemachus

After speaking to Mentes, Odysseus' son Telemachus tries to assert himself, but ultimately fails. No longer a boy but a man in his 20s, Telemachus yearns for a father figure to guide him and show him the way. His position at the palace grows more precarious as time goes on.

What do you think of him? And, most importantly, what do you expect to see from him? Do you think he will live up to his father, or fail in the attempt?

tags: @fangirlofallthefanthings

#OdysseyReadalong2023 #the odyssey #read-alongs #*mine

3 notes · View notes

blackswaneuroparedux · 3 years

Text

Anonymous asked: I have always appreciated your thoughtful views on the defence of the British monarchy, and as a university historian it’s reassuring to see someone using history to make invalubale insights to a controversial institution. I wonder what are your own thoughts on the passing of Prince Philip and what his legacy might be? Was he a gaffe prone racist and a liability to the Queen?

I know you kindly got in touch and identified yourself when you felt I was ignoring your question. I’m glad we cleared that up via DM. The truth is as I said and I’m saying here is that I had to let some time pass before I felt I could reasonably answer this question. Simply because - as you know as someone who teaches history at university - distance is good to make a sober appraisal rather than knee jerk in the moment judgements.

Contrary to what some might think I’m not really a fan girl when it comes to the royal family. I don’t religiously follow their every movement or utterance especially as I live in Paris and therefore I don’t really care about tabloid tittle tattle. I only get to hear of anything to do with the royal family when I speak to my parents or my great aunts and uncles for whom the subject is closer to their heart because of the services my family has rendered over past generations to the monarchy and the older (and dying) tight knit social circles they travel in.

Like Walter Bagehot, I’m more interested in the monarchy as an institution and its constitutional place within the historical, social, and political fabric of Britain and its continued delicate stabilising importance to that effect. It was Walter Bagehot, the great constitutional scholar and editor the Economist magazine, who said, “The mystic reverence, the religious allegiance, which are essential to a true monarchy, are imaginative sentiments that no legislature can manufacture in any people.” In his view, a politically-inactive monarchy served the best interests of the United Kingdom; by abstaining from direct rule, the monarch levitated above the political fray with dignity, and remained a respected personage to whom all subjects could look to as a guiding light.

Even as a staunch monarchist I freely confess that there has always been this odd nature of the relationship between hereditary monarchy and a society increasingly ambivalent about the institution. To paraphrase Bagehot again, there has been too much ‘daylight’ shone onto the ‘magic’ of the monarchy because we are obsessed with personalities as celebrities.

Having said that I did feel saddened by the passing of Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh. After the Queen, he was my favourite royal. Anne, Princess Royal, would come next because she is very much like her father in temperament, humour, and character, so unlike her other brothers.

I have met the late Prince Philip when I was serving in the army in a few regimental meet-and-greet situations - which as you may know is pretty normal given that members of the royal family serve as honorary colonel-in-chiefs (patrons in effect) of all the British army regiments and corps.I also saw him at one or two social events such the annual charitable Royal Caledonian Ball (he’s an expert scottish reeler) and the Guards Polo Club where my older brothers played.

I’ll will freely confess that he was the one royal I could come close to identify with because his personal biography resonated with me a great deal.

Let’s be honest, the core Windsor family members, born to privilege, are conditioned and raised to be dull. Perhaps that’s a a tad harsh. I would prefer the term ‘anonymously self-effacing’, just another way of saying ‘for God’s sake don’t draw attention to yourself by saying or doing anything even mildly scandalous or political lest it invites public opprobrium and scrutiny’. The Queen magnificently succeeds in this but the others from Charles down just haven’t (with the exception of Princess Anne).

However, many people forget this obvious fact that it’s the incoming husbands and wives who marry into the Windsor family who are relied upon to bring colour and even liven things up a little. And long before Kate Middleton, Meghan Markle (very briefly), or Lady Diana Spencer, were the stars of ‘The Firm’- a phrase first coined by King George VI, Queen Elizabeth II's father who ruled from 1936 to 1952, who was thought to have wryly said, "British royals are 'not a family, we're a firm,” - it was Prince Philip who really livened things up and made the greater impact on the monarchy than any of them in the long term.

Prince Philip’s passing belied the truth of a far more complex individual: a destitute and penniless refugee Greek-Danish prince with a heart breaking backstory that could have been penned by any 19th Century novelist, and also eagle eyed reformer who tried to drag the royal family into the 20th century. At the core of the man - lost scion of a lost European royal dynasty, a courageous war veteran, and Queen’s consort - were values in which he attempted to transform and yet maintain much older inherited traditions and attitudes. Due to his great longevity, Philip’s life came to span a period of social change that is almost unprecedented, and almost no one in history viewed such a transformation from the front row.

Prince Philip would seem to represent in an acute form the best of the values of that era, which in many ways jar with today’s. He had fought with great courage in the war as a dashing young naval officer; he was regularly rude to foreigners, which was obviously a bonus to all Brits. He liked to ride and sail and shoot things. He was unsentimental almost to a comic degree, which felt reassuring at a time when a new-found emotional incontinence made many feel uncomfortable. Outrageous to some but endearing to others, he was the sort of man you’d want to go for a pint with, perhaps the ultimate compliment that an Englishman can pay to another Englishman. This has its own delicious irony as he wasn’t really an Englishman.

There are 4 takeways I would suggest in my appraisal of Prince Philip that stand out for me. So let me go through each one.

1. Prince Philip’s Internationalism

It may seem odd for me to say that Prince Philip wasn’t English but he wasn’t an Englishman in any real sense. He was a wretch of the world - stateless, homeless, and penniless. That the Prince of Nowhere became the British Monarchy’s figurehead was more than fitting for a great age of migration and transition in which the Royal Family survived and even flourished. That he was able to transform himself into the quintessential Englishman is testimony not just to his personal determination but also to the powerful cultural pull of Britishness.

He was born on a kitchen table in Corfu in June 1921. A year later in 1922, Philip, as the the great-great-grandson of Queen Victoria and nephew of Constantine I of Greece, was forced to flee with his family after the abdication of Constantine. He grew up outside Paris speaking French; ethnically he was mostly German although he considered himself Danish, his family originating from the Schleswig border region. He was in effect, despite his demeanour of Royal Navy officer briskness, a citizen of nowhere in an age of movement. From a very young age he was a stateless person, nationally homeless. Indeed, Philip was an outsider in a way that even Meghan Markle could never be; at his wedding in 1947, his three surviving sisters and two brothers-in-law were not permitted to attend because they were literally Britain’s enemies, having fought for the Germans. A third brother-in-law had even been in the SS, working directly for Himmler, but had been killed in the conflict.

Even his religion was slightly exotic. He was Greek Orthodox until he converted to Anglicanism on marrying Elizabeth - what with his wife due to become supreme head of the Church and everything - but his ties with eastern Christianity remained. His great-aunts Princess Elisabeth of Hesse and by Rhine and Tsarina Alexandra are both martyrs of the Russian Orthodox Church, having been murdered by the Bolsheviks; Philip’s mother went on to become an Orthodox nun and a “Righteous Among the Nations” for saving a Jewish family during the Nazi occupation of Greece, spending much of her time in squalid poverty.

His parents were part of the largely German extended aristocracy who ruled almost all of Europe before it all came crashing down in 1918. When he died, aged 99, it marked a near-century in which all the great ideological struggles had been and gone; he had been born before the Soviet Union but outlived the Cold War, the War on Terror and - almost - Covid-19.

The world that Philip was born into was a far more violent and dangerous place than ours. In the year he was born, Irish rebels were still fighting Black and Tans; over the course of 12 months the Spanish and Japanese prime ministers were assassinated, there was a coup in Portugal and race riots in the United States. Germany was rocked by violence from the far-Left and far-Right, while in Italy a brutal new political movement, the Fascists, secured 30 seats in parliament, led by a trashy journalist called Benito Mussolini.

The worst violence, however, took place in Greece and Turkey. Following the defeat of the Ottoman Empire, what remained of Turkey was marked for permanent enfeeblement by the Allies. But much to everyone’s surprise the country’s force were roused by the brilliant officer Mustafa Kemal, who led the Turks to victory. Constantinople was lost to Christendom for good and thousands of years of Hellenic culture was put to the flames in Smyrna.

The Greek royal family, north German imports shipped in during the 19th century, bore much of the popular anger for this disaster. King Constantine fled to Italy, and his brother Andrew was arrested and only escaped execution through the intervention of his relative Britain’s George V. Andrew’s wife Alice, their four daughters and infant son Philip fled to France, completely impoverished but with the one possession that ensures that aristocrats are never truly poor: connections.

Philip had a traumatic childhood. He was forged by the turmoil of his first decade and then moulded by his schooling. His early years were spent wandering, as his place of birth ejected him, his family disintegrated and he moved from country to country, none of them ever his own. When he was just a year old, he and his family were scooped up by a British destroyer from his home on the Greek island of Corfu after his father had been condemned to death. They were deposited in Italy. One of Philip's first international journeys was spent crawling around on the floor of the train from an Italian port city, "the grubby child on the desolate train pulling out of the Brindisi night," as his older sister Sophia later described it.

In Paris, he lived in a house borrowed from a relative; but it was not destined to become a home. In just one year, while he was at boarding school in Britain, the mental health of his mother, Princess Alice, deteriorated and she went into an asylum; his father, Prince Andrew, went off to Monte Carlo to live with his mistress. "I don't think anybody thinks I had a father," he once said. Andrew would die during the war. Philip went to Monte Carlo to pick up his father's possessions after the Germans had been driven from France; there was almost nothing left, just a couple of clothes brushes and some cuff-links.

Philip’s four sisters were all much older, and were soon all married to German aristocrats (the youngest would soon die in an aeroplane crash, along with her husband and children). His sisters became ever more embroiled in the German regime. In Scotland going to Gordonstoun boarding school, Philip went the opposite direction, becoming ever more British. Following the death of his sister Cecilie in a plane crash in 1937, the gulf widened. As the clouds of conflict gathered, the family simply disintegrated. With a flash of the flinty stoicism that many would later interpret, with no little justification, as self-reliance to the point of dispassion, the prince explained: “It’s simply what happened. The family broke up… I just had to get on with it. You do. One does.”

In the space of 10 years he had gone from a prince of Greece to a wandering, homeless, and virtually penniless boy with no-one to care for him. He got through it by making a joke of everything, and by being practical.

By the time he went to Gordonstoun, a private boarding school on the north coast of Scotland, Philip was tough, independent and able to fend for himself; he'd had to be. Gordonstoun would channel those traits into the school's distinct philosophy of community service, teamwork, responsibility and respect for the individual. And it sparked one of the great passions of Philip's life - his love of the sea. It was Gordonstoun that nurtured that love through the maturation of his character.

Philip adored the school as much as his son Charles would despise it. Not just because the stress it put on physical as well as mental excellence - he was a great sportsman. But because of its ethos, laid down by its founder Kurt Hahn, a Jewish exile from Nazi Germany.

Hahn first met Philip as a boy in Nazi Germany. Through a connection via one of his sister’s husbands, Philip, the poor, lonely boy was first sent off to a new school - in Nazi Germany. Which was as fun as can be imagined. Schloss Salem had been co-founded by stern educator called Kurt Hahn, a tough, discipline-obsessed conservative nationalist who saw civilisation in inexorable decline. But by this stage Hahn, persecuted for being Jewish in Nazi Germany, had fled to Britain, and Philip did not spend long at the school either, where pressure from the authorities was already making things difficult for the teachers. Philip laughed at the Nazis at first, because their salute was the same gesture the boys at his previous school had to make when they wanted to go to the toilet, but within a year he was back in England, a refugee once again.

Philip happily attended Hahn’s new school, Gordonstoun, which the strict disciplinarian had set up in the Scottish Highlands. Inspired by Ancient Sparta, the boys (and then later girls) had to run around barefoot and endure cold showers, even in winter, the whole aim of which was to drive away the inevitable civilisational decay Hahn saw all around him. To 21st century ears it sounds like hell on earth, yet Philip enjoyed it, illustrating just what a totally alien world he came from.

That ethos became a significant, perhaps the significant, part of the way that Philip believed life should be lived. It shines through the speeches he gave later in his life. "The essence of freedom," he would say in Ghana in 1958, "is discipline and self-control." The comforts of the post-war era, he told the British Schools Exploring Society a year earlier, may be important "but it is much more important that the human spirit should not be stifled by easy living". And two years before that, he spoke to the boys of Ipswich School of the moral as well as material imperatives of life, with the "importance of the individual" as the "guiding principle of our society".

It was at Gordonstoun one of the great contradictions of Philip's fascinating life was born. The importance of the individual was what in Kurt Hahn's eyes differentiated Britain and liberal democracies from the kind of totalitarian dictatorship that he had fled. Philip put that centrality of the individual, and individual agency - the ability we have as humans to make our own moral and ethical decisions - at the heart of his philosophy.

At Dartmouth Naval College in 1939, the two great passions of his life would collide. He had learned to sail at Gordonstoun; he would learn to lead at Dartmouth. And his driving desire to achieve, and to win, would shine through. Despite entering the college far later than most other cadets, he would graduate top of his class in 1940. In further training at Portsmouth, he gained the top grade in four out of five sections of the exam. He became one of the youngest first lieutenants in the Royal Navy.

The navy ran deep in his family. His maternal grandfather had been the First Sea Lord, the commander of the Royal Navy; his uncle, "Dickie" Mountbatten, had command of a destroyer while Philip was in training. In war, he showed not only bravery but guile. It was his natural milieu. "Prince Philip", wrote Gordonstoun headmaster Kurt Hahn admiringly, "will make his mark in any profession where he will have to prove himself in a trial of strength".

2. Prince Philip and the modernisation of the monarchy

In his own words, the process of defining what it meant to be a royal consort was one of “trial and error.” Speaking with BBC One’s Fiona Bruce in 2011, Philip explained, “There was no precedent. If I asked somebody, 'What do you expect me to do?' they all looked blank. They had no bloody idea, nobody had much idea.” So he forged for himself a role as a moderniser of the monarchy.

