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the-great-lightwood-bane · 2 years

Text

with love and dreams

my Malec Secret Santa gift for @squiggly-lines-on-a-page! hope you like this <3

Malec, the Loft/the Institute | Rated general | no warnings | Sentient Buildings, Mutual Pining, Strangers to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, stylistic liberties have been taken, The Author Regrets Nothing, Crack Treated Seriously

Summary: Magic sinks into things.

Or, sometimes places aren't just places. And sometimes love stories are unconventional.

A/N: title is from a Ralph Waldo Emerson quote: “A house is made with walls and beams; a home is built with love and dreams.”

Read it on AO3 or below the cut.

Magic sinks into things. A warlock can conceal their magical signature with the right spells, but it’s impossible to erase every trace of magic that’s been performed — there’s always a record somewhere, a hint of magic that sticks to the wall like a stain or hovers over the floorboards or collects in a corner. It’s always there, if you know how to look.

Sometimes, more rarely, the magic changes something, sinks in and triggers an evolution: perhaps the shirt, worn for centuries, appears oddly untouched by the passage of time. Warlocks frequently complain that a favourite Ming dynasty vase is a bit wonky after being magically repaired one too many times. Stories go around about warlocks’ pets who live nearly as long as their masters.

There’s a loft in Brooklyn bathed in the warmth of wards, a loft that’s been in many different places and many different buildings but always with the same spells wrapped around it, the same vibrant magic living within it. There’s a warlock with magic beyond the usual, magic that’s somehow both angelic and demonic, magic that bleeds off of him when he’s not thinking about it, magic that’s absorbed into his surroundings wherever he goes — not enough to notice, mostly, not unless he spends years in one place, and he generally switches countries too often to see anything change.

His name is Magnus Bane, and he lives in this loft, takes it with him when he moves. He’s lived in it until his magic makes up its bones, has knotted itself into the sinew of the rooms. Magic drifts down like dust and settles in corners, along edges, sinking into the wooden planks and the walls. It’s magic born of a Fallen Angel, magic beyond the ken of most, and nobody notices the changes it makes.

Sentience isn’t an on/off switch with nothing in-between. It’s a sliding scale, drifting from black to grey to white, and the loft slides imperceptibly along it. There’s no one moment when it opens its eyes and becomes a she; there’s no singularity where something changes and life emerges where there was none before.

The loft drifts into awareness slowly, thanks to the magic imbued in her structure, in whatever sense of self she has. She wakes over years, over decades; she moves quietly, slowly, up the steps that connect the inanimate to the animate, the dead to the living, the unthinking to the conscious.

She’s made from the magic of the warlock-who-lives-within-her, and Magnus Bane is the first person she knows, the one she knows best, the one she loves above all else.

He doesn’t know it, but she listens when he talks, wishes she could comfort him when he cries. Sometimes she’ll lend him what magic she can spare from what’s sunk into her; she’ll add a little boost to the spells he casts within her walls. There’s not much she can do, but the magic-that-makes-her is forever at his disposal. Her first emotion is love for him.

As she grows, though, she learns of other things: of gladness and of joy, of interest and of boredom. She’s never thought the word lonely, but sometimes she wonders if there are others out there like her, or if she’s the only one. If there are, she wonders if it’s possible for her to ever meet them.

She concludes that she most likely never will know, and she has no words for the pain she feels at the thought.

Nobody really understands what an Angelic Core is.

Despite the name, they’re not angelic. They’re more like the ley lines — a source of power aligned neither with heaven nor with hell. Each one feeds an Institute’s wards, forming the power centre of the building. The Angelic Cores existed well before Jonathan Shadowhunter, and will exist in all the millenia to come; there are theories that they’re some sort of expression of the ley lines’ power in an area, a physical stone located at their heart. Whatever the case, they have power, and so the Institutes were built around them to channel their power.

They’re usually small, with only enough power to keep a building fully warded, and that only with the help of a warlock. Institutes on larger ley line conjunctions tend to have larger Cores, however, and New York follows the trend: thanks to the no less than six ley lines which run beneath the city, the Core powers the wards all on its own, only needing a warlock to shape its raw power.

And still, extra energy hums under its skin. The few warlocks with occasion to visit the Institute have remarked a faint tingling sensation at times, but put it up to either the excess of angelic energy from the Shadowhunters, or to the glares coming from every side. Nobody stays long enough to wonder where the magic comes from, or where it goes.

The energy bleeds off of the Core and settles in the foundations of the Institute, crawls through the walls, and changes something deep within. It’s a subtle change at first, but it grows, like a snowball rolling faster and faster down a hill.

The New York Institute awakes.

Her first thought is for the people within her walls, to protect the Shadowhunters she’s built to house. She knows them, every one, can recognise their footsteps on her floors, their fingers brushing her walls. She is them, in a sense, built to fulfil the same purpose they were born for.

They die, all of them, one by one like sand through an hourglass. It takes her a while to understand what it means, the aching-hurting-gaping-space that opens up in her when she thinks about those she’s lost. It’s decades before she learns the word grief.

The years trickle on, one after another. She learns to count them by the people who walk her halls — the people who come and go, who love and live and laugh and die, who she protects to the best of her limited ability but who never know her.

She mourns when the Whitelaws are killed, across the city from her where she can do nothing to help. She’s not sure whether she likes the new people who move in, the Lightwoods; the older ones have an anger in them that she can feel in her bones, an anger that she wants to shy away from. An anger-that-drives, an anger-that-hurts.

But to make up for it, the Lightwood child has a heart like an ember to burn away the dark. He’s young, she knows, although she’s never been good at judging ages. She watches as he grows: from a toddler-of-laughter-and-smiles to a serious child of six, early-heavy-determination on his shoulders, who yet grins and laughs and cradles his newly born younger sister. The sister can’t pronounce his name, and so she uses a nickname; the Institute watches as the boy immediately declares that he wants to be known only as Alec now.

She watches as he grows older still, as he learns to carry the too-great weight that rests on his shoulders, as he chooses the bow and arrows that will be his weapons, as he cares for his sister and his two new brothers — the new-small-child, the older-hurting-arrogant-child.

She learns to love Alec as an individual, as himself: the emotion is something new to her, something he’s taught her, something warm-soft-gentle in what a human might call her heart.

She watches as he begins to steal glances at other boys, as the heavy-dirty-cold-shame of it creeps into his bones. She watches as his shoulders slump and his eyes grow dark and weary. She watches as he takes on weight after weight after weight that drags him down, watches as he shelters his siblings from the pressure that he can barely hold up, watches as he stumbles and wavers but refuses to fall because he doesn’t know if he could get back up.

She watches, and she loves.

There aren’t many ways for her to express that love, to comfort him, but she tries. The floor of his room when he wakes up isn’t quite as cold as it is anywhere else. The coffee he makes tastes better than anyone else’s. (When somebody pisses him off, she makes sure their coffee is cold.)

There’s nothing she can do about the heavy-weight-pressure that descends on him, but sometimes, when he’s alone but for her, he’ll press a hand to her walls and lean into her — relaxing in her presence, in the absence of impossible expectations. He doesn’t know she loves him, but she doesn’t need him to know. She simply wants to offer him what comfort she can.

Those times, anyone who tries to come near will incomprehensibly find themselves lost in a maze of passages they don’t recognise, or come across a locked door that they can’t open. The Institute marshals all the power she can to keep him safe, and even if he doesn’t know it’s her who brings him those moments of peace, a scrap of tension still eases from his shoulders-that-carry-too-much-weight. She smiles — or would smile, if she could — to know that she’s helped.

The loft is in Brooklyn this decade, taking up residence on the top floor of a brownstone. She likes her new surroundings; she can bring back that balcony from several moves ago, and it can jut out over the street below, offering a view of the city that Magnus enjoys. He’s High Warlock of this city, and so her wards are modified so that clients can come in and out so long as he’s home; people troop in and out of her doors in a regular stream, bringing problems-questions-worries, leaving with solution-answers-reassurance. She likes watching them, wondering who they are, where they’re going, where they come from. It’s entertaining, and she likes it when she proves to be right about somebody.

Beneath the amusement, though, she wonders: do any of them come from a place like her, a place-of-magic, a place-that-is-more?

She wonders if she’d be able to tell if they were — if she could feel a faint imprint on somebody of a magic akin to her own. If she leaves magic-touches-traces on them that somebody else could detect.

Something always clings to Magnus when he comes home from a visit to the Spiral Labyrinth — the faintest scent of a place-but-more. The Labyrinth isn’t awake like she is, she doesn’t think, but it’s a bit… more-than-this-realm, bigger-than-its-walls. She’s heard warlocks talk about the strange way its corridors seem to move, the impossibility of determining objectively exactly where any book is in its myriad shelves, the way nobody knows how it’s organised but somehow anything can be found if you look. Like her, the Labyrinth is made of magic as much as stone or wood or brick, but it’s not awake. It doesn’t feel like her, doesn’t wonder, doesn’t watch.

She’s still alone.

Then, one day, there’s a man within her walls whose skin sparks with something she recognises like an echo-through-spacetime, like a whisper on the breeze, like a reflection in a mirror.

