#the amount of times ive seen some really off the wall 'news' and believed it as i was reading the article and then saw that it was

[maaaxx]

I think it's important to remember that not only is it important to tag things with 'unreality' (or something similar) for people who struggle with delusions and paranoia, but also people (and by people i mean myself) who are way too gullible for the internet.

[build-a-stim]

My yoshi (gummy worm) has a animal crossing new horizons tush tag on it? And I wanted to ask, if you ever ran into any errors on your bab? Or seen any during your time working at a workshop?

ooh thats a really interesting one! i guess its pretty easy for tush tag errors to exist since they're such like a simple thing to add in to the bears, but i've actually never seen a tush tag error myself yet!!

we get a decent amount of errors in the workshop actually, i've been responsible for damaging quite a few bears simply cuz we r a manager at our location and so we're often the ones dumping them off, meaning ive seen a decent amount over the year+ we've worked there.

the majority of errors we get in bears are small holes along the seams, but those are easily fixable and we are allowed to fix any seam holes on bears as per build a bear rules, so those we dont have to damage (which is good). ive had a couple bears that have ripped on the fabric that we do have to damage, or bears where theres just like missing or like smudged tags. aside from that we dont actually get a lot of big problems, i think the most like notable thing we've had is the issue with pawlettes that happened like a month or two ago where the manufacturer messed up pawlettes all across u.s locations i believe, their faces were all messed up and we had to pull about 30 of them from the choose me wall and send them back rather than damage them normally. the worst of them had like, very uneven eyes, a flat and slanted nose, and uneven face plates (?). they were all very silly im honestly a little upset they didn't let employees buy any of them cuz they were SO silly /aff

aside from them, we had a chase once who's mouth felt wasn't properly trimmed, so instead of a straight line for his mouth he had like, a flap there? we lovingly called him scary chase before we finally had to damage him. we also once had a bear with a backwards foot that i think (iirc) a coworker bought. thats about it though for what i can remember! build a bear errors are so interesting to me cuz like. some of them are really simple or easy to understand, like tiny seam holes or like the face is a little off but not problematically so, or like the stitching is messed up so we have to hand sew them instead.

the majority of errors we actually get are on clothing, which isn't ever consequential enough to be noticable if you're not the one damaging them out, but its usually like, the pattern is smudged, or it gets peeled off in the packaging so its like half on there, or the pattern is folded, typically like printing issues like that. otherwise we get a lot on sound chips/heartbeats considering they have the potential for quite a lot of little tech issues.

-👽

[rhysismydaddy]

Prisoner's Game Pt. 3 (Rowaelin)

~Aelin~

There was something decidedly pleasant about sneaking out of prison.

It was the thrill, she supposed.

She'd always been a bit of an adrenaline junky, and there was nothing that matched up to the excitement of breaking out of a maximum security prison with no one being the wiser.

Aelin ran through the tunnel, her steps sure and soundless, a smile blooming on her face. What she was doing shouldn't give her such joy, but along with being a thrill seeker, she'd always been just a little bit vindictive.

Or maybe a lot.

The map of the tunnels was still crystal clear after all this time, and she had it memorized down to the number of steps it took to get to the right turn.

It was a three hour run. Two underground, then one through the city out into the suburbs.

While the first two hours were definitely not fun, it was the last hour that was tricky.

Avoiding cameras, not drawing any unwanted attention, dressing so no one could see her face without looking too much like the criminal she was.

It was also more exhausting.

It was an hour of sprinting across rooftops, sprinting through town, then sprinting some more.

It was a little funny to her that the journey to where she needed to go was more difficult than actually breaking into the building.

She had a set of scrubs stored in a nearby lockbox, along with a wig and a few prosthetics to make her look more like Ansel, one of the nurses working the night shift.

The security guard, Shelly, was prone to reading romance novels during her shift and never questioned why she occasionally thought she saw two of the same person wandering around.

It was no different tonight.

Once she had everything in place, Aelin strode confidently through the halls, grabbing charts and nodding like she knew what the hell she was looking at.

No one stopped her, no one questioned her.

When she got to the room and chart she wanted, she slipped inside soundlessly and crept up to the bed.

Despite the ever-present urge to hurry things along, she stuck to her plan and kept the dose the same.

The person on the bed never woke up, never noticed her slip an extra drug into the IV bag hanging on the wall.

Silent, efficient, traceless.

Just like she'd been taught.

Leaving was even easier than entering.

She waited until real-Ansel had been out of the guard's sight for a while, then walked out the back door of the facility like she hadn't just committed a felony.

One of the few crimes she actually deserved to be in prison for, ironically.

Then she ran back, hiding in the traffic camera's blind spots and ditching the wig along the way.

It was a little stupid and drawn out to do it this way, not to mention unbelievably cruel, but Aelin had always had a flair for the dramatic.

Plus, like she said: exciting.

~Rowan~

Doubt is a strange emotion.

It starts small, so small you hardly even realize it's there.

And then, over time, it grows and grows like a fungus, eventually becoming something that you think about all the time. Something that kills you.

Rowan didn't believe in doubt.

His problem had never been with not believing in himself, it'd always been with the opposite affliction: over-conviction.

He believed things so fully, so deeply, it was hard to see it any other way.

It was what made him such a good lawyer. As the top public prosecutor in the city, he had a reputation for being impossible to win against.

He convinced himself of the defendant's guilt so completely, the jury had almost no option but to believe him.

He hadn't always been that way, he didn't think. Argumentative and stubborn, sure. His mother could attest to that. But never so unflinchingly self-assured. So alright with deceiving himself if need be.

If he had to guess, he'd say it'd started two months after the day of Aelin's trial.

He hadn't been lying to her four days ago; every word had been the truth. He'd worked his ass off all those years ago, trying to find something that would help him either clear her name or at least fucking sleep at night.

He'd given himself a timeline, deciding that if he couldn't find a single lead in two months, there probably wasn't one. Two months, and then he'd let it go.

He didn't regret stopping his hunt--he'd seen what an obsession could do to someone.

And when that day had come, he'd thought he was ready. He'd exhausted himself working both her case and the ones he was assigned, burning the candle at both ends and sleeping in the office more nights than his own bed.

There'd been nothing to be found. The evidence, the testimonies, the medical examiner's reports... they'd all pointed to Aelin.

So eventually he'd forced himself to stop looking.

But the sight of her swinging between the two court police officers, fighting for just one more second with him with a desperation he'd never seen from her... he hadn't known how he could just forget something like that.

The image followed him, haunted him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw hers. Lined with tears and disbelief and so much hurt he felt like invisible hands were wrapped around his neck.

So he'd hardened himself against it.

He'd repeated the pieces of evidence against her, told himself she was guilty until the words were easy to say, forced himself to visualize the crime scenes of her victims whenever he thought of her.

Piece by piece, he'd swapped out the months of positive memories they had with stone cold facts.

And it had worked.

After a month, he could sleep again. After a year, he hardly thought of her and when he did, it was with disgust.

Yet now, over eight years later, he found himself with just the slightest amount of doubt again.

It was the same nagging, incessant feeling he hadn't been able to shake eight years ago. Back for round two, apparently.

At first, he'd played it off as nerves from their conversation. She'd worked him up so much he'd admitted how much he'd once loved her and said things he shouldn't have.

His body was reacting to the sadness in her eyes, the surprise that had bloomed when he'd told her he'd fought for her. It was emotion, nothing based in logic, that made him want to start looking again.

At least that's what he told himself.

But four days later, he found himself on the couch--he really did need to give up and just buy a new bed--staring at the ceiling, trying to sleep and not being able to.

Because... well because what if she was telling the truth?

Why else would she have told him that story?

What had he missed during all those late nights spent hunched over her folder?

The questions grew and grew, until that once-little shard of doubt started to slowly drive him mad.

The uncertainty, no matter how small it had begun, had grown to be almost irritatingly large and unavoidable.

He couldn't stop thinking about what she'd said. The breadcrumbs that apparently only he could find.

What did that mean?

And why couldn't he just let it go?

"Fuck!" he yelled, throwing his blanket off and storming to the closet.

Like a love-struck idiot, he'd kept a box full of the stuff she'd left at his apartment during their relationship. The stuff that wasn't evidence, at least.

If it was something only he could find like she'd said, it was probably something only he had access to.

He dropped the box on his kitchen table and opened the lid.

Then cursed when the first thing he saw was a pair of red lace underwear. That was the last thing he needed to be thinking about and remembering.

Especially when he'd barely been able to resist the temptation to kiss her in that interrogation room.

Something about the way she'd looked at him after he'd told her he'd fought for her all those years ago had rattled the grip he had on his control hard.

She'd seemed so... sad. So hopeless. It had brought out the urge to comfort her in whatever way he could.

Hearing about her childhood and how she'd been raised by Arobynn Hamel hadn't made it any better. Truthfully, it'd broken something inside of him.

She'd always been so positive around him--a ray of light he'd felt was put on this earth just for him.

And all the while, she'd been forced to live with and work for one of the most notorious crime syndicate members of all time.

He'd always known she hadn't had a good childhood, but there was a difference between foster care hell and an actual house of horrors. Rowan couldn't even imagine the things she'd seen. Been forced to see, to do.

She made it out, he reminded himself, taking a deep breath.

But had she?

If what she'd told him was true, she'd killed those people because she'd been forced to.

It hadn't been her choice.

But there was something else about her, something he couldn't stop thinking about.

The secret she'd eluded to, the one that apparently only he had the key to solving.

A secret she'd promised would explain everything.

He tossed the underwear on the table, vowing to ignore them.

Then threw them in the trash a minute later when that became impossible.

You're such an asshole, he told himself, shaking his head. It's been eight years.

Even if that part of their relationship was most definitely memorable.

"Jesus," he laughed, running a hand over his face. Why was he even thinking about that?

Maybe it was the look in her eyes four days ago, or maybe it was simply that Aelin had been an important part of his life. He'd never forget the connection they'd had. Maybe it would always be a part of him.

But that was ridiculous, because he'd been connected to plenty of women since. Plenty of gorgeous brunettes and redheads.

For some reason, he hadn't been able to date a blonde, but that didn't mean anything.

He was over her.

Obviously.

Forcing his thoughts away from Aelin, he grabbed the next thing in the box.

Her address book. Maybe she'd left a note in there?

He flipped it open, scrolling through blank page after blank page. Her cousin's address and phone number were there--both of which he confirmed with police records--but other than that, it was blank.

The next thing he found made the ache in his chest expand to a soul-sucking hole.

It was a travel brochure for Aruba.

The edges were frayed from how much she'd flipped through it, and notes in her handwriting were scribbled throughout the pages.

He remembered this, all right.

He'd woken up one morning, a morning that seemed like a lifetime ago, to find her laying on top of him, leafing through the travel pamphlet with a huge grin on her face.

"We're going to Aruba," she'd whispered in lieu of a greeting, leaning down to press her lips to his.

"Why?" he'd asked back between kisses.

"Because it's the perfect place to hide from your real life," had been her laughed response.

She'd planned a trip for them at Christmas. Their very first trip together.

Every time they saw each other, she'd shown him a new page or told him about a new activity she wanted to do.

In general, she was a happy, excited person, but he'd never seen her so thrilled over anything like she was that trip.

He'd hidden it better, trying to play it cool, but he'd been excited, too.

He'd pictured her on the beach, running in the sand and smiling and laughing and drinking from a coconut. He'd imagined sneaking to the beach one night and making love to her in the ocean.

He'd imagined getting down on one knee and asking her to be his travel partner for life.

She'd been arrested two weeks before they were supposed to leave.

He tossed the little magazine back into the box, shaking his head to clear it of the memories and long-lost dreams.

The only thing left in the worn box was books.

Aelin had volunteered at a publishing house, trying to get hired as a fiction editor, and she'd always had a book in her ridiculously heavy pocket book.

She'd given him a few of her favorites, claiming that if he ever wanted to know the "real her," he had to read them.

A statement that made a lot more sense now than it used to.

He grabbed the one on top and leafed through it, going through the pages and scanning.

When that didn't yield anything, he flipped to the back of the book and looked at the inscription she'd written him.

March 1

Rowan,

I know you're not a fan of fiction, let alone romantic, feminist fiction, but I hope you'll read this and fall in love with Elizabeth's character like I did.

Aelin

He turned the book over and looked at the front again, then flipped through it again, then went through the whole process again.

Why did he feel like something about this didn't add up? And why was this, of all things, what she'd left as a breadcrumb?

He didn't figure it out until he reread the inscription for the fifth time and realized the date she'd written.

March 1st.

It was wrong; she'd given him this book on his birthday in February. He remembered because he'd laughed about her giving a grown man a romance novel for his birthday.

Why had she put March 1st? And why did that date stand out in his mind?

Stomach dropping, he finally figured out why that date was so important. It was the date of the first murder.

Maddison Kliff, a state senator who controversially wanted to fund renewable energy in the upcoming year, had been murdered the morning of March 1st eight years ago.

Breadcrumb.

He grabbed the next book from the stack, Wuthering Heights, and flipped to the end.

Almost the exact same inscription, except the date was April 13th, and the inspiring character was Linton Heathcliff.

April 13th was the day another victim died.

Rowan's heart started pounding, so hard he thought he was going to either pass out or go into cardiac arrest.

What was the connection between these dates, characters, and victims? Rowan could feel it in his gut that this was what she'd been talking about. It had to be.

He flipped through the books again, looking for something else, but there was nothing there. Nothing was underlined or highlighted, and the books were all in brand-new condition, no pages were bookmarked.

"What are you trying to tell me, Aelin?" he whispered, rubbing at his temples.

He made a list of all the dates and characters, stared at it until he thought he'd go blind, and tried to think like her.

Except her mind was a complex puzzle he'd never quite solved, so that didn't give him anything besides a headache.

He looked in the box again, hoping to magically find another note or something that explained everything in simple, idiot-proof terms.

But all that was there was that damn Aruba magazine.

It's the perfect place to hide from your real life.

The words came rushing back to him, so suddenly and violently it was like his subconscious had been shouting it for a while.

Was that it?

Maybe the connection wasn't only between the dates and characters, but it also had something to do with Aruba.

Maybe that was where this secret, whatever it was, was hiding.

Knowing he was probably grasping at straws, Rowan grabbed his phone and called the one person who'd help him.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I need a favor, Gavriel."

He heard a heavy sigh. "Like a we've been friends for twenty years favor or like an I'm the Chief of Police favor?"

"The latter," Rowan answered.

"Dammit, Rowan, you're going to get me fired one day." That was what he said every time. There was a long pause, then, "What do you need?"

"Flight manifests from Rifthold to Aruba from ten different days eight years ago."

Gavriel caught on quickly. "This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with a former flame of yours, would it? One currently serving time for ten murders from eight years ago?"

"Of course not," he lied, knowing he was busted.

Another sigh. "You need to let this go, kid."

Rowan ran a hand over his face, knowing that wasn't possible. Not when, for the first time since he'd been assigned this God forbidden case, he had a lead.

"Can you help me or not?"

"I will, as long as you promise to drop it once whatever you're chasing ends up to be yet another dead end."

Knowing he didn't have another choice, Rowan agreed.

Gavriel told him he'd send them over, then said softly, "I know you loved her, Rowan, but it's time to move on."

It's not that easy, he thought, thinking once again of Aelin sitting in that tiny cell, skin pale and hair too long.

"Thanks for your help," he said instead, hanging up before the lecture could continue.

A few minutes later, he was printing out the passenger lists from all the Rifthold to Aruba flights on each of the ten dates.

Starting with August 1st, he went through, passenger by passenger, and looked for an Elizabeth.

There'd been three direct flights to Aruba that day, so by the time he found it, his eyes were so tired he almost missed it entirely.

But there was a name that stuck out, one that was straight out of his copy of Pride and Prejudice.

Seat 14C had been occupied by Elizabeth Darcy, and she'd flown directly from Rifthold to Aruba on August 1st.

Rowan's jaw damn near hit the floor.

His hands shook as he highlighted the name, writing the victim's name next to it to keep it straight in his head.

His mind whirled with possible explanations, but he didn't let himself think about anything except the next date.

With a sinking feeling in his gut, he went through the passenger list for April 13th.

And sure enough, Linton Heathcliff was on one of the flights. In the same damn seat.

"Holy fuck," he whispered, grabbing the next sheet of paper.

He went date by date, flight by flight, and by the time he'd located every character, he was sure of what he'd found. What she'd left for him.

It wasn't a breadcrumb, it was the whole goddamn loaf.

Rowan barely made it to the kitchen sink before his stomach emptied as an explanation of what had really happened eight years ago started to form in his mind.

He didn't have all the pieces, but the ones he did have made him literally sick to think about.

Her insistence on being innocent, her begging him to look again, telling him only he could find the clues... it all made sense.

The doubt he'd been struggling with for eight long years suddenly disappeared, replaced by a certainty so swift and thorough and all encompassing, it almost took his breath away.

She hadn't been lying.

She hadn't killed those ten people.

She couldn't have, because...

"They're still alive."

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

dun dun duuuuun

part 4 out next Friday (sorry for the slow updates I'm in summer school)

@audreycressworth @whimsicallyreading @onceupona-chaos @lil-unoriginal-weirdo-273sole @surielandiareendgame @captain-swan-is-endgame @poisonous00 @vasudharaghavan @sailorsassley @endlessdaydream @swankii-art-teacher @beanco8 @stokingthemidnightflame @mis-lil-red @ladyfireheart-and-buzzard @sheharahu @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @jorjy-jo @court-of-dreams-and-ashes @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @loudphantomdragon @gracie-rosee @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

[whats-rambled-rambled]

Smoke & Mirrors - part 3

Neil x Reader

Chapter 3: You know me too well

(see chapter 2, 1)

summary: The mission. And some blowing off steam after that.

warnings: alcohol mention, some violence, language and other explicit things, 18+ and I MEAN IT EVEN MORE THAN BEFORE

author’s note: I need to thank @vaneilla​ for planting the karaoke scene into my head. I found her choice of song absolutely glorious, and it evolved into... oh, see for yourselves.

As for everything else - I don’t even know.

4k words, bloody hell.

Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think, please?

___

“Thanks for nothing, Wheeler.”

She looked up from her tablet only to see a completely resigned Ives faceplanting on the couch in front of her. As she raised a brow, her glance drifted to The Protagonist pacing back and forth next to the window. 

When TP noticed the question in Wheeler’s eyes, he sighed. She realized that Ives must have filled him in already.

As if he could read her thoughts, the boss said, “Apparently, they’ve been at each other’s throats all day”

“You’re both damn lucky you don’t have to deal with their bullshit out there,” groaned Ives into the pillows.

Wheeler shook her head and a corner of her mouth curled into a knowing smile. 

“A little patience, guys. It's all going according to plan."

Ives muffled huff was enough of a comment, but TP stopped his pacing and shot her a confused look.

"How so?"

Wheeler bit her lip. It took her one minute around them in the canteen to guess what had happened. But if that somehow wasn’t obvious to her colleagues, she was in no place to share the information.

Of course, for a second she was tempted to say “oh, they fucked”,  just to watch Ives’ and TP’s reaction, but she knew better than to do so. Moreover, she had a weird feeling that those two morons would start being weird around them, and that wouldn’t help in the slightest. 

“Trust me, they are close to figuring it out. And then-...”

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

You rushed to the next cover, sending a round into a merc running in your direction. As you slid behind a crate and started reloading your rifle, the rest of the squad slowly made their way through the abandoned apartment complex. How all those mercenary groups kept getting their hands on inverted materials was beyond you, but as the boss was trying to figure it out, it was up to the ground teams to secure the cargo. 

"What's with the silent treatment today?" Neil’s voice rang in your earpiece. 

Your eyes quickly located him at the other side of the corridor. Even from a distance, you could see his raised brow as he glanced at you right before heading into the next room. 

"I'm focused on the mission,” you scoffed, checking out on the team before moving further ahead. “You should try that one day." 

As soon as you entered a new location, a bullet whizzed past you and your reflexes kicked in. A quick shot and you spun on your heel, hiding behind a pillar. 

Meanwhile, Neil glued his back to the wall. As another merc walked past him, he disarmed them in one swift move, tossing the gun away.

"Nah, I’m good,” he said casually. You watched him as he ducked under a fist flying at his face and threw a kidney punch himself. “Multitasking." 

You snorted, quite amused, jumping out of your cover to down two more men coming in. You caught Ives’ murderous glare as he moved past you, motioning you to keep up the pace. Nodding, you followed him into a staircase.

"I must admit, not hearing your voice almost made me forget how annoying you are,” you huffed through comms to Neil. Ives shot the merc waiting for you around the corner and you moved up. “And as I don't believe you can actually stop being annoying,” you continued, taking a position at the door, “but how about you don't talk to me ever again instead?" 

You heard footsteps behind you and as you looked over your shoulder, you saw Neil standing right there with his pistol cocked in his gloved hands. He leaned in, a smug grin plastered on his face.

"And lose that spiteful edge to sex we have going there?" he teased quietly and chuckled as your eyes widened at the audacity.

Wishing you could just shoot him in return, you turned away and entered the corridor. Ives waited for you at the door to another unfinished apartment and as soon as you reached him, he blasted through it, while Neil and his team took the door at the other side of the hall.  

"We, and I cannot stress this enough, do not have anything going there, blondie," you uttered through gritted teeth, sweeping through the rooms.

Sharp laughter resonated in your earpiece. 

"Sure sounds like someone needs round two, though."

Your mind involuntarily wandered back to the events of that late evening in the locker room. Neither of you has mentioned it for the last couple of days, and you kinda hoped it would stay that way. Not that you could ever erase it from your memory. And the worst part was, there were moments you were no longer sure you would ever want to.

A movement in the corner of your eye. 

That confusion might keep you up at night, but with daylight, you came back to your senses, and a little remark was not enough to cloud your lightning reflexes while you held a gun. A shot echoed through the room and another merc dropped to the ground. 

"In your dreams," you scoffed on your way back to the corridor. 

"Funny you should say that…" 

You noticed Neil walking into the line of fire in the last second.

“Watch out!” you shouted, grabbing him by the vest and pulling him back inside the apartment. You shoved him against the wall and pressed your forearm to his chest to keep him in place as the round meant for him cut through the now empty hallway. While the rest of the team returned fire and pushed forward, you caught a glimpse of fear in the blue eyes just before Neil managed to compose himself. The corner of his lips twitched into a nervous version of his usual half-smile.

For fuck’s sake...

“Well, this brings back fond memories,” he panted, raising an eyebrow.

You flashed your teeth and pressed him to the wall even harder. 

“Shut up and focus, goddamnit, or I swear I will let you walk straight into the next rain of bullets,” you fumed. 

Your serious glare made Neil gulp and nod slowly. You took a step back as you exhaled shakily. 

Readjusting the rifle’s strap, you shook off any remains of panic from your system. Neil watched you with an indecipherable expression on his face as he reloaded his pistol. You met his eyes, just to make sure he was good to go. Finding there what you were looking for, you smacked his arm lightly and ran towards the sounds of combat.

You joined your squad, focusing on providing support as you closed in on the final location. Neil rushed to the front of the action, and even from afar you could see his moves got more vicious, every blow and shot landing now with deadly precision. For a second you wondered what exactly got triggered inside of him back there.

Whatever that was though, it wasn’t enough to hold his tongue for too long.

"Hey, at least now you had a chance to slam me against a wall."

You rolled your eyes and sighed dramatically, already regretting saving his infuriating ass. 

“You know, I daydream about strangling you more and more often every day.”

A few shots later, the all-clear sounded through the earpiece. You moved to secure the exit as Ives checked the contents of the crates in the back of the room. 