He could not have had much idea back in 1939. Back then in Dartmouth in 1939, as war became ever more certain, the navy was his destiny. He had fallen in love with the sea itself. "It is an extraordinary master or mistress," he would say later, "it has such extraordinary moods." But a rival to the sea would come.

When King George VI toured Dartmouth Naval College, accompanied by Philip's uncle, he brought with him his daughter, Princess Elizabeth. Philip was asked to look after her. He showed off to her, vaulting the nets of the tennis court in the grounds of the college. He was confident, outgoing, strikingly handsome, of royal blood if without a throne. She was beautiful, a little sheltered, a little serious, and very smitten by Philip.

Did he know then that this was a collision of two great passions? That he could not have the sea and the beautiful young woman? For a time after their wedding in 1948, he did have both. As young newlyweds in Malta, he had what he so prized - command of a ship - and they had two idyllic years together. But the illness and then early death of King George VI brought it all to an end.

He knew what it meant, the moment he was told. Up in a lodge in Kenya, touring Africa, with Princess Elizabeth in place of the King, Philip was told first of the monarch's death in February 1952. He looked, said his equerry Mike Parker, "as if a ton of bricks had fallen on him". For some time he sat, slumped in a chair, a newspaper covering his head and chest. His princess had become the Queen. His world had changed irrevocably.

While the late Princess Diana was later to famously claim that there were “three people” in her marriage - herself, Prince Charles and Camilla - there were at least 55 million in Philip and Elizabeth’s. As Elizabeth dedicated her life to her people at Westminster Abbey at the Coronation on June 2, 1953, it sparked something of an existential crisis in Philip. Many people even after his death have never really understood this pivotal moment in Philip’s life. All his dreams of being a naval officer and a life at sea as well as being the primary provider and partner in his marriage were now sacrificed on the altar of duty and love.

With his career was now over, and he was now destined to become the spare part. Philip, very reasonably, asked that his future children and indeed his family be known by his name, Mountbatten. In effect he was asking to change the royal family’s name from the House of Windsor to the House of Mountbatten. But when Prime Minister Winston Churchill got wind of it as well as the more politically agile courtiers behind the Queen, a prolonged battle of wits ensued, and it was one Philip ultimately lost. It was only in 1957 that he accepted the title of “Prince.”

Even though he had almost lost everything dear to him and his role now undefined, he didn’t throw himself a pity party. He just got on with it. Philip tried to forge his own distinct role as second fiddle to the woman who had come to represent Great Britain. He designated himself the First Officer of the Good Ship Windsor. He set about dusting off some of the cobwebs off the throne and letting some daylight unto the workings of the monarchy by advocating reasonable amount of modernisation of the monarchy.

He had ideas about modernising the royal family that might be called “improving optics” today. But in his heart of hearts he didn’t want the monarchy to become a stuffy museum piece. He envisaged a less stuffy and more popular monarchy, relevant to the lives of ordinary people. Progress was always going to be incremental as he had sturdy opposition from the old guard who wanted to keep everything as it was, but nevertheless his stubborn energy resulted in significant changes.

When a commission chaired by Prince Philip proposed broadcasting the 1953 investiture ceremony that formally named Elizabeth II as queen on live television, Prime Minister Winston Churchill reacted with outright horror, declaring, “It would be unfitting that the whole ceremony should be presented as if it were a theatrical performance.” Though the queen had initially voiced similar concerns, she eventually came around to the idea, allowing the broadcast of all but one segment of the coronation. Ultimately, according to the BBC, more than 20 million people tuned in to the televised ceremony - a credit to the foresight of Philip.

Elizabeth’s coronation marked a watershed moment for a monarchy that has, historically, been very hands off, old-fashioned and slightly invisible. Over the following years, the royals continued to embrace television as a way of connecting with the British people: In 1957, the queen delivered her annual Christmas address during a live broadcast. Again, this was Philip’s doing when he cajoled the Queen to televise her message live. He even helped her in how to use the teleprompter to get over her nerves and be herself on screen.

Four years later, in 1961, Philip became the first family member to sit for a television interview. It is hard for us to imagine now but back then it was huge. For many it was a significant step in modernising the monarchy.

Though not everything went to plan. Toward the end of the decade, the Windsors even invited cameras into their home. A 1969 BBC fly-on-the-wall documentary, instigated by Philip to show life behind the scenes, turned into an unmitigated disaster: “The Windsors” revealed the royals to be a fairly normal, if very rich, British upper-class family who liked barbecues, ice cream, watching television and bickering. The mystery of royalty took a hit below the waterline from their own torpedo, a self-inflicted wound from which they took a long time to recover. Shown once, the documentary was never aired again. But it had an irreversible effect, and not just by revealing the royals to be ordinary. By allowing the cameras in, Philip opened the lid to the prying eyes of the paparazzi who could legitimately argue that since the Royals themselves had sanctioned exposure, anything went. From then on, minor members of the House of Windsor were picked off by the press, like helpless tethered animals on a hunting safari.

Prince Philip also took steps to reorganise and renovate the royal estates in Sandringham and Balmoral such as intercoms, modern dish washers, generally sought to make the royal household and the monarchy less stuffy, not to have so much formality everywhere.

Philip helped modernised the monarchy in other ways to acknowledge that the monarchy could be responsive to changes in society. It was Prince Philip - much to the chagrin of the haughty Princess Margaret and other stuffy old courtiers - who persuaded the Queen to host informal lunches and garden parties designed to engage a broader swath of the British public. Conversely, Prince Philip heartily encouraged the Queen (she was all for it apparently but was still finding her feet as a new monarch) to end the traditional practice of presenting debutantes from aristocratic backgrounds at court in 1952. For Philip and others it felt antiquated and out of touch with society. I know in speaking to my grandmother and others in her generation the decision was received with disbelief at how this foreign penniless upstart could come and stomp on the dreams of mothers left to clutch their pearls at the prospect there would be no shop window for their daughter to attract a suitable gentleman for marriage. One of my great aunts was over the moon happy that she never would have to go through what she saw as a very silly ceremony because she preferred her muddy wellies to high heels.

A former senior member of the royal household, who spent several years working as one of Prince Philip’s aides, and an old family friend, once told us around a family dinner table that the Duke of Edinburgh was undoubtedly given a sense of permanence by his marriage into the Royal Family that was missing from earlier years. But the royal aide would hastily add that Prince Philip, of course, would never see it that way.

Prince Philip’s attitude was to never brood on things or seek excuses. And he did indeed get on with the job in his own way - there should be no doubt that when it came to building and strengthening the Royal Family it was a partnership of equals with the Queen. Indeed contrary to Netflix’s hugely popular series ‘The Crown’ and its depiction of the royal marriage with Philip’s resentment at playing second fiddle, the prince recognised that his “first duty was to serve the Queen in the best way I could,” as he told ITV in 2011. Though this role was somewhat ill-suited to his dynamic, driven, and outspoken temperament, Philip performed it with utter devotion.

3. Prince Philip’s legacy

One could argue rightly that modernising the monarchy was his lasting legacy achievement. But he also tried to modernise a spent and exhausted Britain as it emerged from a ruinous war. When peace came, and with it eventual economic recovery, Philip would throw himself into the construction of a better Britain, urging the country to adopt scientific methods, embracing the ideas of industrial design, planning, education and training. A decade before Harold Wilson talked of the "white heat of the technological revolution", Philip was urging modernity on the nation in speeches and interviews. He was on top of his reading of the latest scientific breakthroughs and well read in break out innovations.

This interest in modernisation was only matched by his love for nature. As the country and the world became richer and consumed ever more, Philip warned of the impact on the environment, well before it was even vaguely fashionable. As president of the World Wildlife Fund (WWF) in the UK for more than 20 years from 1961, he was one of the first high-profile advocates of the cause of conservation and biological diversity at a time when it was considered the preserve of an eccentric few.

For a generation of school children in Britain and the Commonwealth though, his most lasting legacy and achievement will be the Duke of Edinburgh Awards (DofE). He set up the Duke of Edinburgh award, a scheme aimed at getting young people out into nature in search of adventure or be of service to their communities. It was a scheme that could match the legacy of Baden Powell’s scouts movement.

When Prince Philip first outlined his idea of a scheme to harness the values of his education at Gordonstoun by bringing character-building outdoor pursuits to the many rather than the fee-paying few, he received short shrift from the government of the day. The then minister of education, Sir David Eccles responded to the Duke’s proposal by saying: “I hear you’re trying to invent something like the Hitler Youth.” Undeterred he pushed on until it came to fruition.

I’m so glad that he did. I remember how proud I was for getting my DofE Awards while I was at boarding school. With the support of great mentors I managed to achieve my goals: collecting second-hand English books for a literacy programme for orphaned street children in Delhi, India with a close Indian school friend and her family; and completing a 350 mile hike following St. Olav’s Pilgrimmage Trail from Selånger, on the east coast of Sweden, and ending at Nidaros Cathedral in Trondheim, on the west coast of Norway.

It continues to be an enduring legacy. Since its launch in 1956, the Duke of Edinburgh awards have been bestowed upon some 2.5 million youngsters in Britain and some eight million worldwide. For a man who once referred to himself as a “Greek princeling of no consequence”, his pioneering tutelage of these two organisations (alongside some 778 other organisations of which he was either president or a patron) would be sufficient legacy for most.

4. Prince Philip’s character

It may surprise some but what I liked most about Prince Philip was the very thing that helped him achieve so much and leave a lasting legacy: his character.

It is unhelpful to the caricature of Prince Philip as an unwavering but pugnacious consort whose chief talent was a dizzying facility in off-colour one-liners that he was widely read and probably the cleverest member of his family.

His private library at Windsor consists of 11,000 tomes, among them 200 volumes of poetry. He was a fan of Jung, TS Eliot, Shakespeare and the cookery writer Elizabeth David. As well as a lifelong fascination with science, technology and sport, he spoke fairly fluent French, painted and wrote a well received book on birds. It’s maddening to think how many underestimated his genuine intellect and how cultured he was behind the crusty exterior.

He didn’t have an entourage to fawn around him. He was the first to own a computer at Buckingham Palace. He answered his own phone and wrote and responded to his own correspondence. By force of character he fought the old guard courtiers at every turn to modernise the monarchy against their stubborn resistance.

Prince Philip was never given to self-analysis or reflection on the past. Various television interviewers tried without success to coerce him in to commenting on his legacy.But once when his guard was down he asked on the occasion of his 90th birthday what he was more proud of, he replied with characteristic bluntness: “I couldn’t care less. Who cares what I think about it, I mean it’s ridiculous.”

All of which neatly raises the profound aversion to fuss and the proclivity for tetchiness often expressed in withering put-downs that, for better or worse, will be the reflex memory for many of the Duke of Edinburgh. If character is a two edged sword so what of his gaffes?

There is no doubt his cult status partly owed to his so-called legendary gaffes, of which there are enough to fill a book (indeed there is a book). But he was no racist. None of the Commonwealth people or foreign heads of state ever said this about him. Only leftist republicans with too much Twitter time on their hands screamed such a ridiculous accusation. They’re just overly sensitive snowflakes and being devoid of any humour they’re easily triggered.

There was the time that Philip accepted a gift from a local in Kenya, telling her she was a kind woman, and then adding: “You are a woman, aren’t you?” Or the occasion he remarked “You managed not to get eaten, then?” to a student trekking in Papua New Guinea. Then there was his World Wildlife Fund speech in 1986, when he said: “If it has got four legs and it is not a chair, if it has got two wings and it flies but is not an aeroplane, and if it swims and it is not a submarine, the Cantonese will eat it.” Well, he wasn’t wrong.

Philip quickly developed a reputation for what he once defined, to the General Dental Council, as “dentopedology – the science of opening your mouth and putting your foot in it”. Clearly he could laugh at himself as he often did as an ice breaker to put others at ease.

His remarking to the president of Nigeria, who was wearing national dress, “You look like you’re ready for bed”, or advising British students in China not to stay too long or they would end up with “slitty eyes”, is probably best written off as ill-judged humour. Telling a photographer to “just take the fucking picture” or declaring “this thing open, whatever it is”, were expressions of exasperation or weariness with which anyone might sympathise.

Above all, he was also capable of genuine if earthy wit, saying of his horse-loving daughter Princess Anne: “If it doesn’t fart or eat hay she isn’t interested.” Many people might have thought it but few dared say it. If Prince Philip’s famous gaffes provoked as much amusement as anger, it was precisely because they seem to give voice to the bewilderment and pent-up frustrations with which many people viewed the ever-changing modern world.

A former royal protection officer recounts how while on night duty guarding a visiting Queen and consort, he engaged in conversation with colleagues on a passing patrol. It was 2am and the officer had understood the royal couple to be staying elsewhere in the building until a window above his head was abruptly slammed open and an irate Prince Philip stuck his head out of the window to shout: “Would you fuck off!” Without another word, he then shut the window.

The Duke at least recognised from an early age that he was possessed of an abruptness that could all too easily cross the line from the refreshingly salty to crass effrontery.

One of his most perceptive biographers, Philip Eade, recounted how at the age of 21 the prince wrote a letter to a relation whose son had recently been killed in combat. He wrote: “I know you will never think much of me. I am rude and unmannerly and I say things out of turn which I realise afterwards must have hurt someone. Then I am filled with remorse and I try to put matters right.”

In the case of the royal protection officer, the Duke turned up in the room used by the police officers when off duty and said: “Terribly sorry about last night, wasn’t quite feeling myself.”

Aides have also ventured to explain away some of their employer’s more outlandish remarks - from asking Cayman islanders “You are descended from pirates aren’t you?” to enquiring of a female fashion writer if she was wearing mink knickers - as the price of his instinctive desire to prick the pomposity of his presence with a quip to put others at ease.

Indeed many people forget that his ‘gaffes’ were more typical of the clubbish humour of the British officer class – which of course would be less appreciated, sometimes even offensive, to other ears. It’s why he could relate so well to veterans who enjoyed his bonhomie company immensely.