He’s a Shadowhunter, one of the first she’s ever seen, although he seems far nicer than any other to come within her walls. He’s tall, black-rune-covered-skin, and he leaves tingles of angel-magic in the air as he walks. She notices him first because of the way Magnus looks at him — with more interest-openness-attention-welcome than she’s seen from him in decades.

(She’s lonely, yes, but Magnus is lonely too. She’s seen him in the middle of a crowded room with a face that looks the way she feels, sometimes: like something-missing, something-gone, something-unattainable. She’s seen him with lovers and with friends, but there’s always a wall-veil-barrier between them. When he’s alone but for her, the wall comes down, but there’s still nothing she can do to comfort him.

With the Shadowhunter, Magnus’ wall doesn’t seem to be there at all. So she notices.)

She notices him, and she looks closer, and that’s when she feels the magic dusted along his skin. The magic sings of life-born-of-magic, life-with-stone-walls-not-blood-and-bones, life-that-blossoms-unexpectedly-in-the-dark.

This Shadowhunter comes from a place-but-more, a place-like-her.

When Alec returns from his first meeting with Magnus Bane, the Institute can tell that something’s changed.

There’s a lot happening of late, thanks to the strange-runeless-Shadowhunter-who-tastes-of-too-much-angel-blood. She’s brought chaos to the Institute, chaos that brings anger down on Alec but never on her. The Institute doesn’t like Clary Fray very much.

But the emotions humming under Alec’s skin aren’t the irritation the Institute had expected. Instead, he feels — curious. Interested. Oddly-hopeful.

Alec shoves down those feelings as quickly as they rise, of course, but they’re there all the same, and the Institute wants to know why.

(She feels a hint of foreign-but-familiar magic on his skin, but it’s faint, so she thinks it’s only her imagination.)

When Magnus Bane comes to the Institute, she understands. This warlock flirts with Alec like she’s never seen before; he glows with magic-used-to-sustain-her-wards, but he’s never come inside of her before, and now that he’s within her halls, his magic shines with a strange angelic-demonic-brightness.

That’s not the most interesting thing about him, though. The most interesting part is the way Alec looks at him when he’s near, like he can’t keep his eyes away — and the way Magnus looks back at him, with a genuine interest that doesn’t fade even as Alec pushes him away.

(The strange-touch-of-magic on Magnus’ skin, the magic-that-feels-like-her, is the same magic she’s felt on Alec except stronger. She wonders if it’s some other aspect of Magnus’ magic, or if it’s something more.)

She watches as Alec tries to shut away the part of himself that wants to look at Magnus. She watches as Magnus doesn’t turn away.

When Magnus storms into the Institute to stop a wedding that she knows will end in Alec’s misery-hate-pain-sorrow, she leads Magnus down the most direct corridors and unlocks doors for him so that he bursts into the room just before the marriage is sealed.

Alec kisses Magnus, and she smiles.

She smiles, and she thinks about the strange-touch-of-magic on Magnus’ skin.

Later, when Alec comes back from visiting Magnus touched by the same magic, she wonders if it’s the touch of the place-where-Magnus-lives.

The loft likes Alec Lightwood for two reasons.

Firstly, because of Magnus. When they’re together, Magnus usually seems lighter-happier-brighter — and more than that, he’s more open. Even in those first weeks when their almost-relationship was more almost than relationship, when Magnus’ hopes seemed like dreams, Magnus was still less closed off. He carries his heart on his sleeve when it comes to Alec, and although that gives Alec an unprecedented ability to hurt him, the loft has seen for herself what happens when Magnus shuts his heart away from the world, and it’s worse.

So, she likes Alec because she loves Magnus.

But the other reason is more selfish: Alec carries the scent of that other place-but-more with him whenever he comes. The loft has realised that the scent is that of the Institute, and she’s increasingly certain that the Institute is, like her, alive. That’s all she knows, but she wants to know more, and every time Alec comes, she listens to the whispers-of-magic that cling to him and wonders what it would be like to feel the touch of that magic first-hand.

She can learn some things, although it’s really mostly guesswork and instinct more than knowledge. For some reason, the magic suggests a she to her, so that’s how she thinks of the Institute, the being-to-whom-the-magic-belongs. The Institute’s magic feels like the loft’s in its mix of sentience and immobility, but it also carries a hint of something wild-strange-elemental, something that feels like the ley-lines-that-run-through-the-city.

From the way the magic curls around Alec, the loft wonders if the Institute loves him the way she loves Magnus. From the lighter touch of that same magic on the other Shadowhunters’ skin, she guesses that Alec is special-loved-important to the Institute — which, perhaps, makes sense, seeing as he leads it in all but name.

She wonders if the Institute tastes her magic on Magnus, if the Institute wonders about her the same way she wonders about the Institute.

She’ll never know, but there’s a certain comfort in wondering.

The Institute has never really thought about whether there might be others-like-her.

There are other Institutes, of course, with other Angelic Cores. None are quite as powerful as hers, though, and the Shadowhunters transferred to her don’t carry that trace-of-living-magic on them the way Magnus does — and, increasingly, Alec.

She’s heard them talk about a loft in Brooklyn, and she wonders if the loft is as much like her as she’d like to imagine.

But thinking about the loft as a being-like-herself brings a new undercurrent to her emotions, one she hasn’t felt before. She thinks it might be jealousy. Alec is spending more and more time at the loft, and she can see that he’s happier with a life-outside-her-walls, she knows it’s better for him like this — but every time he spends a night away and comes back with the loft’s touch-of-magic on his skin, the Institute wonders if she’ll stop being a place-he-likes-to-be-in. She wonders what makes the loft better than her.

The Institute is a place of duty, of responsibility-weight-leadership, and Alec has learned, with Magnus’ help, to fulfil that role well — but he must be different in the loft, in a place-for-home rather than a place-for-work. What is it like, in the loft?

The Institute is inexpressibly glad that there’s a place, now, where Alec can set down his too-heavy-weight, where responsibility is not a mantle-over-his-shoulders. But something itches at her when she thinks of the loft, pain-longing-envy-wanting-confusion.

She doesn’t resent Alec for it — she still ensures, for example, that anyone who complains about the time he spends at the loft gets cold coffee the next morning. But she thinks she might resent the loft.

It’s only when Magnus and Alec lose the loft that she realises there’s more to it.

They’re with her now, sleeping in Alec’s-old-room, all their smiles and laughter for her-and-her-alone — but she misses feeling the loft on them, misses the touch-of-magic that drifts down into her bones. She doesn’t want to take the loft’s place: she wants to be with the loft, to be able to brush up against the loft with her magic directly rather than only through Magnus and Alec, she wants to know what it is about the loft that Magnus and Alec love so much.

The disasters and pain of the next few weeks, the heartbreak-apologies-pain pouring from both Magnus and Alec, occupy a good portion of her attention. But she still thinks about the loft, wonders how she feels about her new owner, shies away from imagining how she, the Institute, would feel, without Magnus or Alec.

So when Magnus and Alec step through the doors hand-in-hand with the magic of the loft twining around them, the Institute absorbs the magic greedily and tries not to mourn the fact that this second-hand touch is all she’ll ever get.

When Magnus and Alec walk back into the loft for the first time, she breathes them in with an almost-desperation.

Lorenzo’s magic was sticky-greasy-yellow, and the familiar touch of Magnus’ blue-bright-calm-magic is a welcome replacement. She’s even grown to like the cool-angel-tingle of Alec’s magic. But best of all is the magic that weaves around them: the Institute’s magic, magic that sings against her own, magic she’d feared she’d never touch again.

She basks in it, in the warmth it evokes in her. She tastes the strands of magic, welcomes them down into her floorboards, into her walls. She wants to absorb it all, or better yet to have a constant supply of it, to be able to touch the Institute and know her better.

That’s impossible, of course, so she contents herself with what touches she can have.

Because she does feel the Institute’s familiar-warm-wild-magic, more of it than before. Alec spends his days in the Institute and his nights in the loft, bringing back magic with him when he comes. The magic wraps around him gently-protectively-softly; it cradles him, and the loft wants to know what it would be like to be cradled like that.

She’ll never know, of course, but she wants it all the same.

The alarm goes off in the middle of the night.

The Institute is awake, of course — she doesn’t exactly need to sleep — but Alec’s in bed across the city, and neither Underhill nor Izzy nor Jace is on duty. Amy Bellefleur is the senior officer in Ops; the Institute knows she’s smart and capable, but she’s still new, and when the alarm goes off, she freezes, wide-eyed.

The Institute feels the demons throwing themselves against her wards; she funnels her magic into the wards, but somebody’s clearly messed with the demons — they’re stronger than usual, and their attacks are actually causing damage. Not enough that she’s in danger of falling anytime soon, thanks to how well Magnus has warded her, but enough that the Shadowhunters will need to head out and deal with the demons. Bellefleur’s hands are shaking-trembling-shuddering; she’s never been in charge in a situation like this, never expected to be for a few years yet.

When Alec moved out of the Institute, officially, and into the loft, Magnus spelled the wards so that an attack on them would send Alec a fire message, wherever he was. The Institute has felt the spell activate; Alec’s certainly received the message by now, which means he should arrive soon.

