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happysunshinebois · 6 years

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Hey I know you're probably swamped with requests, but I figured I might as well ask. If you're up for it can you do a RFA+ reaction hc thing for the RFA walking in on MC dancing and singing to Careless Whisper? I love that song so much and I'm always singing it when it comes on now matter where I am lol thanks!

Hi hello this is so long overdue I’m so sorry. You were like one of my first requests. This was honestly so much fun to write and you got me into Careless Whisper so bad I literally listened to the 10 hr version bc I needed to listen and also I loved it so thank you so much. I hope these scenarios are good! I tried to mix some things up so they weren’t all the same but I hope you like them nonetheless!

Zen:

As the music dies something in your eyes calls to mind a silver screen and all it’s sad goodbyes

Some backstory: he had to learn this song for a performance, he has a routine and everything and he remembers all of it

But he puts the choreography this time and when he walks in after hearing the song and your door being cracked open

He’s a little surprised to see you fluidly dancing around the room with an invisible partner and when you switch to “playing the sax”, he has to stifle a laugh

He doesn’t know how you haven’t noticed him standing in your doorway yet

But he crosses his arms, leans on the door frame, and watches you with the softest expression on his face and love in his eyes

You eventually spot him out of the corner of your eye and are only a little startled

Definitely didn’t fall on your butt or anything

Zen chuckles and walks over to you, holding out his hand

As you take it, he restarts the song on your speaker and takes the place of the “invisible” partner you were so lovingly dancing with before

Seven:

I should have known better than to cheat a friend and waste the chance that I’d been given so I’m never gonna dance again the way I danced with you

Maybe it’s better this way we’d hurt each other with the things we want to say

As soon as he walks through the door, he hears the first few sax notes and he rushes towards you, whips out a sax, and proceeds to play the entire solo

This is the only thing he knows how to play on the saxophone, trust me on this

You’re loudly mouth singing the sax solo in various “Bow now now now”s and bouncing across the floor

Alternately

He’s always taken the lyrics to heart, especially when it comes to you

So when he walks in on you singing and dramatically acting and dancing along with the lyrics, he starts to hum along and eventually makes his way into your arms

You sway together and hold each other just as tightly as the other

You know

If he’s in a more lighthearted mood (or feels more sure in your relationship), the two of you dramatically act out the song together, not really taking the lyrics to heart

The surveillance camera in the living room captured it all

Yoosung:

To the heart and mind ignorance is kind

I feel so unsure as I take your hand and lead you to the dance floor

He’d been back and forth between playing LOLOL and studying for his upcoming finals

And man are finals brutal

You know that

He knows that

And tbh between all the commotion, it feels like he hasn’t spent time with you properly

Quick meals, a peck on the cheek as one of you rushes out the door, and legs sometimes brushing if you’re both at the kitchen table studying together

So when he rips off his headphones and lets out a long sigh, he realizes all he really wants to do is hold you in his arms

The trickle of music is playing from your room and he can’t help it so he sneaks on over and when he sees you swaying with your arms wrapped around yourself and singing the lyrics, he’s just in awe at your beauty and how you somehow seem so easygoing

He sways himself over to you to the sound of your voice and lightly taps your shoulder

He’s standing very close

Half of it is just that he wants to cover his blushing face

As your singing falters, his picks up with the lyrics and he wraps his arms around you

A wide grin breaks out on your face as you wrap your arms around him and the two of you spin yourselves around the room, laughing, singing and yelling the lyrics, and at the end, falling onto the bed

You both try to catch your breath but your soft giggles take much more air than expected

You roll over and throw an arm over his waist and he cups your face gently in his hands, looking at you with love in his eyes and blush over his cheeks

You both hum the chorus until you fall asleep

Jumin:

I’m never gonna dance again guilty feet have got no rhythm though it’s easy to pretend i know you’re not a fool

He’d been away on yet another business trip and no matter how much you tried, he insisted that as much as he’d love you to, it’d be better and safer for you at home

It was only a week

A week without you

It’s fine

….

It wasn’t fine

You sent texts rapidly to each other and calls when you could

You were even able to get a few video calls in

On the fifth day of his trip, he could hardly take it anymore

It took all his self control just to not fly back to you immediately

Somehow five days felt more like months

He called you to video chat late that night

He expected that you’d answer

What he didn’t expect was for a blaringly loud sax solo to come bursting through his laptop speakers

He was shocked to say the least, but then he settled for looking at you in admiration through the screen

“…Guilty feet have got no rhythm!! Up, my love, you’re dancing with me!”

He thought it best not to argue, but he wasn’t about to go waltzing around his hotel room with his laptop in his arms

….

Until that’s exactly what he started doing

If he couldn’t hold you, then this would have to do

“MC, would you please move your face closer to the camera?”

You did so quizzically, still singing out the words in heavy breaths from dancing around your room

Once you realized he practically had you in his arms (as much as he could long distance), you quickly picked up your laptop as well and spun round and round as Jumin did the same

Your face flushed knowing he missed you as much as you missed him and as your motions slowed you blew him a kiss and he acted as if he caught it through the screen, even if he was hundreds of miles away

He made sure for every time he was away for long, he’d call you and the two of you would pick up your laptops and dance with each other to this song

(Also I picked this GIF bc I liked how they were different colors and separate so it kinda gave the vibe that they’re together but in different places, ye?)

Jaehee:

We could have been so good together we could have lived this dance forever

The song had come on in the coffee shop, in the middle of your shift

*LOUD GASP*

“MC, what’s wrong????”

Baehee is confusion

You don’t startle too many customers

Tbh they find it kind of funny and it gives the cafe some personality

Jaehee admires how much of the song you knew and just watches in

She hadn’t heard it until today, but she makes sure to slip it into the cafe playlist more often than not, just to see your face light up the same every time

You catch on eventually to what she’s doing and while you’re both closing down one day, the song comes on

You’re facial expression turns determined and you oh so gracefully rip her away from whatever task she’s doing and guide her to the cleared space

You make that face, like you’re up to something but she finds it humorous and goes along with it

You twirl her and move your way around her like it’s a performance, belting the lyrics and dramatically recreating the “scenes”

It makes her giggle and she hums along to the tune

She glides her hand from your elbow down to your hand and holds it tenderly with her own

She won’t admit that the two of you didn’t get out of the cafe until about midnight but what’s a girl to do when all she wants to do is hold you and see you smile?

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger headcanons #mysme headcanons #mysmes #yoosung #jumin #seven #saeyoung choi #jaehee #zen #ill try to get on a better schedule #maybe post more than once every six months oof

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tsukishumai · 3 years

Text

pairing: tsukishima kei x f!reader wc; 2.2k tags; fluff, coworkers to lovers? a/n: quick fic for my bby lol happy birthday tsukki <33

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tsukishima Kei was tired.

Stepping out into the cold, autumn evening, he rubs his hands together in an attempt to warm his frozen fingers. He thinks the blister he feels forming on his pinky toe was a sign for him to get a new pair of shoes, and this fact was solidified by the ache in his arch with each step he took towards the bus stop.

The day had been longer than most. Maybe if he hadn’t let his brother drag him to the gym and play pick-up games last night, then perhaps his body wouldn’t have felt so sore this morning. And if his body hadn’t been so sore in the morning, then he might have had the energy to grab coffee before work, possibly even pack himself a quick lunch. His mood would have presumably been at least mildly better throughout the day, and he had no doubt that he would have been able to continue on with his work swiftly, and efficiently.

But Tsukishima had learned at a young age that things don’t always work out for him the way he wants them to.

He wasn’t trying to be rude when you came to ask him about his tour schedule, but did you have to burst through his office door so loudly? He felt bad for 2.3 seconds as he watched your smile slowly melt into a frown, but he was way too irked when you rolled your eyes at him when he asked you to knock.

And it wasn’t his fault that he bought the last tuna onigiri from the food stand outside the museum. He forgot to pack lunch, and he was hungry, too. He probably shouldn’t have unwrapped and eaten it right in front of your face, but he doesn’t appreciate getting dirty looks for ordering a meal.

You’re newer to the museum, he knows that. As someone with seniority, he should be a little more helpful, and he could probably work on improving his sociability just a tiny bit, but his patience could only run so thin. It’s not like you ever listened to him anyway.

Should he have told you to figure out the volunteer’s schedule on your own because ‘even a monkey with a banana could do it on their own’? Okay, maybe not.

But did you have to snap at him to ‘keep the stick up his own ass and leave yours alone’ when he warned your tours took too long, and you’d end up leaving late? No, and that’s the last time Tsukishima will ever try to offer advice to a newbie.

Tsukishima sighed. He was tired.

His stomach growled out loud as he pressed the button for the crosswalk, slowly moving to rub his palm along his belly. He’s wondering if he has anything he could make at his apartment. When an image of a rotting bunch of scallions and moldy tomatoes dying in his refrigerator drawer comes to mind, he thinks he’s probably better off grabbing a bento from the convenience store down the street.

The light switches from red to green, and just before Tsukishima steps down from the curb, he feels an arm delicately wrap around his own.

“Hey, babe,” a familiar, annoyingly cheery voice greets him, and he has to stop himself from grimacing when he looks down and his eyes meet yours.

Tsukishima doesn’t think you’ve ever touched him once — not in the last six months since you’ve become his coworker. He had bowed when you were first introduced, and Tsukishima had never been one to hand out hugs or high fives.

He attributes the deep blush that spread across his cheeks to this fact, and not to the feeling of your chest pressed tightly against his side.

“What the —“

“You almost left without me,” you pouted, and Tsukishima nearly tripped over his feet when you swing your body around to switch positions with him, “You’re so silly!”

“Uh,” Tsukishima stammers at the situation at hand, but he stills when he feels your grip tighten painfully around his bicep, and your eyes narrow and widen.

From behind your shoulder, Tsukishima sees it.

The streets were not too crowded, but they weren’t empty. From both sides of the sidewalk, Tsukishima watched as people silently walked past each other in a valiant effort to get home.

This was why Tsukishima almost didn’t notice the man standing beside the lamp post just fifteen feet back, his face half covered by a mask, hoodie pulled all the way over his head with the bill of a black hat just peeking out.

Tsukishima’s blood ran cold when he realized the man is watching you clutch onto him, and Tsukishima does not react when he can feel your nails dig through the material of his sweater.

A look of panic briefly flashes in your eyes when Tsukishima places his hand on top of yours and gently pulls your grip off his sleeve.

“You’re going to ruin my sweater,” Tsukishima mumbles as he drags his hand down the length of your arm and intertwines his fingers with yours. Your mouth drops open in shock when he gives your hand a tight squeeze, “Sweetie.”

He doesn’t wait for you to regain your composure before he drags you across the street. As soon as Tsukishima’s foot lands on the other curb, he glances back at the direction from which you came.

The capped-man was now slowly walking forward, reaching the crosswalk just as the light turned red once more.

Tsukishima quickened his pace down the silent sidewalk, globes of orange light shining down each lamp post you walked past. You said nothing of the sweat that accumulated between both of your nervous palms, still gripping onto Tsukishima’s hand tightly. The size of it nearly engulfs your own, and your hold on him was the only thing allowing you to somewhat keep up with the pace of his strides.

“My bus stop is right over there,” you mumble quietly, and Tsukishima silently thanked the gods you were going the same direction.

He could feel your fingers trembling against his, and Tsukishima gives you a light squeeze.

He wasn’t sure what to do. He was never one to comfort another, and he had never really been in a situation before. But something akin to an ember of rage had been stoked within him as soon as he saw some strange man’s greedy little eyes stuck on you.

The bus arrived just five minutes later, and Tsukishima stayed close behind as you climbed inside. You were lucky enough to find two vacant seats, and you slid into the one beside the window. Tsukishima occupies the aisle seat, stretching his legs out slightly as he watches the stream of people entering and leaving the bus.

It was after an old woman carrying groceries clambered into a seat behind the bus driver did Tsukishima notice him.

He sat by the very front while the two of you occupied seats in the back. A pair of sunglasses now completely masked all of his features, but Tsukishima didn’t need to see his eyes to know who they were trained on.

When you look up at him, dazed and slightly terrified, he gives you a tight-lipped smile. He lets go of your hand, and his heart breaks a little when he sees your eyes dart around in panic. Wordlessly, he reaches over and wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you close into his side.

You had always been so hot-headed — loud, and passionate, and animated about everything that you do. Tsukishima had known you were trouble from the moment you rearranged one of his displays without even thinking about consulting him, and you had honestly been a headache ever since. You challenged him at every turn, corrected him when he didn’t ask for it, and it was obvious to Tsukishima that you were much too big for him to handle.

But at the moment, feeling so small as you trembled tucked beneath his arm, Tsukishima could only think that he never wanted to see you like this ever again.

His heart crumbles a little when you rest your head against his shoulder.

“So,” Tsukishima’s voice vibrated against your cheek, “The tours ran a bit too long today, didn’t they?”

Tsukishima bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing when you turn your head to face him, an incredulous expression decorating your features.

“Is now really an appropriate time for an ‘I told you so’,” You hissed, “You never miss a chance, do you?”

Now, a smug smile has fully settled onto his lips, “Never have, never will.”

You land a punch on Tsukishima’s wide open ribs, and he flinches to the side with a slight ‘oof’. But he tightens his arm around you even more. Swirls of pine and citrus began to calm your nerves, and it took you too long to realize you were inhaling Tsukishima’s cologne. He smelled as clean as he looked, and even after a full day of work, not a single hair of his was out of place.

Your stop was four after Tsukishima’s. He carried your bag from your shoulders as you climbed out of your seat. He stepped aside to allow you to lead the way, but Tsukishima’s chest was nearly pressed against your back with how closely he followed behind.

You hadn’t expected Tsukishima to follow you this far, and as you walked a few steps towards the direction of your apartment, you turned to thank Tsukishima for his aid.

You whip your head side to side when you find that he was no longer walking behind you, curious to see that he was waiting two feet away from the bus’ exit.

You briefly wondered what he was waiting for, and your heart shattered down to the ground when you see the familiar stranger that had been following you since you exited your office building slowly step out.

You didn’t even notice him climb onto the bus. Had he really been there the entire time? Oh god, was he planning to follow you all the way home? Your head begins to spin at the dangerous possibilities that could have unfolded.

“Are you lost?” Tsukishima’s voice was cold and stern, and you could hear it clearly from where you stood.

You watched as the hooded man jolted, clearly shocked at the question directed to him. His face still remained perfectly hidden, but you could tell from his body language that he was not expecting to be addressed.

Tsukishima towered over him, but his six foot five stature had towered nearly everyone. The eyes behind his dark-rimmed glasses were narrowed in a glare, and Tsukishima stayed planted in front of your intruder.

“Oh — uh, i— no, just —“

“It’s that way,” Tsukishima didn’t wait for the man to finish his stammering, pointing a long finger towards the opposite direction of your home.

The man didn’t need to be told twice. He twirled on his heels, looking over his shoulders only to see Tsukishima watch as he walked away into the night.

You were frozen, mouth hung so wide open, you were pretty sure bugs had flown in. Tsukishima makes his way back to you, stopping to wrap his arms around your shoulders once again. He tilts his head down at you, looking softly as he asks, “Which way?”

You were at a loss for words, choosing instead to simply lead the way. Tsukishima remained draped over you, like a blanket of protection warding off all evil.

The silence that engulfed the two of you felt comfortable, and on any other day, you might have been appalled to be in such close contact with Tsukishima Kei.

But today, you felt safe. You felt comfort, and relief, and you relax against him, perfectly protected under Tsukishima’s wing.

You sneak a glance up at him, biting your lip as you turn the words you want to say over in your head.

“Tsukishima,” you start, chewing on your lips, “Thank yo—“

“My last tour is usually at 4:45,” he interrupts you, squeezing his hand on your shoulder, “I try to catch up on some paperwork before leaving but…”

He trails off, and you stay silent in fear of ruining what he’s trying to tell you.

He shifts his head away from you as he says, “If you wait for me, I could walk you home.”

You stop in your tracks, looking up at him with a smile. Tsukishima pointedly avoids your gaze, but it’s difficult when he’s keeping you pinned beside him.

“I’d like that,” you mumble before pointing back at the apartment building he hadn’t noticed, “This is my place.”

Tsukishima finally deigns to let you go, stepping back and brushing his fingers through his hair.

“Shorten your tours,” he grumbles out, turning his body back the direction from where he came, “And don’t forget to itemize each piece that comes in for the Date Masumane exhibit tomorrow.”

You stare at him dumbfounded before bursting out in giggles, bringing your hand up in a mock salute.

“I owe you one,” you call out, watching him retreat back from where he came.

He waves you off.

“I like black coffee,” he calls back over his shoulder, “Do what you will with that information.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

rbs v appreciated <33

#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x you #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima kei x you #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima kei x y/n #tsukishima kei drabbles #tsukishima kei fluff #tsukishima kei scenarios #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima kei imagines #tsukishima imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! x reader

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fascinationex · 3 years

Text

I cut this from a recent sealpatico fic but it's almost 2k words so I'm posting it here for any of you who desire the extremely niche content of humam Rewind and mermaid Brainstorm eating fish on the beach.

"Hang on though, we're losing the daylight."

Brainstorm looked up and made a forlorn noise in his chest. "It happens every year, and every year I hate it."

"Yeah," said Rewind, getting up to get the portable lights. But even as he was arranging them and making sure everything was properly weighed down, his thoughts were with Chromedome.

Chromedome rarely responded well to winter as a phenomenon. Maybe this latest medicine would make it easier, but Rewind doubted it. He wondered if he should have woken him up for the daylight.

It was too late now. Tomorrow, he'd try.

"Okay," he said, when eventually he had their lights set up and glowing fiercely around them both.

He cracked open the first tin and emptied some of the contents onto a tiny, aesthetically congruent dish he'd sourced for exactly this purpose. It was ivory coloured, with a nautical-themed border in slate.

"Spanish anchovies in olive oil with salt, parsley and garlic. Make sure you let me get a good shot of it." He pushed the dish across to Brainstorm, who inspected it thoughtfully.

He pinched an anchovy fillet between two claws and presented it to the camera. Then he snapped up the tiny bit of fish.

"What do you think?"

Brainstorm considered this for a moment. "I think the garlic and oil gives it a rounder flavour, but the oil is bitter, and the parsley..." He sounded both confident and knowledgeable, particularly notable for someone who'd had all of a few months to experience garlic and/or olive oil.

"It's a little sweeter than I expected," he reported, licking his claw thoughtfully.

"Okay, anchovies taste sweet," he said, once more adopting the tone of one who did not understand and did not anticipate understanding any time soon. "Give it a score out of ten?"

"Out of ten...? Six. It's still fish."

"All fish gets a six, you heard it here first. Next up: Squid in olive oil." They came in an aluminium can with a ring pull, packed tightly into the space: pale, round and fleshy, with darker twisting tentacles. He nudged one onto the dish.

Brainstorm obligingly allowed Rewind a few seconds of focused footage, and then he plucked it up and dangled it over his wide-open mouth and sharp teeth.

He let it fall. Snap went his jaws. The squid was gone.

"Hmm," said Brainstorm. "The oil is bitter, you know? Five and a half."

"Oof," said Rewind.

"Why is it olive oil, anyway?" Brainstorm wondered, examining the glossy sheen on his dark claws.

"What?"

"Everything that's not in olive oil is just 'in oil', and nobody cares what kind. They all want to tell you about the olives, though. What even is an olive?"

"It's a fruit. We usually only eat them preserved." He guessed olives on their own were pretty bitter, which must have been what Brainstorm was tasting. He had a thought. "Can you taste saltiness? You live in salt water."

"I'm a mermaid in brine," Brainstorm agreed. "That's really a useless question, though, isn't it? I don't know what you taste. I can taste the difference between salt and fresh water though."

This was the kind of content the people wanted, apparently. "Right."