But behind the irascibility, some have argued there also lay a darker nature, unpleasantly distilled in his flinty attitude to his eldest son. One anecdote tells of how, in the aftermath of the murder of the Duke’s uncle and surrogate father, Lord Mountbatten, Philip lectured his son, who was also extremely fond of his “honorary grandfather”, that he was not to succumb to self-pity. Charles left the room in tears and when his father was asked why he had spoken to his son with so little compassion, the Duke replied: “Because if there’s any crying to be done I want it to happen within this house, in front of his family, not in public. He must be toughened up, right now.”

But here I would say that Prince Philip’s intentions were almost always sincere and in no way cruel. He has always tried to protect his family - even from their own worst selves or from those outside the family ‘firm’ who may not have their best interest at heart.

In 1937, a 16-year-old Prince Philip had walked behind his elder sister Cecile’s coffin after she was killed in a plane crash while heavily pregnant. The remains of newly-born infant found in the wreckage suggested the aircraft had perished as the pilot sought to make an emergency landing in fog as the mother entered childbirth. It was an excruciating taste of tragedy which would one day manifest itself in a very princely form of kindness that was deep down that defined Philip’s character.

When about 60 years later Prime Minister Tony Blair’s spin doctors in Downing Street tried to strong arm the Queen and the royal household over the the arrangements for the late Prince Diana’s funeral, it was Philip who stepped in front to protect his family. The Prime Minister and his media savvy spin doctors wanted the two young princes, William and Harry, to walk behind the coffin.

The infamous exchange was on the phone during a conference call between London and Balmoral, and the emotional Philip was reportedly backed by the Queen. The call was witnessed by Anji Hunter, who worked for Mr Blair. She said how surprised she was to hear Prince Philip’s emotion. ‘It’s about the boys,” he cried, “They’ve lost their mother”. Hunter thought to herself, “My God, there’s a bit of suffering going on up there”.’

Sky TV political commentator Adam Boulton (Anji Hunter’s husband) would write in his book Tony’s Ten Years: ‘The Queen relished the moment when Philip bellowed over the speakerphone from Balmoral, “Fuck off. We are talking about two boys who have just lost their mother”. Boulton goes on to say that Philip: ‘…was trying to remind everyone that human feelings were involved. No 10 were trying to help the Royals present things in the best way, but may have seemed insensitive.’

In the end the politicians almost didn’t get their way. Prince Philip stepped in to counsel his grandson, Prince William, after he had expressed a reluctance to follow his mother’s coffin after her death in Paris. Philip told the grieving child: “If you don’t walk, I think you’ll regret it later. If I walk, will you walk with me?”

It’s no wonder he was sought as a counsellor by other senior royals and especially close to his grandchildren, for whom he was a firm favourite. His relationship with Harry was said to have become strained, however, following the younger Prince’s decision to reject his royal inheritance for a life away from the public eye in America with his new American wife, Meghan Markle. For Prince Philip I am quite sure it went against all the elder Prince had lived his life by - self-sacrifice for the greater cause of royalty.

This is the key to Philip’s character and in understanding the man. The ingrained habits of a lifetime of duty and service in one form or another were never far away.

In conclusion then....

After more time passes I am sure historians will make a richer reassessment of Prince Philip’s life and legacy. Because Prince Philip was an extraordinary man who lived an extraordinary life; a life intimately connected with the sweeping changes of our turbulent 20th Century, a life of fascinating contrast and contradiction, of service and some degree of solitude. A complex, clever, eternally restless man that not even the suffocating protocols of royalty and tradition could bind him.

Although he fully accepted the limitations of public royal service, he did not see this as any reason for passive self-abnegation, but actively, if ironically, identified with his potentially undignified role. It is this bold and humorous embrace of fated restriction which many now find irksome: one is no longer supposed to mix public performance with private self-expression in quite this manner.

Yet such a mix is authentically Socratic: the proof that the doing of one’s duty can also be the way of self-fulfilment. The Duke’s sacrifice of career to romance and ceremonial office is all the more impressive for his not hiding some annoyance. The combination of his restless temperament and his deeply felt devotion to duty found fruitful expression; for instance, in the work of Saint George’s House Windsor - a centre and retreat that he created with Revd. Robin Woods - in exploring religious faith, philosophy, and contemporary issues.

Above all he developed a way to be male that was both traditional and modern. He served one woman with chivalric devotion as his main task in life while fulfilling his public engagements in a bold and active spirit. He eventually embraced the opportunity to read and contemplate more. And yet, he remained loyal to the imperatives of his mentor Kurt Hahn in seeking to combine imagination with action and religious devotion with practical involvement.

Prince Philip took more pride in the roles he had accidentally inherited than in the personal gifts which he was never able fully to develop. He put companionship before self-realisation and acceptance of a sacred symbolic destiny before the mere influencing of events. In all these respects he implicitly rebuked our prevailing meritocracy which over-values officially accredited attainment, and our prevailing narcissism which valorises the assertion of discrete identities.

Prince Philip was Britain’s longest-serving consort. He was steadfast, duty driven, and a necessary adjunct to the continuity and stability of the Queen and the monarchy. Of all the institutions that have lost the faith of the British public in this period - the Church, Parliament, the media, the police - the Monarchy itself has surprisingly done better than most at surviving, curiously well-adapted to a period of societal change and moral anarchy. The House of Hanover and later Saxe-Coburg and Gotha (changed to Windsor), since their arrival in this country in 1714, have been noted above all for their ability to adapt. And just as they survived the Victorian age by transforming themselves into the bourgeoise, domestic ideal, so they have survived the new Elizabethan era (Harry-Meghan saga is just a passing blip like the Edward-Wallis Simpson saga of the 1930s).

There was once a time when the Royal’s German blood was a punchline for crude and xenophobic satirists. Now it is the royals who are deeply British while the country itself is increasingly cosmopolitan and globalised. British society has seen a greater demographic change than the preceding four or five thousand years combined, the second Elizabethan age has been characterised more than anything by a transformational movement of people. Prince Philip, the Greek-born, Danish-German persecuted and destitute wanderer who came to become one of the Greatest Britons of the past century, perhaps epitomised that era better than anyone else. And he got through it by making a joke of everything, and by being practical.

I hope I don’t exaggerate when I say that in our troubled times over identity, and our place and purpose in the world, we need to heed his selfless example more than ever.

As Heraclitus wisely said, Ήθος ανθρώπω δαίμων (Character is destiny.)

RIP Prince Philip. You were my prince. God damn you, I miss you already.

Thanks for your question.

#question #ask #prince philip #duke of edinburgh #queen elizabeth II #the queen of spades #monarchy #britain #british #royalty #politics #history #culture #europe #crown #icon #great briton #society

284 notes · View notes

tweedlydumbtweedlydoo · 4 years

Text

a Long Lunch | Javier Peña x reader

Requested by anon / Summary: You go missing for a few hours and it worries Javier. // You and Javier are dating in this. It’s not specifically mentioned in the story.

A/N: this is my first Javier Peña x reader request. woop woop. Thank you for requesting! I hope you enjoy! xx also, sorry if there is any mistakes

Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: {OPEN} CLOSED

** Rules for Requesting **

** Who I Write For **

********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

“Javi, I’m going to get lunch.” You say grabbing your purse from the drawer in your desk.

Javier put out his cigarette in the ashtray on his desk, switching the phone to his other ear, “Huh?”

“I said I’m going to get lunch.” You repeat, walking over to his desk, “You coming?”

He shook his head, pointing to the phone, “Possibly a lead. You go ahead.”

You nodded and headed on your way. You were new to Columbia and learning the streets had become a challenge but anytime you went out Javier had been with you, making sure you got where you needed to go and make sure you were safe. You were thankful of his company and it made you feel better about walking the streets, but you knew this would have to happen eventually. Javier couldn’t be with you 24/7.

It was around noon, the streets couldn’t be that bad at this time. Your gun was holstered to your hip and you gripped your purse tightly in your hands. As you turned a corner, you ran right into a group of guys. You just had to make a wrong turn down the wrong alley.

Javier ended his phone call about an hour after you left, “y/n can you-” When he looked up at your desk he expected you to be sitting there but your desk was vacant. He read his watch; it was past one o clock. You’d been gone for an hour and should have been back by now. Lunch was only for 30 mins.

“Hey, Steve, you seen y/n?”

Steve shook his head, “Thought you guys were going to lunch?”

“I had a phone call, she went on without me.” He glanced at his watch again.

“Uh..” Steve started, “Does she even know where she was going?”

“I don’t know, I showed her a couple places around the corner so she wouldn’t get lost.” You’d been investigating a new lead on a cartel member and his mind wandered to a dark place. Shit, had you dug too deep?

“Shit man, what if she dug too deep in investigating Velano?”

Steve sat there for a moment, pondering the thought and then quickly stood, “Shit.” He grabbed his coat off the back of his chair, “let’s check all the places you’ve shown her nearby. If she’s who I think she is, she wouldn’t go somewhere she’s never been. She likes to be prepared.”

Javier nodded, “There’s a few places I can think of. We can walk from here.”

Javier and Steve went to the three places, but there was no sign of you anywhere. They’d asked the workers at the restaurants if they’d seen you, but no one had seen you come in.

“Man, I got a bad feeling about this.” Javier nervously pulls a cigarette out and puts it to his lips, “Fuck! I should have gone with her.”

“Look, let me call the hospitals, see if she’s been admitted or something.” Steve offers.

“You can’t speak a shit of spanish.” Javier blows out smoke, “No ones going to say shit over the phone.”

“Okay then we go to the hospital.”

The two arrive at the hospital and head straight for the front desk of the emergency room.

Javier begins asking the woman in spanish if she’d seen someone of your description, but the lady was confused and went off to do something else for someone.

“fucking hell.” Javier scans the large room, “She can’t speak a shit of spanish either man,” He runs a hand through his hair, “This is all my fault. I should have gone with her. The phone call wasn’t even good lead.”

“Don’t blame yourself for this. You don’t know what’s happened to her. You may just be freaking yourself out.”

Javier begins walking the halls, “I told her to stop digging, but she just kept on.” He peeked around multiple curtains and resulted to calling your name.

About the 5th curtain he pulled back, he finally found you. You were laying in the bed with a doctor stitching your forehead. He could see your lip was busted too.

“Javier, Steve.” You let out a sigh of relief and winced as the guy continued to stitch. “Sit still.” The doctor ordered as he finished the last stitch.

“What the hell happened?” Javier questioned coming to your side, "We were fucking worried sick!”

“I got mugged. They took everything and I had no way of calling you guys. I didn’t know the number.” Tears brimmed, “I couldn’t speak spanish. No one knew what I was trying to say.”

Steve muttered something about asking the doctor if you could leave and closed the curtain behind him.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered softly. You felt horrible for worrying Javier.

He shakes his head, leaning down to kiss the side of your head, “God I was worried sick. I thought Velano made you and killed you.” His lips lingered a little longer on your head. He was just grateful you were okay.

“It’s just a busted lip and cut on the forehead.. I’m okay Javi.”

“Do you remember who the men were? Where were you? I’ll get your stuff back. Rough them up a bit.”

You waved him off, “Those men are probably long gone.” You winced as you laid your head back, “I just want to go home.” you gave his hand a squeeze.

Javier held your waist as the two of you made it up the stairs of the apartment complex. You were a little woozy from the pain meds. “Stay with me for the time being.”

You hummed as a response, giving a soft nod.

He lead you toward his apartment and inside toward his bed, “No more you going off by yourself.”

“I have to get used to it, Javi. You aren’t going to be there all the time.” You sighed as you climbed into bed and Javier pulled your shoes off.

“Well for the time being, you aren’t going to be by yourself.” He pulls the covers up to you, “I didn’t like feeling like I did today. Not knowing where you were. If you’d been killed or not.” He started to walk away but you pleaded for him to stay with you.

He didn’t think twice about slipping off his shoes and climbing into the vacant space next to you. He wrapped his arm around you as you laid your head on his chest, “I love you Javi.” You whispered before drifting off to sleep.

His heart skipped a beat. You two had never shared that before, but you were probably just loopy off the meds. However, that didn’t stop him from whispering it back to you and meaning it, “I love you too..”

All my works tag list: @blossomreed , @mggstyles , @simonsbluee , @thewolf-and-thesheep , @obxrafejjwhore , @abbiesthings , @itstaskeen , @reniescarlett

***I only have taglists for characters and/or the shows, not specific taglists for different stories because it got too confusing. So you guys will be tagged in all my Narcos (Javier Peña) works. If you would like to be taken off the taglist now or on down the road, just let me know :) xx

Narcos tag list: @neymarlionelmessi7 , @weirdowithnobeardo , @1950schick , @xremember-me-notx , @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked , @jamielovesbucky , @farfromjustordinary , @lesbianlena , @harrys-stan

267 notes · View notes

satashiiwrites · 3 years

Text

Andromeda 5-0

For @mreyder-week Day 3: Partners in Crime. Yes I could not think of a better title (I’m open to suggestions though!). Yes it is very very heavily influenced by H50. Am I still obsessed with the Idea? Yes. Yes I am.

Not quite ready for posting the first chapter this morning, so here’s the title/moodboard and a snippet.

Title: Andromeda 5-0

Fandom: Mass Effect Andromeda (borrowing from H50/inspired by)

Pairing: MReyder, Sara/Vetra (background), past Reyes/Zia, Zia/Brecka

Tags: Alternative universe, Cop!Reyes, NavySeal!Scott, Dad!Reyes

From chapter 1: Standoff—cut for length

Today had gone to hell in a hand basket incredibly quick despite starting out with spending a few minutes with his son who was the light of his life. Keema was still sidelined from her injuries from their last case together three months ago and the lieutenant had given up on assigning Reyes temporary partners after he’d gone through three of them. He’d mostly been working on his own when he wasn’t attached to another unit to work as a UC. He’d taken a meeting with organized crime and the proposal they’d had for him would make his career if it wasn’t for the fact that it also made something go cold in his bones.

It was a risky assignment they’d offered him. Risky but someone needed to do it.

He was thinking about it—that’s what he’d told Kandros despite running the test this morning which had gone off perfectly.