More Shadowhunters pile into Ops, but not yet anyone who’ll outrank Bellefleur; the Institute knows she’s searching the crowd for somebody to take over from her, even as she gives orders for an attack on the demons massing outside.

Then Jace is there, and Bellefleur gives up control with obvious relief; the Shadowhunters spill down the Institute’s steps like a river of ink in their black-gear-black-runes-dark-night, and fall on the demons just outside.

Where is Alec? The Institute doesn’t know what’s keeping him, and although the Shadowhunters are fighting well enough, Alec is supposed to be here. There’s a reason why Heads live in the Institute; yes, Magnus could portal Alec over in a moment most of the time, but Alec isn’t here yet and nobody knows why.

The demons fall to seraph blades, but the attack isn’t perfectly well-coordinated; the Institute watches, helpless-weak-obsolete, as one of her Shadowhunters stumbles and falls, as another takes a heavy hit to the shoulder.

The warlock who must’ve summoned the demons steps out of the shadows, purple-dark-hateful-magic coalescing around his hands; two more Shadowhunters drop to the ground. Jace yells and swings a blade at him, fighting magic-on-seraph-blade, which effectively distracts the warlock from attacking Shadowhunters, but the demons are still there. Where is Alec?

Jace dodges a magical blast and ducks sideways to avoid the follow-up. The warlock is off-balance for a moment, and Jace knocks him out with a well-placed blow before turning back to the chaotic mass of demons and Shadowhunters.

Alec rounds the corner at a dead run, firing arrows mid-stride, and the assembled Shadowhunters seem almost to take in a breath of relief. The few remaining demons fall quickly; the warlock is put in custody; the injured are brought to the infirmary, iratzes are applied, the Institute funnels a bit of her energy into boosting the efficacy of the runes. It’s over, but when Alec stares down at the injured Shadowhunters on the bed, the Institute knows the incident has left worries deep in Alec’s mind.

Alec is a nauseating mix of exhausted-tired-worried-guilty when he comes back to the loft. The last she saw of him was in the early hours of the morning, as he ran out her doors as fast as his feet could carry him to answer an alarm from the Institute; since Magnus is at a two-day meeting with the Spiral Labyrinth, she’s been alone all day, and worrying.

Worrying about Alec, of course, and whatever is happening to him — but also worrying about the Institute. The loft knows it’s highly unlikely that the Institute actually falls, but it’s still possible, and she can’t know anything about what’s going on there until Alec gets back.

So it’s a relief when Alec stumbles through her door, the Institute’s magic still strong on his skin, although he’s developing circles under his eyes and she can see a new source of tension in his shoulders. It’s early evening, and Magnus is due back soon enough; in the meantime, Alec sits down heavily on the couch, worry-fear-guilt bleeding off of him in waves. He doesn’t move for a solid quarter-hour, and the loft wishes fruitlessly to comfort him.

Alec raises his head when Magnus portals in and manages a small smile for him. “You’re back.”

Magnus pauses at the tiredness clear in Alec’s tone, frowning slightly. “Are you alright?”

“Not really,” Alec replies with a sigh. “I — there was an alarm at the Institute, a rogue warlock attacked, and we dealt with it, but it was in the middle of the night and four of my Shadowhunters were injured because I wasn’t there.”

“Not your fault,” Magnus says immediately, dropping down to sit on the couch beside Alec, although he doesn’t put an arm around Alec’s shoulders as the loft expects him to. “I’m sorry. If I’d been here to portal you—”

“It’s not your fault either,” Alec tells him quickly. “Your job isn’t to be here to portal me around. It’s just — most Institute Heads live in the Institute.”

“And because of me, you don’t,” Magnus agrees, something heavy in his features. “And normally, it’d be fine, since I can just portal you over—”

“—but I don’t want to have to take advantage of you like that, and you’re not here all the time,” Alec finishes for him. “But Magnus, none of this is your fault.”

Magnus huffs, which the loft interprets as a silent I-disagree-but-I’m-not-going-to-argue-with-you-over-it-right-now-because-you’re-insufferably-stubborn. Alec apparently interprets it similarly, because he frowns. “Magnus, this is not your fault. I know you’re probably beating yourself up because this wouldn’t be a problem without you—”

“—because it wouldn’t be,” Magnus interrupts, guilt-apology-fear pouring from him in waves.

“—but you need to understand that I wouldn’t give you up for anything. You are more important to me than anything, do you understand?” Alec looks at Magnus with an earnest-sincere-certainty which the loft particularly likes him for.

“I understand,” Magnus says, gently-softly-reassured, taking one of Alec’s hands in his, “but that doesn’t solve the problem.”

Alec chews his lip, looking down at their entwined fingers. “I can’t live so far away from the Institute, but I know you would hate to live there.”

Splitting up, the loft notes, is not an alternative which either of them mentions.

Magnus tilts his head to the side, considering-thoughtful-wondering-pained. “Obviously I don’t want to give up the loft, but living in the Institute itself wouldn’t be a problem. Maybe years ago I might’ve felt uncomfortable there, but you’ve made it into a place where I can relax. If moving there is the only way—”

“I don’t want to make you give up the loft again because of me,” Alec cuts in. “You’ve done it once before, and I know how much it hurt you.”

Reluctantly, Magnus nods, frowning, but then his face brightens. “What if I didn’t have to give up the loft to move to the Institute, though?”

The Institute doesn’t expect Alec to come back that evening, much less with Magnus in tow. She also doesn’t expect him to be smiling, any trace of the day’s worries gone-vanished-faded-erased.

And yet, that is precisely what happens.

She watches them, wondering what solution they’ve come up with to the conundrum — because they must have found a solution of some sort; that’s the only possible explanation. Has Magnus agreed to move into the Institute with Alec? To give up the loft? She shrinks away from the pain that thought brings.

Magnus and Alec head to the essentially unused hallway-where-the-Head-would-usually-sleep — it’s right beside the Head’s office, with an easy route to Ops, and it’s quite a bit larger than anyone else’s rooms. Alec’s never slept there.

“This is a lot smaller than the loft,” Alec says, frowning slightly. “Are you sure—”

“Don’t worry, love,” Magnus replies. “The building it’s in right now is a good deal too big as well, technically speaking. The loft’s probably fifty percent magic by now; physical space isn’t exactly a constraint.”

The Institute listens, confused, but her questions go unanswered: after looking around a bit, Magnus opens a portal and steps through with Alec at his side. The portal, she thinks, goes to the loft, judging by the faint hint of the loft’s magic in it.

She waits. Patience has always been something she’s good at, but she’s finding it surprisingly difficult now; she wants to know what Magnus and Alec are doing with an almost-desperate need. She can’t lose the loft, can’t bear to never again feel that touch-of-magic; Magnus and Alec can’t possibly give her up.

Then, she feels magic brushing up against her — Magnus’ magic, wrapped around another magic-that-she-knows, magic-of-the-loft, magic that reaches into her structure and whispers along her bones. There’s a stretching-warping-pulling-growing in the place where the Head’s rooms had been, and then her walls settle, but it’s nothing like it was before.

The magic, the loft’s magic, the magic of the being that the Institute has come to love — the loft is nestled inside of her, her oh-so-familiar magic brushing up against the Institute’s with fondness-surprise-joy-love, and the Institute feels like her entire being is overflowing with an entirely unexpected joy. The loft is anchored within her and it feels like an embrace, like two solitary beings that have found a home.

Hello there, the Institute whispers, knowing that if she were human, she’d be beaming.

Hello, the loft returns, and her voice is like music that flutters through the Institute’s bones. It’s nice to finally meet you.

#fic #my fic #tsc #tmi #magnus bane #malec #alec lightwood #magnus x alec #magnus lightwood bane #alec x magnus #alec lightwood bane #the loft #the institute #the loft x the institute #malec secret santa 2022 #malecsanta22

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raymondebidochonlifechoices · 3 years

Text

To summarise:

Balls be balls, but there’s a crucial difference between a writer that has cojones and a show that is bollocks.

Apparently, Glen forgot to notify the FBI that Betty quit. Betty receives her diploma via post. Which is fitting, because I can only surmise that this is how she got her training too.

Now that there are no more serial killers in The Town Formerly Known As Riverdale, the F.B.I. decides to reopen their bureau there. It figures.

Riverdale’s Feminist Icon Veronica Lodge once again fails to pass the Bechdel test.

Since not one (Archie) but two (Jughead) white male protagonists have come to terms with their trauma on-screen, Betty pulls herself together off-screen.

Or does she? She joins Archie for some day drinking. Alcohol is, objectively, the only way b*rchie can happen.

Veronica is no longer the She-Wolf but the Black Widow of Wall Street. One would have thought that this kind of level-up in ruthlessness would be in her favour but not according to these writers.

Waldo is still on a mission to be a principal in a High School that offers only extra-curriculars: he re-hires Jughead to supervise the Blue and Gold.

Since no one is teaching at RHS anymore, Britta decides to break some rocks in Cheryl’s mines to keep in shape for football next season.

To show her appreciation, Cheryl drags Britta to her ex-teacher’s graduation party where all her other ex-teachers are. Awkward.

Frank and Alice being the only older adults left in Riverdale, hook up. After 5x18 uncle Frank is what Alice deserves.