"It's like those philosophy questions about colour perception, isn't it? Even those ancient guys in Greece were like 'hey what if animals see colours differently?' and since then humans all cut a lot of animals' eyes up and looked at them closely and everyone's decided they definitely do. But they still can't see it the same way."

Sometimes it was very, very surreal to be looking at Brainstorm’s face with its fine dark fur and his big weird bone helmet and see him gesticulating with his front flippers but hear, coming out of his mouth, some absurdly cerebral comment about, say, philosophy.

You didn't expect mermaids to have thoughts more complicated than "I want to play," or "I like that colour".

"Where'd you learn about classical Greek philosophers then?" Rewind prompted.

Brainstorm twitched a flipper. "Wikipedia?"

Rewind blinked. He guessed he wasn't the only one letting Brainstorm on the internet.

"Well, I guess that's where everyone else learns everything... Okay, this is... Cockles in brine, also Spanish. Who knew the Spanish made this much preserved seafood?"

"Hm, yeah... Do they have trouble eating it all at once?" Brainstorm wondered, in the thoughtful tone of someone who had never preserved food for longer than it took to finish the preceding mouthful. He was kind of a bottomless pit.

Delicately, Rewind said, "I don't think that's why."

"Six and a half. They're not bitter, they just kind of taste average to me, but I don't like bivalves much."

"Really?"

"You have foods you'll only eat if you're hungry, too, right?"

"Yeah. Humans have all sorts of food choices they like to stick to. We have a big variety to choose from so we make more choices. Plant-based diets are big right now I think, but a few years ago everyone was talking about palaeolithic diets." He paused, wondering exactly how that sounded to Brainstorm. "The problems of a species that doesn't hunt its own food, huh?"

"Plant-based..." Brainstorm said. His yellow-gold eyes were very round. "Just plants?"

"Just plants."

"No fish," he said slowly, as though to really confirm. "That's terrible. That's stupid."

He looked so offended. Rewind laughed. "Well, you're a carnivore, it's different for you. There's a thing called pescatarianism, you know. It's where the only flesh people eat is fish."

"Just fish?"

"Humans need lots of vegetables and fruits and things too, but the idea is no other animals."

Brainstorm still looked extremely dubious. "Food scarcity works differently for humans, I suppose... with 'supermarkets' and things. You just get food delivered."

He tapped the dish with one claw expressively.

"Yeah, a lot of us get a lot of choices. Here's the next one..." Rewind decided to change the subject before Brainstorm said something that would really get him lynched in the comments section. He was sure there'd still be someone ready to try to convert him to a vegan diet in a two hundred comment thread dominated mostly by trolls—but that happened regardless. "Crab meat... this is, huh, Vietnamese."

"Crab..!" trilled Brainstorm, making grabby hands at the dish even as Rewind excised some crab from its tin. He sounded much less human when he made that trilling noise in his chest.

This food Rewind did not get a very good shot of, because it vanished into Brainstorm's face with shocking speed.

"Seven and a half," Brainstorm announced, licking his mouth with a smooth pink tongue. "Maybe eight?"

"Okay, crab, sure. Big tick for crab. Sponsor us, crab meat companies."

"Will they actually do that?"

"Unlikely."

"Aw."

"Here's, uh, pre-sliced hot smoked sturgeon from the USA." It was paler and thicker than Rewind associated with smoked fish, but it had the same distinctive blend of smells.

"Oh, I can taste the smoke. That's unusual. Is that a thing?"

"It's absolutely a thing."

"Oily and smoky," Brainstorm reviewed. "Four."

"An acquired taste, huh? Here, this one's sardines in salt and water from France."

"Aw, look at them all smooshed in together," Brainstorm said, leaning over to peer at the tin. The camera got a weird view of his helm for a second.

Obligingly, Rewind held up the container for the camera, even though everybody knew what a tin packed full of fish looked like. Brainstorm's claws delicately nudged the packed sardines this way and that.

These scored another six. Fish was good, but apparently he could taste too much of the tin.

"Jellied eels... apparently. From the UK. Honestly I didn't know this was a thing before I ordered it."

It did not look appetising to Rewind, but Brainstorm had no fear.

Brainstorm hooked a claw through a piece of eel flesh and drew it from its dish, watching the gelatinous stock plop from it. After a second, he put it in his mouth.

"Oh, it's like this?" He licked his teeth thoughtfully, pink tongue flashing brightly. "It's okay. The gel is interesting."

Seeing it left unattended, his dark claws drifted back to the tin of crab meat. After a second's debate, Rewind gave up and pushed over the tin—nearly half a kilogram of it.

Brainstorm beamed at him.

"So you like the crab?"

"Yeah! It's a little acidic from the tin, but the trade off is that I didn't have to catch it, right?"

"I guess... Is catching crabs hard?" It sounded hard.

Brainstorm paused and then shoved his hand closer to the camera lens, showing off an array of silvery scars bitten deep into the coarser fur of his his fingers and hands. "They've got those big claws. And up here they're, like, four feet from foot to foot. I caught one for Perceptor once."

"Did you," Rewind prompted. He put his hand behind Brainstorm's to improve the camera's autofocus. "Did he like it?"

"Well, I don't know. He said he'd already eaten... but who doesn't like crabs?"

"Oh, yes, definitely," Rewind agreed, contemplating the gross little handfish Brainstorm had given Chromedome. "What's this one? Another crab injury?" He tapped a bigger scar on Brainstorm's forearm.

Brainstorm glanced at it for a second.

"Bear." It sounded flat.

"Uh," said Rewind. A bear?

Brainstorm rubbed his arm and then seemed to rally a bit: "Bear meat... Zero out of ten."

Rewind nodded. "Zero out of ten," he agreed. Sure, why not. Later, he decided, he would put the scores up over the video. People might find that funny: cockles, squid, crab, eel, BEAR, crab, trout, anchovies.

"Okay, next up is marinated baby octopus is olive oil, with vinegar and unspecified 'herbs and spices'."

"I think I like the unspecified herbs and spices," said Brainstorm thoughtfully. "The octopus is rubbery though. Six out of ten?"

"Have you had octopus before?"

"Yes, but not here so much. There are octopuses up here but they're easier to find down south. You have to swim for a while if you want good octopus." On this he seemed very knowledgeable. Maybe one day Rewind would see if he could get a travelling guide to raw seafood out of him. People would probably like that. Maybe. Who knew?

"Okay. This is a blue grenadier fillet. They were less than ten USD a kilogram, so factor that in."

Brainstorm looked blank. "Alright?"

"Cheap. They were cheap."

"Right, right, right," he mumbled. It was really impressive how fast an entire fillet just vanished into Brainstorm's face. Rewind had seen it so many times, but it still wasn't getting old. "Oh, I know this fish! Perceptor gets this fish sometimes... it's nice. Eight out of ten. Eight and a half? A good fish."

"Really? Isn't that pretty high for a plain frozen fish?" It was beating out the crab, which was saying something.

"So? It's a good fish, Rewind."

"Okay, sure." He couldn't say he really understood Brainstorm's criteria. But privately, Rewind suspected that he was enamoured of the first source of this fish, and not the fish itself.

#sealpatico au #sealpatico #my fic #tf fic #humanformers #mermaid au #merformers #fic excerpt #scrapped excerpt

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shreddedparchment · 5 years

Text

Pseudo Princess Pt.08

On a Pedestal

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 6,019

Warnings: mentions of sex, language, angst

A/N: I know I just released one last night but here’s another one. I will wait before posting another chapter at least a day in between so that I can respond to all of your lovely comments. I read each and every one of them and I appreciate them so much! Enjoy and let me know what you think! xoxo

His Majesty comes to you again that night. And the next. And the next.

For two weeks, every night, his Majesty climbs into your bed. He’s grown softer in that time and his touches are kinder. He throws in a caress every now and then but the act is over quickly and though the discomfort is all gone now, you feel nothing more than his now familiar stretch, the heat as he releases within you, and then he’s up and gone before you’ve caught your breath.

It doesn’t even hurt that he leaves you. It’s routine.

You feel no rejection anymore. You sleep.

Finally, at least you can sleep.

In fact, you oversleep. You sleep for almost twelve hours every day and Nat grows increasingly worried.

“How are you feeling?” She’s wrapping you up in your thin white robe which clings and turns sheer as the residual water from your bath left on your skin is soaked up.

“I’m fine.” You follow after her, looking over her shoulder as she rummages through your wardrobe.

She moves dress after dress aside before she stops on an orange and white number with florals stitched into the voile skirt. The waistline is broken by golden ribbon with orange tails of the same material as the bodice that hang to the right side of your waist. Golden vines have been embroidered up and down along the long white sleeves to match those mirrored on the bodice.

When she turns, she bumps into you with a small ‘oof’.

“Your Majesty,” She laughs as you take a step back.

“Sorry.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” She checks again, holding the dress over her arm.

“Yes.” You smile at her, a real smile. You feel better. “That’s a pretty one.”

“It should be, you’re meeting with Steve today.” She explains and your heart suddenly clenches.

“What?” Your hands are clammy, your heart is pounding. Your lungs are suddenly struggling.

Why are you so anxious?

“His Majesty has asked me to get you ready. He will give you a proper tour of the castle and then he will discuss with you your duties as Queen. You’ll be with him all day.” She smiles as if this is a good thing.

And yes, okay, you’re a little excited you get to spend some much-needed one-on-one time with him. Maybe he’ll finally open up to you? It is depressing only seeing him when he comes to lay with you.

You’re not exactly sure what to do now that you’ll have to try and connect with him again though.

“What do I say to him?” You ask her, nervously dropping your robe as she moves to you with your underdress.

“What do you-?” Nat stops, hands spread between the dress as she stares at you with confusion.

You hold your hands out to her and she snaps out of her thought to slip your hands in the sleeves and then lead the underdress over your head.

She’s thinking very fast as she dresses you and doesn’t answer your question.

Once your outfit is complete and she’s got you sitting in front of your vanity to brush and do your hair—she puts an orange ribbon through it and then braids your hair around it—she watches your face as she works.

“Hasn’t Steve been coming to you at night?” She asks.

“Yes.” You reach out to pull over a small box which you open to find several rings inside. Some of them are simple gold and silver bands. Others have gems.

Your eyes are drawn to two thin bands; both are silver. One is a weave of two thinner bands that loop around each other like lattice work, the other is a very thin silver band with a small perfectly round blue gem.

You slip one onto your forefinger, the other onto your middle.

They feel weird.

“Then why don’t you know what to talk to him about?” She asks, looking as if she already knows the answer.

“What do you mean?” You nearly chuckle.

“Well, don’t you talk when he comes to see you?”

“No.” You finally meet her emerald eyes in her reflection. “He comes in, wakes me up sometimes when I’ve fallen asleep, he sleeps with me, sometimes he’ll lay beside me for a bit, but then he gets up and leaves. He’s never in here for more than an hour. At most.”

You take off the rings and put them back.

“So, he’s not even trying.” Nat says, not a question.

“I suppose he’s doing his best.” You tell her. “I didn’t marry him because I thought that he’d fall in love with me.”

You turn your eyes back to the box and open it again to look at the jewelry inside. You reach up to fidget with your necklace, tracing the star with your finger.

“I’d…I’d hoped that maybe he might have come to like me, but I didn’t know just how much he was still in love with Margaret.” You shrug, meeting Nat’s eyes again which stare at you with a sorrowful sympathy. “I have a good life, Nat. Before I came here, I worried about whether I would go to bed hungry or whether Martin Argus would come to my cottage to try and steal my virtue again. I was unprotected and alone and poor and…now I’m the Queen of a prosperous kingdom. I have jewelry that I’ll never wear and dresses that cost more than I could have earned in six months with my stitching.

“I’m not alone anymore. I have you and Peter and Bucky and…even his Majesty. I have a husband and hopefully soon I’ll have a baby. I’ll have my own family. I had nothing, Nat. Now I have everything.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“This is the garden. There are flowers of various types but we’re missing quite a few from the Southern countryside. Most of the ones we do have were grown by hired gardeners but that little plot just beyond the fountain is off limits.” His Majesty points across the cobbled path, over the teal waters of a limestone fountain, across the Snapdragons in varying shades of pinks, yellows, and purples, to a pavilion made of dark stones, deep oaks, with a sturdy slate roof.

Inside the pavilion is a bench with pale yellow cushions and a small table. Large blood red gerbera daisies surround the base and sit in a large vase to the left of the stairs that lead up into the cozy space.

You don’t have to ask why that spot is off limits.

With an ache in your chest you move around the fountain, staring at the gazebo you’ll never sit in until you’ve put it out of sight as you wander further into the maze of beautiful foliage in his Majesty’s massive garden.

It’s very structured. Most flowers kept together in various displays. It’s pretty but it lacks charm. There’s no real theme. Just flowers planted in a very orderly fashion.

His Majesty follows behind you. You walk until you reach a peach stone wall then turn to move down along a row of violets. The smells in the garden are sweet and rich. They saturate your hair and clothes and the breeze that flows in over the walls of the garden feels good.

“You won’t ask me why that pavilion is off limits?” His Majesty suddenly asks.

He’s speaking a bit more quietly. Intimately. There’s no one around but you and him so his easy volume feels personal. Peter stayed by the arched gateway to give you two some time alone. Nat and Bucky have no doubt snuck off for a bit of time alone themselves. You lost both of them about an hour ago when his Majesty took you through the enormous library on the second floor.

“In fact, you’ve been very quiet throughout the entire tour.” He observes.

“I have nothing to say.” You tell him. “And I don’t have to ask you why that place is off limits. I know, without you needing to say.”

You’re a little miffed and maybe you’re not as good at hiding it as you hoped.

“Margaret always spoke her mind.” He says, unknowingly driving a small nail through your chest.

You have only yourself to blame. You’d gotten enamored with him before you married him and only more so since. Even after he’s hurt you several times, you can’t find it in yourself to care less although you’ve gotten better at not showing the hurt.

“Tell me why you’re so quiet.” He asks, it’s not an order.

You turn to look at him and the sight of him nearly kills you. He’s heavenly in his primary blue tunic, white stitching highlights the fine fabric. His black undershirt and trousers draw focus to the pleasing way he fills it all out. His hair is still long and full, flowing yellow strands in the afternoon breeze.

And those eyes. So focused, so blue.

If you didn’t know better, you’d say that he can see right through you, but you know it’s the other way around.

What is he expecting you to say? That you’re disappointed? That you hate his castle? He’s made sure to point out the flaws of the architecture when he can, and he pointed out to you the lack of foreign language books in his library. He complained about the small size of his throne room and the room where balls and parties are to be held is too narrow.

The balcony where the musicians are to sit and play is too high up to truly enjoy the music, and the kitchens have a surprising amount of mold in its storage and the cooks seem to only cook the same things over and over.

He’s tried to get you to complain about something since the moment he began to lead you around and you know that he’s looking for fault in you. Something has to be wrong with you, he’s sure of it.

So, you give him what he wants.

“I haven’t said much because I don’t understand how someone with so much can find room to complain.” You stop and turn to face at him, meeting his eyes with all the courage you can muster. “You say that your stores in the kitchen have too much mold? There were four other closets above ground that most of that food could be moved to. A simple fix if you really wanted to remedy the problem.

“You said there isn’t enough variety in the dishes your cooks serve but I ate stale bread and cold beans for most of my life when I was in that school for my emotional problems so I don’t really see how you can complain about roasted chicken, pies, and cakes.”

“You said that your castle is crumbling on the first floor but the school I went to had a large hole in its roof. It was always too cold in the winter and too wet in the spring. I caught several colds and still have a little trouble breathing when it gets too humid.” This isn’t a complete lie. You did get sick often at home and you do still have trouble breathing but the condition didn’t develop in this fictional school that your father is supposed to have sent you to.

“Personally, I have never seen so many pretty flowers and if there is one flaw that I see it’s that you keep them all separated. For this garden to be truly beautiful you need only mix them in together. Then your garden will look like the Gods have blessed you with a small bit of heaven. It already smells wonderful here. How you can want more…?

“And if it’s a fault that you’re looking for in me, I can’t read. That’s why I didn’t say anything when we were in the library. You wish you had more books in foreign languages, but I can’t even read one in my own tongue. I can’t write. I received no lessons in history or arithmetic at my school.

“Your life of privilege…it’s a blessing, your Majesty. One that is not bestowed upon many. That’s why I’ve bee-”

“Tony sent you to a school where they didn’t teach you to read or write?” His Majesty interrupts, moving a step closer to you as his brow furrows with his frown.

His takeaway from the little speech you just gave surprises you and you open your mouth to respond but can’t find what to say.

“How often did you get sick?” He asks, stepping closer.

You blink, frazzled, heart pounding. “I…Enough that I struggle to breathe at times. It’s not uncommon. Most of those that I went to school with developed the same symptoms.”

“Does Tony know that you struggle to breathe?” He wonders, reaching out this time to place his hand around your arm showing a surprising amount of concern.

It’s throwing you and you can’t seem to think straight.

What is he doing? What is he saying? Why is he touching you?

“Wha-? I um…No.” You finally say. “He doesn’t. Didn’t. I was only back with him for a week before I came here to be with you, he had hardly any time to reacquaint himself with me.”

This is making Tony sound worse than what he really is. This isn’t right.

“But I hid it from him.” You add, hoping to remove some of the taint. “Every time he visited and when he came for me, I tried my best to present him with the daughter he deserved and not the one he was given. It’s not his fault that I was born broken.”

Steve frowns, sliding his hand down to your elbow before he releases it. “You’re not broken.”

He moves around you, rounding the corner and giving you a moment to catch your breath.

“Are you coming?” He asks, and you quickly follow.

He waits until you’re beside him and this time he walks with you.

“You’re right about my privilege.” He nods. “Sometimes I forget how good I have it here. Things are stressful. Being King and having responsibility over so many people isn’t easy. The stress of that can dim the brightness of what makes this life good. I didn’t mean to make you feel as if I were looking for a flaw. I just wanted to-”

“Yes, you did.” You cut him off, looking straight ahead as he turns to watch you. “I know that you don’t want me. I know that if you could trade my life for Margaret’s you would, and I think trying to find something very wrong with me helps you feel better about all of this. About having to marry me.

“I don’t want to replace your dead wife, your Majesty. I would never presume to think that I could. But I will do my duty. I will give you an heir and then I will step out of your way. I know that’s what you would prefer.”

He stays silent.

He doesn’t deny it.

He thinks as you walk, moving deeper into the garden until the only sounds you can hear are the shift of the wind, the twittering of birds, and the soft buzz of bees somewhere in a tree nearby. The soft hiss of both your feet as you step along the sparse cobbled path is mesmerizing in its repetitive nature.

“How did she die?” You ask him, fearful of upsetting him but you’ve been dying to know.

“Nat hasn’t told you?” He asks, surprisingly calm about it as he stops just as the two of you reach a small area, closed off with a stone bench nestled beside a pond where small fish nip at the surface as tiny flies land for a drink.

“I didn’t want to hear it from Nat.” You explain, moving to sit on the bench. You’ve been walking all day, up and down stairs without much of a break.

His Majesty watches you and when you’re seated, he moves to sit beside you, shoulders slumped as he stares at the pond and the purple, wine, and yellow irises that surround it.

“I don’t want to learn about you from someone else.” You continue.

He’s quiet for a while and the two of you sit in silence. You don’t interrupt whatever train of thought he’s on and he finally sighs.

“She fell off her horse.” He says, shaking his head. “It was nothing, at first. A swollen ankle. A small bump on the head. But she’d cut herself on a rock when she fell, and we didn’t see it right away. She didn’t feel it for a few days. By the time her fever set in, we were already too late.

“The infection spread. It did its damage and it took her from me.” His Majesty bites his lip, miles away from you back in the past. His eyes darken.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper, afraid to disturb his grief.

“It’s a stupid reason to die.” He mutters darkly.

Then, as if he hadn’t been talking about her death, he moves on.