They wanted someone like him—someone latino who could walk the walk and talk the talk. Reyes was known for being a chameleon when it was called for but if he screwed up on this assignment the chances of him ending up dead were pretty high.

On the other hand… Zia hadn’t let him see Mateo in three weeks other than for brief rides to school twice a week when the live in nanny she’d hired had the morning off for college classes. He’d had no time with his son. Just ten minutes twice a week.

Yesterday she’d threatened to cut him off entirely citing his inability to pay the hefty child support she was demanding from him when she was all but married to her currently much richer beau. She didn’t even need money from him—it was just a way of pushing him away from their son.

Reyes was working class—blue collar through and through. Brecka was inherited old money, Russian, and hadn’t yet made the mistake of marrying Zia even if he’d moved her halfway across the country and installed her in a mansion that was forever out of someone like Reyes’ price range.

The comparisons between himself and Brecka made Reyes very aware of his own shortcomings—financially as well as socially. The things Brecka could give his son were things that Reyes never would be capable of in a million years. Tennis lessons. A trilingual nanny who didn’t speak Spanish but did speak Mandarin, Russian and English. Why would his son learn anything about his own heritage that his mother was determined to replace with her new lover’s better one?

He was a cop, son of a firefighter. Public servant that had graduated college just not a fancy Ivy League one like Brecka. He was street smart, having to live by his wits out in the world every day. Reyes didn’t rub elbows with the same rich people that Brecka did—he wasn’t a member of the Fortune 500. He preferred home cooking to fine dining or diner food to caviar. He’d married Zia because she’d gotten pregnant and thought—foolishly—that love would grow with their family.

They’d had fun together until it suddenly became a lot less fun and more work.

Relationships were work as his abuela told him. He’d been willing to work for it.

Zia… hadn’t. She’d filed for divorce when Mateo was three and they’d spent the next year arguing through lawyers until she’d gotten a judge that had taken one look at Reyes’ dark tan skin and had instantly sided with his wife.

She’d cleaned him out almost entirely. House and half his pension gone as well as most of his savings that wasn’t set aside for Mateo’s college fund. He’d been living on his Abuela’s couch eating peanut butter and ramen noodles for months until he’d managed to scrap enough together to get a one bedroom apartment and apply for visitation rights as she’d been awarded full custody too.

Reyes had been raised to do the right thing when you got the girl pregnant so he’d done the responsible thing and gotten the true love of his life out of it even if the divorce had felt like it tore him apart. Mateo was the reason for him to get up in the morning. His son was the cutest kid ever. Smart and always happy with a smile on his face that made him look like Reyes’ much happier mini-me. Reyes tried to shelter him from the arguments Zia picked with him every time they were together more than two minutes but the way Mateo clung to him at every school drop off told him he wasn’t hiding anything from his little boy.

His son didn’t deserve the problems Reyes had with his mother. He bit his tongue to not bad mouth Zia in front of him and just focused on the little scraps of time they had together.

Reyes regretted nothing that had given him Mateo and he’d fight for him with his last breath. Zia could try again and again to cut him out of his son’s life but he’d sooner die than let her. He’d moved halfway across the country away from all his family to be here for Mateo and he’d do it again if he had to.

#mreyderweek2022 #mreyder #andromeda 5-0 #NavySeal!ScottRyder #Cop!ReyesVidal #reyes vidal #scott ryder #kidfic #dad!Reyes #mateo vidal #heavily inspired by H50 #fic preview

10 notes · View notes

ayellowbirds · 3 years

Photo

Today being my birthday, i had the time and energy to finally do some drawing after ages of neither time nor drive. So, i spent that on sketching out some headshots of the recurring characters of 33 Usher Street, my 1920s (and beyond?) vampire hunters story. Meet the employees, management, friends, and nuisances of the Usher Street House of Antiquities and Curios, an estate management company specializing in settling the affairs of the unusually deceased. This is both a source of income and a cover for their real calling: the elimination of dangerous vampires and other hostile undead.

Solomon “Sol” Szombathy (gay intersex man), a Jewish dhampir of Romanian-American extraction (late of Pittsburgh, Vandalia) has arrived at the USHAC with his guardian in tow, after both of them got involved in a vampire attack. Sol’s ability to see the invisible and the surges of supernatural strength he gets when battling the undead are especially useful, as is the hawthorn-wood cane he uses to deal with the chronic pain he feels the rest of the time.

James “Jim” Cullock III (asexual cisgender man) is a Scottish immigrant who helped co-found the USHAC as the assistant of a longtime vampire hunter; his love of gardening has given him many potent botanical weapons against vampires, including especially hardy and richly-scented roses that repel most bloodsuckers. He’s taken to maintaining a backstage role for the most part, as his lifelong issues with visual hallucinations have gotten worse with age.

The Reverend Doctor Matteus J. Hammer (transgender man of no particular sexuality) is an aging monster hunter of no small repute, his experience having brought him briefly as a boarder to the Szombathy house. His recommendation brought Sol to Usher Street, but can the perspective of this eccentric wandering hero be relied upon?

Randolph Carter (in-denial bisexual cis man) was once an author of minor repute with a fondness for the strange and occult, but encounters with the genuinely supernatural have mellowed his previously bigoted worldview. While he still struggles to be a halfway decent person in a reality that is at odds with his beliefs, his expertise with languages, obscure subject matters, and research makes him at least a useful jackass when it comes to spending time among his books.

Pluton is a very good judge of character, for a one-eyed cat. And oddly skilled at making his way out of dangerous situations, to the point that one might almost think he has more than the usual nine lives. It’s no wonder that the USHAC often bring the cat along.

Constance “Connie” Wright (pansexual cis woman) is a former orphan with the miraculous talent to ‘chew’ raw materials into new shapes, a skill she most often uses to create nails for sealing up coffins and the like. Naturally, the rail-thin Connie’s favorite weapon is a heavily weighted steel sledgehammer, when she can’t just do some slugging with a sturdy baseball bat.

Dorotheea “Dotty” Szombathy (transgender lesbian) is a golem that once served as Sol’s guardian, and is now happily living as his adopted sister. Her ability to reshape her naturally earthen clay body pairs well with her immunity to most forms of vampiric attack, as an artificial being. Prone to switching between having difficulty speaking at all and being effusively loquacious, she finds it easiest to focus when she has something to occupy her hands and mind.

Marie Bosley (bisexual cis woman) was and is the greatest vampire hunter in the United States, even if these days she prefers to stay at home and listen to music. Her unmatched knowledge of apotropaic magic allows her to create boundaries and barriers that no vampiric influence can pass, and lets her open the way for her proteges.

Esther "Essie” Levi (asexual cis woman) is the self-proclaimed ‘fastest knot-tier east of the Rockies’, and an unmatched expert in knotting string, yarn, thread, and cord to achieve magical effects. Paired with a gift for strategic thinking and an eye for symptoms of vampirism, she can easily weave a web that no bloodsucker is going to get through.

Aleister “Al” Jones (gay cis man) is a multilingual expert in stealth, infiltration, and charm whose gentlemanly demeanor is in no way at odds with his fondness for boxing. Unfortunately for opponents that would see him as unarmed except for a disarming smile, he’s also the bearer of a pair of gloves lined with the relics of a Catholic saint invoked against vampires.

Wilhemina “Will” Fawkes (lesbian cis woman) is the USHAC’s resident machinery buff, with cutting-edge expertise in automobiles, radios, firearms, and more. Her fondness for artifice means that the only thing that can distract her from something shiny and new is an animated short at the nearest theater, and her love of testing the limits of machinery means that her allies often find she’s made unexpected ‘upgrades’ to important equipment.

Adriaen ten Boom (bisexual cis man) is the most senior of the employees of the USHAC, a skilled actor whose pyrokinetic gift makes his good looks more than just smoldering. In spite of these charms, he’s actually fairly naïve when it comes to romance, and is prone to charming his way into entanglements he didn’t mean to get into.

Smith the Mechanical Heel (just a real dick) is a World’s Fair experiment gone wrong, and now runs the criminal underworld in Jackson, Massachusetts—which puts him at odds with the USHAC, since that’s where their home base is. He sees most of the employees as potentially useful additions to his crew, but he’s especially interested in learning more about Dotty’s magically-constructed nature, in the hopes of making himself more lifelike. He’s not above getting involved in things that involve the undead....

The Ghosts of Madeline and Roderick Usher (cis lesbian and cis gay man) are the former owners of the land on which the USHAC was built, and haven’t moved on since the new tenants turned up. Freed of mortal concerns, they’re fond of teasing the living staff members, and serve as a second line of defense after Marie’s wards and magical traps. Roderick is absolutely certain that he’s going to get his ectoplasm all up on Randolph one of these days, and nobody feels up to questioning his taste in men; Madeline is the company gossip fiend and the best source of information on comings and goings at 33 Usher Street.

Dr. Joaquín de la Garza (closeted nonbinary queer) is a local physician who has a close working relationship with the USHAC, and is very fond of the mysteries and excitement they bring to his life. Exactly what brought a medical expert of Zapotec and Spanish heritage all the way up east is uncertain, but the good doctor seems to know a lot more about the supernatural than one might expect from just his familiarity with the secrets of the Usher Street staff.

Phoebe Khrysos (???) is a remarkably pristine ancient automaton, whose actual provenance is uncertain. Resembling a child made of silver, glass, and gold, she has a mischievous mystery about her that makes her more like a mechanical fairy than a precious relic. What motivates her and how she sees the living and the undead remain to be seen....

Zuleika Dobson (pansexual cis woman) is a a con artist, thief, and scammer who has broken many hearts and far more bank accounts; her lack of concern about what she leaves in her wake may have finally caught up with her when she targets some valuable goods in a city with a vampire problem. Can someone so untrustworthy be relied upon when there’s undeath to deal with, or will her self interest put her in the way of both bloodsuckers and the USHAC alike?

33 Usher Street leans heavily on the public domain, and will do so much more than just in the few characters here that originated elsewhere. Some of these designs are likely to change as the story develops, but i’m just so happy to finally get them on paper!

#33 usher street #my art #sketches

20 notes · View notes

potterbite · 4 years

Text

i can only be me with you

After one of Buck’s heroics spreads all over the news, Eddie finally sees what happened above ground when he was trapped almost a year before.

On AO3.

As Buck and the team hops out of the firetruck, the rest of the station starts applauding; some are early for their shift that’s about to start, others preparing to head home. About twelve of fifteen people are just standing there, grinning at Buck.

“What - ?” Buck begins, looking to the others for some confirmation that they know what this is about. However, they all seem just as confused as he feels.

As the applauds die down, Bobby speaks up.

“What was that about?”

One of the women on the upcoming shift grins. “It’s gone viral.”

“What has?”

“The video from earlier today of Buck jumping out of that window to save the little girl.”

Oh.

At this, Hen and Chim laugh while Eddie gives him a nudge on the shoulder, muttering, “Now you’re just like Firefox.”

-----

The thing is, it’s not like he had the time to think it through before jumping out of the window on the eight floor; it was all instinct, seeing that little girl fall through it with nobody else close by to help her. But on some level, he knew he still had the harness around his middle and he trusted his team enough to fully believe they would catch that rope before it was too late.

So he flew through the crashed window barely two seconds after the screaming five year old and caught her around the waist; she was so stunned she paused her screaming. They came to an abrupt stop at the fourth floor, hanging like a couple of ragdolls, and he could’ve sworn he heard someone from up above swear loudly in spanish.

But it’s not like he thought that someone might be filming it all and uploading it to every social media plattform known to mankind or that it would be on all the big news channels less than six hours later.

He won’t lie, he kind of likes it. But he’s still exhausted by the time he pulls the key out of the ignition in the driveway. He leans his head back and closes his eyes; his phone is finally quiet, blissfully so, after ringing every three minutes since he finished work four hours ago. Granted, he did turn off sound and vibration so the quiet might be thanks to that but he doesn’t dare to look and check for number of missed calls in the last thirty minutes.

A rapt knock on the driver window makes him jump, the top of his head hitting the roof of the car with a thump and his legs slamming into the steering wheel.

He curses in pain, but still hears the muffled laughter; he flips the other person off.

“Nice one,” Eddie comments as he opens the car door. Buck just grunts in response, shaking his legs a couple of times as he climbs out.

“Don’t sneak up on a person like that.”

Eddie raises both eyebrows. “You’re sitting in my driveway. Chris heard you and wanted me to check you weren’t a murderer.”

Buck grins at this. “And he made you go alone?”

“I didn’t say it was logical. Now come on, dinner is almost ready.”

At least three or four times a week, Buck goes over to the Diaz house for dinner and to hang out with two of his favorite people. Also, ever since Eddie broke it off with Ana a few weeks back, Buck’s been afraid that Eddie might feel lonely. Whenever he asks about her though, Eddie doesn’t say much about the break up, only that it had been amicable and then he always gets this tinge of red on his cheeks that Buck absolutely does not find cute.

“Hey kiddo!” Buck calls out as they enter the house through the kitchen door.

“Bucky! You’re on TV,” Chris replies and Buck sighs, standing next to Eddie by the counter.

“I can’t look at that shit anymore,” he murmurs and the other man smirks.

“Not all it’s cracked up to be, being a celebrity?”

“I - “

“Bucky! Come see, they’re showing when you tried to save Dad, too,” Chris calls and well, Buck isn’t sure but it would seem his entire stomach flips at these words.

Eddie goes still, a frown on his face. “What’s he talking about?”

Buck will absolutely not blush. “Probably just heard him wrong.”

“Dad! It’s really cool when Bucky screams like that, come see!”

Buck straightens. “He really shouldn’t be allowed to watch the news by himself, I’ll go put a movie on.”

He takes big strides towards the living room, but before he makes it all the way Eddie swishes past him as if he’s got wings. Eddie picks up the remote and rewinds a couple of minutes. And honestly, for a man claiming he hates technology, Eddie really loves that smartTV, even though he didn’t even know he could rewind until Buck showed him (something he regrets now).

It’s not like Buck is ashamed of how he reacted that day when the ground collapsed on top of Eddie. Not really. It’s more that it feels like a pandora’s box he’s only ever opened on that day and he’s now deathly afraid of what will happen when he peeks under the lid again.