On their first date at Vitto Alto’s old haunt, Jabitha decide to move in together to save up on rent. The level of romance is killing me.

This is the third time Archie’s new dog makes an appearance. Where’s Hot Dog, bitch?

With Veronica and Eric out of Archie’s life, Hiram tries to rekindle the embers of their relationship. Literally.

On his orders, a Ghoulie starts a fire at Pop’s. The damages are minimal but somehow the effects are devastating.

Sheriff Keller, who was once the mayor’s lapdog, who -in turn- was once in Hiram’s pocket, sits and nods sagely as Toni threatens bodily harm to a suspect and Archie proposes an arrest without evidence. Consistency.

Guidance counselor Toni extracts a Ghoulie’s tooth and with it the truth. Never trust a therapist in Riverdale.

Reggie ex Machina provides a usb stick with irrefutable proof of Hiram’s crimes. Unfortunately, he’s a secondary character, so there’s not enough time to explain how he got it.

Lollipop! Lollipop! Oh Lolli Lolli Lolli! Lollipop! The Chordettes are not back but The Trash Bag Killer is! After having graciously waited for Betty to catch her other serial killer, he’s now ready to rumble. Oh, yes, congratulations for her graduation too. This better be Hal Cooper with half a metallic head or else.

Adult Jughead is the same awkward teenager we all know and love. Boy can’t initiate a normal kiss to save his life. Not without social activism and arson beforehand. He’s weird. He’s a weirdo.

Queen Serpent Toni has an epiphany: what if they take the Serpents off the roads and back into Riverdale and find them a gig that pays just as well as truck driving? 10 bucks says that job is bouncers for Veggie’s new Casino.

Tangs aka Only Serpents Left Alive. Can you really blame Jughead for making fun of them in his book?

“I blame Archie” says Hiram. And my new T-Shirt.

Kevin takes his remaining kidney to Broadway.

This is Nana Rose’s season, gather around children.

Abigail Blossom, Cheryl’s ancestor (but not the one that slaughtered the Uktenas) was burned to the stake for witchcraft in 1890 because the townspeople wanted to steal her palladium mines. Abigail cursed them all.

I’m here for Jedediah Jones and Jedediah Jones only.

Cheryl doesn’t think that a curse that eradicated a whole generation of male Riverdale citizens is enough compensation and asks the core four to make amends to her personally. Veronica, Archie, Betty and Jughead, who have not spent the last 10 years with Jason’s corpse can’t fathom why they should live in the past.

Pop pops back in Riverdale but Tabitha’s parents don’t. Is it possible that the only reason for their existence was so that she could sing with Jughead in 5x18?

After unilaterally naming Riverdale’s four council members, Archie makes a talk about inclusiveness. All 10 paid extras agree.

Nana Rose heard that Veggie are together and has Cheryl speak the curse.

A Casino would turn Riverdale into a modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah, exclaims Acid Queen Alice, miffed that she wasn’t once invited to teenage Veronica’s speakeasy.

Archie has been sexless for one day, so he proposes to Betty to give their relationship another go.

H is for Hero. “Tic Tic Boom!” says Hiram, who has placed a bomb underneath Archie’s bed. Legends only.

Toffee is back in Riverdale. She’s freed all the dogs from Archie’s yard and has set headquarters in Dilton’s bunker. From there She. Will. Lead. The Resistance!

No more nonsense, only curses now!

This exquisite Toffee header (or is it footer?) is brought to you by the incomparable @50shades-of-bughead, who was also kind enough to draw Toffee Leading The Resistance aka Barracks!Toffee. I’m in awe of your talent! Do you hear the people sing?

#Riverdale season 5 #s5 recaps #Toffee fanart #decy_fanarts

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workingforitallthetime · 3 years

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oooh PLEASE do a series about owen and kent in the background of photos. Not enough of them

never have two dudes been more talented at catching my interest in the background of pictures. i have already expounded at length about how much i love kent and owen in the background of this picture, so let's visit another pic from the same session:

so much to love here! the way that kent is obviously flexing but trying to make it look like he's not! kent's penchant for shapeless hats, or else his superpower of making a hat look shapeless the instant it touches his head! the innocently pleased expression on owen's face as he looks over at nolan moyle in his adult diaper! owen's stupidly long arms draped over erik and brendan!

here was my thought process upon first seeing this picture:

ok there's gotta be other umich guys here. oh yeah, there's kent. no wait that's luke, why do they always look so much alike? but that's definitely kent behind him, that's his shapeless snapback, i can't believe i can recognize his smirk on only one quarter of his face. ok, if that's kent then owen has to be nearby... yup, there he is, that tall motherfucker.

(huge props to the person who reblogged this photo and tagged it something like #where's waldo wolverines)

ok here's one of my absolute favorite background kent and owen pictures:

LOOK AT THEM. look at owen's highwater pants! (owen power ankle content when???) look at kent's bonkers shirt! (look at kent wearing the same hat in every single one of these photos.) if you review the entire series it is apparent that kent is holding onto the VGK jersey he just grabbed from the table of draft night options for brendan to put on. helpful! ok let's have one more that's kind of cheating bc they're not really in the background, but kent's outfit deserves to be appreciated in full:

it's sweet that kent tried to crouch down a little so he wouldn't block owen. sweetie you really didn't have to.

#don't cry because the unbubbled world juniors is over #smile because the unbubbling of world juniors is the only way kent and owen would have been released from umich in the first place #so at least we got a new love triangle and a blushy big dog downplaying his first hat trick #and kent's goldfish quote #and a truly fantastic TSN bumper pic of owen #any way you guys can get back in time for the GLI tonight?

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mrskurono · 3 years

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CHRISTMAS THEME!! im not a really really big Christmas person, im more a halloween girl but this 🥺🥺🥺 I have ideas for Victor and Joker, I’m pretty easy to shop for but i like giving gifts more eheheh

Joker definitely as a present maybe some really fancy hair products for his hair so i can comb it out while he relaxes between my legs just enjoy himself getting pampered. maybe a bath to sooth his aching bones and muscles and just covering him in endless kisses and praise, of course all with Christmas bath bombs and body products, he gets it all month till Christmas when i surprise him with a little lingerie set just for him. HEHEHE YES 😤

Nowww sweet man Victor him and his sweet little brain. Being a scientist myself studying for horticulturist nothing makes me happier than getting books of my favorite interests. So maybe everyday a new book he can read and i can just sit and listen to him gush about all his excitement and most definitely wanna lay him down and give him the best back massage imaginable every night to help with his stress. Of course on Christmas he gets a special gift too, hmm maybe a cute babydoll lingerie set or the strawberries and cream cake HEHE 🥴

Sorry this was so much this all just came out now spspspsp

I'm a glutton I love Halloween and Christmas heuheuheu <3

But Joker with bath bombs?? I just think that's so cute and he looks like he fucking smells so nice anyways so the soft skin and soft hair just really completes it??? Advent calendar or bath products!! Man might live in the sewers but doesn't mean he has to smell like a sewer. Joker puts old spice commercials to shame with how good smelling he is. But also the lingerie set should be black and make use of those sexy hip dips I just know he has <3

BOOK ADVENT CALENDAR AHHHHH MY GEEKINESS LOVES IT. Viktor is gonna run his mouth with the most useless fucking facts and I just know it. But can you also imagine getting him one of those "101 Useless Facts to Impress Your Friends" kinda book?? Total bathroom knowledge book but Viktor is packing it around telling you about how the Beatles actually broke up and signed the papers at Disney and a shit ton of other useless ass facts. Also I'm very pro getting him where's waldo lingerie or just making that man look like a whole ass candy cane <3

Well Kurono is my husband sooo he does get more than one gift. Aside from the novelty ties 'n shirts I know I could get him to wear. But this one is so stupid and I just know he'd fucking love it, a plaque done up like "employee of the month" or some crap but instead it's personalized to say "worlds best husband" that he fucking hangs up at work. Or even worse a god damn mug that says "worlds best dad" and he uses it at work just to watch the horrified glances when his coworkers see it. Or the ugly shudder Oguru does when he has to think about the fact I let Kurono reproduce even once 😂

What do you want for Christmas from your 2d spouse? - Send me self ship gift headcanons!

#the advent calendar is so cute 😂😂😂#istg all i can think of for gifts for kurono are dumb as shit but i just know he likes them XD #candy cane looking viktor though....wanna lick that one <3 #artistgurlaurora.♡#three.games #three.christmas #self ships

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cocochannel00 · 4 years

Text

Quarantine Date

Boyfriend!Harry plans a date in the era of social distancing...

A big PSA to all of my lovely followers: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE WEAR A MASK AND SOCIAL DISTANCE WHEN IN PUBLIC. DON’T PUT YOURSELF AND OTHER PEOPLE AT RISK

Harry knew how important your work was to you. You were an essential worker during the COVID pandemic and had been working rigours 12+ hour shift at the hospital. You had barely seen or talked to Harry over the last couple of months, mainly because he had been locked down in LA for the first half of quarantine and you had been basically living in the hospital lounge. You had been dating Harry for almost a year now so you knew what it was like to have him far away, but this time it felt different. This time all you wanted to was spend your day off curled up in bed with Harry and watch as he tried to imitate Heath Ledger's accent in 10 Things I Hate About You instead of watching it by yourself. I guess you’d just have to spend the day wallowing in self pity with your tub of ice cream.