Neil took a position right next to you, eyeing you curiously.

“Is it a threat or a promise?”

Seeing the familiar roguish sparks sent your blood boiling.

You narrowed your eyes, letting a sly grin on your face.

“Do you really wanna find out?”

“You two either kill or fuck each other already,” huffed Ives, walking by you with the most done expression you’d seen on him in years. “Whatever you decide, please keep it off comms, eh?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying not to blush furiously. Neil’s failed attempt at stifling an amused giggle wasn’t helping in the slightest. 

As you finally looked back at the bane of your existence, he tilted his head, biting his lip before speaking up again, and somehow you knew exactly what he was about to say.

“I’m up for whatever.”

You groaned.

...yep, that was it.

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

One of the teams’ unwinding rituals included going to the nearby pub for drinks and karaoke. You weren’t the biggest fan of singing in public yourself and no amount of alcohol could change that, but you never skipped the opportunity of watching your squadmates getting shitfaced and pouring their hearts out through the mic. That night was no different, and even though you were taking it easy with drinking, the rest of the crew was already deep in the party mood. 

You watched Wheeler singing Black Velvet from your spot at the counter. You used to spend much more time together, but she’d got designated to leading inverted teams and you got stuck at Ives’ squad. Not that you were complaining. 

You always had good banter with him, and even the unfortunate beginning of your relationship wasn’t enough to change that. You ended up being good friends and you knew he always had your back no matter what. Even when he was absolutely tired of your bullshit. 

You cringed at the memory of his comment earlier that day. 

And because the universe wasn’t done with tormenting you just yet, you felt Neil’s presence next to you. You turned your head and glanced at him, ready to meet his aggravating stare. To your surprise, you found him standing there with his eyes fixed on his drink instead, evidently having an internal battle with himself. 

Neil noticed your puzzled expression and took a big sip from the glass before looking at you. A sheepish smile on his lips was something new, and it only made you even more confused.

“Hey,” he said, raking the fingers through his hair. “Thank you. For earlier.”

“Don’t mention it,” you huffed, frowning slightly.

“It’s nice to know you have my back, just in case.”

You were annoyed that he was making such a big deal out of it. But there was something in the blue eyes that softened your gaze and you gave Neil a reassuring smile.

“Of course,” you said and cleared your throat. “Besides,“ - a corner of your lips twitched - “I couldn’t let you get killed in such a stupid way right under my nose, I wouldn’t want it to taint my next eval’.”

“Sure,” he shrugged. “No other reason?”

“Like what?” 

You regretted asking the question as soon as it left your mouth. Because of course, Neil’s eyes lit up in response and he smirked.

“You would miss me.”

"Ah, there it is," you snorted, fighting the urge to punch him. "For a moment I was scared I was starting to like you, thanks."

He chuckled. “Oh no, we wouldn't want that now, would we," he teased, leaning your way with a roguish smile.

You clenched your jaw, trying to ignore the heart fluttering in your chest.

Neil hummed and downed his drink. A mischievous spark in his eyes suddenly made you nervous. 

“What now?” you asked, dreading the answer already.

Neil’s expression was nothing but innocent. 

“I believe it’s my turn.” 

You watched him make his way to the mic. Letting out a deep sigh, you shook your head. 

That man was going to be the death of you one day.

You finished your drink and joined the rest of the team in the booth right in front of the makeshift scene. As soon as you sat down, a familiar song started and your widened eyes darted at Neil, who was just casually adjusting the rolled-up sleeves of his striped shirt. 

...it must have been a mistake.

His wicked grin as he met your horrified gaze was enough to tell you he knew exactly what he was doing.

He started singing with no hesitation, smiling to himself.

Under the lovers sky

Gonna be with you

And no one's gonna be around 

Neil’s eyes fixed on you and he raised a brow. A small incoherent noise escaped your mouth, luckily drowning in your squad’s encouraging whooping.

If you think that you won't fall

Well just wait until

'Til the sun goes down 

You met Wheeler’s amused look over the table.

“Why is he that way?” you whined, hiding your face in your palms. 

Underneath the starlight, starlight

There's a magical feeling so right 

You could hear the smile in his voice and you forced yourself to glance back at Neil. 

it will steal your heart tonight 

Catching your eyes again, he winked, making you exhale sharply in response.

You can try to resist

Try to hide from my kiss

You thought about the way you evaded his kiss at that locker room and your chest tightened at that memory.

Don't you know, don't you know

That you, can't fight the moonlight

He knew the song by heart, and you couldn’t wrap your head around that fact.

Deep in the dark, you'll surrender your heart

But you know, but you know that you

And by the way he commanded everyone’s attention, you saw it wasn’t his first performance. 

Can't fight the moonlight. No

His voice was clear and he was definitely having fun up there.

You can't fight it

...too much fun, if anybody asked you.

It's gonna get to your heart

He walked up to the booth and a spike of panic flashed in your brain.

There's no escaping love

He made his way to Ives, a mischievous grin lighting his face.

Once the gentle breeze

Neil ran a finger along your friend’s bearded jaw, leaving Ives frozen in shock. 

Weaves a spell upon your heart

Neil turned to you and your breath hitched as you realized what was about to happen.

No matter what you think

A few steps more.

It won't be too long

He stopped right in front of you.

'Til you're in my arms

He leaned your way, putting a finger under your chin and tilting it up gently.

Underneath the starlight, starlight

He moved even closer, his eyes wandering along your features.

We'll be lost in the rhythm so right

The emphasis on the last words combined with the look on his face made your mind go blank.

Feel it steal your heart tonight

...that was clearly his plan for the night, huh?

You forced yourself to start breathing again as Neil chuckled through the next line. 

Bloody hell, you hated the effect he had on you. 

You caught a glimpse of a smug smile before he turned away. Leveling your breath, you watched as he stepped back on the stage, hoping he wouldn’t have any other stupid ideas.

But Neil seemed to be satisfied with what he’d put you through and just continued the song. 

He even aimed for one of the high notes, scrunching his nose and giggling as his voice wavered for a second, and you couldn’t stop your lips from curling at the sight. There was something endearing in his joyful demeanor out there, and you wondered how many sides to him you had yet to discover.

Before you had a chance to get too soft, he finished singing and looked at you again. The dark shade in his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. 

You needed another drink. Stat.

At least he had enough decency to let you collect yourself before he joined you at the bar. Neil ordered a vodka tonic and leaned his back against the counter, eyeing you curiously.

“So?”

You stifled a giggle, shaking your head. “For a second I thought you might start dancing on the counter."

He laughed at the reference.

"And for a second, I thought about doing that,” he said, reaching for his drink. He smiled slyly at your amused snort and continued, lowering his voice slightly, “but I didn't want you to lose your mind. Or faint, for that matter… I want you conscious for later."

Neil took a sip from the glass, savoring the effect of his words on you as you stared at him with a slack jaw.

"You want me--"

"Yes." 

You blinked rapidly, composing yourself. The last thing you needed was to give him the satisfaction of making you flustered so easily. 

But you couldn’t resist playing his game even for a moment. 

Just to see if he would back down.

"And what is it exactly that you think it's gonna happen later?" you said, taking a step in his direction. 

Neil raised a brow, turning your way. His gaze flared up as he searched your eyes for your intentions, moving even closer to you.

"Spoilers.”

"Riiight,” you smirked. The rising temperature between the two of you was slowly hazing over your mind, making your breath shallow as you taunted, “Or maybe you're all talk."

The throaty chuckle sent the heart racing in your chest. 

"Want to try me?" he teased, grazing his knuckles against your bare arm, and it took all your resolve not to tremble at the sensation. 

The pulse pounded in your ears as you took his drink from his hand, finishing it in one swing. You looked into his eyes, dark and yearning, and a corner of your lips curled.

"Well, no need to wait 'til the sun goes down', anymore."

“Blimey.”

A few moments later, you found yourself in an empty restroom, tugging at Neil’s shirt until your back hit the cold wall. His wicked grin widened at your eagerness as he grabbed your waist with one hand, running the other one through your hair. You splayed your palms on his heaving chest, moving them up to his neck to pull him closer. 

Neil tilted his head and leaned in to kiss you, but just as your lips were about to meet, your whole body tensed and it was enough to make him stop instantly. He pulled back to look at you, concerned.

"What's wrong?” he asked in a husky voice. 

You huffed, frustrated. At your own reaction. At him suddenly being all gentleman about it. And at yourself again, for not appreciating his concern. 

But it wasn’t the right moment to talk about it, and you were pretty sure he would be all weird about it if you didn’t say anything. 

"It's just--... “ you hesitated, your mind rushing to find any plausible excuse. As you finally found one, your face lit up and you nibbled at your bottom lip, staring at him challengingly. “Don't you get all soft on me now, blondie." 

You almost squirmed under his predatory gaze. Neil brought his hand to your throat, and as his fingers wrapped around it, he leaned to whisper to your ear.

"Suit yourself."

When his teeth grazed your earlobe, you gasped, feeling the feverish heat rushing through your veins. His mouth trailed down your neck as he moved his hand higher, tilting your chin with his thumb just before he brushed it against your lips. You shut your eyes and bit back a moan, feeling Neil smiling and then he ran the tip of his tongue along the crook of your neck.

All of the sudden, you heard voices on the other side of the door. Before you could react, Neil grabbed your hand and pulled you into the stall at the farthest corner of the restroom, turning the lock and pinning you to the wall again with your wrists above your head.

You exhaled sharply as you spotted the roguish sparks in his eyes. 

As some people entered the restroom, Neil stroked your temple with his nose and breathed, “Looks like we need to keep quiet.“ 

You swallowed hard and shuddered, the pulse thumping in your ears.

Still keeping his fingers wrapped around your wrists, his other hand wandered down your body slowly. He studied the way you melted into his touch, taking pleasure at the sight of the animalistic need that clouded your eyes. The last coherent thought left your mind when you felt his hand sliding under your dress, grazing against your thighs, higher and higher, and you bucked your hips, silently urging him to keep moving. 

Neil’s lips parted slightly and he leaned in, kissing your neck just as his fingers trailed under the hem of your panties right to your pulsing core. You threw the head back against the wall and your thighs tightened involuntarily as if to prevent him from backing away now.

“Christ, I’ve barely touched you and you’re already this wet,” Neil chuckled breathlessly to your ear and yanked your underwear down your legs in one swift motion. Securing the grip on your wrists, he palmed over you again, moving his hand back and forth, his digits pressing against your folds firmer with every stroke and you let out an inaudible gasp, feeling the fire at the pit of your stomach growing by the minute. 

But when his thumb started rubbing circles over your clit, you buried your face in the crook of his neck to stifle a cry ready to escape your mouth any second now. Without skipping a beat, Neil gently tapped his foot on the side of your shoe and you instantly followed his suggestion, spreading your legs for him. He hummed in approval, slipping one, then two, fingers into you, and you sank your teeth in your bottom lip as the sudden bolt of pleasure seared your every nerve. 

Neil picked up the pace, curling his fingers inside you just right, and a quiet moan built in your throat and you nuzzled your face into his neck even further; the spicy scent of his cologne ingraining in your hazed mind with every shaky breath you took. 

Feeling you getting closer to the edge, Neil let go of your wrists and pushed you back on the wall. Cupping your face with his free hand, he pressed a thumb against your mouth firmly. You panted heavily as he kept tracing your parted lips in almost the same rhythm as his fingers slid in and out of your throbbing core. You closed your eyes as the fire from the pit of your stomach almost consumed you. 

And just when you thought that you couldn’t take much more, you felt the pad of his thumb grazing against the tip of your tongue at the same time the other one flicked your clit. Your mind went blank and you sucked on his finger, trying to muffle a whimper.

“Good girl,” Neil breathed into your ear. “Now come for me.”

And so you did, your every particle dissolving into a blissful pleasure roaming through your body wave after wave. 

When you regained your senses, you were greeted by the self-satisfied grin you knew all too well. You scoffed and shook your head, too much of a mess to form a coherent comment. You listened for a second, trying to figure out if there was anyone outside, but it seemed that you two were alone, at least for now. Then your eyes wandered down and your mouth watered at the sight. 

Without thinking twice over it, you palmed the bulk in Neil’s trousers, looking up to meet his gaze. 

The hint of surprise mixed with the sheer hunger in the dark blue eyes made your racing heart skip a bit.

"Are you sure?" he rasped, placing hands on your waist.

You nodded, your fingers already fighting with his belt. 

"Stop talking."

Neil raised a brow, amused. 

"Maybe you should ask nicely."

You looked at him in disbelief and turned towards the stall’s door, huffing, "Maybe I should leave you like this."

Neil wrapped his arms around you.

"Mhm," he murmured into your neck as he squeezed your breast, his other hand sliding down your body.

"Fuck--" you gasped as his fingers pressed to your clit again.

His throaty chuckle vibrated on your back.

"What was that?" 

You moaned, rolling your hips to brush against him.

"...please."

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

You dampened a paper towel to clean your smudged makeup.

"Wanna grab something to eat?"

You glanced at Neil’s reflection in the mirror, watching as he tucked the shirt in his pants.

"You're reading too much into this,” you tried to make your voice as casual as possible.

"I wouldn't dare," he laughed, joining you by the mirror. "What if I promise not to talk to you unless you ask me to?" 

You mused over it for a moment, staring at Neil’s attempts to fix his messy hair.

"And if you break the promise?"

The blue eyes met yours and lit up.

"I'll let you punish me however you see fit."

You scoffed. 

...but then a corner of your lips twitched into a half-smile.

(next chapter ->)

[pinkykitten]

everything stays

chapter 1 - blood on her hands :: gisela klein [ an aot oc story ] 

note: hey guys i know its been a rlly long time since ive posted anything and u may be rlly let down and underwhelmed that ive chosen to write a aot oc instead of fanfic but its what i want to write and i rlly love my oc and wanna give her some love and some praise and let u a little in how i see her. im sorry i havent posted a lot im going to try to write more and who knows i may or may not finish this but its ok imma try lol but life sometimes is a butthole. i hope you love her as much as i do an tysm for taking time out of ur day to read this story. enjoy!

Even though she knew that this day would have to come and that it was near, it still was a surprise for her. She was taken aback. It didn’t make sense and add up to her; she was trained for this since she was little; preparing mentally and physically for phase one of the plan; and the day appeared through the trees; past the wall; the opportunity was present; the fate of the people were waiting in their hands; and yet she felt a sense of evilness within her heart. Was this right? But there was no time. 

The day was written down in history. The stories were spread around like a disease. Heights, jaws, teeth, feet, stench, the screams. If they survived that nightmare they were seen as a tough soldier; as someone that was applauded because they probably had PTSD and had to see everyday as a reason within themselves or God that they were alive. That maybe just maybe they were saved for a reason; for a purpose. That is what Gisela Klein thought. Maybe there was something greater out there for her to do, to accomplish and that was why she saw another day; breathed another breath. 

But one thing was for sure. Forgiveness would never come her way; she would never expect it. To be a warrior she had to endure the horror; the pain; feelings of worthlessness; and friendships lost. 

This is the story of the 10th finding titan; the Slash Titan.

The pounding of her heart rang through her ears. It had taken everything for her to keep going on this journey; to continue on the path to and through Hell. She felt a loss within her and the light in her eyes died out. The loss of her friend made it hard for her to function. To keep her head in the game and in the plan. 

She sighed as she stared at her hands. Broken and bruised like her heart; scars and scratches scattered on her skin. Her bite mark deeply engraved into her flesh. She heaved a huge sigh. Ready to give death a handshake and make a deal with the devil. Panic was rising in her chest from her stomach, almost ready to throw up. 

As she thought about her family back home she realized there was no other way; she had to do this. In order to be with her family, to save them she had to do the one thing she was trained to do. 

Kill.

A lightning strike shot over the wall. The wall that kept the monsters away and at bay. Something was wrong; the air seemed to change. The lightning strike caused a boom, clap and the ground started to shake. 

Bertholdt drew his leg back and with full force swung his leg forward, knocking a hole into the wall that was impenetrable. Many people flew back from the wind of the blow and some were crushed by the debris of the wall. 

Many were going to die; but it’s what needed to be done. 

The titans were called. 

Finally the titans entered the devils homes and started to rip up their lives. “This is right, this is right.” Gisela had to keep reminding herself. “For my family.” And something snapped within her. The image of her mother, tortured, flashed in her mind. And suddenly everything was worth it. “No regrets.”

Gisela eyed Reiner, an agreement, a sign. She exhaled and in a quick motion placed her hand to her mouth and bit into it. In a spark she transformed into her titan form. Her eyes were much like a cats, sharp. She was made into the slash titan, she was chosen for this program. Her titans fingers were like sharp knives, able to cut any object or person. They hung a little past her knees. 

Reiner then transformed and both stomped past the hole. Many citizens glanced up, horrified. Gisela and Reiner were titans never seen before. 

She nodded to Reiner, bent down and started to pick up debris and pieces of houses to throw over the bigger wall. The chunks started to smash against people. Blood splattering everywhere. Gisela almost wanted to close her eyes from the immense amount of dead bodies piled on top of others, graves upon graves. 

She was hauling boulders as high and fast as she could. Her titan held a high amount of power and strength. Being slim, muscular and as tall as the armored titan and female titan. Reiner took a step back and gained his speed to go onward to destroy the bigger wall. 

“Fire!” Their soldiers cried out. Fear evident on their face. They shot their cannons, not even slowing down Reiner. Gisela continued flinging, wanting to create a path for Reiner. She was faster than before and many of her hits flattened the men in the front lines. Their screams and cries loud. 

“Close the gate!” They tried, it was their last hope to save humanity. But it was not enough. Reiner broke the wall and killed those running and they went flying. They reached even higher than Gisela. It astounded her almost, they seemed like helpless birds flying high in the sky; but that thought was quickly wiped clean because the second they flew up in the air they came straight down with much force that many parts of their bodies broke. 

Reiner did what he needed to do, he opened up a way for the titans to get in and they were swarming by the bunches. 

In the distance, the survivors fled in boats across the river to get into the other walls. Gisela put herself in their shoes for a second. They had reason to be scared. Everything they have ever known was gone; their houses, loved ones, food, a place to feel the most comfortable you can feel despite situations; it was all gone. Gisela shook the thought out, not caring about these cruel humans feelings. They had none. No emotions. Gisela had to believe that thought; what she was told, she had to believe it with all her heart, or else what was real?

They waited till they were able to not be seen and Gisela turned human first and then so did Reiner. The four of them hopped on the boat. Talking amongst themselves. The wind howled through the vacant homes. Destruction everywhere. Gisela looked around her setting and saw a little girl had been crushed because a tree fell on her, her doll mere inches away from her grasp. She died with her eyes open; almost looking into Gisela’s soul through the eyes. Gisela’s body trembled and she threw up. 

“Don’t.”

Gisela looked up to see Reiner wiping blood and debris off his clothes. He picked his sleeve and turned Gisela’s head to look away, he wiped her chin and mouth off the puke. He saw the trauma in her eyes and felt guilty. But it’s what needed to be done. He kept telling himself that the more he did this the more he would understand and get used to it. It was still all new to her and he had to be strong for her. He knelt in front of her small frame. “It’s not your fault. They needed to die. We are in this together. You don’t need them. Look at me.”

Gisela looked into his eyes, away from the sadness. His eyes carried the feeling of wanting to be wanted. That was always what Reiner wanted. But they also had fear in his eyes. 

“Stop acting like you’re in control when I know how sick you feel. I know how afraid you are Reiner.”

He paused and took a look at his hands and others surrounding him. “You’re right. But I made a promise to Marcel.”

They joined the other citizens arriving at the food reserves. The master of disguise was needed in this mission. People needed to see four hungry, depressed children that survived the fall of their homes, not mass murderers. 

Annie was only able to fetch two loaves. “Alright, who's the most hungry?”

“You girls should eat, you’re more feeble.” Bertholdt sat on a crate, pointing to Gisela and Annie. 

Annie tsked, moving a bang from her eyes, “who says girls are more feeble? I recall kicking your ass all those times in training.”

“You guys can eat it, I’m not hungry.” Gisela sat on the other crate and saw the chaos of the crowds. A boy caught her interest. He had dark brown hair, tan skin, and light blue green eyes. He was having bread shoved in his mouth and he seemed to have such a strong personality to him. If only Gisela felt so strongly about her motive and her placement in this life. 

“You really should eat, you need your energy after all you did.” Annie broke all the loaves in half and shared it amongst the four of you. “It’s not much but at least it's something.”

Gisela sighed, “you’re right. Thanks.”

After that day there was land given to only a few refugees but there were too many of them. Luckily the four of them had a piece of land that was enough until further inching themselves within society. Through that whole span each day was getting easier and easier living with the lies and day by day Gisela felt more at sure with herself and knowing that she could fulfill this mission. Pills and alcohol helped the pain and ease the thoughts. She taught herself to put a gap between what she came here to do and feelings. She told herself every day that nobody else mattered except her family and Reiner. She trained her brain to not care, to not have strings attached or any love for anything. It was all a play, all a rehearsal for when the curtain would fall. She was readying herself for that fall. Everyday she educated herself more on these scums. What they liked, wanted, needed, craved for, and what they craved more than ever in their life was freedom. 

She trained her body as if it were her last day, barely getting sleep. The face of her mother haunting her every night making her get up at three in the morning to do pushups or sit ups. Not only was her mind getting stronger but also her body. Even Reiner would make jokes noticing the muscles that would appear. The six pack that formed on her stomach. Her thighs growing tight and firm, her arms growing stronger. The sweat growing on her forehead longer. 

With her body growing her relationship with Reiner also changed. They no longer were the tiny children that didn’t understand anatomy or the air between two people. Reiner and Gisela’s relationship was of being flirty, sharing a few kisses here and there, trying to be a couple but then yelling at each other and breaking it up and realizing maybe this isn’t right a million times. Even Bertholdt and Annie were getting tired of their outbursts. But each time they made up to be friends only and then the cycle started where the feelings came in the way and they wanted to be more. They would tease each other, especially Reiner. They were each other's best friends. Gisela was like one of the boys, loud, obnoxious, burping all the time, Reiner would get a look at her and smirk thinking he taught her well. When Reiner looked at her he felt at home and that everything was going to be okay. Her nightmares continued and each time Reiner would come to her room and hold her, let her cry into his arms. She felt he was the only person that knew her pain. 

Gisela understood many things in life and for once she understood her life here, she understood why she was born and chosen. 

It was the following year and in order to get closer to finding the founding titan the four became part of the 104th cadet corps. 

“Are you ready to train more?” Gisela nudged Reiner, eyebrow raised.

“What do you mean train more? This is going to be a new but scary experience honestly.” Reiner spoke as if he was a different person. As if he didn’t have a life outside of the walls. 

“Reiner?” Gisela placed her hand on his shoulder, steadying him. He looked fine on the outside but Gisela knew the issues were inside, his mind. She knew this was becoming disastrous to him, he was starting to have almost two personalities, two lives, two worlds, two people. Gisela tried to tell Annie or Bertholdt, they saw it too but there was nothing they could do. 

All that Gisela could do was smile as they made their way to the first day of training. 

note: again ty y’all sm!!!! If u liked it lmk and this is kinda new for me cuz I usually don’t post my ocs stories here or much at all but I’m rlly excited for y’all to see her and for y’all to know this oc of mine and hopefully accept her ❤️

Taglist: @witchofinterest @chlobenet @eddysocs @fpxloomis @whctsherncme-archive @ocfairygodmother @fandomchick80 @ocappreciationtag

[all-things-mlqc]

Boys reaction to MC who never have date before meeting them. Like, the boys as MC's first love.