“You’ll start your duties tomorrow. You’ll visit the poor for an hour every day. Maggie used to pick a single day and visit for longer. She was very kind to those less fortunate. Maggie used to host the ladies at court for a while every day as well, and once a week she threw a small dinner for the ladies and their husbands.”

He looks at you, up and down as if assessing you.

“We probably shouldn’t do that until you can at least read.” He spits, maybe more aggressively than he means to.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, ashamed at your lack of education.

“Why are you apologizing?” He asks, upset. “You didn’t do it to yourself. Tony’s the one that should have made sure you were receiving a proper education. He throws you off to that school and then acts like you’re not even a part of his family for so many years then throws you at me so that you’re my problem…Maggie wouldn’t apologize for her circumstances. Stop apologizing.”

You shrink as his tirade lengthens and you look away, fearful that he might see the way his anger affects you.

“Maggie used to be up at dawn. I expect you to do the same. You’ll get lessons in the morning and in the afternoon, you’ll make your visits. On Fridays we receive the people to address their concerns. I expect you to be at my side every Friday. No exceptions.” He orders and then rises.

You make to get up, but he turns to look at you, is that contempt? It’s something. Not good. You’re not sure what.

“Stay out of that pavilion.” He warns. “And never bring up Maggie again.”

He leaves you sitting there, shaking and wondering why you’d had to open your mouth and ask about Margaret. Next time, you’ll just ask Nat.

You do as you’re told.

Your days all start to look the same.

You wake up, bathe, dress, eat breakfast, go to your lessons for four hours, have lunch, then you leave the castle to visit the poor. And that’s where you stay until Nat has to pry you away.

At first, you’re scared to get involved. You don’t remember any nobility in your father’s kingdom coming to visit but you were slightly better off than these people. You help them cook and you help them clean up the small homes they live in.

You aren’t a doctor and you can’t help in that sense but you can at least help make their living spaces cleaner.

Most of them remind you of your own little cottage only theirs seems to be falling apart at the seams.

When you realize how little money it costs to help make their homes a bit better—new roofs, patched floors, new lumber to reinforce walls and ceilings—you give up your own allowance to help get it done.

Fridays—since it’s the day of your shortest visit—are the day you dedicate to bringing them as much food as you can.

His Majesty had already started the practice of giving away food that isn’t eaten to the poor, but you take it a step further and set up locations around the castle city for donations of foods about to expire.

Many people donate when words gets out that the new Queen has started this new program.

With the influx of food, the poor are able to eat more regularly. It lightens your heart and you feel more at ease when you lay your head on your pillow at night.

Despite being able to see him more often during the day while you go to your lessons and then help him on Fridays with his people, it’s at this time that you spend the most time with his Majesty.

At night, he comes to you, when you’re on the brink of sleep after a tiring day.

For a while after your tour, his Majesty had only come in and done his deed, then left. Sometimes he would sit with you, ask about your day, but say very little himself.

Tonight, he sits at the end of your bed but doesn’t look at you.

You sit up, startled by his hesitance. By now he’d be on top of you, getting this part of his and your duties over with.

“My king?” You probe, staring at the taut lines of his back.

“Why are you staying so late in the villages?” He sounds tired, like he’s had a long day too.

Is he going to be mad at you for staying late?

“They need so much.” You explain. “I’ve been helping them with their mending. The children need clothes. The women also lack proper garb. Their houses were falling apart and the cost to help them is so little-”

“Is that what you’ve been using your allowance for? That money is so that you can get what you need.” His Majesty counters.

“I don’t need anything.” You laugh a little, just a small chuckle. “I have more dresses than I’ve ever had in my-”

Shit…wait…no. You were a princess. You are rich. You’ve had lots of dresses. Or so he thinks…

“-than I’ve ever had need to wear.” You quickly recover and hope he doesn’t realize your slip.

What would he do if he found out you were common? Just as poor as the people you help every day? Margaret was of noble birth. She deserved to be Queen.

“I have no need for anything else.” You assure him.

“Take some time off. You need to take care of yourself too.” He orders. “I saw you in the city yesterday. What were you doing?”

You scoot closer to him, pushing your sheets away as you slide to sit slightly behind him and to his right.

Excited, you can’t help but lean around to look at his face better. “I saw that you have the food we don’t eat here in the castle delivered to the poor and I thought…I’ve started a donation program with the churches and business in the city. People bring the food that they do not need or that is about to expire, and I have a few soldiers distribute it to the poor. The food will only last a day or two by the time they receive it but for some of them, it’s all they have.”

“Whose idea was that?” He looks over his shoulder at you, his exhaustion evident in his storm blue eyes.

“Mine.” Your brief excitement fades. He’s so tired. He looks so damn tired. “Have you not been sleeping?”

He ignores your question. “I’ll see what funds we have free so that those that help you get a small payout for their assistance.”

You hadn’t even thought of that. Of course, the good people letting you take donations at their places should get something in return.

“Thank you. You don’t mind my using a few of your soldiers to help me?” You almost whisper, heart soaring, butterflies in your stomach making your body hum.

“No. I don’t mind. They’re you’re soldiers too.”

This is the first time he’s included you in ownership of anything in the castle or kingdom. You feel like you could fly.

“I’m sorry that I snapped at you in the garden.” He says, remorse tainting his usually luscious deep tone.

You shake your head. “It’s alright. I shouldn’t have asked about Margaret.”

“I don’t know that I have the energy for you tonight.” He admits, sighing lightly and a startling thought occurs to you.

Does he consider it a chore? To sleep with you?

You don’t exactly find it fun either. It’s never felt like those girls back home said it would. Good? It just…you’re not even sure what to compare it to. Nothing you’ve ever felt before. Invasive a bit but you’re not unwilling.

Your heart however is full of disappointment that the few moments you get to have him all to yourself is nothing more than a task to be checked off his schedule.

“I’m at your leisure, your Majesty.” You can’t help the way you curl in on yourself again, feeling once more unwanted and out of place.

He scoffs a small laugh, there’s humor in it. “You make it sound like all I need you for is-”

He stops as he meets your eyes. His smile fades. There’s surprise in his eyes and you’re not sure what it means.

He swallows hard, blinking rapidly as he turns towards your fire and his fingers flex into a fist.

“Why aren’t you pregnant yet?” He suddenly asks, and you’re so startled by the question that you don’t know how to answer.

That tiny seedling of doubt and fear that has been growing in the depths of your soul for the six months that you and the king have been married…why haven’t you gotten pregnant yet? Every night for six months…something should have stuck. Is there something wrong with you?

Will he leave you if you can’t give him an heir? You’ll have to go back to father a failure. Will he then turn you out too? Everything depends on you holding up your end of the bargain.

“I don’t know. I’m-”

“Maggie was pregnant when she died. And we were only married three months.” His Majesty says, and although you know he doesn’t speak the words to hurt you…you feel like a failure. Once again, you don’t rise to the level at which Margaret was at. And, wait, she’d been pregnant when she passed?

So, his Majesty hadn’t lost one love of his life, but two?

“I’m trying.” You tell him, suddenly yearning to comfort him.

“If she could do it in less than three months, why can’t you? I only have six months left.” He tells you wiping way your compassion as fear takes its place once again.

What does he want you to do? What can you do? You’ve done what you should. You’ve been here for him. You’ve made no protest and you’ve made sure his seed is kept within you.

“Until you’re with child, you’re to stay here in the castle and keep yourself well. I’ll send for a doctor in the morning.” He gets up and moves to your door

“Yes, your Majesty.” You sigh, slide back into bed, and settle in for the night.

Strangely enough, you don’t hear your door close for a while. Almost as if his Majesty hadn’t left right away. What reason would he have to linger?

Your sleep is restless.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re depressed.” Nat says, Peter walking a few feet behind the two of you.

“I’m not.” You argue.

“She is.” Peter says.

“Hey!” You turn to look at him, throw him the book you’d brought down with you which he dodges easily then smiles as he turns and moves to pick it up.

You’re much better at reading now but you’re very slow. You try to keep a book with you at all times for practice.

“What’s wrong? Is it because Steve told you to stay in the castle?” Nat knows you too well.

“And because I’m still not pregnant.” You sigh. “The doctor said I was fine. So…why?”

“Maybe you’re both trying too hard? He’s got all the stress of the Kingdom on his shoulders, not to mention-”

Peter clears his throat.

“I’m not stupid, kid.” Nat tells him, frowning at him.

They exchange a significant look and you suddenly feel out of the loop.

“What, Nat?” You probe.

“And you’re not exactly stress free either. Since the moment you married Steve you’ve been on edge.”

That’s not what she was going to say. You narrow your eyes at her suspiciously. They’re keeping something from you. All of them.

This isn’t the first time something has seemed off. Sometimes you’ll catch Steve, Bucky, Sam, Nat, and Peter huddled together in the throne room or the library and when they see you they rush off in different directions.

What are they hiding?

“Maybe taking a break from trying is what’s best for both of you?” She nods.

“But it’s the only time I spend with him, except for Fridays in the throne room. And even then, he doesn’t look at me or speak to me. That time belongs to his people. If he would just…” You give up, defeated.

Stopping where you are, you turn to stare at Margaret’s pavilion and hate her just a little bit.

You shouldn’t. It’s wrong of you to hate her but you do. For a few moments, right now, you hate her for being here first. For winning his love so easily when you seem to struggle even for a shred of kindness.

He will never love you, but you still can’t give up. Something must make you this stupid. You should know by now that the King holds no regard for you whatsoever.

You’re a means to an end for him. His Queen in name alone. You are not the love of his life. You are to give him his heir and then you’re expected to slink into the background where he’ll never have to deal with you again.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Where is she?”

“She’s in her room.” Bucky informs him. “Not happy about it, but she’s safe. Natasha’s helping her pick something out for dinner.”

“Mm.” Steve nods.

“Is it wise to host this dinner tonight? All of those people? All of them watching the two of you. Most of them know you don’t love her, but they’ll be expecting to see a united front.” Bucky explains. “Can you give them that? Can you pretend for a night?”

“Am I wrong to ask her to stay in the castle?” Steve wonders, ignoring Bucky completely or maybe he just didn’t hear him?

“I don’t think so. But I think you’re wrong to order her to. You didn’t ask her, Steve. You and I both know that you told her to do it and gave her no room to argue.” Bucky shakes his head and Steve watches him with annoyance. “She’ll do anything you ask her to.”

Steve knows and hates that. He hates that you’re so compliant. He wants you to tell him no. To fight and argue with him. He feels like you’re not being yourself. As if he broke you that first night and since then you’ve cowered and given way to every one of his wishes and whims.

“Will you take a break? From sleeping with her?” Bucky wonders, keeping his voice quiet as he and Steve pace through the garden, the fading light of sunset burning with a soft orange glow as it paints the sky a pink blush.

“How can I? It’s been six months and she still isn’t pregnant. I need to get this done before the year is out.” Steve sighs, frustrated.

“You’re letting all of these outside issues affect both of you. Why can’t you just stop thinking about what you should or shouldn’t be doing and just…I don’t now…get to know her? Just be there for her. She’s already there for you. Would it kill you to focus on her for a change?”

“I am focusing on her.” Steve argues, and he really is but no one can see inside his head.

“Says the man in head-to-toe black. You didn’t even tell her what today was, did you?”

Steve hates it when Bucky knows him this well.

“It’s none of her business.”

“Horseshit.” Bucky spits. “There’s paying your respects, Steve and then there’s wallowing. You’ve been wallowing for three years now. When are you going to let yourself be happy?”

Steve stops, staring at the pavilion with it’s red daisies swaying in the evening breeze.

“She’d want you to be happy. If she could see you and the way you’ve been—what would she say?” Bucky asks, waiting as Steve stares at the place he’d first asked his first wife to marry him.

That had been the beginning of his life. Steve had chosen his Queen and they’d begun down a road that he would have braved fearlessly with her at his side. He’d been so ridiculously happy that he hadn’t anticipated a time when things would not be right.

Then she was taken from him and he was stuck in this world without her.

He thinks back to last night, your eyes cast down at your bed as the disappointment radiates off your womanly form.

“I’m at your leisure, your Majesty.” You’d said, as if you exist only for his amusement. To be used and discarded.

Steve couldn’t believe the look in your eyes, the clarity of your emotions on display by body language alone.

He’s made you feel small and unwanted. Which is ridiculous.

It’s not that he doesn’t want you. More and more you’re on his mind.

You’re in his thoughts when he wakes, but then Margaret is there, and he feels guilty.

You’re the best part of his day, when he gets to go see you in passing in the library while you’re busy with your studies or those moments he’s with you in front of his people.

As desperately as he’d tried to find something wrong with you, he’d failed. He does want you, but something happens between the moment that he walks into your room to make love to you and the act itself.

Something stops him from letting go and he can feel it in you, the stiffness with which you hold your body as he takes you, that you aren’t there with him.

Is that because of that first time? When he’d hurt you? Are you afraid of him?

Fuck.

You’re so smart despite the lack of education you received at that school Tony had sent you to. You’re compassionate and so damn kind. You’ve done more for the people of his kingdom than anyone else ever did. Your empathy is unparalleled, and he knows that you’re too good for him.

“Steve?” Bucky checks, as Steve hasn’t said anything for several minutes.

Steve sighs, knowing exactly what Maggie would have told him.

“She’d tell me to hold onto what I have. She’d tell me to see what I’d lose if I don’t start to appreciate Y/N for what she’s worth.”

He shakes his head.

“What?”

“I’ve never made her smile. Not once.” Steve admits.

“Margaret?” Bucky asks, confused.

He can remember Maggie laughing and smiling with Steve all the time.

“No. Not Maggie. Y/N.” As he turns to walk towards the gate, he reaches for a pale pink peony and gently cuts it from its stem. These flowers smell like you. They remind him of you, every time he sees them. “Do you think this will make her smile?”

He looks at his friend and as Bucky follows, he smiles at Steve, tilting his head to the right as he stares at the flower.

“I don’t know. But it’s a good place to start.”

Steve thinks so too.

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dulce-pjm · 3 years

Text

tag game !

tagged by @jtrbluv !! ty love, i’ve seen this one going around and it looked fun !!

1. what fandoms have you written for (but do not currently)?

i only started writing fanfiction this year, so bts is the one and only lol

2. what fandoms are you currently writing for?

bts !! i think i’ll be sticking to just bts x reader fics during my time here :) (but i am def a big fan of other groups and post about them sometimes !! my other interests can be found through the navi and i’m down to chat/fangirl anytime)

3. how long have you been writing?

like five or six years? i used to write original stories on wattpad in middle school but i have unfortunately forgotten both the username and password to that account and just realized those monstrosities might still be floating around on there oof

4. on which platforms do you post your stories?

just tumblr !! i’m the process of making an ao3 in case something happens to my account, but i probably won’t crosspost unless i have to, just kinda depends

5. what is your favourite genre to write?

def fluff and comedy !!! i enjoy angst but i’m a bit of a method actor in that i deeply feel whatever i’m writing so i normally don’t make it far writing angst lol but i will try one day !!

6. are you a pantser or a planner?

planner for sure !! i have def written fics that weren’t planned, but i tend to feel way better about the ones that i plan out. they flow better when i plan them and when you know where your story is going it’s easier to foreshadow and actually build tension towards the climax and ending !!!

7. one shot or multi-chapter?

it really just depends on the story !!! it’s all in how i envision it tbh. if i see the scenes more as episodic and almost separately working towards the ending, then it’ll probably end up fitting into chapters. but if the scenes and arcs all really rely on each other and flow as a group, then yeah it’s a big one shot !! as a reader, i tend to binge anyway so it doesn’t matter to me lol

8. what is the perfect chapter length in your opinion?

lol again it depends on what suits the story !! and i think it’s fun sometimes for there to be a variety of chapter lengths

9. what is your longest published story? is it complete?

stepsisters and squires at 11.0k, and yes it’s complete !! although my current biggest project is probably going to end up around 15k and if i had to guess, part two will probably be a bit shorter than that

10. which story did you enjoy working on the most?

hmmmm for sure @alpacaparkaseok’s request case closed!! i was being very silly writing it and had a grand time, but takes two to tango is a close second behind !!!

11. favourite request you've have written and why (if any?)

oh well there we go it’s case closed !!! i love some good silly ridiculous romance and i feel like i did an okay job achieving that lol

12. are there reoccurring themes in your stories?

awkward people finding love ???? LOL and lots of overthinking only to realize things aren’t quite as big as they first appeared wait omg yeah that’s it that’s the one lmao. scrolled through my masterlist and it seems that the central conflict is always the main character versus their own mind which is basically my day-to-day life so makes sense i guess

also i’ve accidentally written people talking over each other and then said something like “timing’s funny” right after in two separate fics and needless to say i’m disappointed in myself LOL how did i do that ??? tsk tsk

13. current number of wips?

ahhh i’m not really sure how to count them but i’m like actively writing around four or five, i tend to bounce around and then suddenly binge write an entire one

14. three things you have noticed about your own writing?

hmmm well 1) we’ve learned my characters are too caught up in their own heads (like me muhahaha), 2) i tend to write pretty colloquially even though i have the vocabulary to be more descriptive lol, and 3) even when i don’t mean to i tend to end up writing based off of things i’ve experienced before

15. a quote you like from a published story

lol this isn’t particularly well written or anything i just think it’s funny and i really enjoyed writing this scene. it’s from stepsisters and squires !

“Maybe you can trick the witch!” You suggest, words muffled by the dessert you’re chewing on as you blatantly talk with your mouth open. All manners have been abandoned as Taehyung is eating two eclairs at once, equally focused on the matter at hand. “Well, no, maybe trying to trick a magical scary lady is a bad idea.”

i’m very attached to tae’s character despite him making a very minor appearance and i love his and the oc’s chaotic energy together haha !! i’d like to write him his own spin-off sometime based on their interaction

16. a quote from an unpublished story

hehe imma keep teasing the tae twoshot in the hopes that it makes me ACTUALLY FINISH IT FJKDLSHGLSDKJF anyway ~~~

“Your singing, on the other hand, is just fantastic,” he adds, smirking as he side-eyes you. He suppresses a laugh when he sees your mortified expression. You’re quick to cover it, crossing your arms and feigning pride.

“I know. You guys are lucky I’m not participating in the battle of the bands. I’d crush you.” Taehyung full on giggles then and you don’t hate it all that much. It’s a little squeaky though. But then his eyes light up and he’s grabbing you by the shoulders, a desperate look in his eye.

“Wait, would you wanna join? Because we could really use a mezzo voice, it’d completely change the sound—”

hopefully an official teaser will be dropped soon we’ll see !!!

17. space for you to say something to your readers

thank you guys for being so patient and supportive :( i know i’ve been very sporadic about posting and really haven’t posted at all in like a month and a half. it was very much my intention to write a bunch and then release things on a schedule (and it still is!!) but things have been difficult recently and prevented that from happening. to get to the point, you guys are so great and every piece of feedback and every like and every follow absolutely makes my heart soar. you guys remind me that i’m still capable of writing even when i really don’t feel like it and i appreciate you !! much love <333

tagging @softbobamilktae and @hyungieyoongi my go-to’s lol (sorry if you’ve already done it !!!)

#tag game #jtrbluv

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captain-of-the-historicfuture · 3 years

Note

~hello~ !! For the meta asks!: 3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 18, 21, 24, and 25 :))

Hello!! Thank you for sending these; I was really excited to see that ask game and I was hoping somebody would send some in. It still took me a while to actually answer them though, and for that I apologise. But without further ado! Some meta answers (under the cut because they ended up being fairly long, whoops):

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

I thought of a few examples, but they could basically be grouped together under a common theme: whumpy/angsty scenes that were self-indulgent as all heck. The whole self-indulgent aspect often required the characters to be just the teeniest, tiniest bit OOC and/or necessitated rather unrealistic plot circumstances. So it was simply easier to keep such scenes as maladaptive daydreams, rather than trying to think of explanations for the character/plot issues…or exposing myself to judgement for them LOL.