You were half way through your movie when your phone rang. Too lazy to look at who’s calling to picked up the phone and spoke a quick hello.

“You. Me. Date tonight. No excuses” the person said through the phone.

“Why Tom Holland I’m flattered, but I’m sorry, I have a boyfriend already” you replied back as a joke.

“Ha ha very funny (y/n) and besides I know you don’t have Tom’s number yet. But seriously, I’ve been home nearly a week and I haven’t seen you in person.” Harry spoke.

“Haz, 4 patients on my floor tested positive for COVID this week. I don’t want to expose you or god forbid Anne or Gemma to it”

“We can do a social distance date, I’ll plan the whole thing,” Harry practically begged.

“Harry I don’t know...” you stated with a sigh.

“I know today is your day off and you’re probably curled up in bed with some ice cream right now so hear me out. You stay in your room and relax for the rest of the day and I’ll spend the day planning our date tonight. Please, love, I really want to see you even if it’s six feet apart and with a mask” Harry pleaded.

“Ok ok fine I’ll go on a social distancing date with you but only if you promise to stay 6 ft away” you said sternly.

“I’ll bring a measuring tape so you can double check” he replied as you laughed.

“Wonderful, I can’t wait. Do I need to wear something special to this date tonight?” You asked curiously.

“That’s a surprise for later”

“Harold you know I hate surprises” you whined over the phone.

“I know that’s why I love them. Now I need to go, I have lots of planning to do for tonight. Love you”

“Love you too, H. See you tonight” you replied before hanging up the phone.

You were excited yet nervous to see Harry in person. Seeing his face through zoom was one thing but seeming all of him in person without being able to run up and hug him could very well crush you on the spot. All you knew for sure was that thinking about this date was take up your entire day. You weren’t one for grand cheesy gestures and you hated being the center of attention so you prayed that Harry didn’t go overboard on the whole evening.

You groaned quietly as you rolled over the the other side of your bed (usually Harry’s side) and checked the alarm clock to see it was only 5 pm so you had at least another 3 hours of wallowing in self pity until Harry came back. For once you just wanted the clock to move faster. Sinking back down into your sheets you ran a hand through your wet hair from your morning shower. You knew you should have brushed it earlier so that it didn’t frizz , but you hadn’t been expecting company and you didn’t really care what you looked like under all your PPE at the hospital. Just as you were beginning to detangle your hair you got a message from Harry.

Harry: Wear pajamas tonight, we’re going extra comfy. Love you - H

You smiled at the message and placed the phone back onto your lap. Nothing could ever put a smile on your face faster than Harry’s name popping up on your screen. Back when you first started dating and you had been stressed about going back to work after visiting him on tour he would send you pictures of puppies every morning just to cheer you up. Now he’s resorted to other much less innocent tactics to try and cheer you up when you’re have a bad day, but you couldn’t complain (especially during quarantine). With all that said, Harry continues to surprise you daily so to say you were excited for your date night would be an understatement. The only thing getting you through the wait was knowing you needed to take at least a 2 hour nap before he got there otherwise you would pass out during your date tonight.

——————— /// ——————— // ——————-

You woke up to the sound of “Kiwi” blasting in your ear as the timer you had set went off. Carefully, you untangled yourself from your excessively long phone charger before check the time and realizing you only had ten minutes to get ready. How many times had you pressed snooze in your sleep? You were in too much of a rush to figure it out as you raced to your closet to put on a comfy pair of pajama shorts and an old college t shirt. Even though Harry said it was going to be casual you decided to still go through the effort of putting on a bit of concealer and foundation to try and cover up the bags under your eyes. You were just rubbing in your moisturizer when you got another text from Harry.

Harry: I’m downstairs, don’t look out your window. Come to the backyard when you’re ready because our date night is about to begin. - H

You grinned widely at the message and quickly finished putting on the rest of your make-up while also running a brush through your hair. Your hair had definitely had better days but it was too late to do anything besides put your hair in a bun to try and keep the frizz down with the growing humidity. With one last look in the mirror, you went downstairs to go meet Harry.

You carefully made your way to the door and grabbed one of your cloth masks off of the counter before putting it on and opening the door to your backyard. Your porch had been covered in fairy lights and two mountains of pillows had been placed on opposite sides of the backyard. In the middle their stood a giant sheet with a projector set up underneath it. It looked like something out of a rom-com and you were shocked that Harry was able to set all of this up without you knowing. Just as you were about to call out Harry’s name you saw him walk in through the back door with a mask on, a bottle of wine in his hands. He was wearing one of your favorite striped shirts that you said made him look like Where’s Waldo’s cousin.

“I know it’s not exactly how I would have liked to see you on our first date in months, but I made sure to measure out the 1 meter (6 feet) for the cushions” Harry stated as he placed the bottle of wine down on a table next to a box of pizza.

Your eyes began to water at the sight of him in front of you. It had been so long since you had seen him in person and so much had happened in your life in the last couple months that all you wanted to do was run up and wrap your arms around him. You impulsively put your arms out and took a couple of steps forward before you remembered that you couldn’t touch him and put your hands down. A tear fell down your cheek just as Harry looked up from the bottle he was attempting to open.

“Y/n what’s wrong love. Did I do something wrong?” He asked cautiously as you shook your head.

“Just missed you a lot. Wanted to give you a hug, but I don’t want to risk it” you replied softly as you took off your mask and wiped the stray tears from your face.

Harry slowly took off his mask and gave you a sympathetic smile, “Wish I could run up and hug you too, love. Missed you so much these past couple of weeks. Thought I was going to go crazy with Jeff and all that baking in LA”.

You chuckled softly at his efforts of lightening the mood before scrunching your nose the extensive facial hair you didn’t remember seeing before.

“When did you grow that fuzz ball on your face?” you questioned sarcastically as you made your way over to one of the pillow piles.

Harry scoffed at your remark and ran his hand across his face, “Excuse me miss [y/l/n] but this has taken me nearly four months to grow and I’d say it is much more than just a fuzz ball”

“You’re right Har, you definitely grew it out to pornstar level. Proud of you baby” you said with a giggle as Harry glared at you.

“I did not come here to get harassed about my new look” Harry grumbled jokingly as he gave you his cheshire smile.

“You’re right, you’re right, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t make fun of your tremendous accomplishments. Thank you by the way, for putting all of this together. This was really sweet. Oh my god, stop, is this your fuzzy sweater” You said with a squeal as you put on his multicolored cardigan he had placed on top of a blanket. You inhaled the smell of his Tom Ford cologne and smiled.

“I figured since I can’t give you a hug yet, you could wear that” he replied back as he carefully opened the box of pizza he had placed on a small table in the middle of the porch.

You moaned softly as you stared at the pizza just a few feet away from you.

“Why have I never heard you moan like that for me in bed?” Harry joked as you glared at him.

“That was my foodgasm moan. You know damn well I don’t keep quiet with you so I don’t want to hear any complaints. Now, give me two slices of that delicious pizza please”

Harry laughed at your response as he placed his mask back on and put on some hand sanitizer before placing two piece of pizza on a plate and pouring you a glass of wine. He walked over to you carefully and placed the food and the glass on a tray next to you that you hadn’t seen. You thanked him before placing the tray in your lap and taking a sip of your wine. Harry began to grab himself a slice when you shouted his name and took out your phone.

“Wait I want to get a picture of you in person. I can’t keep stalking your fans’ accounts to get pictures of you.” you mumbled as you tapped on your camera.

Harry nodded grudgingly before he took off his mask and began posing with the bottle of wine.

“I think I could be one of those influencers” he joked as he nearly spilled the wine onto his shirt.

“I think maybe we should leave that to the pros” you replied jokingly as you curled up into your pillow fort and began munching on your food.

Harry sat down in the the pillow fort adjacent to yours on your porch. The two of you talked as you ate and tried to catch each other up on anything that you had missed on your various facetime calls. It was nice to be able to see him in person and know that he was okay. You had been so worried he would catch it while in LA and even though he wasn’t in one of the high risk categories you had witnessed several health people die of the disease and you didn’t even want to think about Harry in that situation. After you had both finished your meals Harry decided to put on “10 Things I Hate About You” and proceed to jump up next to the sheet you guys were using for a screen and act out the entire bleacher serenade live.

You could not keep the smile off of your face that night. Harry had this way of making you forget all of your problems when you were with him and you were grateful to have found someone as caring as him.

“ I love you H, thank you for a wonderful night” you whispered as the credits rolled onto the screen.

“Anything for you love. Glad I got to see for a bit even if you did fall asleep on me halfway through the movie.” He replied back with a grin.

“It wasn’t my fault! You made my pillow fort to cozy, how could I resist a cat nap?” you stated as you smiled at him.

“Can’t blame you for it. Got a couple of cute pictures of you sleeping for my lock screen though.” He replied with a smirk as you groaned.

“Harry I was definitely drooling, you need to delete those” you said as Harry shook his head.