My first HC on here and I was memeing half the time while writing it. Included what the boys would do after hearing this news as well because why not. I’m not a Lucien fan but lord have mercy on my soul, I couldn’t help making his romantic af. He is the ideal boyfriend/date minus the l i e s that come in the MS and I hate it. All the crossed out stuff is just commentary because I couldn’t help myself. Hope you enjoy~ Thank you for your ask <3

How the MLQC boys react to being MC’s first love below the cut~

Victor:

Follows with some snarky comment after he calls her “Dummy”.

Let’s be real here, if he doesn’t call her dummy immediately, then something is wrong. Reminds me of when we streamed the first episode of MLQC and we were all yelling “CALL US BAKA” the second Victor came on screen.

While he seems cool and collected on the outside, you can hear the computer shutdown sound play on the inside.

To him, this is a shocking confession.

Victor: I’m not surprised a dummy like you hasn’t been in a serious relationship before.

Victor, internally: How has she never been in a serious relationship before??

He’s not very good at expressing himself honestly through his words but he truly admires MCs hardworking nature.

He finds that very attractive in a woman and is surprised that other men in the line of business haven’t taken their shot with her yet. it’s because they can feel your death stare on the back of their heads, kind sir

One thing he struggles with is being himself. He tries to act like everything is in his control all the time.

Because of this, upon hearing MCs confession, he invites her to a fancy dinner at his penthouse insert Victor’s Dazzling Date because THATS ALL THAT MATTERS. Jkjk haha... unless...

He wants to impress her as much as possible even though he knows deep down that she doesn’t care about what a person has and rather how they are as a person

BUT ALAS. The stress be real for her first boyfriend.

He wants her to know she made a good decision without verbally telling her out of his own bitch mouth I love you, please call me baka so he goes over the top with their first date.

Basically pulls a Mr. Krabs when taking Mrs. Puff on a date. Just add shades to Mr. Krabs to represent Victor’s “I’m calm. I’m chill. I’m all good. We vibin out here.”

All MC wants from him is his honest and genuine thoughts. and a lifetime stock of pudding because good god a girl has chocolate needs

MC eventually figures out Victor’s intentions with all the gifts he rains on her because hE dOesNt nEeD tHeM he can’t give her anything more than a cup of pudding up front

MC knows this and accepts the secret gifts with a smile.

She sends a gift in return to his office the following day along with a thank you for the wonderful date.

Can you hear that? It’s the sound of Victor’s heart rate slowing to the average persons.

Kiro:

insert pikachu meme

This boy is mind blown.

“How have you never been in a relationship before??? That can’t be true!”

Kiro sees the good in everyone, so hearing that MC has never been in a relationship before him is

He gives her a bright smile and playfully hugs her from behind.

The two of them laugh together as he whispers genuinely in her ear,

“I promise to make you happy. You won’t regret it.”

He immediately drags her off to Loveland’s Amusement Park, where they spend the whole day together.

Rides, snacks, games, you name it, they did it all.

Kiro naturally spoils MC without putting much thought to it.

It’s like a reflex for him. It’s just who he is as a person. Always wants to share the happiness in the world with the people he cares about.

As for how anxious he is after hearing the news about being MC’s first love, he is screaming at a pitch only dogs can hear.

Almost 100% of the time he has a smile on his face and even convinces himself that he’s not worried about it.

But he is.

It only hits him when he thinks about another man taking MC away from him after seeing her talking with another guy.

MC will catch him without his carefree smile at times and eventually confronts him about it.

He shows her a wide smile and says there’s nothing to worry about.

L I E S. BABIE LEMME HOLD YOU I PROMISE YOU DONT NEED TO WORRY.

After a few attempts of trying to get Kiro to open up about it, he gives in and says he’s worried he’s not good enough for her HAHAHHA, GOOD ONE KIRO

MC, however, turns it around on him

MC: I’m afraid IM the one who isn’t good enough for you.

They both smile and embrace each other, knowing they’ll get through any little concerns like this.

Gavin:

He knows.

We’re talking about the boy who has been in love with MC since high school; Who has protected her behind the scenes ever since he laid eyes on her.

He would know if she had been in a previous or current relationship.

It only comes as a shock when she says she’s never been interested in anyone else romantically before. Lies. Have you seen the other suitors, MC. In a world where guys are that hot, you must’ve had at least 1 crush, c’mon sis.

Gavin respected her personal boundaries and never looked into her personal affairs so he had very little knowledge of her views on other guys.

He gets a little bit nervous, since he believes her standards must be high if she hasn’t been interested in anyone else before.

Does the full on soldier oath, bend the knee cliche which includes “I promise to always protect you” and “Nobody will ever be good enough for you”

Mc: Gavin no...

Gavin: NOBODY WILL EVER BE GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU.

Spoiler alert: You are waayyyyy too good for me, Gavin.

He doesn’t have too much anxiety over the thought of being MC’s first love though since he’s very good at staying true to himself and knows MC is one to admire that about others.

Gavin is a quiet guy in general. He’s more of an observer and watches MC to take note of what she enjoys.

When he sees her eyes shine bright after seeing a delicious dessert cafe, he offers to take her. He makes sure to express how he also wants to go since he knows she won’t accept unless he is interested as well.

Boy literally has no interests the moment he’s with MC. He is essentially that vine

Doesn’t even wait until the question is over and just “Absolutely. Let’s do it”

MC: But I haven’t even said anything yet...

He isn’t much different from how he is now. Has around the same amount of anxiety just from being in MCs presence.

Boy just wants to PROTECC and is always panicking on the inside but tries to remain calm.

He is very good at calming his anxiety though since he’s had so long to understand what MC values and knows she just loves people for themselves.

That’s all he needs.

Lucien:

His eyes widen slightly at MCs confession.

It’s nothing too mind blowing for him since he knows how refined MC is and how dedicated she is to her work.

It’s still surprising to him that nobody has tried to sweep her off her feet yet.

With how kind MC is, it would be hard for her to refuse a date with a gentleman.

Lucien gently presses a kiss to MCs hand upon hearing her confession.

Lucien: I am honored to be given the opportunity TO WOO to take such a beautiful lady out on a date~ AND MORE PLEASE

Lucien is the definition of a gentleman shhhh we aren’t speaking of current chapters in the main route Lucien. Cover your eyes. Pretend you do not see.

With little to no anxiety showing on his face after the reveal that he is MCs first love, he insists on taking her out to a nice restaurant the most classy and romantic 5 star restaurant Loveland City has to offer as a way to thank her for dealing with his bs (both his bullshit and black swan hahaha I’m so funny oml) being given the opportunity to treat her as a beautiful young lady should be treated.

He’s also more on the less anxious side of being MCs first love.

Lucien is a traditional man and does stuff by the book.

Because of this, he respects and likes the idea of being MCs first love.

He doesn’t go over the top yet isn’t cliche with dates and little actions.

He knows exactly what to say and when to say it. Though he may struggle with being openly honest about his own thoughts and feelings, he tries his best to express himself for MC. a lot of the time he just assumes talking to her about his personal affairs would bring her down.

This, however, gets better overtime as they continue to date.

They spend a lovely evening at dinner together and take a midnight stroll through the city oh god city stroll PTSD

He gently wraps his jacket around her bare shoulders with a soft smile as he thanks her once again for believing in him believing he is worthy of her

Bonus:

Shaw:

Shaw, smirking: Is that so?

Oohhhhh you know what that smirk does to me. DOWN BOY D O W N.

He’s surprised but his reaction is very mutual.

His internal thoughts are more on the line of “Hmm I’m her first boyfriend, aye?” and “OYA OYA”

He very likely most definitely places his hand on the wall beside her head and leans in closely to get a reaction from her as he growls,

Shaw: So that means you really like me, yeah? I’m making this way too hot gdi. Shaw stans please enjoy your food

MC looks up to see that same playful smirk resting on his face.

highkey don’t know how to respond because Im just “ok think of 3 things she would probably say and go from there” while my brain just computer error sound

MC: and what about yourself? I’m sure there are tons of girls throwing themselves at you yet you choose me.

He pulls away and places his hands in his pockets with a chuckle.

Shaw: I’ve had my fair share before.

iVe HaD mY fAiR sHarE bEfoRe MY ASS

I’m convinced he’s had one time things with girls purely for information or he isn’t the least bit interested in relationships because he thrives on stimulation and entertainment and nOboDy iS gOoD eNouGh plus he literally asks what people do on dates when taking mc out in his first date in game SO

Either way, this is a LIE. The man can’t relationship for the life of him so he has no RIGHTS to tease her.

Just let him believe or you can try to tease him about it in hopes of getting a little pouty face out of him.

Honestly, their first date would just be the first date we got in the game and nobody can convince me otherwise.

Shaw is a wild child and doesn’t care for romantic dates. at least that’s what he wants you to think

A little insight on his character: He’s very blunt and easily pushes people away all the while keeping them close enough to gather intel. He doesn’t get emotionally attached to anyone and makes sure it’s mutual on both ends. Personal relationships only drag him down, especially in his line of work. He prioritizes other things before relationships which makes him so damn FRUSTRATING BUT I SWEAR I WILL CRACK YOU OPEN LIKE A WALNUT JUST YOU WATCH ME.

With that being said, after actually being in a relationship with MC for a while and opening up about their personal lives more, Shaw can be very romantic. He may be awkward for a bit at first since he literally doesn’t know what a date is but he gets there eventually.

He’s still full of fun but is also very gentle and makes sure MC is enjoying herself.

I got sidetracked with the actual HC on this one but Shaw stans need food I NEED FOOD

[jungkookiebus]

Hellblazer 2.5 | jjk

Genre: demon!au Pairing: demon!Jungkook x FemConstantine!reader Word Count: 2.6k Rating: PG Summary: Now that the true identity of the new Prince of Hell has been revealed to you, you are left back on Earth, wandering aimlessly through life hungry for another taste of him while being repulsed by his memory. You find your health failing and in one last attempt for help, you drag yourself to the Vatican only to find yourself falling deeper into the darkness surrounding you. Ever so slowly, you’re slipping towards a death you didn’t think would come so soon.  Author’s Note: I hope you guys still find this interesting. I guess this can be seen as “filler” to progress their relationship, but I find it really starts to expose true feelings here. More to come! 

Sluggish. Languorous. Torpid. Stagnant. Those four words and more were how you would describe your life right now. It had been three months since your last encounter with him. You had woken up in your bed just as before; sore and almost lifeless. Before, he haunted your dreams. Now, he was all you wanted and your worst nightmare. You felt pushed and pulled in two directions.

Lost.

Utterly lost.

You were seeing him more and more, standing under the massive altar in the Basilica, sitting at the same table at the coffee shop, just around the corner in the bookstore, and basking in the sun at Trevi Fountain. The few people you knew, because you didn’t have any friends, were noticing your declining health. You became withdrawn and idle. Just living each day, sometimes eating, getting out of bed when needed, and spending less time outdoors as the months rolled on.

Even the Pope came to see you, worried about your health. At first, you felt good knowing someone cared but then you reminded yourself he only liked you for information. His visit didn’t go quite as he had planned when the thought dawned on you and you cursed at him, demanding he get the fuck out of your house.

You had never planned on staying in Rome this long. Yes, it was the hub of your line of work, but you didn’t want to be here, yet you felt tied. You felt as if you left then you’d never see him again, but then again, you didn’t want to see him. Not really.

You were starving, but not for food. If you had a soul it would probably yearn. This was a different kind of pain; something deeply rooted into your heart. Your body was lacking something, and you weren’t sure what.

When you were ready to throw yourself off the nearest cliff, you trudged reluctantly in the direction of the Vatican. Your limbs felt like they were filled with sand. People gave you strange looks as they passed. You knew you hadn’t brushed your hair in a hot second nor had you really been concerned about your personal well-being either. The closer you got, the worse you felt. You found yourself stopping and leaning against a wall more than once trying to catch your breath. It felt as if you had been running when you could barely walk. By the time you got to the Vatican Obelisk, you were stumbling, struggling to stay upright. A Swiss guard recognized you despite your unkempt appearance and rushed over immediately, calling out for assistance.

The bright summer sun, a flash of pink, and what you had thought was him were the last things you saw before you succumbed to that falling feeling. Peace. Finally, you were able to rest.

When you awoke again, your limbs were just as heavy if not heavier. You heard the faint beep of a machine and the whir of air conditioning, but beyond that was silent. Your eyelids felt as if they had weights on them as you struggled to open them. Finally, you were able to peer into the semi-darkness. Blinking a few times, you slowly scanned the room. It was very nicely decorated, with a fireplace, and your guess was confirmed when you saw the framed picture of the Virgin Mary. An IV stand was next to you and you followed the tube of fluids to your arm. Wiggling your fingers a little, you made sure you weren’t paralyzed for some reason. As if by divine intervention, a nurse came scooting in backwards with a cart. You watched as she blissfully hummed and then turned towards you, jumping back in surprise as you looked at her.

“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed, holding her hand over her heart. She moved closer to the bed, first looking at the machines, and then back at you. “Hey, are you okay?”

You nodded. Your throat was so dry you didn’t think you’d be able to say anything.

“Let me get you some water!”

She turned away again and to a pitcher that was sitting on a table, filled a glass of water, and made her way back to you. She held the glass to your lips as she held a cloth under your chin. You drank gratefully and sighed as the cool water soothed your throat.

“What happened?” you finally asked once you were able to speak properly.

“The guards saw you stumbling around outside. You collapsed right in a crowd of people!” She threw her hands up excitedly as she recounted the story to you. The Pope had insisted you stay in the ”house of the Lord” in case what was happening to you was “demonic” in nature.

He knew better.

“How long?”

“Oh, let’s see,” she paused. “About a week and a few days now.”

No wonder you felt as if your muscles hadn’t been used in a million years. You still felt just as bad, if not worse than before. Before you knew it, you were slipping slowly. You wanted to stay awake, you feared falling asleep again, but your body was giving up. Slowly, darkness overtook you.

When you awoke again, you felt as if you couldn’t breathe. You half expected a paralysis demon to be perched atop you when you were finally able to open your eyes.

The room you were in was the same, but this time there were more machines. You looked down to see that your hair had grown a considerable amount. Panic washed through your body and you heard the rapid beat of the machine as your heart sped. A small alarm sounded as your blood pressure rose. You were being thrown headlong into a full blown panic attack. The same nurse as before came rushing into the room and was at your side, checking the readout on the machine, and then reached into a small refrigerator for a glass bottle. She pulled the cap off a syringe, pulled the liquid into it, and then pushed it into your IV line. Your body immediately relaxed. She held her hand on your forehead as she grabbed her stethoscope. After she determined that you were okay, she laid a hand over yours.

“He wants to talk to you. I’ll be right back.”

What? You had just woken up after god knows how long and she’s worried about someone wanting to talk to you? You were so thirsty.

The Pope came rushing through the door, dressed casually, and looking both distressed and surprised.

“____!” he exclaimed as he rushed to your bedside. “It’s been months.”

Months? Surely…not?

He turned his head to where you couldn’t see his face, but you saw the look of surprise on the nurse’s face as she nodded and then left the room. He turned back to you; concern written in his features.

“____,” he began again, as he pulled a chair to your bedside. “When did you meet him?”

Your brows knitted. You had already told him when you met the new Prince of Hell.

“The Archangel. God’s general.”

Your blood ran cold. How did he know?

“You have the sigil,” he said reaching out just a little, “behind your ear.”

For fuck’s sake. You were getting peed on by everybody in Hell. You wet your lips a little. Or tried to. Realizing that your mouth was probably dryer dirt, he grabbed the pitcher. Funny, one of your last memories was almost this exact same situation months ago. Once again, you were fumbling with your voice, having not used it for some time. He sat patiently as your mouth moved robotically. You were frustrated that you couldn’t just spit it out and you felt helpless as you lay there with your overly heavy limbs.

“He fell,” you finally croaked.

“What?” He didn’t believe you.

“The demons. In Rome.”

You saw him piecing things together with your minimal words. He had warned you that things were happening in Rome.

“You mean…,” he trailed off in disbelief.

“War.”

It wasn’t a secret that there was a war in Heaven before when Lucifer fell. You had met a few demons that fell with him, recounting the day in vivid detail to you. Now there was going to be another one. God’s greatest ally had betrayed him.

“But then…” He glanced towards the spot behind your ear. “Those are meant for protection.”

You half shrugged. You weren’t about to admit to him what had happened…twice.

“Get your rest, _____.” He patted the back of your hand, stood, and left from the room without so much as a backwards glance.

The Pope stood before the statue of the Archangel taking down Lucifer with his golden spear. His heart was tight in his chest as he prayed.

“Dear God,” he was at a loss for words as he gazed above him. His voice echoed in the cavernous expanse.

A low, menacing laugh filled the space as soon as his voice died out. The darkness suppressed around him and fear filled his heart. He clutched to the rosary in his hand as he turned around. The laugh seemed to be coming from every direction, bouncing off the walls, and doubling back in on itself. This type of darkness was one that he felt deep inside of him.

“There’s no point in that,” he heard whispered amongst the laughs that were slowly dying out.

Out of the darkness and through the pews of one of the service areas walked a man, dressed darkly, and even darker than the murkiness around him. The candles that had been lit on the altar went out one by one. A heat filled the basilica that had him sweating under his night robes. A smell so pungent that he recoiled filled his nose and it was soon replaced by the sickly sweet smell of roses.

He emerged into the dimly lit expanse of the area before the main altar and he was able to see his glowing eyes and pale skin contrasting against his black suit. His hands were clasped behind him as he walked slowly. His footsteps didn’t make a sound. His smile was malevolent. As he approached closer and closer, he began to faintly smell burnt wood. By the time he was within feet of him, it was as if someone had snuffed out the fire in a fireplace. The smoky smell filled the area and assaulted his senses. A usually comforting scent was now going to be reminiscent of this new fear he felt.

“Where is she?” he asked, leaning in close.

He saw the sigil on his lapel as it caught the light.

“A-are you…?” he stammered.

“You know exactly who I am. Now, answer my question, Your Holiness.”

He stared into his dark eyes and saw nothing there. Only emptiness.

“I’m not giving her to you.” He held onto his rosary tighter as he willed himself to be brave in the face of evil.

His smile spread, but then suddenly turned down at the corners. He could see where he was once beautiful, but now he was beautiful in a terrible way.

“If you want her to live, you will.”

He was shaking as he held out the hand that clutched the rosary. The Prince looked down at it in disgust before speaking again.

“Your trinkets won’t do anything to me.”

“Why do you want her?”

“She belongs to me.”

“Your sigil is meant to protect. What are you doing to her?”

He sighed as he brought his hands in front of him, intertwining his fingers and holding them to his lips. The Pope saw the tattoos that you had mentioned, and it further confirmed his fears.

“The real question is, what are you doing to her?”

He suddenly became defensive in the face of the Prince.

“I have been protecting her and keeping her alive for these last few months.”

“Have you, though?”

“Quit talking in circles, demon!” He was red faced now, utterly angry. He was angry that a Prince of Hell was here on hallowed ground and he was angry that he seemed to think he had some claim over you.

“This space you feel like you’ve created for her to heal is killing her,” he said simply.

You had no soul. Heaven couldn’t protect you and now that it was weaker, they would be no closer to doing so.

“The sigil…”

“She’s dying on holy ground. If I take her, she won’t.”

The Pope was torn. What he said made sense, but what if he were lying? He had no reason to tell the truth. But why would he want you?

He slowly removed the brooch from his lapel and suspended it in the air between them, but the Pope refused to reach out and take it.

“I promise you protection. On my word.”

“I don’t make deals with devils,” he said snidely.

“It’s in your best interest to do that now. There’s going to be a war soon and Earth will suffer just as many consequences. You’ll want to find yourself on the right side.”

The Pope walked briskly down the carpeted hallway with the Prince walking closely behind. None of the guards were around as they turned corners and he knew it was his doing. When they reached the door to your room, he looked back at him tentatively. He seemed eager for him to open the door. He pushed it open, stepping inside, and to the side. He watched closely as he crossed the room and to your bedside. You were asleep, laid back amongst the pillows, and looking as frail and drawn as ever.

“How could you let this go on for this long?” he asked as he undid the IV at your arm.

The Pope was frozen to the spot as he watched him quickly detach you from any and all machines, alarms going off left and right. The nurse came running down the hall in her robe. He held out his arm in front of her as she crossed the threshold and froze to watch the scene in front of her.

He was lifting you from the bed gingerly. You had lost so much weight that you were very easy to carry. He turned with you in his arms, curled against his chest, and the Pope saw a shadow of who he once was. His expression was soft, yet worried, giving him a glance at the Archangel he used to pray to.

“You have my protection,” he said before seeming to disappear into thin air. In the blink of an eye, he was gone, leaving the Pope and nurse dumbfounded.

The next time you awoke, you felt lighter. Your breathing came easier and your mouth didn’t feel as if it were on fire. The pain in your head was starting to subside and overall, you felt as if you might survive whatever was wrong with you. You moved your fingers over the sheets beneath you and felt an all too familiar silkiness. Your heart raced with both fear and some unfound excitement. Slowly, you opened your eyes and you were met with the same grey stillness of the bedroom that haunted your dreams. You were afraid to move but you desperately needed to see if you imagined the presence behind you. You quietly and gently as possible turned your head.

He looked so peaceful.

Fast asleep, mouth slightly agape, he laid beside you, hand rested on the pillow. He had saved your life, but that was only because he had marked you. You hadn’t asked for this, but you were starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe, it was what you wanted all along.

[missmonsters2]

The Color Of You || Part X

PAIRING: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: It was another mission Natasha was assigned to. Nothing she hasn’t done before. Same mission, different people. Sent undercover to investigate William Cain, suspect to funding terrorism and smuggling weaponry. Under the disguise of Natanya Rovinski, Natasha is ready for another routine mission. Until she met you, William’s fiancé.

Warnings: There are dark elements to this series. This chapter is 18+ smut. Please read responsibly. A ** will indicate when the smut is starting.

NOTE: Ugh sorry for taking so long I’m a POS. I can’t believe this is the last chapter! I will be finishing my [About You] series next. 

PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV || PART V || PART VI || PART VII || PART VIII || PART IX

PART X of X

Count: 3167

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Natasha is torn.

She wants to make a scene, immediately steal you away and get you out of handcuffs.

But she knows better. 

And so, she must hold herself still. 

Everyone is currently sitting in a conference room, and Maria knows not to test Natasha’s limit and patience.

So, she sits you next to Natasha while she sits on the other side. Fury sits at the head of the table, staring at you, and you’re unsure how to read his expression. 

But you know why this has happened.

“What is the meaning of this?” Natasha asks, mouth in a hard line as she looks at Fury. “Why is she in handcuffs?”

“Because she’s a criminal,” Fury says simply. 

“She saved us all!” Natasha argued back.

“She abetted a criminal,” Fury says, not taking his eyes off of you. “Her guidance has caused the suffering of many, a significant amount of money laundering, and even death.”

“She had no choice,” Natasha hissed.

“Oh, she had many choices,” Fury turned to look at Natasha, “She could’ve found a way to contact us, contact any authority, she even could’ve tried to run away over and over again. But she didn’t.”

Fury looks back at you, “Isn’t that right?”

Natasha is about to say something else because the idea that you would be locked away, doing time for things you had no choice to do is ludicrous, but bring your hands atop hers, giving her a soft smile of reassurance.

“It’s true, I could’ve tried to contact someone at any time or ran away when I was finally allowed some freedom,” you admit.

“Then, why didn’t you?” Clint asked, frowning.