But what can he do except stand there behind the couch next to Eddie and watch as the other man finds the right moment and press play?

“Yes! Let’s watch it over and over again,” Chris claps. Buck ruffles a hand over his hair in response and the boy giggles.

“When was - ?” Eddie starts, but then he seems to recognize the farm. “Oh.”

In silence, they listen to the news anchor saying what a good guy Evan Buckley is and how he lost it when one of his own team members went under. There’s a drone shot from the moment of the collapse. A close-up on Buck’s face as he screams, and Bobby scooping him up.

Buck had known there were news teams there, of course, but he hadn’t realized they’d gotten him on camera as well. He’d ignored all reports from that day, preferring to not think about all the thousand things that could’ve gone wrong, so he’s never seen this before. But obviously, Eddie hasn’t either given the way he stares open mouthed at the screen.

When he turns his head to look at Buck, Buck just shrugs sheepishly at him.

“That was so cool, right dad?” Chris grins, and Buck sees Eddie’s face soften.

“Yeah, it was.” He looks up and meets Buck’s eyes for the fraction of a second and there’s another jolt in Buck’s stomach. “Time for dinner.”

-----

They don’t talk about what they saw on the news for the entire dinner or during the movie.

Well, Chris does bring it up one time when he turns to Buck and asks, “Would you scream like that if I disappeared too?” with honesty only a child can muster. Buck doesn’t really know what to say to this so he grins and promises that he sure would.

But even though Eddie acts normal, Buck can feel it in the air or when their eyes meet. It’s as if Eddie is screaming to say something but doesn’t want to in front of his son. Buck has no idea what that would be, because there’s no way Eddie could tell from those fast glimpses what really went on inside his head. The repeated mantra of ‘not him, not him, not him’ was not seen in his eyes, he’s sure of that.

If it were, Eddie would’ve caught on earlier. Maybe when he, Eddie, started dating Ana. Or when he broke it off with her. That fire inside of Buck’s soul dimming and glowing stronger was not visible through his eyes, because that would mean he’d lose his best friend. And that was not an option.

But he’s still nervous when it’s time for Chris to sleep; is this the last time he’ll say goodnight to Chris like this? So when the boy takes Buck’s hand and says, “Can you do it instead of Dad?” he does. Eddie stays in the doorway to Chris’ room, silently watching as Buck tucks the boy in.

“Buck?” Chris whispers so quietly Buck has to lean forward to hear.

“Yeah?” he whispers back.

Chris reaches for Buck’s face and moves it so he can whisper the words right by his ear. “I think he loves you, too.”

Buck blushes, straightening a bit. “Um, thanks buddy,” he replies, his voice still barely a whisper. He sneaks a glance at Eddie, who thankfully doesn’t appear to have heard the silent conversation. Then louder he adds, “Sleepy time.”

Chris nods happily, and has fallen asleep within three minutes of Buck reading his favorite book.

As he stands up to leave the room, Eddie enters to give Chris a kiss on the forehead. Buck stays in the living room, not sure if he should take his opportunity to leave or just get this over with so he’ll know if their friendship is ruined or not.

Before he has made up his mind, Eddie comes out and closes the door behind him. Buck opens his mouth to say something, anything, when Eddie meets his eyes and Buck sucks in a breath.

“I’ve never seen that before,” Eddie says. Buck doesn’t even question what ‘that’ is, since he can only be talking about the video of Buck screaming at the top of his lungs.

“No,” Buck says stupidly. “I suppose not.”

“I wish I had though.”

“Oh?” Buck isn’t at all sure where this conversation is going, but for some reason Eddie keeps moving closer to him, so he has no choice but to lean against the wall.

“Yeah.” Almost chest to chest.

Buck licks his lips and swallows. His stomach does another flip then, because Eddie most certainly followed that movement with his eyes.

“Why?” Buck asks even though he has difficulties concentrating when all he can think about is if Eddie can feel the beating of his heart when their chests are touching like this.

“‘cause we could’ve done this much sooner,” he replies and surges up for a kiss.

Buck gasps, and he can feel the smirk against his own lips. So as soon as his brain has caught up with what’s happening, he pushes off from the wall and flips them as some kind of revenge. He presses Eddie against it instead which makes him groans, and as his lips open Buck takes advantage of that and sneaks inside.

As they battle together and Eddie’s fingers caress his neck, Buck nudges his thigh in between Eddie’s legs and gets another groan in appreciation; Buck savors that vibration as if he’s starving.

He feels as if they should slow down, talk about what’s happening, why neither of them has said anything and what’s going to happen next. But then Eddie bites gently in his lower lip, making him moan and Eddie swallows the sound greedily.

As if it’s the most natural thing in the entire world, he starts to back Eddie into the master bedroom, closing the door with his foot once they are inside.

What the hell, they can talk tomorrow instead.

#buddie #buddie fic #911 fic #my writing

63 notes · View notes

thegothicviking · 3 years

Text

As re-entering a link from herzeleid.com never seem to work (??) I usually copy and paste the actual text. Remember a transcription of Flake chatting with fans that I posted from early 00'? Before this Paul had a similar if not the same chat. I have already too long post in tumblr now so it will be broken down in 2 parts!

PAUL CHAT WITH FANS part I

Transcribed by Jeremy Williams

Taken from Rammstein.com chat

October 26 , 2005

_____________________________

Mod: Hello to you all. Thanks for coming out. Paul will be here in just a few minutes. And then we're going to get started.

Paul: Let's go!

niti: +++

Mod: Sorry, there was a technical problem. But the chat will start soon.

niti: +++

**atomrt: how do you chose the sounds for each song because all of them fit perfectly?**

Paul: Thanks a lot! Sometimes that works out well, sometimes not so well.+++

**maria: Your album covers have always sparked a lot of controversy. Which cover is your favourite and why?**

Paul: The cover for Sehnsucht was the most dramatic in my opinion.+++

**Benzramm: What was coming out of the fake penis during the live act "Bück Dich"? **

Paul: That was water with Ouzo to make it milky.+++

**Beurgueur: Good evening, Have you ever thought to write a metal-opera based on rammstein’ story?**

Paul: Hopefully not. We have enough theater elements already.+++

**MafiUndomiel: I was at River Plate Stadium in Argentina, 1999, when you toured with KISS. You did almost surpassed KISS music and show with your impact, and many people was really impressed. I still remember the silence during Du Hast, as Till was singing the refrain. What do you remember of Argentina, of this show? **

Paul: Yeah, that was unbelievable. It's a shame that we can't play in South America this time. Flake was seriously ill.+++

**MafiUndomiel: Did Till write Te Quiero Puta on his own, or had some kind of external help? I know it's not very complicated, nor elaborated in the lyrics, but it's not easy to put two or three sentences together if you don't know the language... believe me! I'm still trying with German!**

Paul: He had some help from his girlfriend and from Flake's friend from Chile.

Paul: But Till can already speak Spanish so well that he only had a few questions about grammar.+++

**monkeyman: What type of gear do you use when recording in the studio?**

Paul: This would take two hours to list. Too much for now. Sorry.+++

**Hugo: Why did you choose almost the same cover for the japanese version of Reise, Reise and Rosenrot? **

Paul: Because we thought it would be a shame to use the cover only for the Japanese edition.+++

**MafiUndomiel: There are many bands that edited DVD and VHS with the footage they got when they recorded their albums, the creative process and all that stuff. Since many R+ fans are really interested in knowing "Rammstein's kitchen", have you considered releasing something of that kind?

** Paul: I filmed some of the footage during Reise, Reise and it will come out sometime on a DVD as bonus material.+++

**blastedop: What happened to Live DVD? It was delayed? **

Paul: Yeah a little bit, but we're going to try to do it this year.+++

**MafiUndomiel: I wanted to know how did you put your setlists together when you go to a country you've never been... you mix old and new material, or you prefer to show your new material above all, and play only the "classics"? **

Paul: We play a mix of both old and new.+++

**Jenna: As you are possibly the most successful band from Germany (singing in German) that you are expected to represent German music and culture to the rest of the world? **

Paul: It was never our plan to play all over the world.

Paul: Sometimes we wonder ourselves how this all happened.+++

**beurgueur: what american film director would you enjoy to make a ckip with **

Paul: Tarantino.+++

**Benzramm: Did you ever get hurt when you were working with fire on the live acts ? **

Paul: Sometimes.+++

**aeon: One Rammstein member said you had a movie project with Werner Herzog. Do you think this project will be carried out and would you like to act in something different from Rammstein videos ? **

Paul: It's been awhile with WErner herzog. Maybe it will work out, there's still a plan to do it.

Paul: +++

**Rammsteinizied: Dear Paul: What is your favorite live performance effect? (like the flamethrowes in Feuer frei or the bow in DRSG) **

Paul: The nose flame throwers that we use in Feuer frei!+++

**MafiUndomiel: Which was your first guitar? Do you still own it? **

Paul: It was a Telecaster copy. A cheap one. I gave away my first guitars at an auction for a good cause. No idea whether it worked out.+++

**Straya: This has been in my mind for a while now, and I must ask. From the sample songs on the official site, it seems Rosenrot might be your 'hardest/loudest' albums, the songs seem 'hard', in a way, like Ich Will, Feuer Frei, and Mein Teil; what do you think of this? **

Paul: I don't think so. There are fewer sequences so the guitars come out better.+++

**Synthema: Do you still feel that being in Rammstein is almost like being in a six-way marriage? Does the band still function as a tight a unit or have things drifted apart? **

Paul: Yeah.

Paul: We're still together. Knock on wood. We've been together for 10 years and now that we've gone through our crisis, we feel better than ever.

Paul: We've got money, success, beautiful women and all the rest.

Paul: Things can only get worse.+++

**Jenna: Do you think your videos help to stop you taking yourselves too seriously? **

Paul: We've always taken ourselves less seriously than many people think. our best friends know this.

Paul: At the moment, we don't feel like making any humouress videos.+++

**whiskeypapa: When writing a song, how many/what kinds of revisions does the song go through before finally making it onto an album? **

Paul: Some songs make it out directly as we conceived them. With other songs, we make 20 versions and they still don't make it.

Paul: +++

**Noora: HI! I'm a fashion and design student from Finland and I was wondering about your stage costumes...How much do you participate in the designing and making of the outfits that you use on your tours? I understand that every album has its own look. Do you first design the outline of the look as a band and hen consult a designer and maker? Thanx and welcome back to Finland! :)**

Paul: Most ideas come directly from the band. For the last outfit, we had the idea to combine Bavarian folkloric outfits with industrial.

Paul: Because Bavarian folklore is not very cool and we like to mix things that you're not supposed to.+++

**Beurgueur: Have you ever thought in what your life would be now if rammstein never was created?**

Paul: No. We don't think that way.+++

**minx: It’s been stated in several interviews that the band has two pyromaniacs in the group, but is there anyone who is not so fond of fire?**

Paul: Everybody in the band has a different specialty.

Paul: Each of us is really equally important.

Paul: It doesn'T matter what each does, it could be better when two are on vacation during preparation and actually help us to make a good video this way.+++

**Badeend: Who thinks of the titles of the cd's? Is it some kind of democraty or is it 1 man that decides?**

Paul: We make the decision as a group but it's not really a democracy. More like a board of directors.+++

**Biz: How have older industrial bands (such as Laibach or KMFDM) influenced you?**

Paul: A lot.

Paul: Also Ministry.+++

**minx: What is the oily black/brown liquid that you are all covered with on stage? Is it a fire retardant liquid?**

Paul: No.

Paul: That's a secret.+++

**minx: Why did you wear a paper bag over your head at the concert in Tallin, last November?**

Paul: I wanted to display an Iraqi prisoner.

Paul: There's a photo of a guy behind barbed wire and he's holding his son but he has a bag on his head.

Paul: That photo really had an impact on me.+++

**aeon: Why do you only do signing sessions in London and Paris? Why not in other big cities f Europe or even Germany? Or is anything planned? **

Paul: Actually we've only planned for Paris. London snuck in at the last minute.

Paul: I don't know any more signing sessions details right now.+++

**Badeend: Did you take gitar lessons or did you teach it on your self?**

Paul: Self-taught.

Paul: +++

**minx: I am going to be at the signing in London on Sunday. Do you enjoy doing those types of promotional events or are they just ‘hard work’?**

Paul: Sometimes it's a lot of fun but other times it can be exhausting.+++

**Synthema: It could be said that the "Rosenrot" photos are quite a departure image-wise from what one would expect from the band. Was this something that was decided by the band for a particular reason, or is this the sort of decision that is out of your hands? Does your management or record label have much control over how you present yourselves, or is that left to you?**

Paul: We don't like to repeat ourselves.

Paul: Usually the band always has the last word on these amtters. But weR'e not always interested in all of the details.+++

**Badeend: What is the new instrument you used in the song Te Quiero Puta?**

Paul: Trumpet.+++

**beurgueur: do you think you'll be on stage again when you'll be 60? (like rolling stones for example...)**

Paul: Hopefully somebody will die first. Then we won'T have to worry about that.+++

**minx: Do you do you all do own make-up for the shows?**

Paul: Yes.+++

**OK-River: Will Rammstein play again "Bück Dich" in a concert, or it is something of the past?**

Paul: I wouldn't say no.+++

**blastedop: Rosenrot is so diferent from Reise Reise. How is this possible if these songs are from Reise Reise recording season?**

Paul: I don'T think so. Listen to the whole album.+++

**Benzramm: Are you a sort of scared when flake is going with his boat in the public ? **

Paul: No.

Paul: But it was always Oli last year.+++

**whiskeypapa: Which of your songs invokes the most emotion from you?**

Paul: Seemann.+++

**MsBehaviour: Greetings from Finland and good evening! My question is, you have been playing together as a band for quite a many years now, and there is a big difference in the sound of Herzeleid and the sound of Reise Reise. Does this "evolution" come naturally to you, or do you make conscious decisions as to where to direct your sound? How do you feel about the change?**

Paul: There are some of us who want to stay the same.

Paul: There's some of us who want to always change.