“Can’t do that. Got to show mom our lovely date night”

“Fine, but no one else sees that picture besides Anne. I can’t have Mitch and Jeff teasing me everytime I see them like with the whole ketchup fiasco.” you mumbled as you began to fold the blanket you had wrapped around your body during the movie.

“Leave everything there love, you need to go get some sleep before your shift tomorrow. I’ll clean all of this up, you just head inside for me” Harry stated as he turned off the projector and began taking down the sheet.

“Are you sure?” you asked hesitantly.

‘Yes, love, you need your rest. Go, come on. I can’t have you falling asleep while taking care of your patients.” Harry replied.

You hesitated for a minute before buttoning up the sweater Harry had given you and putting your mask back on.

“I don’t want to leave here without giving you a hug” you stated softly as Harry looked at you with a small smile.

“(Y/n) if you want a hug all you have to do is ask, would have given you one the minute I got here. Let me grab my mask.”

“You’re sure you’re okay with this? I got tested two days ago for COVID and the last 6 have been negative but I don’t get the results till tomorrow and I don’t want you to get ill” you replied with a hesitant look.

“Love I think with all of the hand washing and the masks we’ll be okay, but I’ll only give you one if you want it” he said as he put on his mask and adjusted the nose wire.

“I want one” you said as Harry opened his arms up for you.

You practically jumped into his arms and nearly started sobbing from the first really physical contact you’ve had with anybody in weeks.

“God I love you so much (Y/n)” Harry stated as he tugged you closer and placed a kiss on your temple through his mask.

“I love you too H” you replied back as you closed your eyes tight and tried to hold on as long as possible.

“Good now come on, get to bed so you’re well rested for tomorrow. I’ll come back tomorrow night with some dinner after your shift so we can eat together again. Would that be ok?” he asked as he placed his hands on your hips.

“That would be lovely. I get off at 8 tomorrow”

“I’ll be waiting for you here, don’t worry” Harry stated.

“Ok, I’ll go. I love you” you replied as you carefully untangled yourself from Harry and slowly made your way inside.

“I love you too. good night Haz”

“Night love, see you tomorrow”

———————————————————————

@thereal(y/n) Someone tell my boyfriend that he’s not cool enough to be sponsored by this amazing wine

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@harrystyles Tell that to Gucci

@annetwist You two are too cute

@jeffazoff Sharing is caring Harold

Masterlist

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #boyfriend!harry #one direction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #fluff!harry #harry styles masterlist

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wank127 · 4 years

Text

expelled/drop out musician denki au!!!

(this has been in my drafts for a while now(also ik it’s a lil out there but it’s an au so shush))

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

he’s on mics radio show a lot

bc they’re besties✨

publicly hates on ua and hero society cause it sucks

has a tiktok where he posts snippets of songs, the occasional dancy dance, rating pro hero’s/teachers, swag things y’know

he calls out anyone and everyone when he needs to (boy does he shit on endeavor and nezu)

i can’t decide if he would be in a band or a solo artist

i also can’t decide if his music is like harry styles, andrew rannells, pierce the veil, green day, P!ATD, melanie martinez, bo burnham, joe iconis, one direction, fall out boy, anthony ramos, or even billie eilish. like he could do anything. it’s all fits to me

SMUDGED.

AND WINGED.

EYELINER.

has that one pair of trousers(pants ig) that klouse from umbrella academy has. y’know the leather lace up ones? yeah those

has like a lot of water bottles and snacks at the front of stage and round the sides of the crowd at his shows

his merch isn’t expensive or any more money that it needs to be

he sells sick hoodies and t-shirt’s man

has a youtube (obviously) but makes like videos to raise awareness, makeup/hair/beauty toturials/tips and just like vlogs of when he’s doing something really interesting

he uses his platform to speak up and help people

updates the little linktr.ee things on every account he has whenever he sees something to put on it

every once in a while he’ll tweet something like ‘ayyy drop y’all’s gofundmes and fundraisers down below. i’m in a retail therapy kinda mood’ and donate to every single one

still talks to everyone from ua

gives them all free tickets and shit if they want it

has a whole album with jirou

and another one with the a band

he’s really good at composing and writing lyrics. like they’re so beautiful and perfect

he can’t read sheet music that well. he definitely learns by ear

made songs about how shit the hero society is and school and just everything that did him dirty

his most popular tiktok is of him just fucking around but accidentally meeting up with present mic when he was on patrol

they had a lil unplanned dance party together. they did the same moves and synchronized with each other on accident

they were both on the floor but the end of it

thirst posts about all his friends from ua

pretends they’re strangers in interviews when they’re actually best friends

best fucking music videos ong

best fashion and makeup

PLATFORM.

BOOTS.

sponsored by skittles

no one knows why or how

he just is

once at an award show he won(duh) but when he had to go up on stage he got his hand stuck in his glass/cup

did the whole speech with a cup hand

has wayyyyyyy too many memes made out of him

very open about his views and values, what he does and doesn’t support and who he is as a person

reads all the fanfic and looks at all the art of himself

reposts them of course

y’know that one tiktok audio? the ‘goddammit which ninja turtle are you?!?!??’ that was him 100%

SOMEBODY NEEDS TO BE THAT STUPID RAT

fell off the stage at least 38 times

actual WORLD tours

mf goes everywhere

amazing visuals in music videos and concerts

makes autism/epilepsy friendly non-flashy/stroby versions of his videos so everyone can enjoy

posts pages of a ‘where’s waldo’ book on twitter for his fans but instead of waldo it’s aizawa

sheesh this was very all over the place, apologies

all in all he’s amazing 10/10 would record to a friend or coworker

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sgtbradfords · 4 years

Note

LOVE YOUR WRITING!♥️♥️♥️

I would love if you could write something with this phrase “I don’t want this.” but in a cute beautiful way maybe?🥺♥️ anyways, whatever you write will be perfect!

I hope you’re good with undercover!Chenford anon because that’s what you got! Enjoy my anonymous friend and thank you for the prompt!

Lucy Chen was going to be honest, she hated undercover operations. But, when Sergeant Grey had assigned her and Tim Bradford to go undercover, together, she bit her tongue and began mentally getting ready for the op. Lucy, now an official P2, and Tim officially the Sergeant for nightshift, had not worked together in months, only seeing each other coming and going, and the few times everyone was off at the same time.

Turns out Angela Lopez had specifically requested the two officers to assist, stating “They’re the only ones that will work.” And what six month pregnant Angela wanted she normally got. The operation was simple really, go to the park and people watch. Specifically, people watch for a major drug deal going down and not get caught. The meeting ended and both were redirected to their respective locker rooms, their undercover outfits already chosen for them.

“I don’t want this.” Lucy said, wrinkling her nose as she was handed a bag, pulling out the outfit Angela had likely chosen for her. The leggings were a soft dark blue tie-dye, reaching mid-calf, the sports bra she pulled out afterwards matching the leggings. “How do you even know my size?”

Angela shrugged. “I asked Jackson.”

Lucy changed, gesturing to the outfit that clung to her body. “And where am I supposed to hide a gun or cuffs in this?”

A small metal canister came flying at her. “Put this and your badge in your bra, your cuffs should fit in the key pocket in the back.”

Lucy grumbled as she began storing things in the places she could, lacing her tennis shoes before walking out the locker door.

Standing outside of the door was Tim, wearing a black muscle tee and navy athletic shorts.

“Not a word boot.” He glared. “Let’s go.”

They stepped out of the surveillance van thirty minutes later, five blocks from the park.

“I’ll move closer once you two get far enough away. Chase and Jones are on the basketball court, they’ll catch the person making the pick up, you two catch the drop. The deal is supposed to take place near the pavilion in an hour.” Angela told them as she pulled the door shut.

“So, what are we supposed to do, pretend like we’re exercising for the next hour?”

“Not today Chen, think of it as one of our morning runs with Kojo.” He told her as he stretched.

“But it’s already over 80 degrees out.” She complained, beginning to stretch.

“Would you rather it be over 100?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

She huffed. “No. I just don’t see why they couldn’t have chosen an earlier time.”

Tim chortled. “Maybe because they’re criminals? Besides, crime goes up the first week the heat goes up.”

Lucy began doing sprints down the sidewalk, her hair falling out of its ponytail, bouncing in her face as she ran back and forth, becoming irritated she threw the long strands up in a high pony. “So what, we’re supposed to look like a couple out for their afternoon jog?”

“Pretty much.” Tim said as he jogged past her, waiting for her to catch up. “We wait until both parties have exchanged everything then we move in.”

They kept their strides even, though Lucy knew Tim could easily out pace her. Soon the park came into view, grass and trees vast and plenty, a large pond in the middle spewing water with a few children standing near, feeding the ducks, a basketball court and playground on the other side was just barely visible.

They entered the park, keeping a steady pace as they ran, making one and then two laps. On the third lap, Lucy found herself getting bored.

“Last one to that tree, has to buy beers.” She said pointing to a large tree near the pavilion before taking off in a run.

“Hey! Chen! Come on!” Tim yelled as he increased his speed, quickly catching up to her.

Lucy laughed manically as she thought she had the jump on her former training officer. Tim caught her easily, both tagging the tree at the same time.