Receiving permission to write/share one such scene anyway is an opportunity I can’t let slip by though. It might be because I’m writing this while running on zero (0) hours of sleep—let’s hear it for insomnia, y’all!—but I suddenly couldn’t remember any of my newer ideas under this category. However, I did recall a one-shot I had started writing a couple of months ago that sort of counts? “Sort of” because I could actually be arsed to write it since I was, ya know, writing it. Only got about six hundred words down though.

…should I share those six hundred words…?

………nahhh. I don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet.

But here’s the gist of it: Coulson and May (because of course it’s Philinda) were married for quite some time before the Attack on New York. But then Coulson DiedTM and then got ResurrectedTM. But gasp of horror, he had to lose his memories of his romantic relationship with May because reasons. (I actually did have some ideas for those reasons but sshhhh this is about me yeeting context and setup.)

The first half of S1 still happens as normal (except MayWard doesn’t happen because??? Vows) and it’s now post-E20 “Nothing Personal”. The morning after (or a morning soon after, whatever) the T.A.H.I.T.I. reveal! May’s mom—who doesn’t know about GH.325 and whom May fed a cover story about Coulson divorcing her or something equally as oof, IDK—shows up at the hotel and starts ripping into Coulson for breaking her daughter’s heart, then dragging her back into the field with her ex-husband (him), then accusing her of terrible things and forcing her away again.

Poor guy’s confused as heck, and so is the team, and soon enough so is Lian. The only one who understands what’s going on is May, and she’s freaking dying off to the side like why is this happening to me and eventually everybody’s like! Explain??? (Was thinking about including something from Coulson like, “Are you still keeping things from me?” Just for that extra smidge of angst, yay!)

So yeah then May gives a, like, two-sentence debriefing that elicits more questions than answers. Coulson decides to take May aside and they have a heart-to-heart. Lots of feelings and angst and hurt/comfort and at some point plenty of kissing too. Just! May hiding her feelings for Coulson’s sake but really magnified, plus some actual apologies and consideration of the grief May’s been through on Coulson’s part.

And uhh yeah that’s basically it I dunno hdsjncjshd. I warned y’all it’s OOC, plot-bendy, and very self-indulgent!

6. What character do you have the most fun writing?

I don’t think I could name a single character for this. I get different things out of taking on different voices, you know? I guess recently I’ve found myself gravitating towards more taciturn and introspective points of view, like JQ from my original novel Rosewood or M. Yisbon from my…other original novel Temple.

Generally, however, I like tackling stories from an outsider’s perspective. That’s why I so rarely write my more “substantial” (serious? demanding? for lack of better words?) projects from the PoV of my “preferred” character. This usually means writing from their love interest’s perspective, but not always. With shorter fanfic, using a more removed/unconventional/niche PoV can be really fun. Like, I once wrote a canon compliant ficlet purely(-ish) about Philinda from Tony Stark’s perspective. That isn’t always sustainable with stories that demand more character development or closer character studies, however, which is why it’s a good thing I like writing drabbles!

9. Are you more of a drabble or a longfic kind of writer? Pantser or plotter? Do you wish you were the other?

My word counts tend to run long, but I usually only write one-shots for fanfic. If I’m even inspired with a novella- or novel-length story idea for a fandom, you already know I’m in deep with them. And if I actually find the motivation to plan and execute that idea? Dangg. That’s only ever happened…twice, maybe thrice, and I’m in a lot of fandoms.

At times, I wish I could go for more of a middle ground ’cause, like, you know what I love to see? An AO3 dashboard with several completed novellas for my ship/character of choice. I mean yes, I hecking love >90k fics, but sometimes I’m in the mood for quick reads…and what am I supposed to do when I burn through all the drabbles and 2k one-shots? (Besides despair and/or reread my faves desperately.) Novellas are basically always safe for me LOL, and I’d hope to be able to give as much as I take.

Ultimately though, I think I’m okay with where I am with regards to that. I wish I could write more in general, but I’d be okay with “writing more” just meaning “writing more one-shots”, ya know? More than okay, really. I have mad respect for fic writers who have, like, a hundred or more one-shots under their belt for this one ship. The fandom ecosystem would be incomplete without them (as well as every other type of writer, but sshhh that’s the type of writer I’m closest to being right now).

I’m definitely a plotter, and I definitely prefer it that way. It’s cool having such a detailed record of my process. I like feeling like a frazzled genius on the brink of a major discovery with all of my different outlines and colour coding and many drafts and various websites.

12. Do you want your writing to be famous?

Not exactly. It might be cool if my original works were recognisable in the world, but I don’t think I’d want to be recognisable. As for fanfic, I’d low-key enjoy gaining a place in that fandom’s community as a fic writer. Like someone who gave and got fic gifts from fic writer friends, who participated in challenges and GCs, who received writing prompts on Tumblr, whose name was known for doing a certain trope/genre a bunch of times… Ya know what I mean?

Unlikely to happen when I’m so hecking hesitant to publicly (i.e., outside of AO3) claim credit for my writing, but fjnskfsjhfjs. A writer can dream, right?

15. Which is harder: titles or summaries (or tags)?

Of those three, tags are the easiest for me, for I have a reliable system for figuring out those.

Next easiest would probably be titles. For fanfiction, I like to use titles that are a quote from the source material. You should have seen all of my old Hamilton fanfic… I was really proud of some of those titles. And I don’t mean, like, whole lines—usually only two to five words. It’s a unique type of wordplay that I just love dabbling in.

And lastly, summaries. Sometimes inspiration strikes me and a snappy and intriguing synopsis just jumps out—one that I’m quietly pleased with—but most of the time I’ll spend way too long trying to think of such a synopsis and eventually just go with whatever I’d come up with so far. And live with my quiet dissatisfaction for the rest of time.

18. Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (Plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations...?) Tell us about them!

Typically, no. If I have deleted scenes, I save and publish them separately, but that’s about it. I sometimes think of AUs for my own work and might talk about them in my author’s notes—might even talk about writing them—but I never really do anything with them.

Although…

It’s not uncommon for me to decide a plotline isn’t working for a certain story or to think of an interesting but undoable arc for a certain character, but what I’ll do is make a whole new story for those ideas. Once I’m done developing the original idea and the branched-off one, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell they grew from the same roots. Does that count?

21. What other medium do you think your story would work well as (film, webcomic, animated series, etc.)?

That depends on the story. I’ve actually written stories in other mediums—movie screenplay, musical stageplay, poetry, TV show scripts, play scripts, roleplay—but the novel does tend to be my comfort zone. Sometimes, if I have an idea that I think could work, or would even work better, as another medium, I’ll label it as such in my folder of ideas and decide not to write it as a novel.

Most of the time, my non-book projects are collaborations. I’m working with five different people on six different story ideas: two webcomics, one stage musical, one anime, and two animated TV shows. Little concrete progress has been made in any of those, mind you, but they’re still fun to discuss!

24. Would you say your writing has changed over time?

Absolutely. But I’ve been writing stories since I was five years old, so we would hope so, huh?

I wouldn’t say my writing’s changed completely, though maybe that’s just my insider’s perspective.

25. What part of writing is the most fun?

Oh gosh, I can’t believe you’d make me choose. Writing is just such a wonderful experience for me; I love just about everything to do with it. Admittedly, not all the time, but. Since that barely qualifies as an answer, however, I’ll give you this—

The endings. Not only that intense feeling of rightness when you wrap up that last sentence, but also the moments before. The adrenaline of knowing you’re almost there but you gotta push just a bit more to actually get there. And also the part right after—the real wrap-up, honestly: the revision and the editing. Heavens, I love revising and editing my work.

Which is not to say I don’t like writing it out for the first time, too—there’s nothing quite like seeing your cursor scroll to the next page, like going from a blank expanse to a Oh man, how many more lines are even going to fit on this page?, like watching that page counter tick up another number. However, there’s something cathartic about finally ironing out those problems I had to force myself to stop worrying about earlier because “just finish the first draft dangit”.

I guess that’s not really the end of the writing process, but whatever. Close enough (as fic writers are wont to say).

Another thank-you for these asks, and feel free to come back with more at any time! ;P

Send in fun meta asks for your friendly neighbourhood writer!

#thou canst not then be false to any man #ask game #invictusmaneo #to write and read comes by nature

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oisaaac · 4 years

Text

“ Six feet under ”

Pairing: Crowley x Reader

Summary: Crowley decides to pay a little visit to his one and only love.

Warnings: angst, character death, sad boi crowley

Notes: English isn't my native language, so sorry for any mistakes this hasn't been proofread either.

This is very out of the blue and maybe a little cliché idk, but i hope some of you enjoy it nonetheless <3

kinda off from the original show plot but try to bare with me uwu

inspired from billie eilish's song 'six feet under'

Help, I lost myself again

But I remember you

Thick heavy grey clouds shrouded above the cemetery as if it read Crowley's mood. It was the same heavy weight he felt everyime he decides to pay you a visit. The same weight that seems to get heavier as time ticks by.

It had been a year since you died. A year that seems to be dreadfully longer than the time Crowley stayed above earth.

It was always a reminder for him how different his celestial form is from a human being like you. You always joked around that he had to see you die at some point—with grey hair and wrinkling skin while he didn't age even a bit, yet look where he is now.

He didn't expect it to come too soon, too fast, too sudden and too painful. It made him think what was really God's ineffable plan? He couldn't even ask it himself. Besides it was ineffable after all.

He should've seen this coming though. A demon falling in love with a human? Both of you knew things can't get normal. For one he was an immortal under a lot of circumstances and you on the other hand was—fragile. The moment you saw the bright light when you were brought to this world you were already hanging on a thin thread. Surviving for only a small barrowed time. Crowley always thought it was some kind of inside joke made by God, a very cruel joke.

Small droplets started to fall down from the sky as Crowley stood looking at the flowers he have in his hands.

You would've loved this. He thought to himself kneeling down on the moist grass, not bothered by the uncomfortable feeling of the contact with his jeans before staring at your grave stone.

It still feels unreal for him, seeing your name precisely carved on the stone which made his heart wrenched.

Retrace my lips

Erase your touch

It's all too much for me

But Crowley knew he would rather feel the pain in his chest over and over again rather than forget about you even if he could never be the same when he was with you.

His closest friend Aziraphale felt pity for the demon, but loving someone always has a cost to pay and he could only give much reassurance to his dear friend. Besides, he was somehow at fault considering you died in his shop trying to help him. Crowley didn't blame the angel though, knowingly you wouldn't either, but that didn't stop him from blaming himself and giving the silent treatment to the angel (which Aziraphale understood where he was coming from) for months. You would have opposed to if you knew, knowing their friendship was one of the strongest bonds you had ever seen. Luckily they were good now yet Crowley still needed more time to mourn.

You were always so kind and gentle, one of the traits Crowley loved about you. Good or bad you seem to look surpass every label knowing it was more than just what they perceive. To you Crowley isn't just the demon who had fallen to spread evil, he was your Crowley; your sassy kind hearted loving demon. He never wanted to have such vulnerability, but he let himself otherwise.

Of course he didn't regret any of it. He would need to die first before he ever regrets choosing a path with you in it. Even if he knew the moment you walked in Aziraphale's bookshop clumsily waltzing in his life only to bring this kind of pain he was currently feeling he would never choose of you not being a part of him. If only he could have had more time just one more second to see you smile, to feel your soft touch, to look directly into your loving eyes that made him feel like he was home. It sometimes brought Crowley anxiety with the thought that he didn't deserve what he was feeling with you—the joy, appreciation and love, yet you always said that he did, he did deserve happiness but the tragedy that comes with it had come unforeseen.

Blow away

Like smoke in air

How can you die carelessly?

Why did you have to go inside? Why didn't you just wait for me. You were human afterall. You weren't built to withstand heavy flames and thick smokes. You've always been so reckless for the sake of others. You knew it was dangerous, but you risked your life nonetheless.

Crowley laid the flowers near your headstone before he caressed the letters of your name closing his eyes trying to remember every detail of your face.

"Just for a second. If you're really listening to everyone's prayer then bid mine. Just for a second. Look at me you've foresaken me and let me fall into the pit yet here I am calling out for you." He looked up calling out to somebody, something or someone who was listening to his mantra. "Please!" He choked through the verge of tears. "I love her. I'll always will. If this is my sin then punish me for eternity, but let me see her just for a second." The only response a low rumble of thunder and finally the heavy clouds opened its gates letting the rain freely fall from the heavens camouflaging Crowley's tears.

They're playin' our sound

Layin' us down tonight

And all of these clouds

Crying us back to life

But you're cold as a night

It was no use. You're gone. The pain settled in his chest eating his insides. It was his punishment after all.

Crowley was soaked by the time he was snapped out of his small trance. He fixed the flowers on your grave before putting the individual red rose in the middle remembering how much you loved that red flower then grabbing the old ones to dispose them before standing up and taking one last glance of you until his next visit.

He whispered his promise that he would come back over and over for the rest of his eternity, he had all the time in his hands anyways.

Six feet under

I can't help but wonder

If our grave was watered by the rain

Bloom

Again

Crowley turned around to head over his bentley only to be met by your e/c eyes. He didn't even realized his grip on the flowers loosened as he blinked once, twice, more than enough to make sure he wasn't seeing things while raining and there you were like an epiphany standing on your red dress drenched in rain smiling like an idiot at him. You took deliberate steps closing in the gap between the two of you while you kept your eyes locked on his yellow serpent eyes that you grew to love.

"Y/n," Crowley whispered still trying to figure out how.

"Crowley," You put your hand on his cheeks caressing his wet skin with your thumb. You didn't even understood how, but you were happy. You missed him so much that you didn't say another word and just leaned in connecting your lips with his he didn't respond at first, but slowly he recognized you. It was really you, his beloved y/n. He had so many questions hanging on the back of his head, but he didn't dare to utter any of them. He didn't want to let you go and waste whatever miracle it was that brought you here.

All the muscles in each of your bodies molded into one. You and Crowley were in sync like a melody that you both practiced over and over again. Your hands made its way on the back of his neck tangling your fingers on his wet ginger locks, Crowley's hands gripped you tight yet at the same time gently trying not to break you under his touch. The intensity of yearning and all the other emotions that comes with it all swirled into one.

Out of breath you both parted staring at eachothers eyes. "I love you too." You softly spoke your truth.

Maybe whatever was up there was really listening. Either way Crowley held on you to the very last second of your borrowed time.

"We'll be together again someday." You reassured him while you smiled. Crowley just studied your face and for the first time in a while genuinely smiled and was happy. And it was enough as goodbye for the both of you... for now.

Help, I lost myself again

But I remember you

Kinda long A/N: honestly idk what to feel about this if its good or not in my 19 years of existence i always wrote fanfics imagines and stuffs but usually i usually put it up then delete it later because i dont have any confidence of my work but im trying again. this is my first time posting in tumblr though.i hope this is good, like it gave you feels because it did when i wrote it. please don't kill me that i made crowley straight oof 🥺 sorry for any mistakes again! thank you for taking time on reading this and if you reblog and press the heart thingy thank you so much i will love you forever 💕

#crowley x reader #crowley #anthony j crowley #good omens #david tennant #aziraphale #crowley imagine

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papa-rhys · 5 years

Text

By Chance (Javier X Reader)

Note: First fanfic I’ve posted in a looong while. It’s a rare occurrence lmao I don’t have plans to come back to fanfic writing. This just came to me as a dream so here ya go. Enjoy!

Category: fluff?

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2411

The air in the train car is bitterly cold, biting at your skin and turning your fingers pale, despite it being well into the spring months by now. The open-ended cars and thinly sealed windows are to thank for that - West Elizabeth’s Central rail is known for many things, but luxury and decadence are not on the list.

You’re sat at the very pack of the fourth passenger car; right where you’re supposed to be. After all, behind you is nothing but luggage and payroll. No room to fit seating back there, so here you’ll stay until it’s your time to shine.

With your eyes out the window, surveying the mountains that drift by in all their white-dusted glory, you make a mental note of your surroundings. It pays to be careful around these parts. Beyond the couple bickering a few rows ahead, the child pestering her mother up front, and the two men chunnering about their work hours, there isn’t much threat lurking within the trains rickety wooden walls.

Save for the rather handsome man watching you, of course.

You dare to glance over at him, taking in every element of him in the fraction of a second that it takes for your eyes to flick over him and snap back to the window at your side again.

Bowler hat, blue waistcoat, gold-capped boots poking out from where he sits with his legs sprawled across both seats, back pressed against the window - not well dressed enough to be a bigwig, but definitely not strapped for cash with boots like that on his feet. Dark skin, darker hair, and a smirk on his lips as he watches you; visible even from your peripheral. He taps his fingers in a rhythm on the backrest, eyes locked on you.

He’s definitely flirting.

Your stop isn’t for another 43 minutes. You can afford a little fun before then. After all, being all business and no pleasure would be a painfull dull way to live, and if an unsuspecting deer is to walk into your trap, then who are you to deny a hearty stew?

A strategical lip nibble here, a well-thought-out hair tuck there. Eventually, he comes to the right conclusion: you’re flirting too.

The man swings his legs off his bench and rises to his feet, making his way to the back of the car with his hands steadying him against the push and pull of the train in motion. At least once, he ducks into a row to wait out the pull of the train curving around a mountain, hand gripping the backrest for support until the tracks straighten again and he’s on the move once more.

He stops beside your seat and you wait one, two, three seconds before slowly pulling your gaze from the window and looking up at him as if his presence wasn’t noticed.

“This seat taken?” he asks, nodding his head towards the empty seat beside you.

“Doesn’t appear to be, does it?”

His lips curve upwards until the smile reaches his eyes, making deep brown pools narrow. Without another word, he sinks into the seat next to you and spreads his legs out in front of him. His casual demeanour makes him a much harder mark, but a more exciting one for certain. Anyone can charm a stray dog, easy. But a peacock - they’re the tricky ones. Complimenting someone is the easiest way to win their affection and there aren’t many compliments you can use on a peacock that they don’t already think about themselves.

“Do I recognise you?” you ask, shifting in your seat to angle towards him.

He blinks at you for just a second too long, the cogs turning inside his head as he mentally churns through every possibility that could arise if he answered the question.

He’s a wanted man, then. That’ll explain the fancy clothing.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” he says.

The corner of your mouth quirks upwards for a moment and you allow him to see it. You pull your voice low, keeping it light but quiet. Flirtatious. “That isn’t what I asked, is it?”

You watch him for a few beats and then he relents, turning away and surveying the car that’s folded around you both; the people occupying it, with their newspapers and hats and talk of the weather. The man beside you takes a breath and you wait for what he’ll say.

“I think I would've noticed if I’d met you before,” he says, eyes still scanning the car. “Someone as good-looking and out of place as you. You don’t strike me as the type of person I’d forget.”

A regular Romeo.

“Good-looking?” You don’t bother hiding the smile in your voice. It comes so naturally and it’s a tool worth using. “Well, aren’t you a flatterer?”

Romeo chuckles softly and you risk a sidelong glance, taking in his smile. It’s slightly crooked, one side rising higher than the other, and there’s something sweet about that; something real and grounded among the façade created by his shiny, polished boots and perfectly tailored waistcoat.

“Not flattery, just the truth.” He returns your sideways glance and catches your gaze, thoughtful eyes meeting yours. Your pulse quickens and starts off a drum beat thumping in your ears.

You turn your head towards the window, finding trees gliding by, rays of morning sun seeping between them. “There aren’t any guards in the luggage car,” you tell him. The hairs on the back of your neck tell you he’s turned to watch you.

“How do you know that?” he asks.

You turn back to look at Romeo once again. “If you feel like making your morning commute a little more interesting, then we could always relocate to the luggage care for the next, say, 20 minutes?”

A devilish smile blooms across his face, teeth gleaming. “Make it 30 minutes.”