Paul: These parties fight each other and the result is a new album or a black eye.+++

**MafiUndomiel: Have you heard a cover version of Keine Lust made by a Russian guy called Miguel? What did you think about it?**

Paul: Not yet, unfortunately.+++

**Badeend: Do you have a private jet or do you have to rent a plane?**

Paul: When the record company pays, we fly Business. When we have to pay, it'S Tourist class. Sometimes, when the connections are difficult, we rent a litlle jet.+++

**luna: First "Snow White" now "Rose Red". Do the members of Rammstein have a fondness for fairytales?**

Paul: Who doesn't?+++

**Synthema: Do you still enjoy performing live after all these years, or is it more of a chore now?**

Paul: If we didn't like it, we wouldn't have been around so long.+++

**Benzramm: Is there a double meaning in the songtexts of your songs ? **

Paul: Yeah. But the subtleties and double-meanings get lsot in translation.+++

**Badeend: What is your favorite song or cd?**

Paul: Kill Bill 1.+++

**DRS2G: Is "Hilf Mir" inspired by a Heinrich Hoffmann's tale?!**

Paul: Yes.+++

**Synthema: Have you ever felt that the success of Rammstein has been a negative thing for you in your personal life? That it makes it difficult to decide who to trust and who not to?**

Paul: It is difficult to stay normal despite money and success.

Paul: We fight this on a daily battle but we usually win.+++

**Beurgueur: from a viewer: what guitar do you use for your c tuning, and what guitar does richard use for this?**

Paul: I play a Gibson Les Paul and Richard plays ESP guitars.+++

**Benzramm: Did you really go to the mountains for the videoclip "Ohne Dich"?**

Paul: Yes. The was the funnest video of them all.

Paul: The thin air up there was difficult.

Paul: I'm impressed by mountain climbers who go even higher.

Paul: It was difficult for our crew and us.+++

**MafiUndomiel: how did you and richard decided who was going to be lead and who rythm guitars?**

Paul: Good question.

Paul: We're both stubborn.

Paul: It's a fight every time but we're still doing alright up to now.

Paul: Actually, the winner is supposed to be the one who plays the best solo.+++

**Badeend: Do you still have to take guitar lessons to play better?**

Paul: No.+++

**blastedop: Do you visit fansites? How about a Top 10 Fansites in the official page?**

Paul: From time to time.+++

**Badeend: Why did you pick just that girl for the Texas vocal in Stirb nich vor Mir?**

Paul: It was our producer's idea.+++

**MafiUndomiel: Paul, is there any country that you´d like to visit or going on tour, and you haven´t yet? Why?**

Paul: Yes, we would love to go to Turkey, Mongolia, Iraq. We know we've got lots of fans there.+++

**Jenna: Which current musicians (Not youselves, I'm sorry) do you think are creating the best work at the moment?**

Paul: System of a Down, Muse, Snoop Doggy Dog, Eminem, Slip Knot, etc.+++

**Rammsteinizied: Dear Paul, How do you feel about us fans?**

Paul: It's an honour.+++

**Minx: Do you have a favourite guitar part in a particular song you really enjoy?**

Paul: +++

**DRS2G: Will "Rosenrot" be the 2nd single from your new album?!**

Paul: Yes.+++

**Straya: I'm wondering how this question has not come up yet... but, plenty of people are asking if you guys will tour in America and Canada. I don't mean for this to be one of those annoying questions. But, has anything be talked about?**

Paul: I'm certain that we'll tour North and South America with our next album.+++

**rammsteinuk: I read in a recent interview that there were some arguments within the band during the production of 'Mutter'. Have there been any more strong disagreements like this since?

**Paul: Thankfully not. There's always stress when six stubborn people meet, but nothing serious.+++

**minx: Most influential musician on yourself?**

Paul: Laibach, Ministry, Metallica, Nirvana.+++

**blastedop: Did you like Benzin video? Schneider didnt.**

Paul: I don't think it's that bad.

Paul: We've had three really good videos in a row, so it'S hard to keep the standards so high.

Paul: I'm glad that there's some variation, next time we'll improve.+++

**whiskeypapa: First, Reise Reise saw a "country moment" with Los, and now Rosenrot has Te Quiero Puta. If you could make a fusion of Rammstein and any other world music (for fun), what would it be?**

Paul: Yes, I interested in all combinations of things that don'T fit together.+++

**Biz: Are there any downsides to being famous?**

Paul: We're famous but we can still buy groceries in Berlin without bodyguards.

Paul: We've got nothing to complain about.

Paul: Our band is famous around the world but we still have normal lives, thank God.+++

**minty: Paul are you looking forward to the world cup next year? who will win?**

Paul: Yes. It doesn'T look good for Germany right now.

Paul: I hope that a miracle happens.+++

**aeon: Do you hope your music will still be appreciated in many years from now or it doesn't matter to you ?**

Paul: I think that we're relatively timeless.

Paul: But that'S probably what every band thinks and two years later nobody cares ...+++

**DRS2G: Was it good to be directed by Jonas Akerlund?!**

Paul: Yes, he's just a cool guy.+++

#I have had this in my draft since forever #I'm sorry if I have already posted this #paul landers #rammstein interview #rammstein #christoph schneider

51 notes · View notes

jinxedpanda4life · 4 years

Text

Criminal Investigator AU HC

I would first like to start off by saying thank you to everyone.

I honestly did not expect the response I got to my Damirae Hospital AU HC list.

When I first woke up and checked tumblr ~13 hours after posting I had a holy shit moment.

I felt powerful, should I? Probably not.

But! Since I am noticing a lack of AUs in the fandom, whether on Tumblr, AO3 or FanFiction.net, whatever AU comes to my mind I shall jot down some hcs for!

Thank you all once again!

(Also trying format changes for easy reading)

(Also Also, I am thinking the story is less fluid but more episodic)

Let’s get started:

- So I’m thinking this is some FBI, SVU, and FBI BAU mixture or whatever. Basically all the great shows we know in love shoved together. From Bones to Criminal Minds and everything in between.

- Special Agent (Dr.) Raven Roth is a lead interrogator and is the resident psych consult.

She’s been educated in interrogation, behavioral science, psychology, forensic pathology, and criminology.

She has combat training (hand to hand), she carries (for her job) a gun and at all times has a knife/dagger on her person (people have stopped trying to figure out where she keeps them).

Her father was/is crime boss T. Trigon who is currently imprisoned.

Was born in the states but fled with her mother to Romania when she was a newborn.

When Trigon found them he killed Arella and took Raven, she was abut 9 - 10 years old.

She took her mother’s last name when she turned 18.

Knows two languages besides English; French, Romanian, Romani (various dialects but knows multiple), Greek and Latin

On more than one occasion some goon of her father’s tries to recruit her, every time she kicks their ass. (Damian was there for the most recent (he was still green though))

Lives by herself in a decent sized apartment, has a gun safe (gun safety is important!), a cat (Nevermore), and is a regular at a 24/7 bookstore &/ cafe

Can usually be found wearing some kind of jacket, sweater, cardigan

She once helped save some kids (Melvin, Tommy & Teether) and is now their surrogate aunt, she has photos of them at her desk @ work. (Damian assumes/ed that they were her kids)

She also, when she can, hangs out and babysits them on occasion.

Raven is part of a team consisting of Dick Grayson (unit leader), Kori Anders, Garfield Logan, Jaime Reyes, and very recently Damian Wayne

- Special Agent Damian Wayne is a lead investigator (he is still a bit fresh to the unit), translator, sniper and combat coordinator

He’s been educated in martial arts, explosives, hand to hand combat, close range combat, and combat (basically he knows how to kill you 9 ways to Sunday), also, behavioral science, computer science, criminology, linguistics and language.

He can easily translate (into English): Arabic, Mandarin Chinese, Russian, Hindi, Bengali, French, Polish, German, Spanish, Portuguese, he can also learn any language you put in front of him and know the basics within a day

(Having lived in many places around the world he needed to be able to speak and understand in order to survive) (wow dramatic much?)

His father is currently the director (or deputy director, whatever floats ya boat) of the FBI.

His mother was essentially a secret agent who worked for various agencies around the globe. (deceased)

His grandfather was the leader of a, um, well to be honest, terrorist agency. (deceased)

Was sent to live with his father when he was 15 (when his mother died) and has been in the states ever since

Lives alone, he has an upscale apartment that he truthfully spends little time in, has multiple locations in the home where various weapons are stored, his place has a very cold atmosphere

Is either in proper work attire or in work out clothing, there is no in between

Tries and fails not to take work home with him

He sees a therapist (who says he should probably try investing in relationships with the people at his job)

His only “friend” (he hates calling him that, more like close acquaintance) is Jonathan Kent who was in his class at the FBI Academy, Jon works in a white collar crime department in Metropolis

The only person he actually kind of sort of doesn’t dislike is in fact Raven Roth, she’s a no bull shit person, he likes that

He may know Grayson because of how he’s Bruce’s kind of son but it does not mean he likes him

He finds Logan annoying as all hell, even if he is somewhat useful

He picked a fight with Reyes first day and regretted it (he will never admit that), he respects him

Anders is overly friendly in his opinion, kind of acts like a secretary with all that positivity and grates his nerves, he tolerates her

(Unlike last time I am not going in detail about the rest of the team, this will be brief)

- Supervisory Special Agent Dick Grayson (Unit Chief) is basically Dick Grayson with a big fancy title but all the same skills

He is also obsessed with Slade Wilson and Red X (who is Jason in this)

- Supervisory Special Agent Kori Anders is a lead investigator and is also a go to for undercover work

- Special Agent Garfield Logan is a lead interrogator, is head of the unit’s K-9 unit and kind of has a thing for Roth (which she does not reciprocate)

- Special Agent Jaime Reyes is a tactical analyst, tech analyst and is head of the unit’s SWAT team, he does not do well with talking with people, or change

The Scarab is a computing program that Jaime created himself

STORY START:

- When Damian first joins the team there is another member, Special Agent Terra Markov, she is revealed as a sleeper agent but she aligns herself with the team and sadly is shot and killed in a fire fight

- A couple weeks after Agent Markov’s death everyone is talking about what they are doing for an upcoming holiday, Damian says probably nothing, Raven invites him to spend it with her and her “niece” and “nephews,” he declines

- About a day after the holiday Damian is home looking through case files when someone knocks on his door

-- It is Raven. He asks how she knew where he lived, she says she asked Dick, she also says that she knows how it feels to be alone and that he may be insufferable but it doesn’t mean he can’t have a friend

-- His response is saying he isn’t the kind to make friends with co workers

-- “I’m not asking to be your friend Damian, I am asking you to be his,” She reveals a small black great dane puppy “I know that other people aren’t really your thing, but having someone in your corner and waiting for you is always nice, even if it isn’t human.”

-- Damian invites her in, names the dog Titus and thanks her

-- “Just make sure no one tries to kidnap and kill you, we don’t need you to go full blown John Wick.” Damian has no idea who that is. Raven tells him it is an action movie series that he should watch. She leaves. He does watch them that night with Titus on his lap. (after having gone to the local pet supply store to get everything he needs) The action is inaccurate but he enjoyed the movies none the less, and decides that he probably would go into John Wick mode if someone hurt Titus.

- SA Roth and SA Wayne are sent to a high security federal prison to interrogate a prisoner, who refuses to speak

-- When they get into the interview room the prisoner does start to speak, but not in English and not in a language Damian is fluent in

-- Raven on the other hand immediately responds to the prisoner (shocking the prisoner and Damian) “He is speaking Romani though not the dialect of those overseas, he learned it here.”

-- Damian is fascinated by it and they are essentially switching roles the entire time

-- They leave having successfully interviewing the prisoner, and Raven leaves behind a written list of common words in Romani so that they can possibly communicate with the prisoner better

-- As soon as they are on the plane back Damian asks her a myriad of questions from “How many languages do you know?” to “When did you learn that?” and even “Are you a spy? Sleeper agent? Part of a terrorist cell?”

-- “Not as many as you, when I was a child, if I was part of any of that you wouldn’t be asking.” The rest of the trip is spent with her teaching him Romani and even some Romanian

- Dick & Kori eventually get together and after a while they break up. Kori takes some vacation time. At the same Dick has been temporarily reassigned to another unit.

-- Chaos ensues

-- Garfield thinks he should be the interim unit chief, Jaime thinks the same, as does, you guessed it, Damian (Raven doesn’t want to she is comfortable with her role on the team)

-- In the end they are assigned an interim unit chief, SSA Jason Todd, who usually works overseas on covert op missions (not gonna lie this could easily flow into a Jayrae thing)

-- Everyone kind of falls into line, except Damian, Damian doesn’t like him for two reasons

1) He doesn’t act serious about the job 24/7

2) He has been flirting and hitting on Raven the moment he stepped into their sector

-- Damian hates the names he gives her; “Little Bird,” “Sunshine,” “Princess,” “Rae,” (no one calls her Rae, not even Garfield, at least not after the incident) etc.

-- (Little does Damian know, Jason and Raven have worked together before and are actually friends)

-- This all comes to a head when Damian and Jason are the only ones still in the office after a tiring case.

“You shouldn’t do that you know.”

“Do what? All I am doing right now is contemplating where Grayson keeps the liquor.”

“Call Raven all those names, she doesn’t like it.”

“Really? Because if you haven’t noticed she hasn’t exactly asked me to stop.”

“She gets uncomfortable, maybe not to the extent of asking you to stop, but she tenses up and her body language becomes slightly more agitated.”

“You seem to pay a lot of attention in how she reacts to thinks baby brat. Seems to me that you like her.”

“Of course I like her, she is a good friend and reliable teammate.”

“No, you like like her.”

“That presumption is juvenile.”

“But you don’t deny it.”

“Tch.”

-- If anything after that conversation Jason seems to doubled his advances. Which confuses both Damian and Raven. Damian because it is inappropriate and HR will be hearing about this. Raven because she was under the assumption that she and Jason were just friends. (Jason actually does have genuine intentions but is like 60% just egging Damian on)

-- Eventually (far too long for Damian’s tastes), both Dick and Kori return. At first it is sooooooo awkward. Like mom and dad divorced have shared custody but don’t hate each other but also cannot look each other in the eye. ((Was that a mouthful? Good)) No one can really look at each other the same? Though they do have a meeting to sort it out, get everything out in the open.