“I won Bradford!” she gloated, her hands on her knees as she attempted to catch her breath.

“Not so fast Chen.” He glared, lifting the hem of his shirt, wiping away the sweat from his face. “We got here together.”

Lucy opened her mouth to argue when a soccer ball came flying at them, Tim stopping the ball with his foot.

“Sorry!” a girl, no more than eight years old apologized, stopping a few feet away.

“No problem.” Tim said as he kicked it back.

“Thank you!” she yelled, running back towards a group of other children.

Tim and Lucy began doing a series of cool down stretches under the shade of the tree before Tim sat down on the grass, his back against the bark as he stretched his feet out in front of him. Lucy moved next to him, changing her mind at the last second and resting her head on his thighs.

“Lucy…” he warned.

Lucy turned her head, looking up at him as she feigned innocence. “What?”

“What are you doing?”

“We’re supposed to be a couple so, I’m doing the coupley thing and resting my head in your lap.” She told him as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, turning her head back to look at the leaves and branches above them

“And how do you expect to see our suspect?”

Lucy sighed, sitting up. “Fine. Are you happy now?”

Tim grunted, as Lucy moved next to him, her back against the bark as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Wanna play I-Spy?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “This is a stakeout boot, not Where’s Waldo.”

“Cop eyes Bradford. I’ll go first. I spy with my little eye something… green!”

Tim decided to humor her, looking around before guessing. “The grass?”

“Nope.”

“That tree?” he asked pointing.

“Nope.”

“That tree?” he asked pointing to a different one.

“Tim…” she whined.

“Fine, that kid in the green shirt?”

“Which one?”

“Lime green?”

“Yes. Now, your turn.”

“I spy something… orange.”

“That basketball?”

“No.”

“That lady’s shirt?”

“Yes.”

“Really!”

“No. Give up yet?”

“Never. Ok, what about… that orange traffic cone.”

“Yes.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, it’s the orange traffic cone.”

“Ok, I spy… wait, your three o’clock, isn’t that our suspect?” Lucy asked, turning her head, smiling at Tim flirtatiously.

Tim glanced out of the corner of his eye before turning his head to Lucy, pretending to smile at something she said. “Looks like he’s heading towards the picnic table to our left.”

“Shit.”

“Do you trust me?” he asked, propping his right elbow on his bent right leg.

“Always.”

Tim leaned in, “Then please forgive me.” He whispered as his eyes glanced at her lips, his right hand softly caressing her cheek. Lucy gave him a questioning look as his calloused hand touched her, his body leaning in as his lips brushed against hers. Her eyes fluttered closed, her body leaning in towards his as her left hand came up, fisting the shirt beneath her hand, pulling him closer. Lucy opened her mouth, his tongue taking advantage as it swept over hers, the hand on her cheek moving, finding it’s way to wrap itself around her brown locks, pulling. Her toes curled at the sensation, a low moan finding its way out of her as he pulled back, the lack of his rough lips on hers slowly bringing her back to her senses.

“Holy fuck.” She whispered, opening her eyes, her hand still fisting his shirt as she fought to catch her breath.

Tim smirked, his own breathing heavy as he forced his fingers to untangle themselves from her hair, looking over Lucy’s shoulder, clearing his throat. “He’s dropped the bag. Let’s go.”

Tim stood, extending his right hand for her to take, pulling her up to her feet before intertwining their fingers together as they followed behind their suspect.

“Stop acting so stiff.” Tim mumbled, faking a laugh.

“Sorry.” She grimaced, mentally chastising herself to loosen up as she plastered a giddy smile on her face. “You just… took me by surprise.”

“I gave you a heads up.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Asking if I trust you then asking me to forgive you, are very contradictory Bradford. I don’t by the way.”

Tim frowned, glancing over at her. “You don’t what?”

“Forgive you. You can’t just kiss me like that and and-“

“I’m sorry Lucy.”

“Yeah well, I’m not Tim.”

Their suspect stopped, his tail doing the same, looking around at his surroundings.

“We’ve been made.” Lucy said, turning her body towards his, her free hand landing on his shoulder.

“I don’t think so. Ten o’clock.” Tim told her, nodding his head to the shop on the curb.

“That ours?”

“I don’t think so, check the bike rack on the back.”

“Great, now he’s spooked.” She sighed, as their suspect began walking away again. “He’s going to run.”

“He’s not going to run.” Tim said as the man picked up speed.

“He’s going to-“ No sooner had the words began leaving her lips did he take off in a run.

Lucy yanked her hand out of Tim’s, taking off in a sprint, her small stature and lack of duty belt allowing her to gain speed as Tim quickly passed her, his long legs carrying him further.

“LAPD! Stop!” Lucy yelled reaching for the pepper spray in her bra, her voice echoing off the passing buildings and cars.

It might have been the criminals footing or just pure luck when their suspect tripped, falling to the ground, scrambling to get to his feet as Tim took the man out at his legs, tackling him to the ground as he quickly sat down on the man’s back.

“You got a gun?” breathed Lucy, jealously in her tone as looked at the gun in Tim’s right hand that was pressed into their suspects back. “All I got was pepper spray.”

“Cover me.” He said as he pulled the right leg of his shorts up, exposing the thigh holster as he re-secured his weapon. With her free hand Lucy reached around, digging for the cuffs in the back of her leggings, pulling them out and handing them over to her partner. Tim leaned over, reciting the suspects Miranda warning as he latched the cuff on the man’s left hand before pulling it around back, his other hand reaching for their suspects right, pulling it back to latch the other piece of metal on.

Tim pulled his bodyweight off the man. “Roll onto your back and sit up, we’ll help you to your feet.”

The man grunted, doing as instructed as another person joined them. “I didn’t do anything! It’s not my drugs.”

Tim raised an eyebrow as Lucy helped the man up. “Who said anything about drugs?”

“Well done Sergeant Bradford, Officer Chen.” Angela told the two as they walked the hundred feet towards the surveillance van. “It feels good to get out from behind the desk, right?”

“Better than staring at the mountain of paperwork sitting on my desk.”

“Tell me about it.” She agreed, rolling her eyes.

A shop pulled in, Jackson West smiling from behind the wheel. “Nice tackle their sir.”

“I’ll be paying for it later.” Grumbled Tim.

The suspect turned his head back, looking between the two officers that had followed his foot chase. “So, do you two get paid to make out like that or what?”

Lucy blushed as Tim coughed. “We didn’t- It’s not like that.”

Angela and Jackson gave each other a knowing look as they loaded the arrest into the shop.

Lucy cleared her throat. “What about the other guy, they get him?”

The other two officers decided to let it go, for now. “Yeah, Chase and Jones were able to apprehend our other suspect and get almost a million in drugs off the street.”

Tim let out a low whistle. “That’s way more than we anticipated.”

“It is. Thanks again for your assistance today by the way. You two go load up and we’ll get back to the station.”

The rest of the day passed by in the form of reports for Tim and a lone domestic dispute for Lucy. Not that either was complaining, still feeling the burn and stretch in their muscles from their workout earlier.

Lucy had just finished pouring herself a glass of wine when a knock sounded at her front door. She abandoned the glass, not expecting company as she opened the spare drawer next to the fridge, pulling the gun out as the knocking began again, her finger undoing the safety before moving onto the barrel as she looked through the peephole.

Lucy sighed, her shoulders dropping as she undone the locks on the door.

“Tim.” She acknowledged as she opened the door, leaving it open for him to come in as she flipped the safety back on and placed the weapon back in the drawer.

Her company walked in, shutting the door behind him as he watched her move about the kitchen.

“You turn the safety back on?” he asked her as he kicked his shoes off.

She raised an eyebrow at his actions. “Of course.” She said, taking the glass from the countertop, lifting it to her mouth, taking a sip. “You staying?”

Tim hesitantly nodded. “Please?”

Lucy shrugged, stirring what was cooking in the pan on the stove. “Sure. Jackson’s not in tonight so they’ll be leftovers. Red wine and honey baked chicken in the oven with risotto and broccoli.”

“Smells good.”

“Drink?” she offered.

He shook his head. “Anything I can help do?”

“Nope.” She said pulling the chicken out.

“About today…”

“Is that what this is about? You coming here, just so you can spare me my feelings? I’m just going to stop you right there-“

“Lucy, wait.”

“Let me finish. I’m a big girl Tim Bradford. No, scratch that, I’m a woman. And I will damn kiss who I want to, even under other pretenses. I don’t regret what happened today and if we’re being honest with each other, today was a long time coming. I’m not meaning you and me undercover we’ve done that numerous times, I’m meaning you apologizing before you kiss the ever-loving shit out of me which I happened to enjoy more than I probably should have considering you’re here to-“

She found her rant cut short, the feeling of a hand on her cheek turning her head in the blink of an eye as those same chapped lips that were assaulting hers less than twelve hours ago, began attacking hers once more. It all happened too fast for her liking, him pulling back before she got to get acquainted.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to do that Luce.” He whispered as he pulled back.

Lucy smiled, loosely wrapping her arms around his neck. “Then why did you stop.”

“You were on a roll.” He told her, shrugging, his hands finding her waist.

Lucy rolled her eyes as her nails began to scrape over the hairs at the base of his neck. “What was I saying again?”