You stifle the urge to giggle, keeping it locked deep in our chest and opting for a smile instead. “You think big of yourself, huh? In that case,” you rise to your feet, smoothing out your clothes, “it’ll probably be more like 10 minutes.”

“You’ve wounded me,” he says, allowing you to slip past him and into the aisle before pulling himself up off the bench and following you back to the luggage car.

_______

The two of you tumble into the wall of the luggage car, hitting the wood with an audible oof as the air is shoved from your lungs. But you’re too busy thinking about the hands on your waist, the lips at your shoulder, to even contemplate how badly that collision will bruise you tomorrow.

Romeo, it turns out, is a very good kisser.

His breath comes in shallow huffs and the air from lips brushes against your skin, warming you against the chill outside.

The train car rocks and rumbles, tossing you from side to side every now and then, but Romeo is on hand to steady you, keeping you o your feet. It’s not long before the train hits a bend and the two of you are unceremoniously thrown towards the other wall with the momentum. Romeo’s smile widens as he watches you clutch the window frame for support, the two of you momentarily separated. His smile is infectious, it seems, and soon enough you’re mirroring his gleam - your smile just as dreamy as his could ever be, according to the soldiers at Fort Wallace.

“Do you often find yourself frolicking with strangers in the luggage cars of trains?” you ask him.

“Depends on the stranger,” he shrugs.

“And I satisfy, yes?”

Romeo’s smile brightens a fraction. “Ay, I suppose.”

“Well, then I think maybe you should come over here and -” You cut yourself short as the scenery outside the window gives way to open land; trees dissipating, replaced by open grassy hills littered with low-lying shrub. You must have lost track of time. Your stop is close, now.

Into action you spring, pushing off on the balls of your feet and flying by Romeo, leaving him with a confused smile and a face full of your flowing scarf.

You’re all quiet muttering and business-like focus as you flip up the hollowed-out floorboards at the back of the car to retrieve the bag you’d stowed in it before boarding the train. Romeo joins you at the back of the car just as you come up to stand again, bringing the back with you and shoving one hand deep inside it to rummage through its contents.

“You might not want to be here much longer,” you say; eyes flicking up to Romeo briefly and finding him with a puzzled look.

“Why?” he asks, voice teeming with suspicion.

Your fingers brush against the thing you’re looking for and you pull out your trusty neckerchief from the bottom of the bag and begin tying it around your face, stowing the bag between your legs while you work.

“You’re here to rob the train?” Romeo blurts, amusement and surprise mingling on his features, accompanied by… is that lust? Jesus, is this guy getting a thrill out of this? He’s even more curious than you’d thought.

“We all get our jollies off one way or another,” you flirt. “You jaunt around with strangers; I rob people blind. If I must go to hell for it, then, well… C’est la vie.”

With that, you promptly turn your attention to ransacking the surround cupboards, which may hold the odd trinket, but don’t contain the main prize. You move back a car, past the catatonic guard you’d generously shared a drink with at the start of your journey. Of course, you hadn’t drank from the same flask, but he didn’t know that.

You don’t even have to search the car to know where you’re heading. Eyes locking onto the bulky safe at the end of the car, you press forward, paying no mind to Romeo trailing behind you.

After tipping a handful of gunpowder on the lock of the safe, you find view obstructed by Romeo’s arm, extending a lit match towards your pile of black powder. Looking up, you’re met with a very different man than the one you were sat next to in the passenger car not half an hour ago. With a black neckerchief covering his nose and mouth and a shiny six-shooter held lazily by his side in one hand, it’s his turn to baffle you. Oh, how the tables have turned.

“C’est la vie,” he shrugs.

Neither of you can see the other’s smile behind your masks, but you both know it’s there; lips curled up against the fabric.

You nod. Take a step back. Watch. In a heartbeat, he’s set your powder alight and the mound burns bright white like the centre of the sun for a few moments before fizzling out into a glowing molten mess. With a quick smack with the butt of his revolver, the lock gives, and the view before you is enough to send you skipping around the car singing praises for the Lord.

Gold bars sit on the top shelf of the safe, neatly arranged into rows like little gleaming soldiers. The bottom shelf holds bags; one of which has spilled from the safe and now leaks its contents over the floorboards - gold coins, freshly forged and on the way to the bank.

It’s a beautiful sight.

Shame the bank will never see it.

The two of you stand in a stupor for a few moments, captivated by the sight of riches and all of the lavish ways of spending it that your brains come up with, and then you shake yourselves out of it and get moving.

Stuffing handful after handful into the bag, the two of your work double time. A quick look at the passing scenery tells you that your stop is rapidly approaching. Romeo grabs a few of the bars, but you shake your head. “Too heavy. I can’t carry them.”

“Then I’ll take the bag,” he says.

“You will not.” You pull the bag close to your chest as if he might rip it from your hands at any moment. “This is my job.”

His shoulders deflate, frustration taking hold for a moment. “You can trust me.”

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Javier,” he says. “Javier Escuella.”

Jesus Christ, you’re really in trouble, now.

He’s got an even higher price on his head than you have. Hell, you could leave this loot behind and turn him in for 10 times the amount of anything in this train. A small voice points out that he trusted you with his real name, which means you can probably trust him in return. No crook would have dobbed himself in like that if he had intentions of stabbing you in the back right after.

“Okay,” you sigh, handing over the bag. “Grab as many as you can.”

Whistles cut the air as Javier fills the bag with bars. The further down the length of the train have caught wind of something being wrong. If they’re close enough for you to hear their whistles, they’ll be here in force soon enough.

“We need to go,” you tell Javier, tapping him on the shoulder and prompting him to hurry. As a smear of blue appears in your peripheral, you pull up and haul him away from the safe by the shoulder of his jacket. “Now!”

You head for the back end of the train and find tracks staring back at you.

“Jump,” you tell him.

Without another word, Javier leaps from the back of the train, landing in the centre of the tracks with his knees bent in a crouch and the bag in one hand. You turn the face the oncoming guard and offer him a quick salute before leaping from the train and leaving him in the doorframe.

Javier joins you in the spot where you landed and pulls you to your feet by the arm.

Before the guard has the chance to call out to his friends, the two of you duck into the passing forest that surrounds Heatherfield Station - your stop, chosen for the cover it offers via the trees.

And with that, you can add one more job to your resume and enjoy the fruit of your labour in whatever local pigsty you pass through next.

You’re not sure what you’re going to do with Romeo, though.

You suppose you can think of a few things.

#rdr2 #javier escuella #javier escuella x reader #my writing #writing: javier escuella

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streith-run · 4 years

Text

Adventures of Little Luci Pt. 1

Appendix

(Before the return of KQ)

It has been two months since Luciano had made it to his father's camp, and the little boy had been getting on quite well with Tomás and his family. Even King and June, whom he had so feared for a good while, had been added to his little family doodles. He was very fond of his new family, and they seemed fond of him too, which was a big relief to the shy lad. He had been accepted amongst them despite his mother, and every day held a new plan or adventure alongside his Father or uncles and aunt.

On this particular day, his uncle Jonas was going to be taking him with him to town while he bought a new set of fabrics, needles, and threads. This was the day Luciano had been waiting for all week, the day he can go out and deliver this week's letter to his mother while spending time with the 'angry German' uncle he was so fond of.

With all his pent up excitement, he had slipped out of bed even earlier than his usual ungodly waking time, and had spent his time in the dark morning making himself ready for town and shenanigans. He double, and even triple checks his little bag, given to him to hold onto his various belongings and whatever he may pick up in the trees when they went out.

Looking over his checklist, he was proud to see that he had everything. His charcoals were present along with his journal, his favorite little flute was in its case within the bag, a couple small coins littered the bottom in case he needed to buy something or tempt a crow. And he had what he had deemed the perfect throwing rock in its special tiny pouch that Jonas had sown in for him. With everything in place, Luciano was still ready to go.

Now he just had to wait for Jonas to wake up, which would prove a bit too difficult for him after about 30 minutes. After said 30 minutes, he made his way out to his uncle's tent and peeked in, hoping to see him awake. Unfortunately, his uncle was still very much asleep, so he returned go the table to sit down again for a few minutes before checking once again. This cycle continued approximately six times before he finally decided he had waited long enough, and had to take matters into his own hands. That being said, he went out to fetch Cotton.

After tracking down the little marsupial, he picked up a small piece of cheese left out from the night prior and silently slid into Jonas's tent. The current inhabitant was still sleeping soundly, and Luci doubted that would be changing until after the rest of his family was awake, which was too far away for the early bird child to take. So with a deep breath, he collected himself and placed the cheese on the other side of his sleeping uncle, turning to the entrance before hesitating. What would his uncle do if he found out? He shook his head and reminded himself that he wouldn't be found out, nor would he care if he was. Luciano nodded to assure himself, and proceeded out to carry in Cotton, placing him on the foot of the bed before quickly scurrying out of the tent, letting the little creature run around around all over Jonas in search of the food it was smelling.

Luciano raced back to his place at the edge of camp and listened as a groggy mumble came from the tent, followed by a round of annoyed German cusses and the sound of things being dropped or thrown as Cotton was shooed out of the tent, bringing a small smile to Luci's face. It only took a few minutes before Jonas emerged from his tent, still looking a bit bedraggled and annoyed, with a cigarette in his mouth. Upon seeing his nephew watching him with wide eyes and his bag on his lap, the older man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew precisely what happened, but wasn't about to ruin the kid's fun just yet.

As Uncle Jonas was awake now, it was finally almost time to go. He just had to wait a few minutes for him to get his own items gathered, which he knew wouldn't take too long if he came in and inquired about his rest at just the right moment.

After a bit of a wait, his uncle emerged once again and they were finally on their way into town, Luci riding just in front of Jonas, who left the little boy to drive the horse. Meaning they were heading into town at breakneck speeds with a concerning amount of near collisions. It isn't long before they've arrived and Jonas takes the reigns back, pulling the horse to a stop and tethering it before helping Luciano down and ruffling his hair. The first stop would be the tailor's, so Jonas brings his nephew into the tailor's shop for the materials the older man needed.

As he went about his business, his nephew was scanning some of the hats and bandanas, trying a few on and entertaining himself in the mirror by jumping in front and pretending to fight some invisible being of who-knows-what origin. He would occasionally let out a quiet 'oof' before stumbling backwards dramatically as if struck by a bullet or blade.

His actions don't go unnoticed by Jonas and the Tailor, both of whom watch as he falls to the ground and drags himself towards a rack, swearing vengeance for his wife and two sons before lifting his hand and shakily pulling an invisible trigger, making a small 'PCHH' sound and smirking before falling to the ground, playing dead.

His little performance drew a laugh from the Tailor, who commented on his acting skills and received a nod and a laugh from his uncle, who knew all too well that the boy had a dramatic streak. As had shown his flare for the dramatic on a few occasions, and it never ceased to be amusing to him or his siblings. After a bit more conversation on Luci's performance, the two returned to business as Jonas gave the man a list of the items he needed and set out to give the specifics of what exactly he was looking for.

Luciano could only entertain himself with imaginary fights and conflicts for so long though. With nothing to entertain him as he was surrounded by clothes, he soon enough became bored. He spared a hopeful look over at his uncle and came to the painful conclusion that it was going to take a little bit for him to get the specific clothes and thread and whatnot. So, with a little green bandana on his face, he stepped out the door and went towards the horse they rode in on. He softly complimented its saddle and gave it a small pat before pulling his satchel from the saddlebag and heading over to the post office across the street with his letter to mama in hand.

The boy figured he would use his time to get the letter sent off so maybe he and uncle Jonas could go get candy or do something fun after he finished. Not to mention it provided even the smallest bit of relief from the monotony of adult conversation that Jonas and the tailor were certainly having.

Upon entering, he was greeted warmly by the man behind the counter, which pulled a smile from him as he moved closer and poked his head over, sliding the letter through to the man. With a chuckle, the postmaster takes the letter, not bothering to ask where the letter is being sent as he knew full well where it was going since Luciano is no stranger to this town or post office. Once a week he arrived with his father to have a letter shipped off to France, always the same address and always the same reasoning. Though the postmaster did come to realize that this time Tomás wasn't with him, which was slightly concerning at first, but after asking and being told that the little boy was here with an uncle, he simply brushed it aside and took the letter. Glancing up and watching with amusement as Luci pulled a couple of odd coins from his satchel and placed them onto the counter. It was a bit short, but he was a kind man who figured he could spare a couple coins himself to help the nice kid out. After taking thw coins in his hand, he thanked Luci and assured him that he would make sure the letter gets delivered, earning him a satisfied nod.

After his mission was completed, Luci stepped out again and began making his way out towards the tailor once again when he heard an all too familiar sound and froze, his eyes widening as a massive smile forms on his face. It was a sound he could identify anywhere.

It was the sound of a puppy.

The sound of the one thing he had been trying to get since even before he was brought to the Americas. And there was one nearby. Casting a quick glance towards the Tailor and by proxy Jonas, he decided that they would still be busy talking about adult stuff when he came back, hopefully with the puppy in tow. With a joyous bounce, the little man rushed off, following the sound of the high pitched barks with a great excitement filling his being.

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prehistoricalcats · 4 years

Text

Y'all Ready For Some Griz Headcanons?

I'm gonna post my normal Jellicle Queen Appreciation Post a little later on, but I have a bunch of in-depth headcanons for Griz that need to be shared, so buckle up

Warning: Long Post Ahead

She had a thing with Jenny a while when they were young, long before Munk was born. It was a very casual, off and on thing, and they weren't exclusive. In fact, they had similar tastes and would often be attracted to the same people. They would pursue crushes together, and often shared lovers with each other. They never really officially broke up, but they had been in an "off" phase for a couple years when Griz left the tribe. But even during off phases they remained close, and Jenny was heartbroken and hurt when Griz left her and the rest of the tribe behind

She's younger than she looks. The years haven't been kind to her.

She had no idea how to be a mother and the short time she was actually responsible for Munk's care when he 6-7 she did a terrible job and he ended up taking care of her more than she took care of him

Munk is her only child, Mac and Tugger have different mothers

Tugger barely had ever seen her before that night of the Ball, but he knows who she is and what she did. In his mind she's the first in a long list of people that abandoned his poor brother (a list that includes Macavity and Tarophagus), and he hated her for it.

She would sing Memory to herself as she wandered the streets alone and broken. The Jellicles occasionally saw her, but were too busy leaving before she noticed them to pay attention to her song

She knows Demeter from the streets when they were both alone and tribeless. They didn't interact much, because Demeter at the time was too afraid and too untrusting of basically everyone to seek anyone out, but occasionally they would share a fire with other homeless Cats on a cold night. Griz was also used to being mocked and tormented by this point, but familiar faces are familiar faces, and once she was familiar enough with the younger queen to be fairly certain she was mostly harmless, she started making conversation now and then when she saw her, talking about her youth and her faded glory, which is how Demeter knows so much about her

Jemima also used to be a homeless street kitten, and also heard her singing when she was very very small, but she paid attention. That's how she knows the lyrics. When Griz hears Jem singing the next line of her song it's not just the words or the fact that Jem is clearly trying to help that moves her. It's the fact that someone listened. Someone cares.

Oof I swear I have some less heavy headcanons too

Bustopher was a good friend of hers after she left the tribe. Bustopher isn't an official member of the tribe you see, and she only met him after she went away to be a star and ended up mingling with high society Cats. He didn't judge her when she faded from grace, in fact he tried to help her. But then he learned how badly Munk had fared in her care and, well he didn't exactly judge but... his disappointment was too much to bear. She just couldn't face him after that, not even when she had literally no one else to turn to

Dammit I didn't mean that to be a heavy one too

She knew Mac's mum, who was a good several years older than her, and she looked up to her like a sister. After she died she bonded with Deut in grief, which is how Munk eventually happened.

DAMMIT okay fine it's all heavy I'm just gonna embrace it

She actually got along great with Mac. It helped that she wasn't expected to take care of him. He was 5 when Griz started getting close to Deut and 8 when they finally officially became a relationship, and 10 when Munk was born. She didn't have to be his mother, she could just be his buddy, his cool aunt, maybe his babysitter occasionally (which still made her nervous, but Mac was fairly good at taking care of his own basic needs and she just had to make sure he didn't set the Junkyard on fire, or fall into the pond and drown or something)

Then suddenly there's this helpless infant that depends entirely on her, and she just panicked. She let Deut do everything and interacted with the baby as little as possible. She didn't babysit anymore. She would still sit with boys, but Mac would be the one actually looking after the baby, and after a while she just started trusting him to be the "babysitter" and would fuck off to do her own thing.

Little Mac didn't resent her at all for this. He didn't even realize he was being taken advantage off. He was just thrilled that A) he's gets to spend time with his baby brother and B) a grown up (especially a grown up he loves and respects) trusted him with this very very Important Job. (Luckily for everyone involved he was very good at his job)

Munk was only three months old when Griz swanned off.

She would visit occasionally. She'd always show up for the Jellicle Ball, but very rarely otherwise.

As soon as Munk was old enough to speak he started begging her to stay every time she came. Finally one year at the Ball when he was six (and some other really traumatic stuff not involving Griz happened leading up to this) Munk was pawing at her and clinging to her, and wouldn't let go and wouldn't stop begging her, and she finally snapped and slapped him. Everyone went quiet. She knew she'd fucked up. Finally Munk said "If you won't stay, take me with you!" She didn't know what else to do and she knew she was already being judged so she agreed. It didn't go well, as mentioned above. Deut finally came and took Munk home some time after his seventh birthday because he learned just how bad it was going. That was the last Ball Griz came to until the one we see in the show.

She knows she's on her way out. She knows this is her last chance. Not for the Jellicle Choice, it would be nice but she doesn't expect it one bit. But this is her last chance for... for everyone. For love. For acceptance. To see her old family and friends again. To see her son, and maybe reconcile with him. She does love him, she's always loved him, she just never knew what to do with him. But she's got to see him again. See Jenny, see Deut... Shame and judgement be damned, she's gonna come to the Ball tonight, and she's gonna do her damn best!

#griz #jellicle queen appreciation month #jelliclequeens2020 #queens love

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slashthedice · 6 years

Note

Idea: You meet Michael Myers six months after the heavy love session you both had in Haddonfield. This time, you are in a trial at the MacMillan Estate with your closest friend who is also one of the best survivours you ever met. You both adore each other, and you would do anything for one another. You see Michael choking her, hitting her... and then... your eyes met with Michael's, and he stops for a second, unwillingy letting your best friend escape, slowly coming towards you...

Oof this was a long time coming, sorry for the wait! I’m not going to lie to everyone and say that I didn’t write half of this on my shower wall with a blue bathtub crayon, but I’m also not going to deny it. I didn’t want to create a whole new character for your best friend in this, so I’m just going to expand your relationship with Claudette (She’s one of my fav survivors tbh). This is a sequel to this post and will also be crossposted to ao3. NSFW ahead! :3

You sighed, rubbing at your arms to ward off the cold that settled into your bones despite the crackling of the campfire in front of you. Time seemed to be frozen so that it was perpetually late Fall, chilled air that bit at the soft skin of your cheeks and nose and a dusting of fluffy snow that when combined with the dead leaves crunched under foot. Of course, the Entity never allowed you to get cold enough to actually freeze. What fun was killing survivors if those kills weren’t sufficiently gruesome?

You scooted closer to Claudette who was seated next to you, staring pensively into the fire. She looked up when your leg brushed hers, sending a warm smile your way. You returned it.

You weren’t sure if it was some perverse sense of guilt over the events of that trial, but you had begun to stick closer to Claudette both inside and out of trials. She was skilled as a survivor. She had been in the Entity’s realm longer than most of you, and knew how to hide effectively when necessary and when it was time to run. She was sweet, if a little awkward at times, when all of you were clustered around the campfire like this. You had grown to genuinely enjoy spending time in her company and learning more about what her life before all this had been like.

That was why she could never know about what you had done. None of them could.