“Because there’s no guarantee that would’ve been the end of William,” you say softly. “What are you going to arrest him on? He hasn’t done anything at that point yet. Will you arrest him on the idea he might do something? You might as well arrest everyone in the world then.”

“We have your visions,” Steve jumps in, and you smile lightly at him.

“And what if I were lying?” You question. “How would you be certain that I’m telling the truth, that what I see is true? I can’t control my gift. I can’t conjure you up a vision on the spot. You would still have to wait until something I say comes true.”

“That’s not your job to figure out the Avenger’s job of bringing a villain down,” Fury tells you, but you turn your head and raise your eyebrow at him.

“It is my job if I’m the one who has to get directly affected,” you shoot back at him.

“Yet, in the end, your actions brought us all here,” Fury smirked.

Natasha’s about to stand up, but you hold her arm through your handcuffs, looking at her again. Her eyes search yours, only finding that you’re pleading her to trust you once more.

So she purses her lips, sitting down.

You turn your head back to Fury. “Let’s just cut down to the chase. In return for absolving me of my crimes, I will agree to research and training my gift, and aide the Avengers—”

“No—” Natasha tries to interrupt, but you pat her hand.

“In a consultant capacity,” you finish.

It’s silent as everyone processes what you’ve said. 

It would be essentially in the same position as Tony. You wouldn’t have to go on missions, or really have to abide by the same rules as SHIELD.

Nick Fury quirks his lips at you.

“Is that your deal?” He asks you in his deep voice.

“It’s the only deal you will agree to.”

Fury continues to look at you before letting out a quiet chuckle.

“Alright,” he says, standing up, motioning his hands to Maria to let you out of your handcuffs. “Deal.”

When all in said and done, you stand up with Natasha. Everyone begins to leave the room.

Clint and Bruce pat you gently on the shoulder as they leave with a smile.

“If you ever decide you need a better income, come work for me,” Tony tells you with his signature smirk, and you smile back at him.

“As what?” You tilt your head.

“Well,” Tony hums, “I could always use more paintings in my building. Peppers says my decor is shit.”

You laugh, and Tony smiles at you once more.

“See you around, third eye,” He chuckles at his own nickname that causes Natasha to roll her eyes.

Steve is the last to leave, standing before you with his hands behind his back and a slight curve in his eyebrow.

“Did you know that you would be arrested?” He asks finally.

You lick your lips.

“What have I told you about the future?” You say, and Steve just shakes his head with a smile, leaning down to give you a gentle hug before leaving. 

Once everyone is gone from the room, Natasha pulls you into her embrace, hand starting at the lower dip of your back before trailing its way up to the base of your neck.

“You had me wrapped around your finger right from the beginning, didn’t you?” Natasha whispers against the crook of your ear.

“Just as much as you had me around yours,” you say in return.

It isn’t long before Natasha finds your lips with her own, and the soft sigh that leaves your mouth is a sound that Natasha finds she treasures.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You quickly move into the Avengers’ Tower on Natasha’s floor. At first, Natasha wanted to find her own place where she could live with you, but you argued it’s better to be surrounded by family. 

The tower was secure, and it’s nice to be somewhere filled with people for a change.

You settled in quite nicely, and you like that you can see so much New York outside from your room with Natasha.

It was lively with how you painted drawings on the wall with Natasha watching.

You’ve seen to have fallen into a nice routine so far. Natasha has more free time with no missions currently.

You wake around 9AM and sneak out of bed quietly to make coffee for Natasha.

You think it’s adorable that Natasha is not a morning person at all if she doesn’t have to be. She’ll stay in bed until 2PM if you let her.

You’re currently sitting in the living room watching TV. On the news station, you see that David has used his money to buy out William’s company. When the news came to light, his stocks dropped and obviously, his company tanked. David saved it by buying it and everyone innocent who worked there.

“It is my promise that I will rebuild and restore honor to this company. With our rebranding, I will show the world the true legacy the previous late CEO, William’s father, wanted to bring to this world...”

You smiled. You were sure that David would do what he promised. 

You get late lunch with Steve and trade drawings that you’ve been working on. He’s easy to be around, and you’re glad that he’s also someone that Natasha trusts. 

All while living your new life, you also dedicate time to sit with researchers that Maria and Tony set out for you to help you with your gift.

It’s slow going. For many days there wasn’t much to work with, but as time went on, more data was compiled, and you’re beginning to understand more of yourself and your gift. Here and there, you can help people on their missions when the visions pop into your head, and for once, you like that you’re using it to save lives in an honest way. In the small moments, there’s no scheming.

“So, what’s the plan now, third eye?” Tony asks you, and you smile.

“I’m going to head back to my room.  Natasha will probably wake within an hour.”

“She’s still sleeping? Jeeze, it’s like 1PM now,” Tony rolls his eyes in a joking manner, and you can’t help but chuckle.

“I don’t have the heart to wake her. she’s too cute.”

“I don’t know if the word ‘cute’ is what I would describe Natasha.”

“Well, I’m describing her, not you,” you smirk before sighing. “Alright, Tin Man, I’m going to go.”

You walk off, and you hear Tony mumbling, “Tin Man?” before laughing.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Mornings don’t settle well. 

Natasha doesn’t understand why her body can’t just come to love the mornings. It would just make everything easier.

But she can smell coffee, and her heart warms, knowing you’ve brewed a fresh batch for her. She gets up groggily, pressing her palm to her eye in hopes of pushing the sleep away before running her fingers through her hair. 

Getting out of bed, Natasha makes her way out to the living room quietly because she catches the sight of your back as you paint. She leans against the wall, just taking in the blotches of paint on your fingers and forearms, smiling because Natasha just can’t explain how the sight makes her feel. She loves seeing you with your messy bun. 

Her eyes travel down to the over-sized dress shirt you have on and can’t help but grin. When the two of you first moved in, Natasha insisted on buying you stacks and stacks of shirts for your painting activities. It made you giggle when you thought back to when Natasha was jealous of the thought you were wearing someone else’s clothes. 

Once Natasha feels that she’s soaked you in enough, she walks forward to make her presence known, pouring herself some coffee before heading over to you.

You look at your painting, squinting a little bit before smiling as you put your brush and palette down. Turning to face Natasha as you’re seated, the other girl pulls you into a hug, her fingers massaging the back of your neck before she dips down and kisses the top of your head.

“You’re gonna get paint on yourself, Nat,” you mumble into her body. 

“And it will be a wonderful addition,” Natasha smiles softly. 

“What were you painting? You’ve been working on this painting since I met you the first time I saw you in the studio.” Natasha asks, but then she looks, and she sees.

It’s her.

There are vibrant colors everywhere, shades of herself that Natasha would’ve never believed herself to be. The detail you put in her eyes gave an idea to Natasha was precisely you saw in the dark when you had a vision of her. 

Natasha is speechless, overwhelmed about how you see her, but she is so very in love with you. 

“I told you,” you whisper as you stand up slowly, your lips brushing against her exposed collarbone. “You’re the most beautiful color to ever exist.”

Natasha puts her coffee down on the table stand, her hands sliding against your jaw as she cups your face. Her nose drags across your cheek before it brushes against your lips. 

This is everything, Natasha thinks. 

You’re all healed up. Some things have faded into scars, but Natasha loves it because it means you’ve survived. 

Her fingers are slightly tangled through the baby hairs of the back of your head as Natasha pulls you closer to her.

Her lips press to yours, first chaste and quick, but the taste of you quickly draws her in, and before you know it, you’re in the midst of long, languid kisses that make your head spin. Natasha leads you to the bedroom, her hands traveling down the sides of your neck. One hand dips down the front, palm sliding across your bare collarbone as her other hand unbuttons your shirt.

**

The shirt slides off your shoulders, hitting the ground and forgotten as you back yourself onto the bed, slowly falling backward onto the bed with Natasha cover your body with her own.

Your nipples harden feeling Natasha’s silk top rub against your naked chest. Her lips descend on your throat, and you give out a throaty moan that your girlfriend just appreciates like it’s music.

Your stomach coils anticipatingly when Natasha’s lip make their way lower, her hands taking your soft mounds and squeezes them appreciatively. Your hips grind into her thigh that’s between your legs, and you feel Natasha smirk against your skin.

“Eager?” She teases.

“Only as much as you,” you breathily say back, but your hands are trailing down her sides until you reach the hem of her silk top. Fingers tread underneath until your touching smooth skin, adoring the goosebumps that follow where you touch. 

Suddenly, Natasha is holding you close, cradling you to her as if you’re the most precious thing to have ever existed. 

“I’ve waited for this for so long,” she admits, and you hum in agreement because you feel a burn in the back of your throat.

Perhaps Natasha may never understand how much of you revolves around her, but your heart flutters, knowing that she loves you too.

“Touch me,” you rasp, dragging her hand to cup your chest. Natasha presses open-mouthed kisses between the valley of your breasts, trailing lower with renewed determination. 

Her tongue dips out, tasting your navel, and you feel the heat pool between your legs with the desire for Natasha’s love. Her blunt fingernails drag down your body, and you suddenly feel her breath at your panties. Her fingers hook around the lacy garment, dragging them until they become forgotten on the floor as well. 

You’re well-content to let Natasha take the lead this time, but there are things you won’t let her deprive you of, and that’s undressing her too. You sit up, capturing her lips, deepening the kiss as you button her shirt with haste. Natasha lets her arms limp at her sides as you push the clothing off her shoulders and down her arms, letting them fall to the bed.

Lowering you until your back hits the mattress, her gentle hands deftly feels every muscle on your back, and you let out a moan because Natasha’s mouth feels even better on your breast. Her tongue traces a hot circle against your stiff nipple before her mouth closes in on it. 

And when Natasha settles between your legs, your legs can’t help but wrap around her waist. The first grind Natasha rocks against your core have you screwing your eyes closed in pleasure, your hips rocking back with intent as you moan again. 

Natasha gasps your name, stilling her hips much to your protest. 

“Slowly,” Natasha rasps, “I want to feel all of you.”

You take a shaky breath, swept up again when she kisses you, her tongue licking your bottom lip, and tastes you.

Her fingers travel to your legs, and she seems to linger, pulling at your thighs, grasping your calves, and then traveling up and spreading you a little wider.

Your hips roll for contact, and Natasha seems to find a new intent, and nothing feels slow anymore.

Her fingers dip into your wet folds, passing over your clit before pressing firmly on the nub, and you can’t help but cry out by how good it feels. 

Natasha watches you with rapt. You’re so honest with your pleasure, letting it show all over your face and the way your body arches off the bed. Her heart thuds as her fingers slide deeper, begging for entrance, and you spread your legs further for her. 

Natasha’s fingers press and curl, drawing favorable responses out of you, licking her lips when you reach out to grab her sides as you match your hips to the rhythm of her fingers. 

Colors are passing through your head again. The fierce red of Natasha’s hair, the deep, vibrant green of her eyes, and blue for the ocean you feel like you’re riding through.

And the building pressure in your lower belly pools and coils until Natasha pushes you off the edge, and you scream her name.

Opening you’re eyes, you look into your heaven, the tender green of Natasha’s eyes, and you know you’ll never be the same.

Between the ecstasy and the aftershocks of pleasure that ripples through your body, pulsing around the fingers still in you, you feel the shaking breath of Natasha against your neck.

“I love you,” she says against your skin, slightly salty from the sweat you’ve built up. 

Your fingers trace invisible lines on her back as you slowly come back down.

“I love you, too,” you murmur, drawing Natasha from her hiding place to give her a deep kiss. 

Your fingers are aching to touch her. 

You need to feel her.

But the taste of you has Natasha still wanting more.

“I need to taste you,” she says against your lips. Your breath catches as Natasha dips her head and bites your shoulder gently, her hands already trailing down again, except this time her head follows.

“Please tell me you plan to let me reciprocate you today,” you husk, and Natasha chuckles, and you feel the rumble.

“Eventually,” Natasha concedes, finally reaching her destination. 

“But as I said,” a hot tongue glazing over the oversensitive flesh, “slowly. We have all the time in the world.”

A moan escapes your throat. 

And you pray that the world won’t end anytime soon.

**

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It’s only weeks before the bliss of being home with nothing to do ends with Natasha, and somehow, the world is in peril again.

You’re painting in the living room again while Natasha is zipping up her catsuit and also going over her equipment to ensure she has it all. Once she’s sure she’s got everything, she comes to your side and presses a kiss to your head.

“I’ll see you soon. I’ll text if I can,” she says against your hair, breathing your scent to remember it as she knows it won’t see you for a while.

Natasha is about to leave, but you jump up to grab something.

“Wait!” You call after her, running to your shared bedroom and then coming back out to give her something.

Natasha offers her hand, and you drop the items into her hand.

“Hair ties?” Natasha confusedly looks at them before looking at you.

You hum, “Yeah, you can go now.”

“Are you going to tell me what it’s for?” Natasha raises her brow.

You grin, “No, you’ll find out.”

Natasha merely shakes her head with a small smile, kissing you one last time before she goes off.

“Try not to get any paint on the wall this time,” Natasha reminds you with a look.

You nod dutifully, “I will do my very best, but you can’t lie and say you didn’t like the last painting.”

Natasha is really pushing it on time, but she just loves the little banters you have.

It’s blissful.

Natasha brushes a loose strand of hair away from your face as she gazes in your eyes. She’s probably late, but she doesn’t care.

“I will always love whatever you paint, I love the color of you.”

[brelione]

The Goddess Part Two (JJ Maybank x Reader)

Part Three  Part One

The next time he saw you was at the petting zoo.He knew you’d be there but for some reason he was still shocked to see you.You hadnt seen him yet,though.It was before opening hours.He was hiding in the lower branches of a tree,watching as you sung to the goats.He couldnt even understand the words you were saying,just the sound of your voice as it hit unbelievably high notes.It was enough to make his heart thump,his chest to tighten and him to almost fall off of the tree branch he had been clinging too.Suddenly you were all that mattered to him.Nothing else existed.Just you.His eyes were almost like cameras,zooming in on you.You were wearing a white sundress that somehow hadnt gotten any dirt or goat poop on it.Your hair was messy and curly from the salt water you swam in all the time,your shiny jewelry glistening in the sunlight.You snapped your fingers,one of the smaller goats had literally jumped on you.

You giggled,holding a flower out to it.The goat got back down and they ran around their hay covered fenced in area.Your house was a good distance away from the area but it was still within his line of vision.Your family was absolutely rich but you werent kooks.You guys willingly chose to live in a shitty house.It looked shitty from the outside but JJ had never been inside.Your father had payed JJ large amounts of money to mow your lawn every tuesday.It didnt need to be mowed.You could just have the goats eat up the excess grass,or the chickens,or the cows.But little did JJ know that you were behind his weekly job.You knew that JJ didnt have a lot of money and shifted between John.B’s house and his own house,spending some nights at the beach.

You wanted JJ to have a good amount of money for anything he might need.Whether it be gas,a coffee,a new shirt,going to the laundromat.You just liked the idea of him being safe and happy all the time.Thats when he had seen you wearing that lovely sweater.You had come out of your house,placing a small jar of home made jam,a paper bag and an energy drink out on your deck before going back inside.JJ had been watching you out of the corner of his eye,blushing a bit when he realized that you were leaving him a breakfast.You left the fenced in area,the goats trying to follow you out. “Oh,dont act like you dont get all the attention in the world!”You had said quietly to them as they stared up at you.

JJ didnt even wonder how he had heard it from where he was.You were walking towards the tree with a light blue bag.JJ cursed,trying to move higher up in the tree.He hadnt even noticed that he was in the branches above the cows.There were six cows total,two of which were extremely fluffy.When you got to the fence only a few feet away from him you looked over at the tree. “Hey.”You nodded before opening the light blue bag.His eyebrows furrowed,stunned by how casual you were being. “Hi.”He replied,his voice sounding hoarse.He mentally slapped himself,clearing his throat quietly. “You know we dont let anyone pet the goats or hold the chickens until 10.What’s up?”You asked,taking fistfulls of food out of the light blue bag as cows approached you.He rolled his eyes so far back in his head he should’ve been able to see his brain,resting his head against the tree bark.Why did you have to be like this?He actually wanted to talk to you,to have a conversation and make you giggle. 

“I mow your lawn on Tuesday’s,princess.”He reminded you.You raised your eyebrows as you pet one of the cows. “J,its monday.”You huffed as you let another cow eat oats straight out of your hand.He scoffed. “It is not-”He paused to take out his phone,checking the day. “Shit.”He groaned.You smiled. “Its fine,JJ.Have you eaten today?”You asked.He grumbled something. “What?”You asked.He sighed. “I said,why do you care?”He asked.You shrugged,tossing out more oats. “Breakfast is really important for you guys.”You replied,eyes going wide when you realized what you said.He squinted. “What?You mean poor people?”He asked,aggravated.You shook your head. “No,JJ.Thats not what I mean at all.You’re a growing boy,you need to eat.”You explained yourself.He hopped down from the tree,towering over you.

You stared up at him.He stared at you with admiration.Your eyes were slightly puffy from just waking up,the whites of your eyes slightly pink.You smelled like peaches,cookie dough and ocean.It was a strange concoction but somehow it was pleasant.You were wearing cute socks that had winnie the pooh on them.You werent wearing shoes though,just the socks and the dress. “So um...I have to collect the chicken eggs.Do you want breakfast or a coffee or something?”You asked,playing with your bracelets.As much as he hated you-or at least as he pretended to hate you he was really hungry.He wasnt hungry.He just wanted to be around you.He shrugged. “Okay,but that doesnt make us friends.”he pointed at you.You nodded,biting back a smile. “Wouldnt dream of it.”You replied.He followed you to the chicken coop. “Morning ladies!”You exclaimed as you opened the nesting boxes,placing the eggs in an egg carton. “Um….Im sorry JJ,but could you please hold this?”You asked,gesturing toward the egg carton.

He held out his hands and you thanked him quietly,handing him the egg carton.Perhaps if he really hated you as much as he said he did he would drop the eggs on purpose.But he didnt.You apologized a few times for the long walk to the house from the chicken coop.You struggled to open the door,kicking it open.He just followed you to the kitchen.Your house was….it was just kind of beautifully chaotic.Murals across the walls,mermaids,a sunset with beautiful blue waves.Your kitchen had white tiles on the floor,marble counter tops and a white fridge.The table had a white tablecloth that was covered with flower print.You placed the two egg cartons you had been carrying down.You jumped a bit when you moved your elbow,feeling JJ right behind you. “Sorry.”You mumbled,moving out of the way.He grinned at how nervous he was making you right now.Usually it was the other way around.Your kitchen smelled like bread and strawberries.His nose was correct.

He spotted jars of strawberry jam and saw a loaf of bread wrapped in parchment paper. “What do you want for breakfast?”You asked him.He glanced at the bread and jam on the countertops.You turned,getting the message.You told him to sit down at the table and he couldnt help but feel a bit uneasy.He’d never been inside your house before.He looked outside your kitchen window to see your garden.Your garden was kind of famous.Lemon and peach trees,berry bushes,flowers,herbs,garlic and potatoes.People from figure 8 would call your father when they were in need of bread,biscuits,muffins,cakes,jellys,jams,eggs.

Basically anything.A good amount of families had hosted birthdays at your house and you’d help your father bake the cakes,usually making spaghetti or mac and cheese for the children.And now JJ was sitting at your kitchen table about to dine like a king free of charge.He took this chance to ask you some questions about yourself,knowing youd probably answer honestly without thinking about it because you were currently busy. “So like...whats the deal with your mom?”He asked.You shrugged your shoulders as you spread jam across a slice of bread. “She dropped me off at the door then disappeared.”You replied.Youd been over the story dozens of times,no emotions even ties to the story at this point.He nodded. “That sucks.”You giggled quietly at the statement.You really didnt care.She made her choice and your father made his. 

“So what do you do all day in this house?You never go anywhere.You got a lot of boyfriends that come around?”He asked.You sighed as you cut up an apple.You smiled to yourself.That was the stupidest thing youd ever heard. “I go places.”You retaliated.He scoffed. “Where?Where have you gone?”He asked.You blushed from the realization. “I go to the beach.”You replied,looking over your shoulder. “You need to get out more.Half the people on this island dont even know you exist.”He watched how your body moved as you arranged the apples into a flower. “Okay.”Was all you had do say before you placed the plate down in front of him. “You want some coffee?”you asked.He shook his head. 

“Sit down.”He suggested.He was telling you what to do in your own house.That was probably the strangest thing that had happened for you that week.You sat across from him,tapping on the wooden table. “thanks,(Y/N).”He mumbled quietly.You just nodded.He stared down at his plate,not touching the food. “You’re not gonna eat anything?”He asked.You shook your head. “Not up for it,I already had a coffee today.”You replied.He nodded. “You werent freaked out over the fact I was in one of your trees...why?”He asked.You just shrugged. “A lot of weird stuff happens in my life,believe it or not.”You replied,watching him pull apart his bread and stuff it in him mouth. “So...um….are you gonna leave when youre done with breakfast?”You asked.He grinned. “Wow,trying to get rid of me already?”He asked.You huffed. “Its not like that!Im just trying to figure out what my plan is for the day.”You explained yourself.He nodded.

 “Its not like you’ve got any big plans.I think im gonna stay around here just to spite you.”He smiled.You nodded. “Okay.”You replied.He ran his hand through his hair. “Im kidding.”He replied.You nodded. “Right.I mean I guess you could stay here if you want.”You offered.He chewed his bottom lip. “What if you come with me to the beach and surf for a while?Ive heard you’re okayish as surfing.”He smirked.You scratched your collarbone. “Uh...okay.Okay.”You mumbled awkwardly.You couldnt believe you had just agreed to hang out with JJ Maybank of all people.He hated you.You just had to hope that he wouldnt murder you or something.His eyes widened. “Yeah?You’re gonna come over to the dark side with me?”He asked,smile widening.You grinned. “Dont make me regret it.”You mumbled,getting up from the table.He heard you go up the stairs and he let out a loud sigh.He really just did that.

He wiped his palms of his shorts,blinking hard.He was gonna spend the day with you.He couldnt mess this up.That being said you already thought he hated you and he was kind of a bitch to you but now you would get to actually hang out with him.This was his chance to become your friend.He ate the rest of his breakfast as quickly as he could,placing the plate in the sink.He heard you come back down stairs.He turned to send you a teasin remark but his jaw fell,eyes going wide when he saw what you were wearing.That sweater.You had changed out of the dress,now wearing black shorts,flip flops and that sweater that looked unbelievably amazing on you. “Uh-youre ready to go?”He asked.You nodded.The two of you walked out and you stopped to grab your surfboard. “I know a good surf spot.”He told you.You nodded.He took you down some old dirt roads and a small path through the woods.WHen you came out of the woods you were on pale hot sand,shells and small smooth rocks sprinkling across the land. “The waves are kinda small but theyll get bigger.”He said,sitting down. “Thats what she said.”You grinned to yourself.

@xlittlemissydjx​ @lasnaro​

[foulserpent]

only human

long character analysis + fan fiction hybrid involving critically acclaimed worst best game of all time The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion! martin is in a mental and emotional hell! ned and martin resolving unresolved sexual tension after like, 100000 false starts! being mentally ill with the bro’s! "fluffy" ending!

cw: brief depiction of violence, ptsd, implications of past relationship based trauma, borderline explicit but not really sexy sexual content (nothing p*rnographic but 18+ pls)

On some nights, Martin was in hell.