- Raven’s annual kidnapping/attempt to convert her/torture comes almost exactly one year after Damian joined the team (this is his 2nd time dealing with this)

-- This time Damian is prepared. By prepared I mean Raven doesn’t even leave her apartment before she is taken to safety.

“Damian what is going on?”

“Christmas came early this year that’s what.”

“Christmas? What in gods name are you talking about.”

“God has no dealings in this matter.”

“You do realize you are sounding like a bad action movie? It is not even 6 am and I am in your car going somewhere, I have had little to no sleep and I am barely dressed. What is going on?” Damian hadn’t payed attention to what clothing Raven was wearing. His mind was on one goal. Find Raven, keep Raven safe. His eyes glanced off the road enough to realize she was indeed not properly dressed. Her body was merely adorned with an oversized tee-shirt, tiny barely there shorts and a pair of fluffy socks.

“I apologize, it appears in my haste I did not leave you time to properly clothe yourself. As to why you are here, it seems your father and his people have shortened their waiting time this year from one year to a little more than ten months.” Ravens hands fisted her shirt. “This time I was prepared,” last time he was still new to everything, last time he made mistakes, this time there will be no mistakes. “Since our last encounter with your demon, so to speak, I have been setting in place precautions and safety measures to ensure Nevermore and yours’ safety. I have also been tracking the movements of his big players. If any came close I would mark it down. Multiple are entering the city at this moment. Seeing as you we taken last time I have made plans to ensure that will not happen again.” The car made a snap turn down an unfamiliar street pulling Raven from her clouded gaze.

“So I am going to be okay this time?” Her voice was faint and restraining against hope.

“You’re going to be okay.” His hand lightly held hers. Only to stop the shaking, they told themselves, only to make everything better. “Nevermore is with Titus at my place being watched by a friend of mine. I have already walked Grayson through everything we will not be expected at work this week, but we can work remotely.”

“We?”

“I’m not going to leave you. Ever.”

-- ((Sorry for the blocks of text))

-- As Raven finds out they are at one of Damian’s safe houses. The one least likely to be tied to her. It is fully stocked with food, has security cameras and if needed weapons. The only problem is that the only clothes there are Damians.

“Thought of everything huh?”

“I was following their pattern, I expected to have more time to acquire clothing for you.” (he was looking away and blushing, you cannot tell me he wasn’t)

-- Raven just resigns herself to wearing Damian’s clothes, yes his brain does stop working for a hot second when he sees her in only his clothes.

-- All attempts to try and retrieve codename: Gem of Scath are foiled (like some good math)

-- So many bonding moments happen. Cuddling (pure accident *rolls eyes*), eating together, inside jokes, etc. At one point Damian answers her phone (he disabled and disconnected the tracer) to one of the mob guys after them.

“Hello?”

“You can hide the gem but we will find her.”

“I’m sorry, is there a jewel you are looking for? I don’t think I have and any jewels that I am coveting.”

“We know you are with her! It is but a matter of time until we collect her.”

“I hope you do eventually find whatever you are looking for sir, but I haven’t the slightest idea the gem you speak of. If you could give me a physical description? Is it a ruby, diamond, onyx? Is it round or more of a pear shape?”

“...”

“Well, I will look for it here, but I do not believe I possess what you speak of. Will you give me your number so I can call you back?” (The line cuts dead, and Raven can be seen laughing in the background, the phone was on speaker)

-- Once the team tracks down, arrests and interrogates all of the parties working for Trigon; Raven and Nevermore can go home. Though both are reluctant in their own way. Nevermore has grown attached to Titus, and Raven well Raven has feelings. Sadly, as Raven knows, feelings are dangerous to have in their line of work.

-- Look at Dick and Kori they were together and then they fell apart and the team almost imploded.

-- What about Trigon if he finds out about Damian and how she feels towards him? What kind of danger will he be in then?

-- Like all of her feelings Raven puts them in a box and locks the box away. Not just figuratively, in her safe there is a box with: post its, torn papers, journals, etc. That box has a lock on it. Whenever she has a new feeling that she cannot ignore, like her feelings towards Special Agent Wayne, she takes out the box and writes her feelings down. They can range from a single sentence to pages worth. (Her feelings towards Damian fill a small notebook she has on hand). Once she has written all of her feelings out she places them in the box, locks said box and then places the locked box in her safe, which she then locks.

-- Is this a healthy way to cope with her feelings? Maybe not. But, it is way better than how Damian deals with his. Violence. Also art but violence comes first.

- At this point both Damian and Raven have caught the feelings (highly contagious I hear), which makes this a little awkward and a little not awkward. For one everyone but Raven knows how Damian feels towards her. He does things for her and with her that no one else gets the privilege to.

-- To list a few:

--- He brings her tea whenever he gets himself coffee or tea

--- He talks to her about what he does outside of work, even about his kind of friend definitely not enemy, Jon.

--- They socialize outside of work. Watching bad movies (some of them are not that bad), going to the park with Titus (they once got Nevermore in a leash and walked her), meeting each other before and after work to get breakfast or dinner.

--- He doesn’t glare at her

--- He allows physical contact between the two

--- He worries about her (hello he created an entire plan so that she wouldn’t get kidnapped, with contingencies and everything, garfield would be lucky to get a plan)

--- His eyes light up when she talks, or enters a room, or you know exists in his vicinity

--- He actually smiles around her (Dick caught him smiling once at Raven and he though Damian was having a stroke)

-- Even though everyone knows Damian likes Raven, very few know that Raven likes Damian back. (this only includes; Kori, Dick, Jason, Titus, Nevermore, and Melvin) She does do certain things that give herself away just like Damian.

--The list:

--- When Damian gets frustrated or angry she puts a hand on his arm, or holds his hand

--- She laughs at things he does (light chuckles, or little giggles)

--- She will talk to him about his interests and actively tries to have conversations with him about things unrelated to work.

--- She blushes when he does something unexpected (like a compliment)((Mostly she tries to hide it until he isn’t looking at her))(((Kori has caught the blush before)))

-- Luckily for them it does not take some cliche ‘One suddenly becomes in danger and the other one saves them only to be close to death and then they admit their love for one another and promise to go on a date when the other is healed’ situation.

-- Damian actually asks Raven out after being tipped of by Jason and Dick that she may like him back. Damian finds out when they have days off at the same time and asks her while leaving work.

“Raven, you have this weekend off correct?”

“Yeah I do. I wasn’t planning on doing anything though. Did you have something in mind?”

“Um, yeah, heh, I was wondering if you would do me the pleasure of going to dinner with me tomorrow.” *Awkwardly rubs back of neck*

“Like a date or two friends going to dinner?” *Thinks she sounds harsh* “I am honestly fine with either since we are friends.” *nervous smile*

“Like a date if that is okay with you of course.”

“Yeah, yeah totally that is totally okay with me.” *Starts sounding like a teenage girl who only knows about 10 words, because she’s nervous*

“Good, I’ll be by your place around 1830, if that is okay?” *nerve central, the central nervous system could never*

“Yup that is totally fine with me.”

“Great.”

“Good.” The elevator opens in the knick of time.

“See you tomorrow evening Agent Roth. Have a good night.”

“You too, Agent Wayne, you too.”

-- When Damian does pick her up he feels like his brain is going to explode. She looks absolutely breathtaking. This is just like all the other times they’ve gone to dinner, except this restaurant is slightly fancier and they are on a date.

-- Raven feels as though all her emotions are leaking out at once, she has no idea what she is doing.

-- In the end they have a good time and decide to do it again. Damian does bring up that all of the breakfasts and dinners they regularly do could now be considered dates. Raven does not oppose that switch at all.

- Fast forward a handful of years (like 3?), Damian and Raven are moved in together (Nevermore and Titus are happy about this, they even allow the humans to adopt another pet, a cat named Alfred). Damian is now Supervisory Special Agent Wayne and is in charge of their unit. Raven has retired from field work and now works at the FBI academy and at Virginia State University. In about 6 months Damian is going to propose and Raven will say yes. Their wedding will be small but happy and full of life.

Once again I would like to thank everyone and all the support the previous post got.

Like last time if anything is disjointed, out of place or seems wrong, please go ahead and tell me. I have been working on this since the last one, but have finally had the time to finish it.

I hope the new year will bring us all some good. Possibly more head canons to come.

#damirae #Damian Wayne #raven #Rachel Roth #damian x raven #Teen Titans #Headcanon #How do tags work #dc #demonbirds

71 notes · View notes

too-scared-to-do-this · 4 years

Text

Prestige

Chapter one - Welcome to Weltingston Heights

Sanders side fanfiction

Idea by: @hestianerd1

Wordcount: 1094

Pairings: so far the main one is prinxiety :)

TW: cursing and some hostility, but let me know if I've missed any! :3

The summery of the whole story: Prestige. Such a simple construct. All you have to do is act the way you want people to perceive you, keep up the image, wear a big proud smile and never ever dare make a mistake. That’s why Weltingston Heights University is such a well known school. Everybody knows that anyone who got in must have some prestige tied to their name. Educational records, family history, or even literal fame. So why not treat students the same way? Because what’s a little more pressure on their young and strong bones?

But prestige and image are precious things. You slip up even the tiniest bit, step out of the line you drew for yourself and it’s all gone. So now that the pressure is on, and everyone already knows their place in this small circle of society, only one question remains. How far are they willing to go to keep the false image up?

(Or: Very over-dramatically with a noticeable amount of sarcastic undertone: "Oh my god! They were roommates!")

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

Chapter one - Welcome to Weltingston heights

The halls were packed. So packed in fact, Virgil barely had space to move around. And that rarely was the case!

Usually, people just cleared a path for him - not wanting to catch a disease or something he presumed (rumors are so stupid). Mostly, people just feared him.

When you’re growly all the time, with a hoodie on, head low and headphones on, people tend to react that way. And the makeup and dark clothing probably didn’t help either.

Either way, they usually ran the moment they saw him.

But not today - no! This day out of all the days they could’ve chosen - they chose to not scatter. The filthy glory of move-in day.

Welcome to Waltingston Heights.

This day was already a nightmare. And yet another new room and roommate on top of it and Virgil was ready to throw himself over the ledge. He clutched his box to his chest and swallowed hard.

Just breath Virgil. You’re almost there. Count your steps. - he thought.

Room 223… 227… 234…

Room 236. Finally.

A quick (and very clumsy) fumble with the keys and Virgil was shutting the doors behind him. Hard and fast - falling against cold hard wood in the darkness.

Thank God for the hot weather outside - the staff had to close the curtains to protect the rooms at least a little from the boiling sun. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Two more trips to his car. He can do that. Obviously, he can.

…

But maybe he’ll unpack this box first. People might just thin out in that time.

And so, V took of his backpack, forced his legs to work and took a good look of the room.

Not too big, but bigger than what he had at home. One bathroom and a small kitchen of to the side. This pretty much supplied as a small apartment - just like the exact same looking once from previous years. It was suitable. Livable in.

Now, only if the roommate situation was the same.

It wasn’t the question of who, honestly, but rather why anyone at all? He did go to headmaster Berry with this, but that helped nothing. The man lacks empathy and that’s all he’ll ad.

Dropping the box on one of the beds (right side. Always the one under the window.) he started pulling out pieces of identical clothing and neatly folding them away into the drawers. Setting up a small table-lamp, an alarm clock. Dealing with the bed sheets.

Pushing the box aside, he fell onto his new bed. Home for the next two months max.

It didn’t matter who the roommate was, they always eventually requested him moved. Without fail. (Those days the old man decided to show some empathy - how convenient.) But they were in the right - he didn’t blame them. Didn’t like them as much, either.

He had to get up and go get those other boxes. He knew it. But he didn’t really want to leave the safety of the quiet room… And his idiotic ass also left his headphones in the car… Okay. Deep breath.

It was on his third trip back - the last one thankfully - when the students finally started thinning out. No more stupid elbowing through crowds, no more unwanted bumping or pushing. Not nearly enough space yet, but better.

Balancing the box in one hand, he reached out for the door handle. He was about to push the door open when it got yanked, pulling V with it.

Laud laughter and chatting filled the anxious boy’s ears. “Oh my, I’m so sorry! Are you alright?”

“Obviously.” he grunted elbowing his way into the room. Plopping his box down, he turned to actually face the guy he had to spend the two weeks with (didn’t give it longer).

And god, out of all the people in this school, it had to be this guy. He hated this situation. Eyelids lowered, mouth a thin line, Virgil growled. “You.”

“The one and only. Roman Velez.” the other bowed with a grin. A young girl behind him giggled at the sight and said something in Spanish, which made the actor grin even wider. “And you, dark and broody, must be my new roommate.”

“Not for long hopefully.” V grunted, turning back to his boxes and starting unpacking again.

Was it really too much to ask for some quiet and piece this year?

“I didn’t catch your name, emo.”

“That’s ‘cus I didn’t say it, dumbass.”

“Such pristine vocabulary. I just asked to be polite, anyways. I know you’re Virgil Reat. Everybody knows that.”

Virgil was just about to quip back when a completely shocked high-pitched voiced beat him to it. “That is him?!” the girl squawked.

Roman immediately fixed her with a glare. “Shut up, Cas. Go help dad.”

His sister was the best thing in the world, but she just could not keep her mouth shut. “Oh my god! Ro! You-“

“Now.”

“Wait till dad hears about this!” and she was gone, evil giggle fading with distance. Leaving the two boys in the not-so-small room.

Roman looked back at the short bundle of unhappiness and wondered what went wrong in the board-members heads to assign them as roommates. But he couldn’t say that out loud, now could he. So, he went with the next best thing - when in doubt, wear a smile and act friendly. “You don’t have much decoration.”

Virgil just razed an eyebrow. Then gestured at Romans’s side of the room. The man had literal toys everywhere. Glittery letters, a plush unicorns and bunch of stuff from plays he assumed. Like that sword hanging on the wall over there. Were they even allowed to bring weapons (no matter if fake) to school? “There wouldn’t be no place to put it with all the shit you brought.”