It wasn’t that you regretted what had happened. However, you liked Claudette and you wanted to make sure that she continued to like you. You were sure that her opinion of you would take a drastic turn if she knew that you had fucked a killer while her blood was still fresh on his hands.

You felt slightly responsible for the brutal way in which she had died. Maybe if you hadn’t drawn out your little games so long, He wouldn’t have been in such a rush to cut down everyone to get to you. Maybe you could have reacted faster to warn her and given her a chance to escape.

In some twisted form of self flagellation, you had begun to behave more recklessly in trials. You would throw yourself in front of Claudette to take a blow meant for her. You would purposefully mess up a generator to draw a killer’s attention so that the others could rescue a hooked survivor. You would even allow yourself to be caught if you knew that it would give the rest of the survivors, or at the very least Claudette, a chance to escape. Since that trial, you had gone head to head with every killer the Entity could throw at you. All except one.

But, god, how you wanted to see him again.

You wouldn’t say that you had been pining, you hadn’t been pining– that was the wrong word for what you felt. How could you describe the rush of heat that overtook your body every time you thought of him? Any mention of him or of Haddonfield brought obscene memories to the forefront of your wayward mind. You could still feel his fingers at your heat and his teeth in your neck.

The Entity had destroyed the physical evidence of the carnal act your fellow survivors surely would deem blasphemous merely in its inception, but the damage had been done. You would never forget the slow drip of his seed down your quivering thighs or the bruises that had appeared on your hips moments after the culmination of your animalistic coupling. You shivered with delight at the heated memories, a muted warmth settling between your legs.

You pulled yourself from your thoughts as an unnatural darkness began to settle itself over your vision. You were being taken into a trial. Claudette took your hand in hers, giving it a friendly squeeze and putting your mind at ease. She was coming with you.

As the blackness settled over you fully and Claudette’s grip faded from yours, you absently wondered who the killer would be. Since you were apparently on Michael ban, you considered the other options the Entity could throw at you. It had been a while since you had last encountered the Wraith or the Hag.

You blinked and your vision returned to you all at once, causing you to blink a few more times. You would never get used to the feeling of being transported into the trial. You looked around to figure out just where the Entity had dropped you this time and found yourself staring up at the shambling corpse of the coal tower in the MacMillan Estate. A cold wind across your bare legs drew your attention away from what once must have been an incredibly imposing structure and down to what you were wearing.

“Seriously?” You huffed under your breath.

The Entity had shown an affinity for playing dress-up with the survivors, changing your apparel and sometimes even your hairstyles at its whim. You noticed that sometimes it did this with the killers as well, but you were not keen on the idea of telling the Nurse that you liked her new dress while you were running for your life, so you tended not to pay too much attention to it all.

However, this particular fashion statement was not amongst your favorites. You found yourself in a casual dress that would have been appropriate for a sunny, early Fall day. This was no such an occasion, and it was hardly a tactical choice when you would be crouching, running, and repairing generators. The loose fabric fell just above your knees leaving your calves completely bared. You were thankful that it at least had long sleeves.

You looked around but failed to spot any of your fellow survivors nearby. There was a generator only a few yards away, so you crept towards it while keeping your eyes and ears open for any indication of who the killer was. You had not heard the Nurse’s banshee screams or the tell-tale tolling of the Wraith’s bell, so it was a safe bet that it wasn’t either of them. You worked at the generator, paying no mind to the grease and oil that now stained your sleeves.

You saw movement in your peripheral and jolted away from the generator, more than ready to turn tail and run. You relaxed when you saw that it was just Kate. She shot you a nervous smile as she came closer and began to help you with repairs.

“I saw Dwight a little bit ago, do you know who else is with us? Have you seen the killer?” Even when it was tainted with fear, her voice was still pleasing to listen to.

You shook your head. “Claudette is here too, but I have no idea who the killer is.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll leave us alone,” Kate whispered cheerily, though the hopeful tone in her voice was strained.

Before you could offer a half shrug in return, you finished the generator and it clicked on with a ding. No sooner had you retracted your hands from the now rumbling machine, you heard a piercing scream. Your heart stopped.

That was Claudette.

Without thinking, you took off in the direction you had heard the scream come from, pushing yourself to run faster. Some part of your frantic brain registered Kate calling for you to come back, but you paid her no mind, concerned only with getting there and saving Claudette. Maybe the killer was the Trapper and she had stepped in one of his bear traps. You could deal with that, you would pull her leg free and patch her up before he even got to her. At the very least, you could draw him away.

The closer you got to it, the larger and more imposing the coal tower seemed to become. You were sure that you had heard the scream from around here, so why wasn’t your heartbeat going crazy? You slid around a pile of the many industrial spools that littered the area, dirt and gravel kicked up by your hurried feet, only to freeze.

Michael was the killer. Michael was the killer and he was holding Claudette.

Memories of this same scenario flooded your panicked mind. In that trial he had held her just as he was now, aloft and powerless, her legs kicking desperately but doing nothing to dissuade him from ending her life. Her small hands clawed at the iron grip on her throat. You watched him raise the blade and you knew all too well the horrible sound of metal sinking into flesh would follow unless you could do something to put a stop to it.

“Michael!”

His name rang through the night air, cutting through him as easily as he cut through survivors. You saw him freeze, shoulders stiffening and body tense. The knife was inches from Claudette’s helpless form. His head turned slowly towards you.

It felt like it had been such a long time since you had last seen the familiar blank expression of his mask. It’s typically pristine white surface was marred by a streak of blood that had been splattered across it. Some part of you wondered who the blood had belonged to, but the rest of you was intent on ensuring that Claudette’s didn’t join it.

You couldn’t see his eyes, but you could feel them staring at you, through you, into you. You stared right back, chest heaving and breaths shaky as they left your parted lips. You held your ground, trying to seem confident despite the trembling you could feel in your knees and the fear clenching around your heart.

Finally, finally his grip on your best friend’s throat loosened. You nearly collapsed under the crushing weight of the relief that washed over you as she fell to the ground and coughed while sucking in greedy lungfuls of air. She dragged herself away from the Shape, wheezing weakly before pulling herself to stand. He made no move to indicate any recognition of her presence, now turned fully to face you. Behind the mask his eyes glinted with a dangerous, electric sort of energy.

Without thinking about it, you took a step backwards. This seemed to prompt a swift and immediate response from the killer. Suddenly, he was no longer an unmoving marble figure. He closed on you with long, purposeful strides. True to form, however, his pace never increased above that of fast walk, long legs eating up the distance between the two of you.

“Run!” You shouted to Claudette, turning to follow your own advice.

You were beyond relieved when you saw her follow your directive and sprint off in the opposite direction. Hopefully she would run into Dwight or Kate and they would be able to heal her wounds. For now though, you would be much more useful if you were far away from her, hopefully leading Michael to the otherside of the area.

You didn’t get very far.

An iron grip closed on the back of your dress, yanking you backwards into a solid chest and arms that could surely snap you in half if their owner so desired. His hand closed around your throat, tilting your head back roughly at an uncomfortable angle so you were forced to look up at the blankness of his mask. At this proximity, you could just barely see the dark eyes that always hid behind the shadow of darkness and anonymity. They bit your flesh with more ferocity than his teeth ever had. Your own eyes went wide at the sight and you gasped before you could stop yourself.

The fingers around your neck fell away, but the ones still twisted in the fabric of your dress pushed you forward. You fell onto your hands and knees, shock and adrenaline numbing the pain that shot through your palms. His massive hand released your clothing only to come down heavily between your shoulder blades, forcing your arms to give out beneath you. He leaned his weight into you, holding you in place and grinding the upper half of your body into the dirt beneath your face. Despite the discomfort and earlier fear, you couldn’t deny the way your body reacted to the show of force from him. You hoped this was leading where you thought it was and that he wasn’t merely getting creative with his kills.

Using the hilt of his favored weapon, Michael pushed the fabric of your dress up your thighs and over your hips, leaving only the thin cotton of your underwear to shield you from the burning sweep of his eyes over your quivering form. You felt the blunt edge of his knife trail up your leg. The cold steel sent a tremor through you as it slid beneath the elastic of your panties. With a quick flick of his wrist, the blade sliced cleanly through the material. He repeated the motion on the other side, and soon enough the ruined shreds of your underwear lay beneath you in a crumpled pile.

The cold air against your exposed cunt was a foreign sensation that had you rubbing your thighs together just to relieve some of the burning need between them. The knife startled you when it hit the ground and Michael’s newly freed hand was soon filled with the flesh of your ass as he spread you open, allowing his hungry gaze to take in the sight of your arousal slickened folds. He forced his way between your thighs, spreading your legs with his own and causing your bare knees to scrape across the gravelly dirt. Tiny rocks and debris cut into your skin painfully, drawing a hiss from between your clenched teeth.

You expected him to stretch you with his fingers again, preparing you to take his cock. You felt a rush of wetness at the thought, eager to have his long fingers inside of you once more. You wiggled your hips back towards him in a silent plea for him to finally do something about the aching need thrumming through you.

Instead, you screamed when he entered you roughly and without warning. You hadn’t even heard him unzip the bloodstained coveralls. Now he was stuffed as far into your tight cunt as possible, stopped only by the barrier of your cervix and aided only by the natural lubrication provided by your desire. Tears formed and spilled from your eyes. You felt like he was going to split you in half from the inside.

You knew then that he was punishing you. You had stolen a kill that was rightfully his when you had drawn his attention away from Claudette. Unbeknownst to you, he was also punishing you for plaguing his thoughts ever since he had taken you up against the wall in Haddonfield. The memory of your sweet moans teased at his ear while he silently stalked survivors. The feeling of your heat around him burned through his mind while he spilled blood in sacrifice. He hated it.

Saliva dripped down your chin and onto the ground beneath your face, turning it muddy. You clenched your teeth and waited for the pain to subside. Michael, however, had no intention of waiting as he pulled almost all the way out of you before slamming back in. You gasped against this new burn.

With every thrust your knees were cut more and more by the stones and gravel beneath them. Thankfully, your body was more than eager to accept the harsh slap of his hips against yours and near gushed around the intrusion of his cock. His pace didn’t slow or soften, but the pain ebbed and in its place came the desperate, overwhelming pleasure you had felt before. You buried your face into the crook of your elbow, biting into the fabric there to muffle any of the sounds you couldn’t stifle through force of will alone.

You felt so incredibly exposed as he loomed over your prone form, ramming into you from behind. Out in the open like this, anyone could see the utterly shameless display the two of you were putting on. Any second, one of the other survivors could see you, and despite yourself you felt a jolt of heat course through you at the thought of being caught. You felt guilt curl in the pit of your stomach, but it was quickly wiped away by the coiling, tightening knot caused by Michael’s thrusts into your needy cunt.

The hand that was planted in the middle of your back began to migrate upwards, gliding across the sweat slickened skin of your spinal column, paying particular attention to the back of your neck. His thumb stroked where his teeth had pierced your skin before. You suspected that he was disappointed to find no scars beneath his wandering fingers. You gasped as his hips snapped against yours in a particularly harsh thrust just as his fingers slid into your hair. He took a handful of the strands in his grip and tugged back hard enough to pull your body upwards and put your weight fully on your bleeding knees. Your chin was forced upwards as he yanked your head back and you stared open-mouthed at the night sky.

You brought your hands up to your mouth to quiet a moan forced from you due to the new angle. His other arm snaked around your waist, locking you into place with a vice-like grip. You keened from behind your palm as he pounded into you, removing one hand from your lips to hold tightly to his forearm. Your nails dug into the familiar blue fabric as you felt your release edging closer and closer.

When that knot in your core finally snapped, your lips parted in a silent scream. The feeling was even more intense than the first time, white hot flames of pleasure clawed through your body making you forget for a moment all about the dirt and mud now caked to the front of you from a combination of your sweat, tears, and saliva. Over the overwhelming feeling of your orgasm, the pain in your knees subsided along with the knowledge that Michael was punishing you. You clung to any part of him you could reach as he fucked you through your orgasm.

As you came down from your pleasure induced high, you whined and tried to wiggle out of the death grip he had on you. The walls of your pussy were raw and oversensitive. The continued drag of his cock against them was too much, but he was too far gone to worry about you going mad from overstimulation.

He released your hair in favor of wrapping his fingers around your throat, tight enough to cut off oxygen intake but not so hard as to break the delicate bones of your neck. He felt you swallow with difficulty and struggle to breathe. The little choking sounds that you were making as you attempted to pry his hand from you were intoxicating. He panted in your ear, the heavy sound of his breathing filling the air around you. You felt his whole body tense against the back of yours, feeling his cock jerk inside you followed by the heat of his release flooding your overwrought sex.

He let go of you and you immediately fell forward, gasping and choking on the overabundance of air suddenly filling your lungs. You whined weakly when he pulled out of you, suddenly feeling very empty. You were dripping with cum, the remnants of both your pleasure and his making a mess of you.

You could see him moving out of the corner of your eye, watched his calloused hands zip his coveralls back up, but he didn’t rise to stand. He remained kneeling behind you. When he leaned over you slightly to retrieve his knife, you understood. He had spared you last time, but he would not be showing you the same mercy again. You saw his hand reaching for you and closed your eyes, hoping he would at least make it quick.

The loud alarm that rang out through the night startled you both. Michael jolted upright, looking away from you and in the direction of where the siren had come from. You suspected he knew exactly where both of the doors were and would head there as soon as he was done with you. You weren’t sure how you hadn’t heard the generators being completed around you, but you did know one thing.

Now was your chance.

While Michael was momentarily distracted, you dragged yourself forward and scrambled to your feet. With a burst of adrenaline fueled energy, you sprinted into the tree line. You forced yourself to run as fast as you could go. You were tired and sore, but refused to let that hinder you. Head start or no, you knew he would catch up to you if you allowed yourself to slow for even a fraction of a second.

You spotted the doors opening slowly, crying out when you saw Claudette standing at the lever. She saw you and motioned you forward, but you saw her eyes go wide with fear. Michael must have been close behind you. You pushed yourself to run just that little bit faster. Kate and Dwight were already through the doors when you arrived, and you didn’t plan to stick around any longer.

You grabbed Claudette’s hand as you passed, dragging her with you out into the night. Once you were out, you chanced a glance back. Michael stood at the doors, prevented from further pursuit by the Entity’s black tendrils. You realized with pride that in your ongoing game of cat and mouse, you were the victor once more.

You continued to run with Claudette’s hand in yours, slowing only once you caught up with Kate and Dwight in the glowing light of the campfire. You were thankful that the Entity would clean you up at any moment, you didn’t need anyone looking too closely at the nature of your injuries. You pressed your legs together in an attempt to stop the cum from spilling from you anymore than it already had. You didn’t need anyone to see that either.

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iloveyouthree-thousand · 5 years

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What happens in Germany stays in Germany. AKA, Tony refuses to tell Peter why the Avengers never came home.

I’m reposting a couple of fics I had up on FF.net. This one is post-CACW and pre-IW.

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened after Germany?"

The whirring sound of the welder ceased for a second. Tony lifted up his mask to look at the boy who was across the shop, dry-erase marker in his mouth, writing out calculus problems on the glass wall.

"Kid, what did I tell you about hanging from the ceiling?"

"You're jealous that you can't do it?" he said, using his sleeve to correct an error in his math.

"No."

"That it looks like a lot of fun? Because it is."

"Try again."

Peter pouted his lip. "It leaves footprints on the ceiling."

"Bingo."

The boy flipped himself to the ground, frowning as he looked up at his homework. "It's all upside-down now. I can barely read it."

Tony set the welding gun on the table, stopping to write a few notes. "Good," he said inattentively, "maybe it'll take you more than two minutes to work out the equations and you can feel like a normal kid for once. Who does his homework right-side-up. And hates calculus."

"Hey. You like cal, too."

"Yea, well. It's too late for me to be normal."

Peter rolled his eyes, walking over to sit in the rolling chair next to Tony's. "I know you're avoiding my question."

Tony didn't take his eyes off of the graphics in front of him. "What question?"

The kid rolled his chair around to the other side of the bench, his elbows casually leaning onto the tabletop. His face was shadowed in the blue light of the holographic screen. "The same one I've been asking for weeks now. Ow," he complained, rubbing his forehead after Tony poked it.

"You're in my blueprint."

"I'm trying to get your attention."

"Can you try to get my attention somewhere else?"

Tony rolled his chair away from the table so that he could look at the other side of the suit and avoid the voice that was talking his ear off.

"Mr. Stark—,"

He took a huge breath in, squeezing the tiny screwdriver in his hand until he thought it was going to break.

"What?!"

Peter's eyes shot wide open, taken aback by Tony's red face and flared nostrils, before flitting shyly to the ground. His shoulders rolled forward, hunching over in the backless stool as he stared at his toes.

"Nevermind."

Close to twenty minutes passed, the room silent save for the Aerosmith album playing quietly in the background. Tony kept fiddling with the suit, his hands twitching just a little each time he thought about the look Peter had given him. He opened his mouth, trying to muster up an apology, but it died on his tongue. Instead, he kept to himself, anxiously glancing at the kid periodically.

Another ten minutes went by, meaning Peter hadn't talked in nearly half an hour. It had to be some kind of record. Tony had spent the better part of that time trying reconfigure some wiring, but now he was just absentmindedly cutting and twisting the copper connections. His hands moved in a mechanical rhythm, unconsciously, because his thoughts were focused a million miles away.

Well, maybe more like a couple feet away. On a brown-haired kid doing homework in the corner.

Every time Tony looked over he was huddled over his textbook, spinning his chair gently from side to side and distractedly tapping a pencil against the table. He didn't look up from his book once.

Tony was going to make it up to him. He'd add those roller blade things (what did Peter call them, Heelys?) into a suit. Peter had been begging for them for weeks now, but Tony said they were impractical.

Who cares about practical. He's a kid. If it makes him happy he can have the damn shoe wheels.

Maybe he'd get him an ice cream, or take him to a movie, or let him drive one of the horribly expensive cars collecting dust in the garage. That would work, right? Kids like that kind of stuff, don't they?

He made a mental note to ask FRIDAY or Google or Pepper later: how to say sorry without actually having to say sorry. Tony pondered for a second, then added: how to make a teenager not hate you.

The consistent tapping of Peter's pencil ceased, prompting Tony to snap out of his daze.

"AH—," he screamed, nearly falling over in his chair.

Startled by Tony's loud reaction, Peter let a small squeal of his own before quickly composing himself.

"Sh, Mr. Stark, it's just me," he said gently, hanging from the ceiling by a thin rope of webbing.

"Jesus Christ—what in God's name are you doing?"

Peter cocked an eyebrow, still dangling in front of Tony's face. "Well, I tried the whole 'silent treatment' thing but that didn't work, so I went with plan B."

"Which was try and give me a heart attack? And for the love of—can you get down now?"

The boy smiled sheepishly before attempting to casually flip onto the floor, but his T-shirt gave way and draped over his face.

"Oof," he muttered, dropping to the floor in a tangled mess of web and nerdy science fabric.

"I'm going to do us both a favor and pretend that didn't happen."

Tony reached down to help him up, and the kid jumped to his feet.

"I knew that would work," he said, a stupid grin plastered across his face as he brushed himself off. "So, now that you're finally paying attention to me, are you gonna finally tell me what went down with Captain America?"

"Nothing happened."

"Then how come Mr. Rhodes and I are the only Avengers that are ever here?"

Tony sighed, playing with the tools sitting on his workbench to avoid Peter's prying stare.

"First, kid, you're not an Avenger—you're a trainee on a good day. That was your choice, and I fully agree with that. And second, Cap just decided he needed a break. From me. Call it... irreconcilable differences," his face twisted into a sad, rueful smile, "and the kids went with him."

When Tony had taken Peter home after Berlin, he'd assured him that everything would be okay. There was still hope Tony's his eyes.

"I'm sorry we lost, Mr. Stark."

"Don't worry about it. He's my problem, not yours. And he'll come around. You just worry about that homework."