The world was on a slow death march towards ruin outside the walls, this much he knew. Not even the strongest fortification could shield him from it. Every night from his gilded cage, he heard the screams, breathed the foul smoke and burning flesh and disemboweled gut, see the daedra drag the near-dead into the shadows to be torn apart, still crying out as they were devoured. His hands wet with blood, shaking in vain as his healing failed him and the survivors were pulled apart by their own wounds. The long walk out of the doomed Kvatch, past swarming flies and hundreds of blank eyes looking into the unforgiving sun. The revelation that all this was for him.

On the worst of these nights, staring into the ceiling of Cloud Ruler Temple as the sun began to creep over the horizon, he would wish he had just died.

This time last year, he was on track to live out the rest of his days in obscurity. Probably in Kvatch, probably remaining a priest, where the only weight on his shoulders was giving people their assurances that the Divines would look out for them and hoping he would finally taste truth in these words. It would be better than this. Those who held the reigns of the Empire were even more deluded than he'd thought, if they believed that his noble blood would divinely grant understanding of what to do, some inborn ability to keep collected and strong and sane trapped here as his friends faced death at his behest.

He would be called "lord", shone and polished as a commodity, loved and utterly devoted to, and never, never known. His feelings did not matter. This message had been thoroughly beaten into him. None of it mattered to whatever hand kept him guarded as preciously as the helpless king on the chessboard, behind a line of pawns to the sacrifice. Xikeel bringing him little gifts from gods-know-where (some teeth, a ring, a few spoons), slithering down from the rafters to visit him in the late night hours. One of the blades- bewildered - walking in on them dancing, without rhythm or music.

Long conversations with Ned, who would never treat him like an emperor, who barely even seemed to want to be there but had become doggedly devoted to Xikeel and himself. Bringing him wine, face softened into a smile in anticipation of an evening sitting outside in comfortable, quiet company. Tired and spiteful, but so warm.

He did not know when his feelings had turned to want. There was never an astonished realization, no moment that had changed everything. The first time he consciously acknowledged it was not as a revelation, but as an observation. Ned had cut his hand, a simple, foolish mistake that left Martin wearily healing him, in spite of the bosmer’s protests. Martin had held onto his hand longer than the spell needed, feeling the pulse in his fingers and wanting to entwine him in his own. Wanting to pull him in closer. Noticing that he wanted this, and noticing that it did not surprise him.

It was one of many things to think about, significantly less distressing than every other aspect of his current existence to say the least. He wondered if it was the day he had returned from his nigh-suicidal mission to cheat a god, haggard and shirt bloodied and yet with the softest eyes Martin had seen in the man, cracking a weak smile (a flash of teeth) that said "I've done it, and I hope you can forgive me". He wondered if it was Ned's unwavering devotion to leaving his shirt half-unbuttoned, the burn tearing through his chest on display like a trophy. The necklace would fall across the older man's breast while he laughed and joked about stupid things with Martin as if they were old friends. He was not above simple things.

Perhaps this was a test of the temperance he had spent years cultivating, hollowing out a part of himself to nurture the seed. After all, he had not been with anyone for a long time.

---

He had loathed the existence of the arena in Kvatch, drawing in men and women from all around in what amounted to mass suicide. There was little honor in it, just desperate people consuming themselves for just to grasp a thread of glory, dying in the mud as the crowd roared.  But Martin was only human. He had found himself looking on the men as they passed through town, all muscle and scars and fiercely alive. He had found himself drawn to one who had come into the temple for a blessing of protection. The man never said why, though Martin knew where he was bound. It was never hard to tell.

The man was tall and rather handsome, with a muscular frame and dark hair and looking to be only a few years younger than himself, (this had to be around when he was forty-one or forty-two. Had it been that long?). They'd spoke first as strangers do, running through the motions of a blessing under a thick smoke of incense and flowers burnt in offering to the Dragon. Martin averted his gaze from the sword at the man's hip as he prepared the oil. Its hilt glittered in iron filigree and unmistakable rust of dried blood struck gold by the afternoon's dying light. His eyes wandered to the man's face instead, moving to begin the anointment. The dark haired man swiped his tongue over his lips and glanced away, and Martin's heartbeat spiked.

For gods sakes.

The man talked compulsively, glancing around as if something stalked him in the shadows between the stained-glass-light. Martin had silently hoped he would grow bored with the old priest and be on his way, if only so that he'd have time to himself to contemplate what the hell was wrong with him. So, naturally, the man kept talking long after the ritual was complete and the candles extinguished. About where he had come from, (all the way from High Rock, it turned out), the unusual rains lately, family. Partners. Lovers. The conversation turned here, and had fallen with such a speed that he barely realized what was happening. The man had found Martin beautiful, and Martin, exhausted with penitence and enthralled by the stranger and aching to just be human again, had found himself quietly slipping out with him.

Martin's home was truly tiny when occupied by two, an unfamiliar claustrophobia that was quickly dragged into the mire and drowned in a little too much wine. It was cheap and burned his throat with its sweetness, but he didn't care. They'd stumbled and fallen into his bed.

"For good luck," the man had said, as they kissed rough and far too clumsy.

"For good luck," Martin had kissed into the man's neck.

The man was a bit fumbling, all muscles and scars and fierceness. No matter how close their bodies pressed, no matter the grip Martin had - his fingers marking new trails over a scarred back -  there was that distance. Two magnets repelling, even as they forced themselves together. These men going to their deaths couldn't be touched. And neither could he, no matter how he tried. There weren't even the barest roots of love here. Just body on body, flesh on flesh. It wasn't bad, though. Martin was only human.

He didn't know what to say in the morning, as the man collected his belongings to go off to the fight. "Good luck," Martin said again, feeling stupid. The man had said "thank you" with his eyes distant. He bent down and out the door, and walked out into the humid morning air, leaving Martin with a strange emptiness in his gut. He never saw him again.

It shouldn't have impacted him so badly. He'd had a one-night stand that was, frankly, pretty good. He'd given another man some comfort, something above and beyond his duty as the Priest-Healer-Penitent. It wasn't really against any vows. His lungs still breathed the smoke of offerings to the Dragon, a shrine to Dibella was dutifully kept at the foot of his bed and given a clumsy offering before the main event. He had not fallen back into the snares of that damned daedra. It wasn't a betrayal of those he'd lost. So why was he guilty?

---

And yet here he was now, on the precipice yet again. Really, he was long into the fall.

Him and one-of-two Heroes of Kvatch had slept together for a week now. Nothing more than the sharing of a bed and body heat, their day to day lives much the same as the world crumbled around him. They had kissed a few days ago, slightly dizzy with wine and the memory returning only in a haze. They'd kissed again the night before, sober and beyond any deniability as the bosmer was making his way out on errand. Ned had blushed and flicked his ears back, leaving him with a soft smile and a quiet "See you," as he slipped into the night.

Now, Martin found himself kneeling as if in prayer at the foot of his bed, his companion sitting up before him. Ned was half naked, body all muscle and scars and an exhaustion that ran far deeper than that. Martin had been healing a wound on his stomach- sliced open by a nasty (and thankfully, poorly aimed) dagger. The Mythic Dawn long since knew what he looked like, though they had hardly been this bold before now. They stalked the base of the mountains like jackals at the edge of a kill, waiting for an opening to lunge in and tear off some scrap of flesh. Ned hadn't wanted to talk about this one. His hands shook as he'd taken off his bloodstained clothes, and he scoured them with a washcloth long after they were clean.

"I'm fine." He had said. "I'm just tired."

Martin was tired too. That first night together, he had this romantic notion that being held by his friend would keep away the nightmares. They had come as they did most nights, crawling out of the depths of his subconscious with the worst of him they could offer. He'd woken up, breathing hard as terror dripped down his body. There was one difference. There was a warmth pressed to his back, and it breathed a half-snore as it moved in closer, nuzzled into his trembling neck. Ned hadn't woken. He had just wrapped Martin up into strong arms, and settled back into a deep sleep. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but even as the last traces of the nightmare pulled out its spurs, Martin felt safe. All he wanted was to return the favor.

Now, Martin leaned to kissed the gash across Ned's chest, the one that the man would wake up in terror clutching at, eyes somewhere far away and breathing hard. He trailed kisses down the line of skin warped by fire and blade, and Ned laughed. "I can barely feel it."

"Really?" The sword and its burns had probably damaged a nerve. Or done something worse, something that cut deeper. It was a daedric weapon after all. Martin would later ask where exactly he had sensation, to see if anything could be done about it. Later, perhaps. Now, he was tired of being the Priest-Healer-Penitent.

He leaned back in, close but just out of reach. His lips hovered down over the soft hair down his middle, making a glancing contact below the wounds. Even there, the skin seemed to have been broken and healed many times over a long life. How could someone live like that?  He kissed him, just below the lower scar.

"How about here?"

"S'better"

Ned was definitely feeling something. The man's breath caught just slightly at the touch. He overcorrected, shifting in his seat a little and clearing his throat. Uncrossing his legs. Martin moved further down, just a little past his navel, laying another kiss on the recently healed wound. He wanted nothing more than to taste - touch the man before him, and to wake up with no guilt, no loneliness- he kissed him again.

"Or here?"

"Little better," the man's tone was flirtatious. "I mean, it'd be lot more sensation if you went just a bit low...er."

Ned had trailed off in the last word and froze at his own indiscretion. He was tensed like one with a hand raised against him, expecting a blow. As if he could have misinterpreted where this moment could go, alone and naked with his friend kneeling before him. As if Martin would be mad.

"Sorry, I didn't mean-uh." Ned flailed, pulling his knees shut.

"No, no, I'm sorry. I'd like to, if you would."

Ned's breath hitched. He looked utterly bewildered.

"OH- yeah, sure? Uh- Yes. Yeah." He sputtered.

They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment that lasted an eternity. Neither man dared to even take a breath. Ned cracked the tiniest fraction of a smile.

They both laughed, pulling apart. The tension had snapped, and the ache in his gut relented, put itself to the side. Martin hoisted himself back up onto the bed, sitting to his friend's side with a chaste several inches between them.

"It's... Been a while." Martin sighed. "Look at me, acting all nervous."

"Me too man, me too." Ned laughed, covering the blush on his face and utterly failing to hide the red of his ears. "’Promise I'm not usually like this, I have no friggin' idea what my problem is."

"Well, this'll just have to do." Martin made a show of shrugging and frowning in mock-resignation.

Ned let out a 'ha!' and leaned back, all muscles now relaxed as he smiled up at his companion. His words and smile were casual, but he was looking at Martin with such soft eyes, as if this tired old man was the damn moons and stars.

"Can I kiss you?" Martin asked.

Ned nodded.

He leaned over him, and went in for another kiss. And another. This time, it was as if a dam had burst. All lips and tongue and teeth and breath and hands moving on skin with a practiced clumsiness that spoke to years of experience, and spoke to one treading a ground that was brand new and wonderful for it.

As they pulled apart, Ned smiled and squeezed Martin's hands, and he squeezed back. They guided each other downward.

Now, Martin's lips were at a precipice below deniability. His hands held ready at the man's waist, a few fingers interwoven with his, beyond caring if their palms sweat or if their arms shook. He looked up to meet Ned's gaze, who cracked a smile and looked away, threading his other hand into Martin's hair in spite of his sheepishness.  

"Can I keep going?" Martin asked.

"Yeah," Ned answered, still smiling. Eyes closed. "Please."

Ned's thumb brushed his cheek, a gentle encouragement. A 'thank you'.

And he kissed him.

[blondeblackwidow]

Could you write a fic about the Resistance meeting a Kenobi!reader who used to be Snokes old apprentice, and over time Poe begins to fall for her? I love your writing and if you do choose to write this request, the fluffier the better❤️

M e t a n o i a ( Poe Dameron x Reader )

prompt:  Could you write a fic about the Resistance meeting a Kenobi!reader who used to be Snokes old apprentice, and over time Poe begins to fall for her? I love your writing and if you do choose to write this request, the fluffier the better❤️ +  I’m the anon that sent the Kenobi!reader ask in, I forgot to say that the reader wasn’t Snokes apprentice willingly and she was taken as a child.

a/n; holy fuck i feel like i just poured my soul into this. this was something i played with a while on my own and i can’t get over how proud of it i am. thank you for this request, anon! i would zone out for hours just writing, and that hasn’t happen since like eighth grade. title is a greek word for a journey of self discovery.

song: the archer - taylor swift

t/w: slight mentions of child abduction and manipulation, very minor though.

w/c: 3150 ( omg )

-

D’Qar was loud, and the air was thick as it hit your skin. The sun hidden behind clouds, it was still considerably warmer than the Supremacy. You stepped off the transport, black boots hitting the pavement, the rest of you covered by the oversized brown robe. 

You’d never seen Leia Organa before. But you knew her son, and the minute you saw her eyes, you knew who she was.

You lowered your hood. “General.” You breathed with a smile. She greeted you with a handshake, and the most comforting of smiles. She radiated a motherly energy you had never known, not in this life at least. 

“Welcome, I’m so happy you got here safely, and you took me up on my offer.” 

“It seems our families can never live without each other.” You responded, and Leia gestured you further into the base. 

“Let’s talk in my office, and I’ll see about getting you something with some color.” She guided you amongst crowds. Her office was small by most standards, but felt comfortable and homely. She took a seat and you followed suit.

The air was tense, full of unanswered questions. 

“He’s alright, doing well, all things considered.” You offered, and her shoulders seemed to relax.

“You didn’t have to..” She started, and you waved your hand.

“It’s nothing, I know you must hold your breath everyday when it comes to him.” You spoke softly, as if people were listening. “He talked about you a few times, it was always brief, but he did.” 

“Thank you.” Leia reached out and squeezed your hand. The door opened behind you two and you saw a man, standing in the doorway, holding a wad of clothing.

“Ma’am Pava sent me in here with these.” He held up what looked like a shirt and pants. “She said you asked if she had spare uniforms?” 

“Well yes because she’s always in her pajamas or her flight suit.” Leia reached her hand out and he gave them to her, sparing you a cautionary glance. “All of black squadron seems to operate that way.” 

He opened his mouth to object, but she kept talking. “This is Poe Dameron, one of my top commanders and pilots.”

“THE top pilot, ma’am.” He turned to fully look at you, and you introduced yourself.

“She and I have family history.” Leia answered before Poe could ask. He didn’t take his eyes off you though.

“Have I met you before?” You swallowed thickly, clamming up to find a lie. You remembered him as soon as he started talking. 

“The Resistance will not be intimidated by you.” He struggled out to breathe.

“We’ll see.” Kylo said from in front of you, not yet aware that you had entered the room. The man you now know as Poe starts to scream.

“Ren, you’re needed by the supreme leader.” Most of your face covered by a hood, you avoid the curious gaze from the chair in front of you both.

“It’s in a droid, a BB unit.” He barked on his way out. You take one glance at the man before you leave, hesitating.

“No, I don’t believe we have.” You forced a smile. “It’s been a pleasure though.” You turned your gaze back to Leia, who cleared her throat.

“You’re excused, Commander.” He took a breath to object, but it died on his tongue. He offered a small smile and excused himself.

“I was there, when Ren…” You trailed off, staring at the now closed door. “How am I supposed to….”

“He may look tough, but he’s got his mother’s heart.” She sighed, standing and collecting a few more things. “He’ll understand, probably more than most.”

“I hope so.” Leia smiled and gestured toward the door. 

The quarters she gave you were smaller than yours on the Supremacy, but far less daunting. Glossy black walls had been replaced with cracked stone, this whole base a work in progress.The uniforms were more relaxed, and people smiled as you walked past, though you couldn’t shake the feeling that they saw right through you. Cracked foundations were held together by hope, maybe here, you thought, you could start to heal what Snoke shattered. 

You were going to go out and explore. You grabbed an old brown satchel, and went to place your saber inside. It was silver with a gold band around the emitter, black striping down the sides bleeding into the solid black band around the hilt, gold circles breaking up the darkness. Kylo thought little of it, said it looked too much like a Kenobi’s lightsaber. For once in your life though, you were happy you had something to remind you of the light that coursed through your veins. It would need a new crystal, the old one corrupted by the dark side, but that was a question for Leia at a later time.

The walk to the airfield was peaceful, on the ship, all you had was recycled air. But there was something about the breeze and the smell of wildflowers and trees. And if you were honest, the smell of the engines burning fuel was better than the nothingness that you had become accustomed to. 

Your eyes quickly set sight on the obnoxious X Wing that sat front and center. Black with an orange stripe, while it was Hux’s responsibility to know the specs of the Resistance, you knew that it was the ship that always meant trouble. You walked up to it and ran a hand down the side. The side panels were rough against your hand, but you liked it here, the perfection of the First Order became suffocating after a while.

“Can I help you?” A voice behind you asked. You turned to see the man from earlier, Poe, you think his name was. 

“Oh no, I’ve just never seen an X Wing in person before.” You laughed. “They’re just so legendary in my mind.”

“You a pilot?” He asked, walking closer. His black hair was messy, and there was grease on his orange flight suit.

You shook your head. “Oh no, my grandpa flew A Wings during the Clone Wars but other than that we’re a pretty ground bound family.” 

“Was your grandpa a clone?” Poe asked, and you furrowed your brows. 

“No?”

“Well because droids were used by the separatists and clones by the republic.” He laughed. “So unless your grandfather was a clone, that doesn’t work.” 

“There were civilians in the Republic.” You rolled your eyes. 

“I guess.” He shrugged his shoulders, you knew he didn’t buy it. But you were okay with it, it was something to talk about at another time. A reason to talk to him again.

“You have pilots in your family?” You asked, leaning against the warm metal of the body of the ship.

“Uh yeah, my mom.” He cleared his throat. “She flew A Wings.” He raised his finger to note the similarity. “But for the Rebels against the Empire.” 

“Sounds like a kickass woman.” You smiled. He shifted his weight and looked at his boots.

“Yeah, she was.” He smiled. You could sense the discomfort, and the loss. 

“So how long have you been with the Resistance?” 

“I’ve never met such a bold new recruit you know.” He laughed.

“Blame it on the family connection.” You laughed in return.

“What is the mysterious connection?” He asked, taking a step closer.

“Can’t give up all my secrets on the first day here.” You smirked. But how were you supposed to explain it all? Your father was a hidden bastard child from the days of Mandalore, your mother died before you could walk, you’re competition in training was the General’s son who was named after your grandfather who the General called to before Alderaan’s Doom – and that was just the surface level of it all.

“I’ll have to come bug you another time then.” You tried to hide the rising heat in your cheeks. 

“It’s a small base, you can come find me.” You smiled and pushed off the ship. “I’ll see you around.” 

“See you around, newbie.” You rolled your eyes, and kept walking.

You and Poe spent days on and off together, chatting, laughing, unknowingly being watched by Leia with a motherly smile. He radiated an energy unlike you had ever known, it was warm, and bright, and full of love. It was the light, the light that you were ordered to swear off for the rest of your days since you were a child. 

Leia felt like the mother you had never known. The both of you aching for something taken so long ago. You spent a lot of time with her, causing a lot of questions. 

Poe jumped to your defense everytime. Causing even more questions.

“Do you know where I can get a Kyber Crystal?” You piped up, reading in Leia’s private office while she worked.

“Why?” She just glanced up. You sighed.

“Mine won’t heal itself, no amount of meditation will ever make it change, not even to white. My blade still glows red.” You closed your book and turned to face her. A devilish grin grew on her face. “What?” 

“After Luke lost the temple, he gave his remaining crystals to someone he trusted for safekeeping against the rising order.” The grin grew more. 

“Where are they?”

“Yavin IV.” She smiled.

“Okay I’ll go to Yavin–”

“At Kes Dameron’s home.” Your jaw hit the floor. You felt like you had known Poe all your life, and maybe in another life you would have, but you really only knew him for a month or so. 

So now you had to ask to meet his dad, when you hadn’t even admitted to yourself you liked him. 

“I’m gonna have to ask him to go with me.” You breathed out, slightly nervous all of a sudden. 

“Relax, Poe needs to go home anyways, it’ll get Kes off my back.” You snorted. 

“And how do I approach that?” You started. Unaware of the door opening behind you. “Poe I need you to take me to your childhood home so I can get a crystal from your father because I secretly have a lightsaber and come from the lineage of a Jedi Master in the Old Republic, who trained both Vader and Luke?” You inhaled, unaware of how fast you were just talking. “I’m sure that’s a very easy question to ask.” 

“The answers’ yes, I just have a few questions first.” 

You thought you were gonna die right then and there.

The flight to Yavin wasn’t very long, but felt like years. The transport was small, Leia was unwilling to give up her large ships for the two of you. 

“So how long have you been a Jedi?” He asked, shifting the controls and turning to face you.

“I’m not a jedi.” You mumbled.

“Well you have a lightsaber. That’s a very jedi thing to have.” Of course in your oblivious confession, you didn’t include how you acquired the weapon.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You got up from the copilots seat now that you were in Hyperspace, wanting to be anywhere but under his gaze. He grabbed your forearm to stop you, and your skin burned at the touch.

“I have met you before.” He whispered. “You were on that ship.” 

“I’m so sorry.” Your voice was broken full of shame. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Why were you there?” His eyes were locked on yours.

“I was a child, my father was on the run after Mandalore’s downfall. They caught us after a few years.” You sighed. “My father was killed, but Snoke knew of my lineage, said that because my grandfather created Vader, I had a capacity for greatness.” You shifted your weight and sat back into the chair. “I didn’t know the difference, I was so young, with this weird energy flowing through me that I couldn’t control.” 

“It’s okay.” He relaxed his hand and brought it back to his lap, you tried to hide your disappointment at the lack of touch. “You’re safe now.”

“Thank you.” You whispered, and you both sat in safe, comfortable silence before the ship made its entrance to the Yavin system.

Yavin IV, you’d come to realize, was a lot like D’Qar, luscious green trees and warm summer breeze. The Dameron home was a black and white contrast to anything you had known. Poe, on the other hand, doesn’t welcome the energy, instead tenses, as if he is in fear of what lies ahead.

“I’ll do the talking, if you want?” You offer, and Poe shakes his head.

“It’s alright.” He sighs. “How do you tell someone that the ideals they spent their life fighting are growing stronger everyday?”

“You tell them that there’s hope.” You smile softly. “Hope is the only thing you have that they don’t.” The weight of your blood red lightsaber seams to double, and none of this seems doable.

He starts to walk toward the house and you are left with no choice but to follow. He opens the door to find an older man with the same tone of skin, and same curly hair, faded now to a silver, working on something at the table. 

“Hey dad.” You want to hide behind Poe’s shadow.

How do you tell someone that the ideals they spent their life fighting are standing in front of them in their dining room?

“Poe!” He exclaimed with a smile, and gave his son a large hug. “Leia warned me you were coming. Who’s this?” He asked, returning to the neutral position.

“Oh this is Captain…” He trailed, remembering he’d never learned your last name.

“Kenobi.” You smiled, your chest swelling with pride at the surname you discarded so long ago. Recognition and surprise flashed among both men’s faces.

“I would assume you’re here for the crystals.” He winked.

“How did you…”

“A feeling, I guess.” He shrugged and began to search through a container, and Poe just mouthed your surname back to you with shock and wonder. You waved your hand to dismiss him. “Poe can you run this down to the lady down the road, the one who always gave you sweets after Shara said no?” He gestured to the project he was working on, and Poe opened his mouth to protest. 

But just like with Leia, it died long before he could manage words. He scooped it up and gave you an apologetic glance before leaving.

“Can I see it?” was the first thing Kes asked after his son’s departure.

“Y-Yeah.” You stumbled and pulled out the saber from your bag, handing it to him. He placed a small brown bag on the table with a quiet clink, and began to smile. 

“It resembles Luke’s second saber..” He looked at you. “Made with pieces of Ben Kenobis.” You couldn’t help but return the smile.