“Well, I’ll let you know, these things are not ‘shit’. They hold emotional value. And at least I’m not afraid to express myself.”

“And that’s exactly why most people find you annoying.” and with that (and a very cruel, obviously fake, polite smile), the box was tossed to the ground and V’s big black noise-canceling headphones were finally on his head. Blasting whatever his crappy phone would offer at that exact moment.

Roman was left staring at the rude little leprechaun laying on his bed. Ignoring him!

“Hey!” he called out. But V only turned the volume up and closed his eyes.

Roman scoffed in disbelief. “Welcome back to Weltingston, I guess.”

This is going to be a fun year.

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

Welcome to a new series! I hope you'll enjoy it <3

(Also, I wrote Roman Spanish because I just love the concept, but I don't really speak or know much, and I really don't want to come of as offensive! That's the last thing I want... So if anybody out there is kindhearted enough to help me correct anything that might seem off or with some correct translations into Spanish in later chapters, I'd really appreciate the help! (I don't trust google translate with something like this XD) I really don't mean to make anybody uncomfortable, and if this helps me prevent it, than I'd be very grateful! Thank you <3)

#prestige #roman sanders #virgil sanders #prinxiety #ts roman #creativity sanders #ts virgil #anxiety sanders #thomas sanders #sander's sides #what else should I tag?#very scary tiny V #very lovely tall Ro

36 notes · View notes

cxrsedmoon · 3 years

Text

𝔽𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕤 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕃𝕪𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕤

They have very warm skin, it’s like they’re practically built for cold weather. It’s also thicker than most skin and harder to pierce with typical weapons.

Their eyes can be any color but when they are feeling any sort of emotion particularly strongly, they start to turn gold. It goes from small flecks of gold all the way to glowing gold depending on how strong it is. And yes, I do mean glowing, if you turn out the lights you’ll see them light up. Best way to describe it is liquid gold.

The males have four sets of fangs, two on top, two on the bottom and all eight are very sharp. The females only have two sets and while they are still sharp, they’re much shorter than the males.

They have a natural craving for red meat, the rawer the better, however, they’ve adapted to eating cooked meat over the centuries and have grown to fully appreciate it.

They are predators by nature and natural hunters. Especially with their keen senses which is even better than vampires.

While they cannot move as quickly as a vampire, their strength compares closely enough and combine that with their strong skin and it’s a close fight. Usually.

A Lycanthropes Blood is poisonous to a vampire, made purposely this way so that the vampires could not feed on them.

The Lycanthropes were made by Zeus as his way to combat Hades’ vampires (though for hades he did not intentionally make the vampires).

The first lycanthrope ever created (Adrastos) was too powerful, his strength comparable to that of a god so Zeus placed a curse upon him to restrain his abilities. The second lycanthrope (Praxis) while pleased with his power was too curious and disobedient so Zeus made one more (Stelios) that turned out to be the loyal wolf he was looking for and he mirrored all of the other Lycanthropes to fit him.

Yes, they do turn during the full moon but it is not the deformed creatures most think of. They look just like a normal wolf just two-three times larger with a fur coat that matches the color of their hair and gold eyes.

When it’s getting close to a full moon, their eyes start to glow then as well until it’s time for them to turn. During their time spent as a wolf, their claws and fangs also become venomous to a vampire and their speed, strength and endurance triples.

When in wolf form they cannot speak but they still have the mind of when they were human, just with a more animalistic sense to it and more of their predator personality comes out.

Just like with normal wolves, Lycans are territorial and will fight for what’s theirs.

The Lycans are mostly in packs spread around the world. At first, there were only six packs but eventually, there will be more.

The Swiss pack is currently the largest pack as well as the strongest (this is the one where Damian, Lucien, And Avram are from). They are best known for their strength, their current alpha is Damian and Lucien is considered (outside of the original three Lycans) to be the strongest Lycan (seriously, he’s a beast).

The Greek pack which was the first pack created is for the most part completely gone except for the original Lycans who were from it and another one that they currently believe is dead.

The Spanish pack is currently dwindling in numbers and because of that, this packs Alpha, Lorenzo, is trying to increase their numbers by bringing together other packs. Fidel is also from this pack.

The French pack is no longer together. Though its numbers aren’t as low as the Greek pack, all of its members split after a deep betrayal within their pack to the vampires causing what little did remain to all mostly go their own separate ways.

The Japanese pack no longer considers themselves a pack nor do they live in Japan any longer. They moved due to territory issues with the vampires since they too lived in Japan when the peace treaty was created. Now they consider themselves a guild, one that offers many different services including assassination.

The Italian pack is still together and the second-largest pack. They were known for their defensive techniques and their speed in battle but this pack is also the one with the most issues so quite a few of its members left and went off on their own.

The wolves do not have knots when in human form.

Lycans can claim someone as their mate but it requires them to be turned (bitten during a full moon (if they aren’t already one)) and for them to mate while in wolf form (I also will not rp this part out at all).

Once mated with someone, they’re mates for life. Just the thought of being unfaithful or with someone else could be enough to make them sick. They become even more territorial of their mate and the mating process places a scent around their mate of the one they mated with so that others know they are claimed.

4 notes · View notes

colehasapen · 4 years

Text

(ONE SHOT) What is a legacy? DC

A03

When Wally had first met Earth's new Green Lantern, the oh-so great Torchbearer, he'd wanted nothing to do with him. Wally - he'd grown up with Hal, then later John, and even Guy, and now all three were gone. He'd grown up with Hal dipping in and out of his Aunt and Uncles' house like he lived there. He'd grown up coming down to breakfast in the morning and seeing Uncle Hal there too, having just come back from space to crawl into bed next to Uncle Barry. When Aunt Iris had been killed, and Uncle Barry started spiraling out of control, it had been Uncle Hal who had kept everything together, who had promised Wally that he wouldn't let Barry out of his sight, that he'd watch his back. It had been Uncle Hal who Wally went to after Uncle Barry's death and the weight of being the Flash was too heavy.

Uncle Hal had been Wally's Green Lantern.

But Hal had broken too. He'd gone crazy and killed the Corps and then vanished. Hal had caved under the pressure no one had known he was under until it was too late, and when he'd come back he was mad.

Wally hadn't wanted a new Green Lantern, wouldn't give him the time of day, until he'd found himself outnumbered during a meeting discussing Hal - Lord Parallax - and had tried to argue that his Uncle needed compassion, understanding, and help , not a fight. They'd called him too close to the situation, too young to know what needed to be done, like Wally hadn't been a hero since he was thirteen, like he was still the little kid in yellow who followed the Flash around and started at them all in childish awe. They could never separate him from the child he could be, but the new Lantern had never known him then, and had stood up and agreed with him.

It had worked too, because in the end, Hal had taken the hand being offered to him, and died to save the world.

After that, Wally had found himself seeking the Lantern out on his own. They still bickered, but Wally found that it reminded him more of the playful ribbing of Uncle Barry and Uncle Hal than any genuine bad blood. He got to know him, started genuinely thinking of him as a friend. He learned that his name is Kyle Rayner, that he’s two years younger than Wally and an independent artist that struggled to pay his bills now that he couldn’t spend all his time on commissions. He’s told that Kyle was well-liked growing up for being generally friendly and easy-going, but didn’t actually have friends until art college because he was just a little too weird for other kids to want to be around him long enough to actually hang out. He learns that Kyle’s mother is an Irish immigrant, that she was his biggest supporter growing up, and that he doesn’t know his father because the man walked out on them when Kyle was still very young, that the only memory of his father Kyle has is vaguely of him speaking Spanish. He learns that Kyle is multilingual, that he grew up speaking English and Gaelic, and learned Spanish in school. He learns the hard way that Kyle is lactose intolerant, and allergic to nuts. He learns funny little anecdotes about Kyle learning to draw before he learned how to walk, he learns that Kyle loves spicy food but doesn’t eat it often because the right spices don’t exist in space.

He learns a lot about Kyle, and it leads to Wally learning about himself as well.

He’d always known he wasn’t straight. He liked and dated girls, of course, he thought they were beautiful, but there was also a part of him that lingered a little too much during training. There was a part of him that looked at certain friends and said, damn I’d like to kiss him. Dick had been the first, back when they’d still been young sidekicks just starting out, and it had continued on wards for a bit too. It had been reciprocated too; they’d messed around together a bit, but they’d ended it on good terms because Wally wasn’t ready to completely come out yet. He’d been happy for Dick, when he’d started dating Kori, then Babs, and then more and more people. After Dick had been Roy, for a little bit, because Roy was the cool, rebellious older boy, but it wasn’t long before that little crush faded away and Wally started looking at him like an older brother. He’d had that really embarrassing teenage crush on John Stewart for a while, the one that had made Hal burst a gut laughing at him for, before ruffling his hair and telling him under no uncertain terms that it wouldn’t be happening.

Well, Wally had known for a while that he liked men too, even if he hadn’t exactly come out to anyone but those he was closest too. His head was filled full of his dad’s hateful words, something he was working hard to shut out. Kyle though, he didn’t hide the fact that he was trans, or that he was pan - he’d grown up in California and now lived in New York, both of which had more of a thriving community than the likes of the small Midwestern Blue Valley Wally had lived in before moving to Central after getting his powers, and then Keystone after he became the Flash and living in Barry’s house was too much for him.

Kyle was - well, he was nice. A breath of fresh air, really. He was a fellow hero, a member of the main roster, so he knows Wally’s identity and understands the demands of being a superhero better than a civilian would. He’s his age, but didn’t grow up with him, and he gets what Wally is going through, standing in someone else’s shoes and being judged as less worthy compared to his predecessor. Before Wally knows it, he finds himself drifting closer and closer to Kyle, to the point where he’s heard older heroes whispering between them of another Flash-Green Lantern team up.

Apparently it brings back nostalgic emotions to see a Flash and Green Lantern dozing off in the rec room, lights dim and some silly movie or another playing in the background. Wally’s just glad he and Kyle have more control than Uncle Hal did, and haven’t been found in a cleaning closet somewhere.

Now, Wally is pretty sure he knows how Uncle Barry felt whenever Hal would stumble into the house at all hours of the night after a long mission in space to pass out in the bed next to him. He’s gotten used to the faint green glow that accompanies Kyle powering down, the faint hum of the Lantern uniform against his skin before it melts away to whatever civvies Kyle happened to be wearing before getting called out. There’s a soft warmth that comes with waking up in the morning to find Kyle sprawled out next to him, lit up by the soft golden light streaming in through the windows as he breathes, deep asleep. There’s a giddiness that comes with finding more and more of Kyle’s things slowly being added to his apartment; it starts with pajamas and extra clothes, but soon Wally is finding art supplies scattered around, or Kyle’s favourite butterscotch shampoo in the shower.

It’s how Wally realizes that he’s in love with his teammate.

He’s staring down at the innocently placed soap he remembers seeing before in Kyle’s shower when it hits him. Nowadays, Kyle spends more time at Wally’s apartment than anywhere else other than the Watchtower when he’s planet-side, and not out rebuilding the entire Green Lantern Corps on his own. Wally isn’t even sure when it started, that he started bringing more and more of his things to Wally’s small Keystone apartment. He thinks back to the sketchbooks and half-finished paintings scattered around the rooms, of the lactose free milk he didn’t think twice before buying when grocery shopping, of the space in his drawers made for Kyle’s clothes and the paint stained shirts in the laundry basket. He thinks about the lack of nut products in his apartment, of the boxes of tampons and pads he doesn't even blink over stocking up on anymore.

Wally moves so fast he’s dry instantly, bursting into his bedroom where Kyle lays among rumbled sheets. His white t-shirt had ridden up in his sleep, and the waistband of his track pants down, exposing a thin line of the packed core muscles that came with the training they all endured in the League. Somehow, his dark hair looks artfully tousled, inky against the sheets, and lashes just as dark are fanned across sun-browned skin and freckles.

He’s unfairly pretty.

“Kyle!”

Kyle jolts, ring flaring green as he stares around groggily, looking for a threat, “Wha-”

“Are we dating?” Wally blurts out, uncaring of his nakedness in the face of his realization.

Kyle blinks once, twice, looking fuzzy, before he groans, long and dramatic as his uniform dissolves into green sparkles and he drops back onto the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes. There’s a long moment of silence, before the Lantern snorts, and then bursts into breathless giggles.

Wally flounders, “I’m serious!”

Kyle slants a look at him from under his arm, brown eyes warm and almost honey gold in the morning light, “I’d hope we’re dating.” Kyle tells him, voice thick with sleepy amusement, “Otherwise I’ve really been overstepping.”

Wally blushes, feeling a little silly, now that he’s thinking about it. They - they really have been dating, haven’t they? “Oh.” Flustered, Wally rubs a hand down his face, hoping to brush away the burning in his cheeks.

Kyle snickers again, expression warm. “You’re adorable.”

Wally groans, “I’m never going to live this down, am I?” He mutters, listening to Kyle dissolve into giggles again.

“Oh, definitely.” The Lantern teases, before sitting up and stretching with a yawn. “Well,” he drawls, amused, “now that I’m awake -” brown eyes rake across Wally’s body, and an eyebrow quirks, “- got a reason for this visit ?” His voice takes on more of a purr, and Wally blinks in confusion.

Then he remembers.

“Oh.” Wally squeaks, red spreading rapidly across his completely naked body. “I - shower - soap - it’s just-” he cuts himself with an embarrassed groan. "I'm making this worse."

Kyle doubles over from the force of his laughter, holding his stomach as he wheezes, hand flapping. “Kidding -” he gasps, “- I’m just kidding.” The Lantern slides off the bed, still snickering, to press a lightning-quick kiss to his lips that, for Wally, lingers for so much longer. “Go have a shower, babe.” Kyle tells him warmly, “I’ll make some breakfast.”

#cole writes #fanfiction #dc comics #dc heroes #wally west #kyle rayner #flashlantern #wally west/kyle rayner #kyle rayner/wally west #the flash #green lantern #justice league

30 notes · View notes