But nearly six months had passed and Captain America hadn't come back. Neither had many of the others. That small, hopeful light in Tony's eyes had dimmed into defeat.

"I thought you guys were friends."

A flat, drained laugh escaped Tony. "You and me both, kid."

Peter's face fell, almost imperceptibly, but Tony noticed. He knew that feeling. Peter Parker, shy but proud owner of Captain America pajamas and a replica shield, was beginning to see a side of Steve Rogers he had never known.

But as much as Steve had hurt Tony—and the hurt was still fresh and raw and utterly consuming—as much as he needed someone else to shoulder even a fraction of the anti-hero part he had played for so long, when he looked into the kid's eyes—he couldn't do it. Peter already had to come to grips with the flawed and messy reality that was Tony Stark. He didn't need to see him lose Steve Rogers too.

At the end of the day, Steve might have cut him in a way that he never saw coming, but he still hadn't forgotten the reason the whole mess started in the first place. He wanted to keep the Avengers together, not just to save the world. He needed them.

We all need a family. The Avengers are yours, maybe more so than mine.

Tony knew better than anyone that families aren't all they're cracked up to be.

But he also knew better than anyone that it was damn hard to give up on them.

"Sometimes the world forgets that, behind these masks and alter-egos and gaudy, god-awful costumes, there are people just trying to do the best they can in a job no one else wanted."

"You don't blame Mr. Rogers for the Sokovia Accords?"

Tony took a deep, labored breath.

"The Accords were a shit show with no perfect solution, that's politics. I did what I thought would protect the people I care about. Rogers did too. He can pretend to be the super soldier all day, but deep down he's still the scrappy kid from Brooklyn who lost his best friend a long time ago and will do whatever it takes to never feel that again."

Tony closed his eyes, remembering the haunting look on Steve's face as he bled out in the dream induced by Wanda. He felt that pressing need to do more—to do anything to save him.

"I know what that feels like," he murmured. "Heroes make mistakes, kid, it's part of the job. We continue to believe in them anyway, we have to, because the second we don't... I—none of us should live in a world like that. People like me will always need people like Steve Rogers."

Peter stopped pressing. Mr. Stark would give him more information, if he wanted to, on his own terms. Right now, it only mattered that Tony Stark still believed Captain America was a hero—a man worth protecting—and that was enough for him.

Tony Stark would always believe in Steve Rogers.

And Peter Parker would always believe in Tony Stark.

One day, he might just get Tony to believe in himself, too.

#irondad #peter parker #tony stark #cacw

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proofthatihaveaheart · 5 years

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Captain Marvel fic recs

i wrote this ages ago, during the summer, and then forgot to post it - but better late than never! it’s got a mix of gen, carol/jess, and carol/maria fics on it, including both comics and mcu fic. enjoy!

Gen

Galactic Response Time by SassySnowperson (Carol & Fury, 5k): All the OTHER times Nick Fury texted Carol Danvers. // May 4th, 2012 Get your ASS over here there is an INVASION. Aliens are coming out of the SKY HELP US // May 10th, 2012 "Invasion, Fury, the word you used was invasion! I made it across three quarters of the galaxy in six days! Where are the aliens?" [I love this fic and the way it so perfectly captured Carol and Fury’s dynamic. THE DIALOGUE! IT’S JUST SO GOOD! Their banter is fun and there are some genuinely sweet moments.]

whatever it takes (and i couldn’t whisper when you needed it shouted) by pratz (5k): In which Tony called Carol glowing space Jesus, and Carol did her best to understand the weight of 3.2 million lives lost. [An AU of Endgame focusing on Carol and her journey in processing what happened and what she can do about it. I love the characterization and her interactions with the other characters, particularly Tony.]

Carol/Maria

All Around [Reminders of You] by sinandmisery (1k): The first year is the worst. [Maria and Monica’s grief over Carol’s ‘death’, framed around Christmas. Some good and painful angst.]

another place, another time by sorrybaby (1k): In every lifetime but this one, Carol gets to love Maria. [Oof, this one hurts and it’s absolutely brilliant. It’s Carol/Maria and endgame Carol/Val and sometimes you can love someone but not be with them. Because sometimes life is like that and you miss one another. Lots of good pining and learning to let go. Bonus Nat + Carol friendship.]

a simpler place in time by Elisattack (3k): It starts like this: Carol blows up. // Actually, it starts like this: Carol falls down, then she gets right back up again. Her dad shakes his head at her bruised knees and cut face, and calls her unladylike. She says fuck him, and fuck any man that tells her what to do. [Tracks through Carol and Maria’s relationship from the early days to getting together to the events of CM + Endgame and afterwards. Lovely writing and character work. One of my favorite works of this kind]

brave face talk so lightly by lesbiyawn (1k): Carol is stubborn. Carol is hot-headed. Carol can’t help it if some people deserve a just beating. Maria knows this. It’s why she loves Carol calls Carol her best friend. [Pre-canon and pre-relationship fluff that is both sweet and very them]

do you have to let it linger by whyyesitscar (2k): in the wake of carol's crash, maria has to explain everything to a lot of different officials. only one of them seems to get it. (Maria talks to Peggy. Beautiful fic about grief and the people who can understand it.)

jambalaya (please be my baby) by carol_danvers (6k): Loving Maria comes easier than anything else ever did. Carol won't say she wants to be more than friends, not when she has so much to lose, but she'll tell her in everything but name.AKA Carol tests out pet names, Maria gets pregnant, and they fall a bit more in love. [One of my favorite get-together fics, the writing is so good and I love the development of their relationship, the PINING and the obliviousness, it’s gold.]

kisses under my palm by neon_air (1k): Carol Danvers has been kissed before but never by the one person she wanted it from most. [All the different kisses Carol has had, and love. A lovely one-shot.]

Lightning Crash by Monochrome_girl (2k): Carol is here to stay. Maria is still getting used to having her back. [Carol stays and they reconnect. It’s a lovely progression of the two relearning each other and building a life together that also involves collecting alien scraps and it’s sweet.]

Love’s Labors Lost by lesbians_and_puns (3k): After Carol finds a home planet for the Skrull, she returns to Louisiana to try to get her old life back, but when she finds an old photograph of herself and Maria on Maria's bedside table, they both realize how much they're still missing. [An angsty take on Carol’s return and the things people can say because life is stressful and complicated and sometimes you hurt the people you love without meaning to. It’s really good, it also hurts.]

we were too close to the stars by inkwelled (1k): "God, what did they do to you," Maria whispers, wrapping another bandage around Carol's bicep. / For all it's worth, Carol doesn't even wince. [This hurts but in a delicious way. There’s a kind of soft aching quality to the angst, it’s premium, good stuff, you can feel the love.]

Carol/Jessica

Always Falling by sariane (2k): “What do you want?”“I don’t want to be her sloppy seconds. I want all of it, all the corny relationship stuff. I want the dumb date nights, the stupid fights, the awkward breakfast-making elbow bumps. I want to take her up flying – someday. I don’t know,” Carol says suddenly, scuffing her foot on the street, “I want stability.”Carol wants a lot of things. She does not want to be Jessica's rebound girl. [Basically Jess and Clint break up, Carol is a great friend on the comfort front, and then Jess kisses her. And Carol assumes it’s because she’s a rebound. There’s some light angst over that, it’s very well-done. Characterization is very good.]

Fly, Fight, Win by singalellaby (1k): It's not a sign of superhero lesbian bed death, whatever Peter says, it's just that Jess is an Adult. A Mature Adult. In a Mature Adult Partnership with a woman who happens to wear skin-tight suits as her work uniform and it was either become habituated to her girlfriend being the hottest anything with Kree DNA around or living in a state of permanent arousal in her own pretty damn tight costume. And since S.H.I.E.L.D doesn't spring for laundry expenses, that was so not an option. [Jess POV, admiring her really hot partner.]

He Picked the Wrong One by beckydawolf (Carol/Jess, 34k): When Captain Marvel and Spider-Woman are knocked unconscious on a mission, they wake up in a world a lot like their own. In fact, it’s almost identical. Except that the Civil War never happened, Jess doesn’t seem to exist and their Carol is dead. Oh and then there’s Natasha Stark.Turns out, slipping between universes might not even be the most complicated part of this mess. (Fantastic characterization, really love the perfect Carol and Jess banter, nested in this wonderful comic book-y plot that works as perfect background for the development of the characters and the relationships. Also the plot is entirely driven by characters and their relationships and their love - both unhealthy and healthy. It’s great)

In My Dreams by sariane (3k): Carol may not have her memories, but she has her dreams.(But, of course, she dreams of kissing Jessica. As if her life isn't already complicated enough.) [This fic takes this concept and does a phenomenal job with it. You really get Carol’s growing frustration with the dream as she tries to work out what it means by subtly asking everyone other than the person in her dream.]

It’s A Slow Slide Into Misandry by bendingwind (800): Carol's all fixed up and Jessica's moved on, and things have... changed. [Short little fic post-Hawkeye break-up, dealing with feelings. It’s cute.]

once you live a good story by pummelwhack (Carol/Jess, 13k): Carol and Jessica redefine what it means to be happy, in the context of coffee, philosophy, and each other. Or: the one where Carol and Steve own a used bookstore, Sam runs the coffee shop next door, and Jessica searches for more than what life is currently offering her. (Lovely, soft fic about falling in love and finding happiness in each other and your life. Some truly beautiful lines and musings about philosophy.)

Pin the Tail by Alsike (Carol/Jess, 7k): Carol doesn't know who she is. But she knows Jess. She likes Jess. There's probably a good reason why she's not dating Jess, but, you know, amnesia. [Glorious, this fic has pining and angst and trying to deal with amnesia and it just gets Jess and Carol down. And the emotions, they’re just really good as they navigate their relationship and the baggage they bring]

Red by awesomocity (1k): If Carol had been a more self-conscious person she might have worn stale jeans for another day. But years of dealing with brothers and locker rooms and the general knowledge she was both hot AND powerful made standing in a laundromat in her underwear at three in the morning tolerable, if not comfortable.(or, the one where Carol and Jess get romcommed by laundry.) [Love the characterization in this, just a really good fic for cheering you up.]

Smell Like I Sound by Sineala (6k): Carol likes Jess a lot. That's not the weird part. The weird part is that Carol likes Jess a lot more when Jess isn't in the room. [A pheromones fic taking place in the Marvel Adventures verse. It’s really cute and I really like the push-pull of Carol figuring out her feelings and wondering why she keeps having these moments of revulsion around Jess.]

Snow Day by Traincat (1k): Jessica Drew goes missing. Carol and the Hulk team up to get her back (and maybe fight some ice monkeys along the way). [Absolutely delightful fic, I love the dynamic between Carol and the Hulk as well as Jessica and the Hulk, and Carol’s concern for Jess. I could easily see this being a real comic]

Such a Cunning Disguise by WhenasInSilks (2k): Carol is fracturing again.Carol and Jess started dating six months before Stamford. Eight months before Captain America died on the courthouse steps. Ten months before things like the measurement of time ceased to be part of Carol’s personal universe.Now she sits alone in the darkness of her cell and feels herself fall apart.A Secret Invasion AU. [This fic HURTS. It’s beautifully written too which makes the angst all the more delicious. Warning for heartbreak and self-loathing and mental instability]

the small rain down can rain by tigrrmilk (3k): When Jess was jumping between universes, trying not to get killed, she had wondered - was there a version of her and Carol who had... made it work? [Jess dealing with Carol having amnesia and going off to space. Really good character stuff, all the complicated feelings Jess has about what Carol did, and then Carol showing up, you can really see the connection between them, regardless of memory loss or distance.]

Turn Around and Look Back by Sineala (Carol/Jess, 6k): When Carol first lost her memories, to Rogue, Professor Xavier healed her and let Jess experience all of Carol's missing memories. When Carol loses all her memories -- again -- it's up to Jess to give them back to her, in exactly the same way: Jess has to link with Carol telepathically. But Jess' mind contains a lot of feelings about Carol that she doesn't exactly want Carol to know about. [I love this fic, just all the feelings, the pining, the concern, the character voices, it’s all really good.]

Unshackled by beckydawolf (27k): Carol's in space and Jess is alone again. But that's the pattern of her life. The hunt for a missing teenager leads Jess to some new friends, reminds her she still has some old ones and forces her to face a part of her past she'd rather ignore. [A darker take on the pheromones and the trauma + complications of Jessica’s powers. This fic is really good at how it handles it, and I really love how supportive Carol is. Also Anya and Kamala and America and Kate show up and they’re awesome!]

#monthly fic recs #fic recs #captain marvel #carol danvers #this doesn't have any new fics on it because i haven't read any capmarv fics since the summer

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cycwrites · 6 years

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A Taste of Home

A post-Nowish, Mitchsen-centric, drabble prompt from the Master Beta, @tiny-maus-boots. Sorry this took so long, Nerd.

Takes place in some nebulous future after Beca signs with DJ Khaled, puts out an album and goes on tour.

Rating: Teen

Words: 4236

Also on AO3 and FFN

All my other stories in this series: Tumblr AO3

~B~

“Vienna sucks.”

“Beca.” Chloe half chided, half soothed. “You’re just tired, love.”

Beca slumped in the chair at the desk in her hotel suite. “I am not. It’s still fucking freezing here.” She resolutely ignored the fact that she’d just been rubbing her eyes like a toddler. She could clearly see the concern in Chloe’s face over their sometimes fuzzy Skype video chat and she wanted to stop whining but it was just too much effort.

At first being on tour had been fun and amazing, except all her girls had jobs and couldn’t take a nine month sabbatical to travel the globe with her. Still, the excitement of the crowds and the energy had been enough to keep her going, along with the frequent video chats whenever they had time, individually or together. She was home for a week or two every couple of months for R&R, but after the first six months the novelty was wearing a little thin once the concert was over for the night.

Then Theo had starting pushing on her to maybe extend the tour since she was doing so well, add a few more months to the end which would extend it to almost a full year of travel. At first he was subtle about it, but then it became almost daily; if it wasn’t directly after her concerts than it was the following morning when they were getting ready to fly to the next stop.

“How can I help?” Chloe asked gently.

“You can’t.” It came out petulant and she knew it. “You’re more miles away than I care to think about.” Just the memory of Chloe’s arms around her, something she hadn’t felt in a month, was almost enough to bring her to tears. “Theo is being an annoying turtle, no one can make a decision without my input and I just want them to leave me alone so I can rest.” The whine was in full force but she couldn’t stop it; she knew her voice was cracking and the absolute last thing she wanted to do was have a tantrum about being on fucking tour when she knew it was the at least the fourth best thing to happen to her. (The first was Chloe, the second was Staubrey and third was the rest of the Bellas if anyone had cared to ask her.)

“Oh, Becs,” Chloe whispered and reached out to touch her laptop.

Beca flinched and realized that she’d been incorrect before; the absolute last thing she wanted was for Chloe to be sad and not have any way to comfort her. Of course, the fact that she was directly responsible for making Chloe sad made her feel even worse.

‘Jesus Christ, get your shit together,’ she told herself harshly. ‘Boohoo, you’ve got a top ten selling album and people are paying to see you sing every two to three days. Cry me a fucking river.’

She shook her head and forced herself to sit upright. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I’m fine, really.” Chloe’s expression didn’t change and she knew she hadn’t fooled Chloe in the slightest.

“Tell that to the dark circles under your eyes.” Chloe put her elbow on the desk and propped her chin on her hand.

Beca sighed and felt pathetic as she muttered, “Bed’s too bigsmall.” It was the curse of being used to a nine foot bed filled with three other bodies; it was also definitely one of the worst things about being on the road. She’d tried sleeping aids but all they did was make her groggy for a good fifteen hours, no matter how much sleep she’d gotten the night before. She was making do with melatonin but she still tossed and turned. It was getting just that little bit harder to work up the level of energy she needed to maintain for her concert and it wasn’t like she had a full ninety minutes of twirling around a stage like some artists.

‘Seriously, how the hell does P!nk do this shit for over a year?’ Beca wondered for the nth time since she’d left home.

“I know the feeling.” Chloe said softly. “We miss you.”

“I mis-” Beca stopped when there was a soft knock at her door. “God fucking damnit!” She slammed her hand on the desk. “I told them I didn’t want to be disturbed!”

“Beca,” Chloe sat up and leaned forward. “Don’t-”

“No.” Beca said as she glared at the door across the room. “I specifically told Theo I didn’t want to see him tonight. That I needed to get some sleep. He fucking chucked me under the chin and told me ‘You do look a bit knackered. Get some rest.’”

“I know but…” Chloe started with a sigh; Beca had bitched at his audacity at least twice in the hour they’d been talking.

“And… Okay,” Beca kept going, already launched past her tired frustration into actual anger. “Maybe I shouldn’t have yelled ‘what the fuck do you want’ when room service came by –”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Chloe murmured. She’d been witness to it and forced Beca to call down to the desk to both apologize and ask that she be undisturbed for the rest of the night.

“So…” The knock came again. “Sonofabitch.” She stood up so hard the chair almost tipped over.

“Beca!” Chloe said but Beca was already stalking to the door.

“I said,” Beca snarled as she ripped open the door, “I do not want to be dis-…” She blinked three times, sure she was hallucinating. Maybe even having a stroke or something. Maybe she had brain damage. Because Aubrey could not be standing in front of her. In her hotel. In Vienna. Aubrey was at home. Being an amazing lawyer. With Chloe and Stacie.

Except Aubrey was there. Standing in front of her. Wearing faded and ripped blue jeans, a rumpled t-shirt that looked suspiciously like one stolen from Beca’s closet, a leather jacket, her hair in a ponytail and a gym bag slung over her shoulder. And, Beca’s eyes dropped from where she’d been staring into the tired face smiling gently at her, Beca’s Stitch onesie in her hand.

When Beca stood frozen in the doorway, Aubrey gently nudged her backward until she could step into the room and close the door behind her. The second Aubrey dropped the gym bag Beca’s paralysis broke and she threw herself at the blonde, wrapping her arms around Aubrey’s waist. With a soft oof when Beca collided into her, Aubrey cradled her close and tucked Beca’s head under her chin as she stroked her back. Immediately Beca felt warmer than she had since they had landed in Austria a week ago. Aubrey’s warm body relaxed her but it was nothing compared to the warmth of ‘home’ that Aubrey’s scent brought her.

“Baby.” Aubrey whispered.

Beca lifted her head and found Aubrey’s lips already waiting. The soft kiss soothed the last of Beca’s frayed nerves and she felt almost lightheaded as the tension left her. She parted her lips and Aubrey slipped inside, deepening the connection; reassuring more than building the fire that was always banked between them.

When they broke apart, Beca sighed and rested her ear against Aubrey’s heart, listening to the strong comforting beat. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too, love.” Aubrey squeezed her again. “Chloe sent me.” Aubrey pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Stacie sent this.” She jiggled the hand holding the onesie.

“Oh shit!” Beca jerked upright. “Chloe’s on Skype!” She stepped back, taking Aubrey’s free hand and tugged her over to the desk where she found Chloe waiting patiently with a happy smile and a single tear running down her face. Sometime in the last few minutes Stacie had appeared behind her, her chin propped on Chloe’s shoulder. “You guys… I…” She went to sit but Aubrey beat her to it then pulled Beca into her lap. “I can’t believe you guys didn’t tell me.”

“Can’t ruin the surprise, B.” Stacie blew a kiss at her. “Plus Chloe tells me that you might need a lawyer anyway because you’re going to kill some innocent hotel staff person for doing their job.”

Beca winced. “Not one of my finer moments.”

“No.” Chloe agreed but smiled to take the sting from it. “But this is still new and strange and while you’ve come a long way from the ‘I don’t even sing’ girl we met years ago, sometimes…”

“Change and I don’t get along.” Beca sighed as Aubrey rubbed her back. “I still can’t believe you stealth sent Aubrey like a cuddle ninja.”