“It’s the same style, according to old texts.” You said. “Not exactly the same I’m afraid.” 

“What’s the need for a new crystal?” He handed it back.

“I..” You hesitated. Poe forgives so easily, but Leia said that was his mother, not Kes. “I was taken in by Snoke when I was young, trained..” You swallowed, staring at the saber in your hands. “I want to make things right, I can’t do that with red blades, the crystal is too broken to heal, I need to start anew.” Kes’ shoulders relaxed and he leaned against the table.

“I am sorry.” 

“For?”

“Had we done it right the first time, there never would have been a Snoke to corrupt your gift.” He smiled sadly, you reached for his hand and gave it a light squeeze.

“Had you done it the first time, I would have never met him.” You smiled. “And there will always be those who want destruction, but as long as there is more hope, then we’ll always have peace.” Tears welled up in your eyes, you were talking more to yourself, but he pulled you into a hug, and you cried, for the first time in years.

“I know a place where you can install that.” He said, releasing the hug, and you followed him to a large tree in the field. It hummed with energy. Not evil or good, not light or dark, just balanced force.

You sat on your knees in front, placing a crystal next to your saber, Kes walking away to give you a moment. You closed your eyes and pictured it all, the darkness, the mistakes, being swept away by light, and forgiveness. You opened them to reveal your reassembled saber, and the cracked crystal next to it. You decided to bury it with the tree, putting to rest your conflict, your guilt, and anger.

And Igniting your forgiveness, certainty, and compassion in a deep blue light. 

“A True Kenobi.” Kes said from afar, Poe just watching in awe as the sun set behind the mountains. You disabled the saber and wore it proudly on your belt.

“Thank you.” Was all you could manage, walking back toward the older of the two rebels.

“Don’t even worry about it.” He squeezed your shoulder, and walked back toward the house. 

“Bonfire?” Poe asked, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yes.”

The night fell rather quickly after the sun set, and the summer breeze gave a chill while you and Poe sat on a log and exchanged dumb jokes and he filled you in on all the need to know information. A silence fell over you soon enough and he just stared at you over his shoulder.

“Kenobi, huh?” He laughed. “My grandpa flew A-Wings.” He mocked

“You’re an ass.” You rolled your eyes.”He did!” You defended. 

“He was a kriffing Jedi that is the least interesting thing you could have said!” 

“Sorry my life story isn’t entertaining.” You punched his arm and he acted fake hurt.

“Oh it definitely is.” He poked. “They’ll write myths about you.”

“Hopefully about the good to come, not the bad that’s passed.” You half smiled. 

“I hope it’s all of it, more inspiring that way.” He locked eyes with yours.

“Me being a trained sith apprentice doesn’t scare you?” He shook his head. 

“No. Sith, Jedi, call it what you want but I just see a beautiful woman who is strong enough to know right from wrong.” He tucked a hair behind your ear. “And that means more than making things float.” He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips and your heart forgot how to keep a rhythm. 

You were sure Obi Wan was up there cursing about the Old Jedi Code and falling in love, or whatever. The best part was, you didn’t love Poe.

but you know you could, given time. 

And for once in your life you weren’t scared.

[freshlyjuicedbeetles]

Commodore Norrington x Reader Fic! Chapter 2

Dearest Readers: If you are in Galveston or the coast of Louisiana, please make sure you are safe! Please, no one worry about me, I’m in Oklahoma, safe from Hurricane Laura. I know a lot about Galveston because I visit regularly, and it’s where my grandma was born and raised, and grandpa was stationed in the Coast Guard. A lot of my family history took place on the island!

Title: The Same Water

Genre: Romance, Supernatural

Rating: General Audiences thus far.

Warnings: Mentions of trauma, drowning, and racism.

Summary: Commodore Norrington washes up on the shore and you must find out why.

Notes: I intentionally kept the main character ambiguous (but female) so readers can fill themselves in!

The next morning, Jericka and I visited the man. We sat mostly in silence.  I barely registered the bustle of the hospital and the beeping of the machines he was connected to. I was still buzzing from yesterday. I was still in a bit of shock about what had happened and was trying to process it. He was on an IV drip of saline, a nasal cannula, and a heart monitor.

“Good morning, ladies!” Dr. Greg said, cheerfully, a chart in his hand. “So, I ran his blood sample, and it yielded interesting results. This man has no titers for anything we currently vaccinate for, but he has antibodies for smallpox. Thus, I can assume he was never vaccinated but survived smallpox.”

Jericka whispered in my ear, eagerly, “I’m telling you! He was a part of that mess my nana told me about! I bet he was the Admiral! What’s the more likely scenario here?”

“I dunno. Maybe he’s Amish or something,” I shrugged. I turned back to Dr. Greg, “What do you think it means?”

“Logically, I would say his parents didn’t believe in the efficacy of vaccinations.” He answered.

“Or they weren’t invented yet,” Jericka muttered.

The man started coughing. Dr. Greg rushed to his side.

“It’s okay, sir, we’re taking care of you. You’re at the University of Texas Medical Branch. My name is Dr. Greg. We’ve got you on supplemental oxygen and IV fluids.” He said in a calm voice as he checked the man’s vitals manually, even though the machines were monitoring him. “Can you tell us your name?” He asked.

“Norrington…James.” The man answered, and I was able to register an English accent. He opened his eyes, still confused.

“Good, do you know what day it is, James?”

“May…1729.”

The doctor chuckled, “No, not quite. Do you know who the president is?”

Norrington had slipped back into unconsciousness. Dr. Greg continued to check over him before saying, “He’s getting stronger. I expect him to be in and out today, but tomorrow is a new day.”

After Dr. Greg left, I scrambled to my phone.

“Google his name! Google! Google it!” Jericka ranted.

“I am, I am!” I said, typing the name.

I hit pay dirt. He had a Wikipedia article and dozens of other sources. “James Norrington was an officer of the British Royal Navy and the East India Trading Company. Bewigged and resplendent in his uniforms, Norrington owed his allegiance to King George II. Norrington took pride in his service to others before himself, showing a strong dedication to the law, until the occasions of pursuing the right course that demanded acts of piracy.” I read it aloud.

I continued scrolling with Jericka watching. I skimmed the article. It talked about his early life in London, the notable battles and commendations he earned. I scrolled back up to the biographical information bar. I had purposely ignored looking at the painting of Admiral James Norrington because I wasn’t ready to confirm if the man in the hospital bed was him or not until now.

I stood up and held my phone up to his face against the painting on the article. Jericka’s eyes widened, and my heart raced.

“It’s him,” I said.

“Am I in the colonies?” He asked, not opening his eyes. I must have jumped a foot back, not expecting him to reawaken so soon.

“Yeah, well, sort of,” I answered.

“The colonies declared independence in 1776. There are fifty more called the United States of America. It’s currently the year 2020.” Jericka explained.

“Do you understand what’s going on?” I asked gently.

“Indeed,” He answered and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes.

“You’ve must have seen some things if you’re taking this news so calmly,” Jericka said.

Norrington remained quiet, the far-off look of stoic contemplation on his face. Jericka and I gave him his space to sort it all out but stayed close to keep him company. Dr. Greg returned a little before lunch to check on him and was happy to see him awake. He pulled us aside into the hallway after a quick examination of Norrington’s reflexes and cognition.

“I am releasing him into your care tomorrow. If desired, of course. We’ll continue an investigation, maybe he’ll turn out to be a missing John Doe, but since no foul play is suspected, it’s not likely to go anywhere. Here’s some information about services that can help him.”

I took the information, “I’ll take him. I have an extra room.” I didn’t even look at them. I wasn’t about to let him get lost in the system and fall through the cracks. This was something extraordinary. I couldn’t bear for him to be treated like a freak show.

When the nurse came in with lunch, Jericka and I excused ourselves to the cafeteria.

“We’ve got to get him some clothes. He can’t run around in that hospital gown, and his uniform is at the police station being tested for fibers and whatnot.” I said, toying with an empty bottle of water.

“Dang. How do we dress a high-class guy from the 1700s?” Jericka asked, eating a bag of chips. “Whose closet do we raid? Our dad’s or our grandpa’s?”

“I dunno, but the Coast Guard Station over on Fort Point Road is looking pretty good. Think they’ll let us use their uniforms?” I joked.

“I’d think he’d miss the brocade and feathers,” Jericka said, popping a chip into her mouth.

I sighed, “Well, I’m heading over to Houston, maybe I can find something. Can you sit with him?”

“Yeah, of course.”

As I drove over the causeway that connected the Island of Galveston to the mainland, I thought about how I would explain things to Admiral Norrington. How would I explain a car? Electricity? I barely knew how such things worked. Maybe I needed to get him a book.

I had to guestimate his sizes; I didn’t want to embarrass him by outright asking him. I could tell he was very reserved, even for someone from his time. I went for conservative styles and patterns, quality, and modesty. Even men back then tended to cover up. I had to balance the Texas heat against it. I made sure to have a fair amount of navy blue, gold, and white.

I found several outfits that I knew he’d look good in and hoped he found comfortable. He was a very handsome man with aquiline features, short chestnut hair, and beautiful eyes. I suppose the powdered wig he wore in his portrait did not make it.

After procuring his clothes and other sundries, I zipped over to Barnes and Noble for a history book. I settled on a hefty book by the Smithsonian that spanned the dawn of humanity up until the present day; well, 2015.

On the way back over the causeway, I had to wonder about what I would do with him come Monday when I went to work. Would he be okay on his own? Should I take the day off? I didn’t want to smother him or disrespect his abilities. Maybe it was a good thing he was a high-ranking military man, they were logical, right? He would probably be okay.

I found Jericka in the hallway upon arriving back at the hospital, “Has he said anything?”

She shrugged, “Not really. He’s still processing everything. They’re taking him off all those machines and IV right now.”

After the nurses left, Jericka and I entered his room. He was looking at his hand where the IV was.

“Hello, Admiral. We never got a chance to introduce ourselves.” I introduced myself and Jericka. “Tomorrow, you’ll come home with me if that’s alright with you.”

He nodded, “I suppose that is for the best, but don’t call me Admiral. James will suffice.”

Jericka and I were surprised that he didn’t want to be addressed by his title. I decided not to question it. “I got you some clothes and this,” I said, pulling out the book and handed it to him. He looked at it with interest and immediately started flipping pages. “It’s the history of the world. Of course, you can ask either of us anything.”

Jericka nodded earnestly.

“I appreciate your charity,” Norrington replied. “I endeavor not to be a burden.”

“No, no, no! Never think that.” I said.

“Yeah, you’re stuck with us.” Jericka teased.

Jericka and I vowed that nothing would happen to this man.

James was released the following evening. He was dressed in the new clothes I bought for him. He looked perfect in them and didn’t seem to mind them. I must have done well!

As we were walking out of the hospital, there was crowding at the door. It was a going home celebration. James and I smushed ourselves against the wall, waiting for the ado to die down, and we could leave.

A patient was wheeled in from the opposite corridor. We watched as a nurse wheeled him to the edge of the entryway. On new titanium legs, this man stood and walked out with his family. He was in the Navy; I could tell by the signs his family and care team were holding.

I could tell this experience moved James, he wanted to say something to the young soldier but thought better of it.

I purposely kept the car ride as underwhelming as possible. I turned the radio off and kept the A/C blowing gently. He seemed to be taking it all in stride, learning from my actions.

James mostly watched the water as we drove the short drive home, occasionally interested in the wide range of vehicles on the road; cars, trucks, vans, golf carts, motorcycles, and four-seater bikes.

“I see that the seagulls and pelicans are just as intrusive as always.” He commented, watching a horde of seabirds steal tourists’ food.

I giggled, enjoying the familiarity. We had something in common, and it was a link to his past.

Home was a raised bungalow on a heavily tree-lined street.

James looked at the stilts it rested on, “For flooding?” He asked.

“Exactly. Galveston has had several bad hurricanes hit, but the house has weathered them all. It’s up high enough that you can go around back and see a bit of the Gulf.”

I showed James to the guest room and how a modern home worked. After dinner, I gave him his space. Around midnight, I heard a door sensor chime. I found James sitting on the balcony, watching the ocean ebb and flow. I sat down across from him.

“How are you doing?”

“It’s overwhelming.” He answered, “I have so much to learn, new vocabulary, all the major events. I cannot fathom how much progress I have missed, but the ocean is the same, and I take comfort in that.”

“Well, if you’d like, we can get out on the water tomorrow. I’ll show you around the island.”

“You know how to sail?”

I laughed, “No, my boat has an engine, but I assure you that the art of sailing by wind has not been lost yet.”

For the first time, I saw a genuine smile on his face, “I’d like that.”

I endeavored to make him smile that cute boyish smile as much as possible.

[sprnklersplashes]

heart of stone (20/?)

AO3

Janis shifts a little on the armchair, giving Maddie more room in her lap and giving herself more space to breathe. They’re sharing one chair in the lounge, Maddie pressed against her chest and her arms around her waist, their eyes on the TV in front of them. Janis had almost forgotten about early afternoon cartoons, or had at the very least believed they were a part of her life she’d never revisit, but she walked in on some of the other kids watching them in and she’s happy to say they have the same effect on her eighteen year old self as they did her ten year old self. Even if she does constantly need them explained to her but hey, she’s old now. She has the sleep schedule to prove it.

“I wish they’d let us watch Netflix in here,” Maddie sighs. “They say we’re not allowed it because too many people would be taking advantage of it, and that since it’s a private company we can’t watch it on a public TV.” She leans her head against Janis’s shoulder. “And because they think we’ll watch age inappropriate stuff on it.”

“That’s a valid concern,” Janis tells her. “Because I just know you watched Insidious last week and then lied to your mother about it.” She squeezes Maddie around the waist, eliciting giggles from the younger girl. “Don’t even try to deny it. Besides, cartoons are more fun than horror movies.”

Maddie hums and doesn’t deny it nor does she disagree, her feet swinging innocently on the side of the chair. Janis rests her cheek against her head, the beanies and scarf gone today. It isn’t-or rather it shouldn’t be-something unusual. While it isn’t exactly common, she’s seen a few people around the ward hatless. Not like they have anywhere to go. Janis is just still getting used to this part, and wearing a hat every day is one hurdle. She supposes she’ll jump that one when-and if-she comes to it.

She heads back to her room a little later-the good cartoons are over and most people, including her, have rounds scheduled pretty soon. She wants back arm-in-arm with Maddie, a gesture she hasn’t taken since her middle school days. There’s a lot she loves about her new friendship with Maddie-it’s probably as close to having a younger sister as she is ever going to get-and one of the best parts of it is how she can fully indulge the inner 13 year old that still lives inside her. She hadn’t realised how fun letting that part of her out would be.

She throws herself down on the bed with some amount of grace when she gets in, twisting roughly onto her back and reaching for her phone with one hand while blindly getting a rice cake out of the packet with the other. She waits while the various social media apps alert her to new notifications-a celebrity posted on Instagram, someone liked her tweet, she’s gotten another anonymous message on Tumblr… the usual stuff, basically. She scrolls through idly, just about to all down the rabbit hole until-

“Janis!”    

“Never mind,” she sighs. When she switches off her phone, her mom is at the foot of her bed, her door still slightly open and her eyes glittering. Janis would simply offer a raised eyebrow and a dry remark, were it not for the two at her mom’s side, a man and a woman a few years younger than her mom, both dressed in white polo shirts and jeans. They give off slight camp counsellor vibes in those outfits. The man carries a cardboard box under his arm, stamped with black crowns, and they have the same soft yet ecstatic grin that the Cancer Centre people do.

“Uh… Hi?” she says, sitting up. She half-raises her arm into a wave. “I’m Janis?”

“Is this a bad time?” The girl asks in a low voice, and it’s not clear whether she’s talking to her or her mom. Any feelings of fatigue or lazy desires are chased away in an instant, and Janis sits up taller and raises her chin, her own smile plastered across her face. Just a hint of spite, enough to get her message across.

“Not at all,” she says, and she slides her phone into her pocket. “What’s up?”

“Oh well, we’re from the Rapunzel Foundation,” the man explains. Janis blinks for a second, and then

“The wig people,” she says.

“For convenience’s sake, you could say that” he replies and Janis’ eyes immediately fall to the box in his hand. It’s not overly big, but then it really wouldn’t need to be.

“Oh,” is all she can say. She swings her legs around the side of the bed and stands up, her hands shoved in her pockets. “Um… so I take it you… have it?” She shakes her head, huffing a laugh in the otherwise awkward pause. “Sorry, this is coming off like we’re in a drug trade.”  

“It’s fine, Janis,” he says. “But yes, we have your wig all ready for you. Well, wigs. We actually have a few you can look at.”

“Cool,” she mutters. He lifts the box, tilting it towards her, and it takes a second for her to nod. She slides back against the wall and wraps her arms around herself, taking a millisecond to check out her mom’s expression. She’s grinning like a mad woman; she thinks the last time she saw her mom that excited was at her last art show. She can’t blame her, she guesses, because it’s a big thing, isn’t it? After weeks of beanies, this is at least something new.

“Now we couldn’t get one that looked exactly like your hair before,” the girl explains. “You had a bit of a unique hairstyle.”

“Inimitable, that was the idea,” she says.

“And we aren’t allowed to dye these wigs for safety reasons,” she goes on. “But… we did make up a few others. Here, take a look.” Janis looks down and finds three wigs laid out on her bed. Her first thought is that they’re scarily realistic. They would be after all; they’re all made of real human hair. That’s why Regina now has a bob despite swearing to her once she’d never do that.

Then comes the terrifying thought-holy crap what if one of these is made from Regina’s hair?

Being bald might be better than wearing Regina’s hair. Scratch that, definitely would be.

She shakes her head. These wigs are darker than Regina’s hair; each one deep black to her brown, and she breathes. Her natural colour. One is long, curling slightly at the bottom. Kind of a Morticia Addams style, she thinks, and the corner of her mouth quirks up. The second is similar, albeit shorter and with side bangs, and then finally one that would reach to her shoulders, or just above, more waves than the first one. She remembers way, way back in middle school, before Regina talked her into another stupid decision. When her hair was dark black and held by sparkly silver hair pins.

“Can I try that one?” she asks, pointing at the third one.

She pulls up one of the visitors’ chairs, two pillows stuffed beneath her to reach the mirror, while the man-Anthony, she corrects-holds the wig behind her and brushes it out. It falls softly against his hand and her own itches to run her fingers through it. But her heart is in her mouth at the same time, and she has no idea why. She thought, when they first told her about getting the wig, that she’d be jumping at the chance. That she wouldn’t have the small but still present urge to tell them to pack it up and go.

“You ready?” Antony asks.

She closes her eyes and nods.

It’s heavier than she thought it would be. Antony’s fingers run along her face as he settles it and she fights the urge to flinch. She’s not good with this sort of contact at the best of times. He plays around with it a bit more, fluffing it and swishing it and who knows what else, as her fingers fidget on the arms of the chair.

“You can open your eyes now.”

When she does, the gasp escapes her mouth before she can stop herself. In the refection, she watches as she reaches up and fidgets with the stands that stop, as she thought, just above her shoulders. She looks at it for a long time, trying to work out how it looks. If it looks real or not.

“I look-”

She doesn’t want to say normal. It’s the closest word she can find to it and yet doesn’t want to say it. Luckily, her mom is there.

“You look like Veronica.”

“Oh no I don’t,” she sighs. “I do not look like Veronica.”  

“Sorry, who’s Veronica?” the girl asks.

“My younger sister,” her mom explains. “Janis’ aunt.”

“Who everyone swears up and down I look exactly like,” she adds. “And I do not.” Janis leans back in the chair and twirls the end strand round her finger. “I look good though.”  

“So does that mean you’ll take this one?” the girl asks. “You can still try on the others if you want.”

“It’s fine,” Janis replies. She nods, a little to them, a little to her mom and a little to herself. “This is it. This is the one.”

She doesn’t really leave her room for the next few hours. Or the chair either, for that matter. The only serious move she makes is when she realises her nurse is coming in five minutes and that sitting staring intensely at a mirror is probably not a good way to greet her. She feels strangely self-conscious when the walks in, like the elephant in the room is doing cartwheels on top of her head. She taps her feet on the floor, waiting for the acknowledgement that never comes. She wonders if nurses often do comment on people’s wigs, or if that’s strictly a no-go area.

“Mom?” she eventually asks, a barely-eaten sandwich sitting in her lap and her IV neatly tucked in the corner. “Is this weird?”

“Is what weird?”

“This. Me sitting in front of the mirror all day.” She shrugs and takes a bite out of her sandwich. “I mean… you have to find it weird. I find it weird and I’m the one doing it.”

“Not at all,” she says, and then she breaks out into a grin. “You do look good, Janis. It’s a great wig.”

“Yeah.”    

“And… it’s a bit of a change, isn’t it?” her mom adds. “I suppose it takes some getting used to.”

Janis nods again. To say it’s a bit of a change is an understatement. This morning, it was patently obvious what was wrong with her. Now, while she’s still stick-thin and alarmingly pale and sitting in her pyjamas, she looks healthier. That’s the word she’ll replace normal with, she tells herself. She doesn’t look sick, or at least not really. Not that sick.

Should she be this happy about it? Surely it’s a good thing, right?

“Mom I need you to promise me something,” she says.

“Anything.” There’s a serious tone to her mom’s voice that she shouldn’t find funny but does.

“If I am still sitting here an hour later, smash my head into this mirror,” she jokes. She takes another bite of her sandwich and brushes crumbs out of her wig. She hasn’t done that in weeks, she realises, and while it’s a stupid, tiny thing it, it excites her. The thrill sparks deep inside her chest and makes a laugh bubble out of her mouth. “Or maybe give me an hour and a half,” she adds.

                                                                                               *****

She FaceTimes Cady later that night and there’s no lying about her intention. It’s the same logic as Cady sending her a selfie of the cute shirt she just bought. There’s no harm in showing off.  Especially after she already spent most of today showing it off to her hospital friends. Melissa was polite enough about it, calling it pretty and commenting on how it doesn’t look like her hair from beforehand. But her words are short and carefully chosen, and Janis has to stop herself from staring at Melissa’s hair the whole time. Her real hair that hasn’t fallen out yet. She’s not jealous of her, it’s stupid to be jealous in circumstances like this, but she can’t help but feel awkward about it. Still, Melissa grins at her when she puts it on and pokes her in the stomach, telling her she looks “hot” and even comparing her to Winona Ryder’s 1980s years.

“Now that’s a compliment,” Janis had told her.

Maddie on the other hand is much more animated, stroking it with a careful hand and wide eyes which dart to the hairbrush on the bed three times before Janis takes the hint and hands it to her. She’s a little unsure about it really, but it’s sitting on a stand on the end of the bed and what harm can one little girl do to it? Especially when the one little girl is Maddie.

She checks herself in the camera once more, telling herself it’s the last time. She pulls it down just a little bit only to shift it back again. It sits comfortably on her head, the dark strands falling into her view when she bends down and the bangs ruffling when she blows up. She spent more time than she cares to admit sitting on her bed blowing them earlier today.

“You really need a hobby,” she tells herself, out loud, before she hits the call button. As she waits, she taps her fingers on the mattress and finds herself suddenly aware of the sketchbooks she slid under her bed. She told herself she needs a hobby, but doesn’t she kind of already have one? Or rather, she had one. When was the last time she picked one of her books up? A cold feeling settles in her stomach. Sometimes her life here can get pretty busy, but she was also kept busy outside of here and she always made time to draw.

“Janis!” Cady replies, pulling her out of her thoughts. The audio cracks and crickles as they move through their house, the picture freezing and jumping. “Hey, what’s up, sorry I was downstairs.”

“No, it’s fine,” Janis replies. “Not interrupting anything, am I?”

“Oh, no, of course not,” they say. “Not I was just doing homework at the table. I just got in from tutoring a half an hour ago and I couldn’t be bothered walking all the way upstairs.” The wall behind them turns from dirty white to baby blue, and Cady’s bedroom door with a hundred jackets hanging on it closes behind them. “Okay, so what’s-woah.” Their eyes go wide, and Janis chuckles. “That’s new.”

“Yeah, it is,” Janis replies, pushing her hair away from her face. “I hope you’re talking about the wig and nothing else. Although it would be remiss of you not to notice the new lights around my bed.”

“I’ve noticed the lights. I suggested the lights,” Cady says. They flops down onto their bed, one knee tucked up against them and their chin resting on it. Their smile slowly stretches across their face. “You look good, it looks good. When did it happen?”

“Only today,” she says. “Which is weird because I was told about it a while back. You know it was made from real human hair.”

“Cool,” they breathe. “So is that… is that what your hair was like before you dyed it and shaved it and… did all that to it?”

“All that,” she replies. “You sound like my Catholic grandma.” She ruffles her wig and lets the hair land on her face. “But yeah. If we had met in middle school… pre-Regina, obviously… I would have looked like this.”

“Wow,” they whisper. “Imagine we had. You and me meeting in middle school. You’d have hated me.”

“You’d have hated me,” she replies. “I was Plastic, remember? Or at least, I was baby plastic. And I had some really embarrassing obsessions at that time. Had we been really good friends, I’d have forced you to come to Hot Topic with me.”

“Well thank goodness you’ve outgrown that,” Cady says dryly. They laugh, but then Janis imagines it, a much-younger her with a much-younger Cady, both more innocent in some ways, less interested in high school cliques. It might be pointless fantasizing about it, but it’s fun all the same. “It looks gorgeous Janis. Really. I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks turn pink and warm as she rests her face on her fist. “So how was school?”

“Oh, fine,” they reply. “I’ve… dropped some of my tutoring subjects. Today was my last day with little Ruby.”

“Oh no,” Janis says. “Um… why was that?”

“Well, if you want a visual.” The camera tilts and dips as she gets up, and for a second freezes on her halfway extended past it, before it jumps and she’s holding a piece of paper in front of it, practically covered in black pen and coloured marker. It hurts Janis’ head just to look at. “This is my schedule pre-cancellations.” They switch pages, now showing her a much cleaner page, more plain white blocks. When she looks closer and the camera focuses, she sees ‘free time’ written on them in lilac. “This is my schedule now.”

“Ah, I see,” Janis says. “You pencilled in some free time.”

“I was drowning,” they sigh dramatically, throwing their head back, tossing their hair and waving their arm for the full effect. “Now I’m just floating. Instead of being significantly more stressed than the average senior, I’m just normal stressed.”

“Aw good for you my little stressed fish,” Janis jokes, leaning forwards on her elbow and cupping her chin. “So? Stress huh?”

“So much stress,” they reply. “I just… no I’m coping.” They shake their head and Janis bets there’s a hundred, if not a thousand, invisible formulae and equations dancing in front of Cady’s eyes. “Once I get to winter break, then I’ll be good to go. And then I can direct much more of my attention to you babe.”

“Good, because I’m feeling real attention deprived over here,” she replies, only for the smile on Cady’s face to drop slightly. “Okay, no I’m not. Although having said that, my mom is starting to ease up on me and it’s a little weird. She hasn’t checked in on me in twenty minutes. I think she may be dead.”

“That sounds like a record,” Cady replies. “Oh! Speaking of records, guess what?”

“Um… you just broke the record for whoever can make their girlfriend jump the highest?”

“No,” they reply. “So the Mathletes and I have our first tournament coming up! We qualified for state championships and our first contest is on December 14th. It’s against the Saint Paul’s team.”

“Ah. The private school,” Janis replies, wrinkling her nose. While the main rivalry has and always will be between North Shore and Merrymount, there’s always been a lingering disdain for the private schools they compete against. “Make sure you kick them right in their plaid skirt covered asses. Also how did you get that from records?”

“Well, breaking records is like a contest, right?” they reason. “And I plan on setting the ‘record’ for the Mathlete captain with the most wins under their belt.” They grin then, and there’s a wicked gleam in their eye that while Janis loves, she finds it just a little bit unsettling. “Starting with those spoiled little rich kids.”    

“Oh this competitive streak of yours is so hot,” she whispers, winding a lock of hair around her fingers. It’s almost silky smooth against her skin and out of nowhere she wonders; had her hair beforehand ever felt like this? Her eyes widen as she realises she can’t remember. It hasn’t been that long in the scheme of things since she lost her hair, she just never paid attention. Why would she? Not like she could have seen this coming. If she had, would she have taken more notice? Would she have stopped taking it for granted? Stopped overthinking the way she looks? She supposes she can put those questions to bed now that she has this.

“Uh… Janis? Earth to Janis!”

“Woah, yeah, hi,” she says. She straightens herself up, her back squarely against the bed board, and shakes her head. “Sorry, um, went down the rabbit hole for a minute.”

“See anything nice down there?” Cady smiles, and their tone is light with a slightly sarcastic edge, but even with the poor quality video, Janis can see the worry around her eyes.

“No white rabbits, no mad tea parties either,” she mutters. “Beginning to think there was some false advertising going on.”

“Take that up with Disney,” Cady says dryly. “They lied to you.”

They talk for a bit more, about stupid, meaningless stuff like school and math and Maxie (that last one isn’t so meaningless), and over time Janis turns onto her side, her phone gently balanced between her mattress and her arm. Janis feels their time coming to a close; with her next round approaching and Cady probably having to go do actual productive stuff. Still she feels reluctant to let them go, especially when little nagging doubts hang at the back of her mind and desperately beg for reassurance. She bides her time even with them, waiting until they’re both quiet, when she can’t bring up something else and stop herself from asking. She feels stupid asking, but she can’t not ask it either.

“So…” she finally asks. “You like the wig?”

Cady smiles and Janis hears the rush of her exhale crackling against the mic.

“I do,” they reply. “I really do. You look good, Jan.” Janis grins at that, a weight lifted off her chest that she hadn’t realised was there. “And you like it too?”

“Of course,” she replies. “I mean, what’s not to like? I look hot. And it… feels good, I guess. It feels nice to have hair again.” She bites her tongue before she can say anything else. Cady doesn’t need to know about anything else, about how this is probably the closest to looking (and feeling) normal she’s gotten in a long time. All Cady needs to do is be happy here. “Kay, I’ll let you go, babe. See you later.”

“See you,” Cady says. But just as Janis is about to press the hang up button, Cady interjects, “Janis?” Her finger pauses a hair’s length from the screen. “I love the wig, seriously. But I also… you looked great without it too.” They shrug awkwardly at that, their eyes avoiding her. “Just… thought you should know.”

They hang up before Janis can respond, and all she can do is sit and wonder how she would have responded to that.                

                                                                                       *****

She spends much of the evening in her bedroom, curled up in a ball with her chin on her pyjama-clad knees. Her most recent round was-for some reason-a particularly strong one, and as it pushed its way through her veins it took more and more out of her in return. She’s been assured time and again that this is normal, standard procedure, and that above all it means the medicine’s working, doing what it’s supposed to be doing. She should be glad of that, if that’s the case. But oh boy, does it make her feel crummy.

“Okay. Kitchen’s nearly closed, last chance to eat something,” her mom says. She’s standing in the middle of the room, hovering between her bed and the door, her hands wrung together. “You want something?”

Janis shakes her head and turns onto her side as her stomach twists once again, a shiver running through her body. She looks at the wall, the TV on playing some show she’s long since stopped paying attention to.

“You sure, hon?”

In her mind, there’s a verbal answer, but in reality she only nods and pulls the covers tighter around her. Her mom folds her arms, her eyes flitting to the ground. Weeks ago she’d have insisted over and over again that Janis eat something, bargaining with her until Janis either finally gave in and agreed to pick at whatever meal she brought up or until Janis snapped at her and the argument fizzled out. Now though she just nods in understanding and brings her over a glass of water.

It’s less draining for both of them, but not by much.

“I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” she tells her. “Holler if you need anything.”

I’ll holler she means to say, but her throat is dry and tight and the words never make it past her cracked lips.

Her mom slips out the door, letting it click shut behind her and the sound of her footsteps is quickly lost in the evening buzz. Another thing her mom has learned about nights like these is to close the door on her way out and back in. You wouldn’t think it matters, but it does. The idea of talking feels alien to her at these points, and the only thing more impossible is getting up and shutting the door herself.

Quiet hums in the empty room, her ears ringing in it. It will pass, she reminds herself, like it always does, it’s just a question of when. In an hour, tomorrow morning, tomorrow night. She might spend the next 24 hours in this very same position, the only thing changing being the time on the clock. She has done that once or twice before. Lost whole days of her life half-sitting in a bed while other people flocked around her.

She takes a long, steady breath in as her insides roll again and goosebumps prickle on her white skin. She reaches over and manages to make herself lift the water sitting by her bed, taking it in in small, careful sips. She burrows further into the mattress and pulls the covers ever tighter around her as she searches for an extra semblance of warmth. As she wriggles, her wig slowly slides off her scalp, the longer strands sticking her pale, sweat covered neck.

With her free hand, she weakly reaches up and grabs a fistful of it; what once felt soft and beautiful now feels tatted and coarse in her clammy grip. She sits for a while, curling and uncurling her fist before, in one swift motion, she pulls it off her head and lets it drape across her lap, having no need for it now. It’s just for show after all, she realises, and who would she be showing off for now?                                                                                        ******

When she wakes up the next morning, she only feels a little bit better, and she panics when she realises the day that’s in it. It’s Friday, marked on the little calendar beside her bed as “Damian and Cady day”. She did that not long ago, when the support group suggested reminding herself what she has to look forward to. It felt like a good idea at the time, but now the glitter pen sits and mocks her. Cady and Damian are coming today, and she feels like she’s been dragged through a bush and then thrown in front of a bus.

She pushes herself upwards, blinking in the overhead lights, and rests her chin on her fist. Maybe she isn’t as bad as she thinks she is. Certainly, last night sitting up like this would have been near impossible, so that’s a win. And she feels up for trying to eat at least, although whether or not she could finish it is yet to be seen. Still, it’s an improvement, right? That has to count for something.

“Baby steps, Janis,” she reminds herself. “Just… baby steps.” She pushes herself around so that her feet dangle over the side of the bed, her legs stiff and sore from the lack of movement from yesterday, not to mention cold air nipping at them. The heaters should be coming on any minute now. She grips the side of the mattress tightly, her palms pressing hard into the surface until they hurt. Her eyes don’t move from one spot on the wall, a trick she learned early on. Although this time it isn’t to stop the room from spinning, it’s to stop herself from backing out. She breathes out slowly, the air creeping past her gritted teeth, and stands up.

She surprise herself, even with the near tumble she takes when she gets there. But not eating for twelve consecutive hours will do that to you, she supposes with a shrug, and she stretches out her body, not bothering to hide the groans and sighs of relief as she does so.  The feeling comes back into her hands as she shakes them out before checking herself in the mirror. She’s not completely fine with it; dark smudges still sit beneath her eyes, her skin still as white as the sheets on her bed, but she can work with this. She can build herself back up from last night.

Especially now that she’s got this.

She turns around and soon spots the wig sitting on the stand clipped to the end of her bed. Since she doesn’t remember picking it up and was certainly in no state to be doing so, she guesses her mom must have done so. When she picks it up, she finds it brushed out too, and makes a mental note to thank her mom for it.

She throws it on herself and pushes the bangs slightly out of her eyes before looking back up. It’s amazing, really, the difference this thing makes. With this, plus a few tricks with her make-up, she could probably pass for healthy. Or at least, not as sick as she actually is. The corner of her mouth turns up into a smile as she thinks about to; dares to dream about going out in public without sympathetic looks or pity-induced freebies being thrown her way. Is she wrong to be excited about this?

And the most important part; in front of Cady and Damian, she can look better, and that’s what she’s aiming for more than anything else.

                                                                                               ******

By that afternoon, she’s not where she wants to be, but she’s at a healthy middle at least. By that she means she can push through it and convincingly cover up the fact that her body is crumbling inside. It’s far from ideal, but she’s more than happy to stick with it. If it’s sucking it up for a few hours or losing one of the few times she sees her friends in person rather than on a video call, it’s a no brainer, really.

She keeps a bottle of water by her bed and another one close by, just in case, and spends the day carefully arranging herself in her bed, not so comfortable she’ll never get out but at the same time letting herself store up strength. It makes the day longer, all this sitting around and careful eating, and she has enough sense to know what she’s doing is ridiculous. And it makes her realise, again, how she can’t freaking wait for all this to be over. For there to be a time when she can hang out with her friends without having to feel like she’s putting on a show for them.

She just about remembers to put her wig on before they arrive. Gingerly, she lifts it from its stand and slips it on, her hands delicate and cautious, like she’s handling a live animal. She runs her fingers through it and pushes the bangs back slightly, away from her face. She does tend to look better when they’re like that. She tugs and pulls at it for a few seconds, and then the seconds become minutes, all the while she keeps an anxious eye on the clock. She can see them in her mind’s eye, crossing the lobby, getting into the elevator, the doors opening, and strangely she feels like she’s fighting against time as she gets ready.  

She’s just got it the way she wants when Cady pokes her head around the door, and she forces herself to breathe.

“Hey babe,” she says softly, tiptoeing swiftly across the floor and onto the bed, holding her hand out. A soft groan escapes Janis as Cady pulls her down and settles on top of her, equal parts careful and playful. Damian sits himself in the visitor’s chair with his feet up on her bed and his chin rested on his fist, giving her a small wink as he sits.

“Like the bandana,” she tells him, gesturing with her chin. Rather than a hat, his head today is covered by a yellow bandana, tied in a neat bow at the base of his head, and she vaguely recognises it, the memory like a fuzzy old video slowly becoming sharper. “Is that from Calamity?”

“Indeed,” he replies. “I was clearing out my closet and found it there. It’s neat, isn’t it?”

“Really neat,” she grins. “I’m just amazed it took you that long to fish it back out again. Wasn’t that show sophomore year?”

“Yes, and I feel horrible for neglecting her,” he sighs, fingering the edges. “I think I’m going to lean into the whole cowboy look now. I mean I already have the suspenders.”

“And an excuse to wear the funky hat,” Janis reminds him. “You know, I say go for it. If you can’t dress up like a cowboy during your senior year of high school, when can’t you?”

“Plus, if you get a boyfriend this year, you’ll be able to call him ‘partner’ without it sounding weird!” Cady adds in. There’s a momentary flicker across her face as soon as she says it, like she regrets it, but the moment Janis and Damian’s eyes meet they both bust out laughing, their eyes wide and their smiles even wider.

“Genius!” Damian declares. “I mean, we all knew you were a genius, but still. Genius!”

“Also does that make cowboys gay?” Janis adds. “If they had… ‘partners’?”

“Yes, cowboys are gay,” he replies. “That should be obvious to anyone.” Their laughter erupts again before slowly simmering down and Damian leans back while Janis swings her arm around Cady’s shoulders. Damian then opens his mouth only to close it again, his smile faltering and picking up again in the next second.

“And… speaking of headgear… might I say that the wig looks even cooler in person?” he says.

“Oh, this old thing?” She lowers her voice and imitates the old 1940s movie stars, tossing her hair over her shoulder and batting her eyelashes. She can’t deny the thrill that one of those actions gave her. “Oh, I just brought it out for you.”

“Well it looks stunning, doll face,” he replies, doing the same impression. Janis nods and hopes the glow on her cheeks is just in her mind.

“You know, those bangs really do suit you,” Cady remarks.

“Take your grievances up with eleven year old me who wanted to grow them out,” she sighs. “Eleven year old Janis made so many bad decisions.” Cady hums at that. Then her arm shifts behind Janis, and then her fingertips are touching the ends of her wig. It’s a discreet, delicate move, almost like she’s testing it out. In fact, it’s so light that Janis wouldn’t have known had she not caught it in the mirror. It’s not her hair after all. Just a replacement.

Her eyes meet Cady’s then, and hers are tinged with apprehension, a question in them. Janis replies with a smile and gently pulls her closer.

Even if it’s not her real hair, it feels almost the same.

Their time ends the way it often does, with Damian getting a text from his mom and looking sheepishly at the other two, giving them the silent signal that they have to go, even with half an hour left on the movie they stuck on. Cady sighs, dejected, but the unfinished movies have become a near-permanent fixture in their visits, so much so that Janis now knows not to put on a movie she had been meaning to show Cady, filing them for later.

“So I’ll call you tonight?” Damian asks.

“I look forward to it.” She pulls him into a tight hug, stretching on her toes only slightly. “See if you can find me a matching bandana in your closet, okay?”

“Deal.”

With that, and Cady’s goodbye kiss, she waves the two of them off, leaning on her door, half in the hallway, and watching them going. On a better day she’d walk them to the elevator, but just sitting down like that had depleted her. They both turn back to give her a final wave, and she has to laugh, and then they disappear around the corner.  

And then she lets out the most guilt-ridden sigh of relief there has ever been.

She turns around, groaning as the room tilts, and stumbles across to her bed. Her bedside water is nearly depleted, but the one under her bed is too far for her to reach. She can get it in just a minute, when the ringing in her ears stops and the room stops tilting, she decides. Even if she’d really, really love it now.

She buries her face in the pillow, her grip turning from tight to vice-like as she tries to block out her thoughts. Maybe if she falls asleep now, the water issue with disappear.

She must fall asleep, because when she opens her eyes again it’s an hour and a half later, and her throat is dry and cracked and her back is stiff. She pushes herself up into some half-sitting position and stretches herself out, her groan long and high and unapologetic. Not like anyone can hear her with the door closed and the people who could hear her probably don’t care. She pushes the curtain of hair away from her face before just pulling it off altogether and tossing it on the table. She’ll get round to fixing that sooner or later.

She wishes she could say that nap did her the world of good, but that isn’t really how it works. She needed it, yes, but now she feels like her brain has pins and needles and that her insides were shaken up. At least she won’t have any more visitors for tonight, she thinks, and so she leans back on her pillows, her hand clumsily reaching for her phone and her water.

There are two texts on the screen when she turns it on, one from Damian and one from their groupchat. She swipes the groupchat one away, seeing it’s from Gretchen and therefore probably not concerning her anyway, and after thinking on it for a second, she swipes Damian’s away too. She’ll come back to it when she feels like a person, she tells herself.

She blinks heavily and as she does, the screen comes into sharper focus and she sees the date across it. It’s the second last day of November, she realises with a sigh. Maybe she should have realised with the springing up of decorations and the darker skies and much longer nights. December is right around the corner and that thought brings none of the festive cheer it usually would. Instead all she can think is that she should have been getting out of here soon. If everything had gone according to plan, she’d be on her last few weeks. She’d probably be packing up to leave and throwing a goodbye party. Instead that’s all put off and she instead has another two months of this crap. And honestly, two months doesn’t even mean anything anymore.

Still, it’s at least halfway over, and when she feels up to it she’ll be happy about that.

[justlightlysedated]

Alex lasts a lot longer than Michael was expecting.

The second he woke up in a room surrounded by people, who all wanted to touch him in some way to reassure themselves that he was there and alive, Michael had seen the way he was subtly pulling closer and closer into himself.

Alex had been missing for weeks (five weeks, four days, fifteen hours, forty-two minutes and thirty-three seconds) and had been found unconscious and barely breathing.

It had taken Max exactly sixteen seconds to heal him, and it had taken Kyle five minutes and forty-six seconds, to do a preliminary examination and deem him suitable for travel.

Michael had frozen for an unspecified amount of time when he had seen Alex, pale and gaunt covered in cuts and bruises, chest barely moving, and had only started moving again, when Kyle had pushed him into the driver's seat and demanded that he drive.

Liz and Maria had set up the corner of Liz's lab (which had turned into their home base) into a comfortable nest, with blankets and pillows stolen from Alex's bed, and Kyle had hooked him up into an IV to treat his dehydration, and he had slept, while Maria and Liz watched like they were afraid he might disappear again.

He stays unconscious for almost twelve hours (eleven hours, forty-eight minutes and fifty-three seconds) and wakes up violently, a burst of motion as he sits up, gasping and searching around to see where he was that had almost everyone still in the room jolting back in their seats.

Michael watches as Alex calms down marginally as he recognizes the people in the room as non threats to his safety, and lies back down in his makeshift bed. 

Liz calls Kyle who seemingly drops everything to rush to the lab and check him over.

Michael stays in his position sitting down on top of the counter, and he watches the room, watches Max leaning against the far wall and watching the scene with a furrowed brow like he's confused about something, watches Isobel sitting on the chair right by Alex's bed, back straight, hands clenched on top of her lap like she's stopping herself from surrounding Alex like Liz and Maria and Kyle are doing.

Liz, Maria, and Kyle, were all buzzing around Alex like an intense and overly friendly swarm of bees.

He watches as Alex starts to seem like a trapped wild animal, and sees him reach his threshold. He still lasts a few more minutes before he fakes a yawn and Kyle hustles everyone out of the lab and to the cafeteria.

Michael is expecting it when they go back inside to find that Alex is gone.

He's the only one who is.

Liz turns to Max immediately, "Can you feel him? Is he hurt?"

Max immediately tries to soothe her. "It doesn't exactly work like that."

Liz just frowns up at him, but relaxes as he puts his hands on her shoulders, rubbing her shoulders gently.

Michael leans against the door as Maria turns to Kyle with narrowed eyes. "Could he have gotten out of here on his own?"

Kyle purses his mouth, "He was severely dehydrated, and weak from being held captive, underground and maybe a little sensitive to sunlight, but he is Alex."

Maria sighs like she concedes the point, and Michael tries not to smile.

Isobel catches sight of his face, "What are you so happy about?"

Michael tries really hard not to roll his eyes, "I'm not happy, just highly amused."

"Where do you think he went?" Maria asks him, narrowing her eyes, like she's challenging him for a game on who knows the most about Alex.

"Somewhere small and quiet where he feels comfortable and safe enough to lower his guard down."

Everyone turns to him, giving him various looks of disbelief and skepticism.

Michael rolls his eyes.

"Look," he says pushing away from the door. "You can waste time looking for him and come up empty, or you can wait until he decides he wants to face the real world again. If you text him, I'm sure he'll answer."

At that moment, everyone's phones beeps, the short dot dot dash sound that notifies a new message in their group chat.

Michael tries not to look as smug as he feels when they each check and see a message from Akex, probably something along the lines of, I'm fine, talk to you soon.

Liz turns to look at him eyes narrowed, “What else do you know?”

Michael shrugs, “If he says he’s fine, then he’s fine.”

Liz gives him a slightly exasperated look. 

“But you know where he is?” Isobel asks, raising an eyebrow when Michael turns to look at her, like she’s daring him to lie to her.

“No,” Michael says, because he actually doesn’t know where Alex goes to lick his wounds in peace these days.

But then again, it hasn’t been this bad in a while.

"Then how do you know that he's safe?" Maria demands.

Michael makes a face at her, "Because this isn't the first time that he's done something like this."

Michael feels a little uncomfortable as everyone else shares several knowing glances, but sighs out in relief when Isobel nods before moving forward and grabbing her purse.

"You owe me lunch," she tells Maria as she walks past her.

Maria scoffs and follows after her protesting that technically Alex was awake before the sun had risen, so Isobel was the one who owed her lunch.