“And now that she’s there,” Chloe looked past Beca. “You’re gonna put our girl to bed so she can stop being a cranky pants about sleeping alone.”

“To be fair,” Aubrey laughed. “I remember you being disgruntled the last time none of us could stay overnight at one of your competitions.”

“I have no memory of this. You must be super jet-lagged.” Chloe said innocently. She stuck out her tongue when Stacie poked her in the side.

“We’ll talk again tomorrow,” Stacie said. “We’re going to hang up on you now. I’ve gotta get back to work, but I came home to see the big reveal when Aubrey texted us she landed.”

Beca checked the clock. It was almost 9pm in Vienna so it was only 1pm back home. “I love you guys.” She reached out and pressed her fingertips to her screen. “Thank you.”

“Have a good rest of your day, loves.” Aubrey said, her hand resting over Beca’s on the monitor.

“We love you both.” Chloe smiled gently.

“Maybe now that you’re in good hands, you can sleep.” Stacie paused and Beca knew what was coming. “Or not sleep becauseyou’re in good hands.”

“How long did you take to think that up?” Aubrey asked affectionately.

“Just now.” Stacie shrugged. “I’m good with my mouth.”

“You mean with words.” Chloe half turned to look at her.

“That too.” Stacie shrugged and looked back at the monitor. “It’s killing me to do it, but I really am going to disconnect now.” She smiled gently. “You really do need to get some sleep, Beca. Let Aubrey take care of you. I love both of you.”

“I will.” Beca promised, feeling sleep eagerly tugging at her for the first time in what felt like months. ‘Probably since the last time I was home,’ Beca mused.

“Love you too.” Aubrey said just before Stacie hung up.

They sat there a moment more, Beca having turned sideways to cuddle, before Aubrey’s yawn startled them with its suddenness and volume.

“Oh Bree,” Beca reluctantly stood up and offered a hand. “You must be exhausted. It’s like, what, thirteen hours if you’re lucky to get a direct flight?”

“I may have had dad help me with the arrangements.” Aubrey took her hand and rose to her feet and picked up the onesie she’d draped over the chair. “Plus I got a few hours’ sleep on the plane, but… yeah. Sleeping sounds really good about now.” She held out the outfit. “Stacie says you have to sleep in it since you’ve been cold. She doesn’t want to lose any of your important bits to frostbite. She says, and I quote, ‘I’m too fond of her goodies to risk it.’” She pursed her lips. “Personally I think it’s because of that day you told her it made you feel like she was hugging you.”

Touched at her girls’ thoughtfulness, Beca laughed and took it. “Alright. C’mon, bathroom is over here.”

Aubrey followed her, detouring to grab her bag from beside the door. “This is a pretty nice suite they’ve got you in.”

Beca shrugged one shoulder, still not used to having a multi room suite just for herself. “It’s too much for me. I generally just stick to the bedroom or curl up on the couch when they get me these.” The room was nothing compared to the opulent setup that Khaled had had back on the USO tour, but they generally had a separate bedroom and master bath, a sitting room and sometimes a secondary room that was usually set up like an office. “I feel stupid complaining about it… ungrateful maybe.” She rolled her eyes at herself and voiced her earlier thoughts. “‘Oh boohoo and woe is me. I’m quasi famous and people pay to watch me sing.’”

“But you don’t even sing.” Aubrey flashed a smile at her that Beca couldn’t help but return. “But I can see how it could be lonely,” Aubrey offered as they walked into the bedroom where she set her bag down and began unpacking it. “I’m sorry we couldn’t be with you sooner.”

“Sometimes the band comes up.” Beca shrugged as she watched Aubrey pull out clothes that were still somehow neatly folded even though they had come out of a duffle bag. “Theo and a few of the other brass types make an appearance.” She smiled fondly as Aubrey put her clothes in with Beca’s in various drawers. “We haven’t lit the place on fire yet though, so I don’t know if that counts as a rager by your standards.”

“Pfft.” Aubrey said as she folded the bag and set it on top of the dresser before grabbing her toiletry case.

“You want to shower before bed?” Beca asked as they walked into the bathroom where Aubrey whistled at the size of the walk in shower and the whirlpool bath.

“As heavenly as that tub looks,” Aubrey said wistfully, “I think just want to wash my face, brush my teeth and curl up in that small bed with you.” She opened up her case and began to unpack it just as efficiently as she had the duffle, lining her things next to Beca’s.

Beca chuckled. “Aubrey, that’s a queen sized bed.”

“Right. Small.” Aubrey looked at Beca through the mirror and smiled. “Someone’s gotten me used to something bigger.”

Beca shrugged. “Guilty.” She moved over to the counter, setting her designated pj’s on it. “I must be tired because I know I should be turning that into a super dirty innuendo but I don’t have the energy.”

“I’ll say it tomorrow.” Aubrey offered as she began to wash her face. “Stacie would be disappointed in us both if we let it go.”

“You do love me!” Beca joked as she did the same.

“You’re my moon,” Aubrey said simply after she’d rinsed and Beca felt the threat of tears swelling at the back of her eyes.

“You’re our Earth.” Beca stroked Aubrey’s arm, still partially unable to believe she was actually there.

“Sap.” Aubrey sniffed slightly but Beca could clearly see her own emotions reflected back at her.

They finished cleaning up after the long day, brushing their teeth and hair, before changing into their pj’s: Beca in her Stitch onesie, though she left the hood off, and Aubrey in a pair of sleep pants that looked like ones Chloe had worn in college and… Beca laughed when she realized what Aubrey had pulled on. “Is that my Boob Man hoodie?”

“Maybe.” Aubrey turned off the bathroom light and Beca turned on the lamp beside the bed. For Beca’s 24th birthday, post Fourth of July drunken party videos, Stacie had gotten Beca a hoodie that said “I’m A Boob Man.” Aubrey had put her foot down on including a picture of Beca’s hands on her chest even though Stacie had promised to leave out their faces.

“I wondered where that went.” Beca turned off the main overhead light, watching as Aubrey pulled back the covers and crawled into bed with a grateful sigh. “Should’ve known.”

“Probably.” Aubrey settled into the middle of the bed and looked up expectantly. “Well?”

Beca slid into bed and half curled, half sprawled on Aubrey’s left side. “I still can’t believe you’re here.” She wiggled until she found the right spot and Aubrey’s arms closed around her.

“You needed me.” Aubrey shifted and pulled Beca closer.

“As if it were that simple,” Beca said, thinking of all the planning that had to have happened. Even with General Posen’s help it would’ve cost a pretty penny… though, Beca reminded herself, with the tour sales as well as the album still getting decent numbers, money wasn’t something they had to worry about when things like last minute flights came up.

“It was.” Aubrey’s hand gently stroked her back through the fabric. “You needed us. I was able to come.”

“How long did work let you go for?” Beca asked, not wanting to admit how much she wished Aubrey could stay with her the rest of the tour. She lifted her head when Aubrey hesitated and the smallest bit of tension went through the body under her.

“I…” Aubrey took a deep breath. “I quit.”

“What?” Beca pushed herself up. “You what?”

“Quit.” Aubrey reached up and brushed aside the hair that had fallen into Beca’s eyes. “You know I haven’t been happy there since we got back.”

“Yeah but…” Beca trailed off. “Aubrey, please tell me you did not quit because I’m being a big baby over the fact that I am alone on my tour?” Her brows drew together. ‘Jesus I sound like a spoiled brat.’

“I did not quit because you actually are alone on your first tour since none of us have been able to come with you.” Aubrey met her eyes. “Beca, I haven’t…. Oh I don’t know.” She sighed. “It’s… too routine.”

Beca snorted. “I never expected to hear you say something like that. You’re the Posen with the plan.” Aubrey’s brow arched and Beca said quickly, “Which is important because I never have one and sometimes I need to be kept in line.”

Aubrey’s mouth quirked. “Nice save.”

“Thank you.” Beca watched her, worried. “But to quit?”

“You know when I’ve had the most fun doing deals lately?” Aubrey waited and Beca shook her head. “Negotiating your contract with Khaled’s label. Finalizing the details of your tour.”

“You were kind of amazing at it.” Beca mused.

“It was something new, something other than just getting the most out of an artist for your old label.” Aubrey’s eyes had gone distant but now they focused back on Beca. “And I was wondering if you’d… maybe allow me to be your manager full time.”

“Yes.” Beca said without hesitation. She was currently on her fourth – or was it fifth – manager through the agency recommended by Khaled and she already knew the two of them didn’t mesh and it wasn’t going to last. “I would love you to be my manager, Bree. No one else can boss me around like you can.”

Aubrey laughed. “I don’t think that’s exactly the way it’s supposed to work…”

“Fine, you can boss Theo around for me and keep me from calling him Turtle Man when I get pissed at him.” Beca leaned down and kissed her. “But only if you’re sure.”

“There’s obviously going to be some things we’re going to have to figure out, like… do I need some sort of license or to form a company or…” Aubrey trailed off as she yawned so wide her jaw popped. “But we can talk about it tomorrow.”

“I think you just want to be your own boss.” Beca said as she rolled over to turn off the light before snuggling down again. “But I don’t envy you coming up with a company name.”

“BCS Talent.” The reply was so quick it was like she’d known Beca was going to say it.

“Of course you already have a name. You don’t do anything until you’ve covered all the angles.” Beca laughed and lifted her head again to smile down at her.

“Since you’d be my only client, I pondered ‘Mitchsen Talent.’” Aubrey’s eyes twinkled at her. “But I didn’t want to keep answering questions about why I mashed our names together.”

“Because we mash ourselves together as often as possible.” Beca said, kissing her.

“Yes, but I don’t want to tell strangers that. But this way…” Aubrey stroked her fingers through Beca’s hair. “It’s named after what matters most in my life.”

Beca inhaled deeply through her nose. “I hadn’t… I should’ve… put that together.” She inexplicably felt like crying again, touched beyond all measure at how much thought Aubrey had put into it already.

“Stacie took some convincing. Something about the last time she let me go out of her sight and into another country… But she came around. Chloe took less, once I explained why I wanted to do it.” Aubrey tugged a lock of Beca’s hair. “She has never trusted that your managers had your best interests at heart and not just their own.”

“Probably.” Beca said lightly. “I’ll fire Kas tomorrow.”

“Beca!” Aubrey laughed. “We need to talk first.”

“No, we don’t. You’re my manager and that’s final.” Beca put her head back down on Aubrey’s chest, happier than she could’ve dreamed possible.

“Then as your manager, I’m telling you that we’re going to sit down and talk logistics.” She put her hand over Beca’s mouth as she drew in breath to answer. “Tomorrow. After a giant breakfast that’s going to fill the massive table in the other room.”

Beca nodded and Aubrey slowly removed her hand. “Alright. Whatever you say… manager.” She grinned as Aubrey let out an overly exaggerated sigh. “Bree?”

“Yes, Beca?”

“Thank you for coming to Vienna.” Beca felt Aubrey’s hand on her chin and let her head be tilted up until Aubrey’s lips met hers. When they parted again, she said softly, “You’re not a dream, right?”

“I’ve got you, love.” Aubrey said and kissed her again. “I promise I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“I love you, Aubrey.” Beca kissed her one last time, a lazy comforting stroking of tongues and lips.

“I love you too.” Aubrey’s fingers slipped from her jaw to wrap lightly around the arm across her waist.

Far quicker than she’d gone to sleep since the last time she’d been in their arms in The Expanse, Beca felt herself drawn into slumber, the steady beat of Aubrey’s heart matching her own.

~A~

Aubrey woke to gentle kisses. They were placed delicately at the corner of her mouth, along her jaw, her eyebrow and even her closed eyelid once Beca knew she was awake. She sighed in contentment at the weight resting against her side and the hand drawing designs on her stomach.

“You kept your promise.” Beca said before kissing the tip of Aubrey’s nose.

Aubrey smiled but kept her eyes closed. “A Posen-Conrad always keeps their promises.”

“You guys are good at that.”

Aubrey opened her mouth to answer but Beca’s lips covered hers in a kiss far less chaste than the ones they had exchanged the prior evening. She gave out a happy purr as Beca licked down into her mouth, languid but passionate; unhurried but definitely an indication of how the rest of the morning would go and Aubrey felt desire coiling as the rest of her body woke up.

At least until she opened her eyes, intending to wish Beca what was apparently going to be very good morning and found Beca leaning over her, all sleep tousled and warm…

With the Stitch hoodie pulled up over her head.

Aubrey began to laugh.

Beca propped her head on her right hand, watching as Aubrey fell apart every time she took in the blue ears on top of Beca’s head. Aubrey laughed so loud and so long that she snorted, which caused her to giggle even while she was mortified, but then she’d catch sight of Beca’s patiently waiting face, surrounded by blue fuzzy alien, and she’d lose it all over again. When she’d almost exhausted herself, Beca merely pursed her lips when Aubrey took a peek at her and snickered.

“Aubrey.”

“Yes?” Aubrey let out a giggle, keeping her eyes closed.

“Stacie has made love to me in this onesie.” Beca hadn’t stopped tracing designs on Aubrey’s stomach since the first giggle and now she curved her fingers around Aubrey’s hip. “I don’t see what the problem is.” Her tone was nothing but pure amused affection and despite the fact that she just can’t, Aubrey felt herself melt.

“That’s because you guys are aca-pervs.” Aubrey giggled again, high pitched and borderline hysterical at the image that formed and she knew at some point she and Chloe would have to watch them re-enact that. ‘Would you like to be pot, or kettle?’ she mentally asked herself and snorted again.

“Guess you’ll just have to take it off me.” Beca said silkily in her ear and Aubrey’s laughter tapered off into a moan as Beca’s hand moved up to cover her breast.

“Yes please,” Aubrey breathed as her back arched into her lovers touch.

Beca kissed her. “Let me properly thank you for saving the rest of the team from a very cranky artist.”

“I think, and I mean this from the very bottom of my heart, that the pleasure is about to be mine.” Aubrey’s hands slid over Beca until she found the row of buttons on the onesie. “After I get you out of this and naked.”

Beca smiled at her as Aubrey slowly undid them one by one, humming in anticipation with each inch of skin exposed.

“I love Vienna.”

#mitchsen #mitchsen fluff #beca mitchell #aubrey posen #wlw #chloe beale #stacie conrad #Poly Bellas Squared #A Shared Lifetime #cyc writes

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thisnerdsadventures · 5 years

Text

I was talking with one of my friends the other day about how after graduation, people have time for hobbies /a concept/. For example, a lot of my 2018 friends play video games together as a way to socialize, and to be fair, they are all quite good now at League of Legends compared to me, who is stuck at level 30 since I play like once every five months.

But why do they play every day when I don’t? Obviously they have a bunch more time post-graduation to, but also I just don’t see myself dedicating all my free time to it. And this goes for other hobbies I see people in the real world doing, like dance or music or photography or reading or spin/yoga/running. Instead of fixating on one thing like it seems like real adults (TM) do, I do the cycling between the same six hobbies every two weeks until I am just about slightly below average to average at every thing I try. My friend says it’s from how in high school we spent all our time doing 12389182 things and in college, we continued to find new interests and taking on 129381928 extracurriculars and leaving that is just impossible for us. I kinda believe in this, but I also wonder if it’s because I haven’t found the one thing I truly truly love, but rather 10 things I kinda like doing every once in a while.

Comprehensive List of My Hobbies (and oh is it a mess)

Photography

I recently got back on this train by taking pics for the model UN chair shoot. We went and borrowed a camera from the library here (the libraries here have literally everything you would ever want, from recording equipment to nice cameras to xbox games you can play in-house), and then took pics from 3-7pm in the nano building to take advantage of the lighting. To be fair, the lighting was absolutely PRIME, and getting to use that 8th grade photography skills on an actual job was really fun. I also really love photoshopping and playing around with white balance and color levels, like I’ll really spend hours on stuff like this, but then ONLY EVERY TWO WEEKS

Music

This has been one of my largest hobbies in that I’ll compose, play, listen, produce, literally everything related to music, but I just don’t personally feel good enough to call myself a legit artist (u feel????) anyways, it also takes a lot of creative energy that I lack most of the time due to fatigue, so most of the time, my musical outlet manifests itself in playing the same chord progression on guitar because that’s slightly therapeutic whereas lying in creative mental block is not

Film/Vlog

This summer I had a lot of time to try this out, and just as I like photo editing, I also really like video editing. If you scroll down just a bit on this blog, you’ll probably find the NYC vlog and also some of the short films I’ve done for my house government. The most recent one is here -> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1zQY_Z4ufEY and yes it really is tik tok inspired, please don’t at me. but again, i feel like vlogging is a lot of effort in that you always have to be recording, and your girl likes doing crosswords in her free time, not thinking about the next nice shot lol

Baking

In high school I used to bake a lot, so I haven’t really done this in years, but I used to bake a TON in senior year. Granted this was one of those hobbies that I was far below average in terms of skill level, but I feel I really learned a lot in the process (for instance, 1/4th of an egg is not equal to a slightly smaller than average egg). Also I got really good at frying eggs in this whole process of learning how to cook/bake, so I guess this is quite practical. Perhaps I should get back on this train. But ingredients also cost money. (But then again, the friends you gain from offering baked goods are priceless)

Learning a Language

Every six months, I tell myself this is it, this is the day I learn Mandarin. And every time, it is, in fact, not the time. This happened once last semester around April where I had a whole burst of trying to learn how to read and then quit after two weeks, and then summer 2018 where I tried downloading all the apps for learning Chinese to practice on the bus (which consequently really died fast once I went back to school), and then summer 2017 also had an attempt, but again, that also died, and mostly what this led to was my conclusion that actually just talking with my grandparents in Mandarin over the phone was the best way to improve my Chinese. i have to say though, the notifications scheme on Duolingo is remarkably good, the guilt really is there

Sports

I think the amount of effort I put into trying to get better at basketball is really quite unfortunate because I actually don’t think I’m that natural of an athlete, I think I’m just slightly more tryhard than others when it comes to sport, which results in me just being a bit above the average beginner at literally every sport. For example, football?? I can kick the ball. And dribble and such. Tennis??? Yes, I can indeed return the ball and hit it between the lines (though to be fair, the majority of the time I’m playing tennis, I find I’m really just not trying to make a fool of myself, so the intrinsic motivators are really there). Basketball??? Ah I think I’m a bit more than slightly above average, but I’m still not really that good, mostly because I don’t actually move that fast. And I think that’s my issue in like every sport, like my body just doesn’t move that fast, so??? oof

Bonus Hobbies-That-Could-Have-Been (and I guess still could??)

Dancing

In freshman year I really liked dancing. I also really liked dancing my senior year of high school, but once sophomore year hit me in the face, I just found other things to do in my life. But I still really love watching dance videos and I feel like if I were to join a dance team with a friend or two, I would really enjoy it. But only with a friend or two, I’ve tried going to dance workshops with people I didn’t really know that well, and it just hasn’t felt the same. But I feel like I could really dedicate myself to it if I were dancing with people I loved hanging out with.

Interior Decorating

There was this really strange three day period over the summer where I was really into designing my room down to the inch. and i actually did execute and my room looks great now - I have a small home office section of my room, I have decorations all up on the walls, and my closet organization is pristine. Unfortunately the process of interior decorating is a nontrivial amount of cost, so this didn’t hold up for long.

Gaming

Again, I was really into gaming summer 2018, but after that, I just lost interest and my skill level plateau’d out after that. Now I’m still pretty bad at League and very bad at Fortnite and acceptable at Smash (but only while playing Ike), and I don’t think I’ll be back on this hobby any time soon, which is a shame because my friend group’s main way of communication is through....gaming

As you can see, I am a mess. My last few I’ve gone through are photography and film, and I’m kinda in the language phase now (though things seem to be suggesting that I’ll actually follow through on this learning a language thing because it’s been a month now that I’ve been pretty consistent on Duolingo), so who knows!! Maybe I’ll produce a song (the one song that I make a year lol)

#gonna go sleep now bye

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