Kyle starts composing a text message that Michael knows lists all of the things that Alex should be doing to take care of himself since he insists on not being in the hospital.

Liz goes to pack up her things and get her back, while Max leans back on his heels and gives Michael a speculative look.

"I can barely feel him," he comments like it's brand new and interesting.

Michael doesn't tell him that it's because Alex has had a lot of practice in blocking the bond from his end.

He just shrugs a little, "Alex has always been a little bit thick skulled."

Max just looks at him like he doesn't believe him and leaves the lab with Liz.

Michael walks over to the makeshift hospital bed and grabs the fluffy white and blue sheet from the pile and then leaves the lab as well, turning the lights off and closing the door behind him.

*

Michael makes a quick stop at the pharmacy as a text message lets him know that he was right about what Kyle had been doing, and by the time he makes it home, night has already fallen.

He finds Maria's truck parked in front of the Airstream, because Alex knew where Maria kept her extra key, and parks right beside it, grabbing the two plastic bags from the pharmacy and getting out of the truck.

He hesitates at the door briefly, and then tells himself that this is his place and if Alex really wanted to be left alone, he wouldn't have come here.

He walks inside of the Airstream, pulling on the door a little too hard, and even though he had already figured out that this is where he was, it was still a small shock to see him asleep in Michael's bed, a half empty bottle of gatorade cradled in his arms.

He's wrapped up in at least two of Michael's sweaters (the only two good sweaters that Michael owns) and all of the sheets and blankets Michael had in his closet.

Michael vaguely remembers Kyle saying that his internal temperature was really low.

He keeps walking inside, closing the door behind himself absently and dropping the bags from the pharmacy on top of the counter.

He bends down and puts several new bottles of gatorade into the fridge and then walks over to the bed.

Almost like he felt Michael staring at him, Alex’s eyes flutter open, and he focuses immediately on Michael.

Michael can practically feel the way his heart beat speeds up and slows down at the sight of him.

Michael just crouches down beside the bed, close enough that he can reach with one hand and feel his forehead.

He’s slightly clammy, but feels almost cold to the touch, which Michael knows cannot be good.

He makes a deal with himself that if Alex’s temperature doesn’t go up by the morning, then he’ll let Kyle know where they are, but right now, he thinks that they can get this under control and keep it just between the two of them.

“What do you need?” Michael asks, ready to leave if Alex needs to be left alone.

Alex swallows hard, “I need you-”

He stops speaking, coughing a little like his throat is dry, and Michael waits as he leans up a little and drinks from the bottle in his hands.

He screws the top back on the bottle and then sighs leaning his head back into Michael’s pillows. He looks at Michael a little pitiful, and it tugs at all of Michael’s heart strings.

“You need to me do what?” Michael asks urging him to finish speaking.

Alex gives him a half smile, “I just need you.”

Michael feels his cheeks go a little warm, but gets back up to his feet and urges Alex to move over.

Alex does, grumbling a little to cover up the hiss of pain from moving with his strained ribs.

Michael bites down on his lip knowing from experience that Alex will deny all pain and probably actually tell Michael to go if he mentions it.

Michael gets into bed with him, careful to not squish Alex too much, which was inevitable in his bed.

Alex doesn’t seem to mind it as he moves, wrapping Michael’s arms around him, pulling him close, until their legs are twined together and Michael’s face is pressed to the back of his neck.

Michael tugs Alex in closer, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, right behind his ear and slipping his hands beneath Alex’s shirt, spreading his fingers out against his trembling stomach.

Alex presses his hands down on top of Michael’s and inhales shakily, pushing his face into the pillow. 

After a few seconds, Alex’s shoulders begin to shake, and Michael wraps him up tighter, pressing his face into his shoulder and holding on tight.

“I thought I would never see you again,” Alex sobs, voice low and cracked, and just barely heard.

Michael presses another kiss to the back of his neck.

“I really thought that he was going to kill me this time,” he says next, and Michael shakes his head.

“I would’ve found you first,” Michael promises, fingers digging into the smooth skin of his stomach. “Even if you had died, I would’ve found you in the afterlife and brought you back.”

Alex just presses his face into the pillow and goes tense in Michael’s arms for a moment, before he relaxes all at once, pushing back into Michael, and inhaling shuddering breaths.

“I’m so cold,” he whispers then, and Michael leans even heavier against him, covering him up, pulling the sheets around their cocoon.

“I got you,” Michael says and presses another kiss to the back of his neck. “I’m right here, and I’ve got you, and I’m not letting you go.”

Alex whimpers low in his throat, and pushes even more into Michael like he’s trying to fuse their skin together.

Michael presses his forehead to the back of Alex’s neck and exhales, humming low in the back of his throat.

Alex starts humming the same song with him, until exhaustion pulls him under and he falls asleep.

Michael just holds on tighter to him, and keeps humming low and soothing until he falls asleep as well.

[vangoghmusings]

starving artist | shota aizawa x reader

hello!! this is chapter three of “starving artist” and i really hope you guys are enjoying it :) ive really loved writing it! i update primarily to wattpad (@/vangoghpoets) but i update here as well! also, don’t be afriad to reach out with requests <3 

You basically passed out the moment you arrived home, exhausted from your week. The following morning you forced yourself to wake up early and begin the sketch and underpainting of the first canvas for the first-year dorm common area. You're usually a scrambled mess when it comes to your artwork, but you wanted to try being organized for once.

Looking down at the half-finished brown underpainting, you sighed in frustration. Your fingers ached, not having done such a large amount of sketching in a long time. You grabbed your sketchbook for reference, noticing the numbers scribbled down in the corner.

"Aizawa..." you mumbled to yourself. A blush crept up your cheek

you: hi aizawa, i hope you got some rest! this is y/n btw :)

You didn't expect a reply right away, yet your phone chimed in mere minutes.

aizawa: i didn't expect you to be an early bird y/n. and yes i got some rest, thank you.

You giggled at his punctuation, even over text he seemed so serious. You left your art easel and went to sit down on your couch.

you: ive just begun my underpainting so i have a lot of work today

aizawa: whats an underpainting? i thought it was called a canvas

You laughed to yourself, curling up on your couch.

you: no no, an underpainting is first layer of paint applied to canvas, its a base for future layers of paint

aizawa: I had no idea painting was so intricate. i just figured you were either talented or not.

you: it's just like being a hero, you'll never be good if you don't put your all in it. And you want to do great, no matter how difficult it is.

aizawa: i'm guessing you're pretty tired then.

you: incredibly tired.

It was true, you were utterly drained from jumping back and forth from teaching to painting. It felt like you hadn't had a single moment to yourself since you started at UA. Your phone chimed again.

aizawa: do you want me to bring you a coffee? it's the least i can do since you picked all those leaves out of my hair and because i fell asleep on you.

You blinked at the text, surprised at the offer. You had a tiny crush on Aizawa that you were constantly pushing down. Maybe this could be an opportunity to prove yourself that you could get over your mushy feelings for him. You typed back quickly.

you: coffee sounds amazing actually! are you sure you don't mind?

aizawa: not at all.

You gave him your address and tried to bury the giddy feelings swelling up inside you. In an attempt to distract yourself from his impending arrival, you went back to your easel and continued your underpainting. You put your entire focus on completing the underpainting, working with both speed and detail. You were adding shading to the canvas figures when the doorbell rang. You shot up from your concentrated position and wiped your face flustered, forgetting about the orange paint that covered your fingertips.

You walked over and opened the door, smiling to see Aizawa out of his work attire. He wore a simple black sweater that looked a little too big on him, accompanied by black jeans and what appeared to be Doc Marten boots.

"Hello!" You smiled at him, letting him enter your home.

He smiled softly, holding the coffee cups in his hands.

"Hello, y/n. You have paint on your face by the way."

Your eyes widened in horror at his words. You began to laugh nervously as you hurried to the bathroom, Aizawa left standing in your living room and looking around. You scrubbed your face quickly, mentally scolding yourself for the careless move. You swiftly fixed your hair and walked back out to meet Aizawa.

He turned to you and handed you your coffee. "I hope you like vanilla, it was just a guess."

You grinned, taking the warm cup in your hands and taking a whiff of the sweet steam peeking out.

"It's perfect, thank you."

Aizawa nodded, looking around your living room. He looked odd standing in all black in your colorful home. From the rug to the furniture to the dinnerware, your home was eccentric, to say the least. Whether it was a souvenir from your travels or trinkets of a local artist, everything had its place. Aizawa looked like a goth at a child's birthday party in your home.

He took a sip from his coffee and gestured to a painting on the wall. It was an old painting of a village, filled with rustic colors and gentle strokes. You smiled softly at the feelings of home that surged over you.

"No, my grandmother made it. I inherited her quirk actually. It's a painting of the village we grew up in."

Aizawa turned to you and tilted his head, "Village?"

You chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, my family is from a poor island in the Caribbean. My parents moved us to America so we could have a better life. We as in my sister and me." You smiled to yourself, picturing your family back home.

"So why are you in Japan now?"

"I'd always save up money from my art shows to come here. Everything is just so beautiful and I'm a sucker for a good still life. I just figured I could save myself the money and move here."

Aizawa nodded, slightly confused at your art terminology.

"Can I see one of your paintings? Or your underpainting thing?"

You giggled and nodded, leading him into your mini art studio. The room had an easel and stacks upon stacks of prepped paper and canvases. Jars filled with brushes, charcoal, Indian ink, and pencils lined the shelves. A bucket sat on a small table, filled to the brim with acrylic paints. Another box filled with oil, one filled with gauche, and the last one filled with watercolor palettes.

"It's kind of a mess, sorry," you mumbled under your breath as he walked inside. Aizawa looked around entranced. Several finished and partly finished paintings hung from clips on a string, drying or waiting to be sold. He faced your easel and scrunched his nose in confusion.

"Why is it all one color?" He pointed to the orange underpainting.

"Underpaintings are monochromatic," you answered matter-of-factly. "It gives the painting more depth."

Aizawa nodded, his mouth forming a small 'o' shape in understanding. There was a moment of silence as Aizawa continued to look around in awe.

"This is really incredible, y/n," He said softly. You felt the heat take over your face, making you panic rather than take the compliment. "Who's your inspiration?"

You blinked, still flustered from your tomato red blush, "Huh?"

Aizawa stepped towards you, tossing the empty coffee cup in the trash.

"Who inspired you? Like, every young hero is inspired by a pro. Who's your pro?"

You smiled softly, "My grandmother, I mean she gave me this great quirk. Its nothing a hero could really use, but its been good to me so far. But as for a professional artist, I'd have to say, Matisse."

He tilted his head, clearly not knowing who he was. You chuckled, "He's a French painter." Aizawa nodded once again.

"I've been to France before, Paris specifically. It was for a pro hero conference but still."

Your eyes widened, "Of all the places in Europe I've traveled to, I've never been to Paris. It's basically my dying wish to go to the Louvre."

"I didn't get to do much tourism when I was there, I'd like to go back someday."

You smiled at Aizawa, he didn't strike you as someone who'd enjoy traveling or tourism, but you could still imagine him in a cheesy Hawaiian shirt and a camera strapped around him. The image in your head made you giggle softly. He eyed you and looked down at your hands.

"I heard about your quirk but I've never seen you use it."

"I could say the same for you," I said lying. Of course, you'd seen clips of him and his quirk on the news, but never really in front of you.

He rolled his eyes, "Show me."

You tried to hide your flustered blush that emerged from his sudden seriousness. You grabbed a paper from the stack and gently placed your whole palm on it.

"What's your favorite color?"

He looked down at himself and his black attire and back up at you.

"Yellow actually."

You nodded, remembering his yellow goggles and sleeping bag. Once you pulled your hand away, the paper had a mustard yellow imprint of your palm. You showed him your hand, the paint disappearing back into your skin.

Aizawa raised his eyebrows impressed, "You managed to match the color to my sleeping bag."

You grinned; proud he had noticed, "I'm pretty good at shade matching." He gently took the paper with your handprint.

"You have small hands." He looked up at your hands and lifted his up for comparison. You lifted your hand up and placed it on his. He was right, your hand was small compared to his. You stared at his hand on yours, not wanting to pull away. His palms were calloused, most likely from hero work. You gave him a sly smile. Aizawa furrowed his brows in confusion, "What?" He pulled his hand away, only to see an imprint of paint of your palm on his in your favorite color. "Hey!" He grumbled and pulled his hand away from you grumpily.

"Now you know my favorite color," you giggled. He sent a glare in your direction, swiftly running his hand across your cheek, covering you in the paint. You gasped, "Aizawa!"

He burst out laughing at the smear of paint on your cheek. It was the first time you truly saw him laugh and it caught you off guard. You narrowed your eyes at him, your hands prepping the paint.

"Oh, you are so dead Aizawa."

He gave you a smirk, "Oh really?"

You shot bright neon shades of paint from your fingertips, splatter painting his black sweater. His eyes widened.

"Yes, really." You answered, returning the smirk.

He stared at you and before you could realize, he had used his quirk to erase yours. Swiftly he wrapped his arms around you, like a tight hug, and covered you in the fluorescent paint. You gasped trying to break free. "Aizawa I can't believe you!" You couldn't help but laugh at seeing his body wrapped around yours, the usual dark figure covered in bright hues. He chuckled and slowly let go of you. As much as you hated being covered in paint, you missed his arms around you.

"You know you can call me Shota, right?"

You blushed, thankful for the paint on your cheeks covering it up.

"Okay, Shota."  

[aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaoldretired]

alrighty! im gonna talk about my two new dr!ocs and some updates on sheon’s whole thing. remember they don’t have names yet adkaljasdkfa

SURVIVOR: the ultimate jazz singer. 

as mentioned, she’s the ultimate jazz singer. pretty subdued personality, but she’s the type of jazz singer who would just. scream into a microphone a la screamin jay hawkins. she is pretty neutral/friendly but disconnected in the prologue/first chapter/second chapter. she gets more jittery as the interactions go on. but once you get to the post-fte section of chapter two, that night she actually tries to kill the protag. at this point its revealed her big Angsty Backstory is she got involved with drugs through the music scene and is currently suffering withdrawal symptoms and is Super desperate (something ive seen a lot with my co-musicians and its not good) big breakdown, really delirious, will eventually be talked off the ledge and calmed down. kind of like if sayaka was actually calmed down in thh chap 1

just so happens that during the night whoopsy someone else was killed. so you two have an alibi but to reveal it means you tell everyone about her issues. either there might be a lying feature like in drv3 to cover, or you tell the truth and end up isolating her. for chapter three and most of four she will keep her distance from the protag bc she’s uncomfortable but will eventually reach out to be friends again after chap 4 execution. 

is generally pretty useful during trials, tends to be a person who tries to help calm down more emotional students and look at things logically. is good at trying to calm down the blackened once the protag catches their bluff bc she understands what its like to be desperate. she does, however, cry during/after every punishment. tells others not to speak poorly of their executed classmates. 

she compulsively chews gum, and one of her favorite gifts would be gum. jokes about having an oral fixation. during school mode she might joke about singing love songs but being so awkward about it in real life. really likes dogs, has a dog plushie in her room. 

a first two fte will focus on her health/wellbeing. the third she’ll ask to not talk about that anymore and the next three are just about general stuff. the final one she’ll basically go a little further into detail but the moral of her story is like, she’s not a bad person for doing what she did, no one is. she’s just a person. and it cn happen to anymore.

dresses in clothes more inspired by late mod/early 70s fashion. hoestly im seeing like a turtleneck/pantsuit combo. short curly hair. big heavy under eyelashes. 

MASTERMIND: the ultimate drag racer (ultimate cruiser)

ok but I LOVE him. personality wise he’s the story’s anxious character, think closer in personality to chap 1 shuichi. quiet, skittish, easily flustered, sometimes cracks jokes that fall flat. he’s framed for the chap 1 murder (someone died in a go kart accident, its assumed he sabotaged the other car, his argument is why would he kill someone in a race in front of all his classmates?) the protag obviously works hard to prove he’s innocent. after the execution he makes a promise to the protag that he owes him one big time, and while it seems innocent at the time, the wording should have like. a slight suspicious undertone. 

he’ll investigate weirder areas of the school instead of practical (sometimes he has clues sometimes not) and if there’s ever a mechanical question for a trial, you’ll generally ask him for clarification. he’s not very trusting of others and is often the one to accuse others/bring the information learned in trials back into the real world and make a big deal out of it. for example, he’ll make a big deal about the attempted murder in chap 2, and he’s the one who’s constantly accusing sheon of being a traitor

at first he seems like he’s just anxious, but obviously, he’s the mastermind, and he’s trying to tear the group apart. 

his fte he’s awkward the first few times but he opens up slowly, showing actual comfort/joy around the protag. wants to be close friends. offers to take protag go karting. while their personality is pretty awkward most of the time, there are flashes of an adrenaline junky every now and then especially when talking about cars, where he seems so full of life and drive it’s almost scary. very competitive during these times, his determination almost taking a sadistic glee when talking about beating others. of course he explains it as his cutthroat sport, but ya know...mastermind. instead of saying we’re going to survive he says we’re going to win. friendly towards the others but doesn’t really care about them focused on protag. is consciously trying to seperate protag from sheon.

for a mastermind he’s actually quite the empath and grows attached to his classmates, which he actually takes pleasure in the amount of despair he feels after each of their executions. reason behind the game is the adrenaline rush he feels, never has felt more alive than on despair. he discovered the rush the first time he got in a car accident, and the moments before his crash where like pure bliss. he wanted to let everyone else feel his feverish joy, and talks about how everyone has enjoyed this, deep down. they’re all getting their sick kicks. breaks the fourth wall and alludes to the fact that the protag (through the player) is having the most fun of all. 

final trial where it’s revealed, he’s still v attached to the protag in like an almost yandere way and wants to follow up on the favor he owes from chap 1. he offers a deal to the protag where if they’re welcome to be their accomplice in all this and get out of the game. protag should push to bargain that everyone can give up their morals, sacrifice themselves to despair, and live as the mastermind’s accomplice in exchange for ending the killing game. 

eventually, he’ll agree, but only if the group decides one life among them to sacrifice for no other reason than to kill an innocent friend. the way to get to the correct ending is to choose yourself which will like invalidate the deal. protag ends up dying and everyone else lives. leaves the mastermind in a despair, but for the first time, he does not derive any pleasure. 

takes a LOT OF GLEE in admitting he convinced everyone else sheon was the traitor when she was not, everyone else is horrified.

anyways. his school mode/love mode events show his more likeable side, he can actually be a really cute partner if it weren’t for the part he’s evil but uh. soft sometimes. 

really likes energy drinks. talks about sponsorships. color scheme is like. a black racing suit but his jacket is tied around his waist and he’s wearing a wife beater. tons of accents of neon all over his outfit from like patches and brand deals. backwards hat. blushes easily. has a mullet. i love him. 

“TRAITOR” : SHEON FUKUDA (the ultimate film maker) 

ok so. still antagonistic. but more in the way of pushing your buttons and pointing out your flaws in a trial. like somewhere between antagonist and kirigiri. super chill personality, cracks a lot of jokes, is hardcore struggling with the games and will be open about her mental illness. her fatal flaw is still her martyr complex

is first framed after chap 2 bc of accused of having the ability to direct and oversee a production like this, and from that moment forward no one can trust her and she’s SUPER alienated. she’s still awkwardly trying to be friends/friendly but people act like she’s going to betray them all. tries to prove innocence multiple times going as far as to beginning of chap 3 announce to the group if they need to kill anyone, let it be her so no one else gets hurt and is super transparent about who she is. but this transparency makes people more suspicious. as she goes on she gets more desperate/gallows humor. last convo bfore chap 5 begins she has a vague conversation about with protag about if they fear death. chap 5 would end up being either a suicide or double murder (they killed each other one in attack the other while being defended against) so there’s no execution but monokuma still wants something. its also in this trial that the ultimate drag racer plants evidence taht makes it look like she’s the traitor and is addressed head on. 

a common motif for her is ‘playing the role assigned’ and knowing who she is and who she isn’t. she’s pretty comfortable knowing who she is but expresses unhappiness about being painted a villain. maybe like, three times through the story to this point it’s established as a motif/quirk of fitting a role she’s assigned bc if the protag asks her a question about herself/past/the overall story, she asks the protag a question like well, what do you want 1) 2) and you choose and she’s like. ok. then its _______. same thing here. as she’s finally excused she stares at the protag and is like do you really believe im the traitor? (yes) stares long and hard, somethng sad and defeated in her eyes. ok then. i am.

the trial doesn’t have a punishment originally planned bc the blackened are not alive. but she chooses not to vote and willingly chooses to be punished because everyone else has decided she’s the traitor and she chooses to play along so they can get closure. her last conversation should be about choosing the act of resistance, no matter how convoluted it can be. she doesn’t fear death. the pain sure, but not death. this was her choice to be punished, not the masterminds, and she hopes they lose any glee they take in her suffering because its a sacrifice for hope instead of a death in despair. last request is that she asks for the protag to make sure the manuscripts she wrote during her time are published, the last great work of sheon fukuda.

EXECUTION: CULTURE SHOCK so she wakes up on a soundstage to blinding light. she’s attached with electrodes. monokuma is sitting on a director’s chair with a director’s hat. basically the premise is as the ultimate film maker, she has to recreate different iconic movie scenes and every time she makes a mistake she gets shocked. she keeps on getting thrown into new scenes into the middle of old ones, throwing her off. after a sequence of costume changes/farces she finally collapses in the soundstage. 

beat. she looks up. above the soundstage is a sign that says “congratulations” or something. everyone gasps. she believes she beat it. a single light comes on in center stage prompting her to take a bow. she stumbles over, stands up, and looks into the shadows in the general direction of her classmates. a teleprompter prompts her classmates to clap. she takes glee, soaking in her win, and bows. as she comes up she smiles for a second before a short rings out. she’s shot through the heart. culture shock!

fte are mostly talking about directors/film references and what its like to be a film maker. real dry humor, sometimes talks about deeper stuff. her backstory is that her dad was working for an american embassy so she grew up in america going to art shool, and she feels out of place, despite being a japanese student with the same basic culture as everyone else. sometimes talks about slimeball directors, sometimes talks about missing certain food, loves takling about movies. as a filmmaker she specializes in dark comedy/farce which makes her suspicious of how someone can enjoy writing somethng so twisted

views are very intersectional, a little new agey, but still well put together. clearly a free spirit, very quirky from working in cinema, super dry sense of humor. likes philosophy

really likes blueberry jam. favorite item is somthing blueberry.

after chap 1 trial she expresses to the protag how she can never be the blackened, not just because of murdering one student, but to get away with it, everyone else would be punished instead, and she can’t deal with the blood on her hands. 

is open about her struggles with mental illness and how she was getting help and showing improvement bfore coming here but now she feels herself spiraling and hates it.

values everyone here as good friends, and while she tries to play it off she hates how they’re painting her as a villain. takes every death very personally. 

color scheme is very pastel, and she wears sweat pants and a collared shirt with a light blue robe. you can’t tell if those are pajamas or an outfit. wears rose-colored glasses. all about the aesthetic, just lean so far into film culture with her. personality/feelings towards style are very influenced by the fact she went to an american arts school instead of a japanese school like her peers so every part of her is slightly off/quirky/out-of-touch

she’ll mostly wear the glasses over her eyes, sometimes pushing them down on her nose for emphasis to make eye contact. only her anger sprite (point) shows her taking them off. 

during her execution she pushes them onto her forehead before taking her bow, almost to meet eye to eye. after she’s shot the last frame is them landing on the ground, cracking. 

i love sheon so much