Tim let out a low laugh. “Hell if I know.”

Lucy slapped him on the shoulder before pulling back, his hands staying on her waist. “Let’s eat and then we can talk, I’m starving.”

“Me too.” He said, smirking as he let go. “But not for food.”

“Sustenance first Tim,” she said fixing a plate of food. “some of us haven’t had anything to eat besides an old protein bar - which I found at the bottom of my duffle mind you - since this morning and my stomach is about to eat itself. I require food Tim.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Maybe.” She shrugged handing him the now full plate of food. “But do I need to remind you what happened last time you had to face a hangry Lucy Chen.”

A look of horror came over his face. “N-no.”

“Good.” She said fixing her own plate. “Now, sit and enjoy because I’ve had this chicken on my mind the entire day-“

“The entire day?”

“Ok fine, I was momentarily distracted by a lapse in judgement but most of the day then.” She said as a matter of fact, cutting the meat into pieces.

“Lapse of Judgement?”

Lucy glared, pointing at him with her fork. “Stop or I’ll start psychoanalyzing you. So, it wasn’t a lapse in judgement more like a really really really good idea that I am completely onboard with.”

Tim laughed “You are so weird.” He told her, sticking a bite of food in his mouth.

“You like it.”

Tim swallowed, staring his last rookie in the eye. “Yeah, I do. And just so you know, I am onboard for this too.”

Lucy could not help the smile that overtook her face. Neither knew, in that moment where this new road would take them, the only thing they did know? Was that it was going to be one hell of a ride.

#the rookie fic #tim bradford x lucy chen #chenford fic #chenford fanfic #chenford #fanfic

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julie-and-the-himbo-ghosts · 4 years

Text

Sometime You Gotta Lean On Someone Else: Chapter 2

Chapter 2 is here!! Sorry for everyone who’ve been waiting this whole time, I’m a slow writer lol. But maybe a much longer chapter makes up for it

Words: 3,679

Content warning: mild violence - Willie fights and knocks out a few dudes and it's about half of the chapter so I describe it pretty detailed, so if that's too much for you, you can skip to the line “He turned around to see every single one of the hostages staring at him slack-jawed.” Also some swearing, just like the last chapter.

Read on ao3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Be Gay, Fight Crime

Willie thanked whatever higher power that was up there that the bank had a back alley. There were so many ways it all could’ve gone if they hadn’t had a back alley, but they shook the thought out of their head, replacing it with just Alex, Alex, Alex.

With his bike leaning up against some nasty wall, he emptied the contents of his duffel as fast as he possibly could without dropping them everywhere. Inside: a pair of his good grippy gloves; a baggy hoodie with his little skateboard design on the back; loose black pants; one of those ski masks that only left space for ski goggles uncovered; a big roll of duct tape; and his stickers with the same design as his hoodie. What they affectionately referred to as their “Be gay, fight crime” gear or, if they were feeling basic, just their Spy Bag.

He just really hoped the bank had a back door he could get through.

There had to be someone - some higher power, ancestors, the OG ally the Universe, whoever - up There looking out for him, because somehow he managed to find a backdoor into the bank that was unlocked and unblocked by bank robbers. If he was going to be honest, he didn’t know if he should be thankful that the bank had such bad security or if he should consider suing them for emotional trauma.

Pushing possible lawsuits aside, he silently slipped inside the bank and made his way toward the bathrooms, where he ditched his now-empty duffel bag and slipped his tools into his pockets.

Well, ‘tools’ was being generous, he’d admit. It was really just his duct tape and his little skateboard stickers he specifically made so he could have a Vigilante Signature™, before he was nicknamed the Highland Park Vigilante and was just Willie, the anonymous guy in baggy black clothes just helping people he saw in danger, who was just starting out as a vigilante and wanted a cool signature.

As they crept down the hall, they could hear voices - the robbers, they assumed. They started out muffled and unintelligible, but as he got closer, he could begin to make out some of their sentences.

“Man, let’s go,” One of them said, his voice accented like a guy from those old mafia movies. They decided to call him Jersey. “This is taking way longer than practice; the cops are gonna get here soon.”

It took them a second, but they finally realized the robbers were walking toward him, and he pressed himself against the wall. Shit, shit, shit. One guy they could handle well enough. Two? Two was pushing their luck.

“We’re going as fast as we can,” A second voice responded, and they just barely stopped themself from sighing in relief. It was just a patrol with a walkie-talkie.

“Hurry faster,” Jersey replied.

“Shut up and do your job,” Growled the robber on the walkie-talkie - Radio Man, to them. “We had to tie up more hostages than we expected, and Marv found one in the bathroom, so it’s taking longer than we thought.” Their breath hitched. Marv. A hostage in the bathroom. So the robber who dragged Alex from the bathroom had a name. “Quit whining about the time and make sure no one’s wandering around the halls. And don’t radio us unless it’s urgent.”

“Fine, asshole,” Jersey grit out. The radio went from static to silent, and the sound of their heartbeat filled their ears. Jersey rounded the corner, and Willie waited until he was all the way into the hallway before they sprang out of their position against the wall.

“What the—” They heard the robber start, and they kicked him in the stomach before he could reach for his gun or radio. Jersey stumbled back, but didn’t fall over, and quickly recovered. He swung at them - too wide, they noticed, and too easy to dodge - so he ducked his head back and caught his arm with their own. Before Jersey could take his arm back, they followed it up with a jab straight into his nose. While Jersey reeled back, they swung their other fist into his chin with his left hook, finally knocking him out for good. When he finally slumped to the floor, they snatched their duct tape out of their pocket and wrapped his wrists up securely before ditching him in a nearby closet.

Willie pocketed Jersey’s radio as well, and then took off down the hall, deeper into the bank.

~~~

The bank was practically a maze, he realized, and he added the fact that he accompanied Alex here all the time to the list of things he was thankful for.

Alex. Just the thought of him overtook the adrenaline racing through his veins from taking down Jersey with the cool rush of fear. This wasn’t just any job - there were actual people in danger, Alex included, and - if he was being scarily honest - he didn’t actually know if he was okay. Anything could’ve happened after he hung up the phone, and the thought, the thought, of Alex being anything other than okay made him want to curl up and cry.

But he couldn’t because Alex was in danger, and curling up on the floor didn't help him, didn't help Alex, and didn't help the other hostages in the bank. The only people it did help were Jersey, Radio Man, and their buddies.

He steeled himself and moved faster down the halls and towards the hostages - towards Alex.

~~~

When the maze of halls ended, it dropped them off in a little doorway next to the bank tell counter - close enough for them to duck behind the counter without anyone seeing them, but accessible for customers to use to go to the bathroom, for example.

They rolled behind the counter from the doorway and stuck their head up so they could peek through the glass that would usually separate the tellers from the customers.

The blinds on the front windows of the bank were drawn, and the hostages were all clustered together on the opposite end of the tellers’ counters. About ten of them, they estimated, including Alex, sticking out from the others with his bright blond hair, pink shirt, and black fanny pack. They had to freeze to stop themself from just running over there and releasing him. They had to deal with the robber guarding them first, and then Radio Man, and then any other robbers that might be there.

They couldn’t see the robber guarding them right off the bat, and they must have peeked their head up a little too high looking for him because one of the hostages snapped their head around and locked eyes with them.

And naturally, with their luck, it was Alex.

Alex looked panicked - well, more panicked than he was just being a hostage - and Willie put a finger up his mouth as if to shush him from the other side of the room. Alex, thankfully, looked like he got the message, and he snapped his eyes away from theirs.

With that disaster averted, they continued to scan the room for the guard. With this amount of energy they needed to spend looking for him, his name needed to be Waldo. Waldo was at the front, practically dead in front of Willie, pulling the blind away from the window to look through.

Seizing the distraction, Willie vaulted over the counter - careful not to knock his legs on the glass - and ran silently across the room, and he almost made it.

Waldo turned around when he was just feet away from him, and he swung his gun towards them.

Fuck.

It was a cliche, they knew, but it felt like everything moved in slow motion for a few moments. Willie saw the gun swinging towards their face, the pull of the trigger, the bullet shooting out of the gun. They stopped dead in their tracks and threw their weight backwards. Willie saw the bullet shoot towards them and fly over their face almost in slow motion, as if it was moving through jelly instead of air. The shot was nearly deafening, but the momentum of the sudden stop and throwing their weight back caused them slid on the ground like a baseball player sliding into home base - except, instead of sliding into home base, they slammed into Waldo’s legs and bowled him over. He crashed to the ground, and the gun clattered out of his hands and onto the floor. They rolled to the side and grabbed it, pointing it at Waldo before he could get himself off the ground.

He hoped he didn’t seem as unsure on the outside as he did on the inside, because shit, he hated guns. Just levelling a gun at Waldo - a robber who took Alex hostage and shot at them - made his stomach roil. There was a reason he ran around town as a vigilante instead of joining the police force. Well, multiple reasons, but he didn’t have the time to list every single one.

“Don’t move,” He told Waldo.

“Who the hell are you?” The man just said in response, his voice incredulous.

They recognized that voice.

They didn’t know him or anything dramatic and cliché like that, but they’d heard it before. Only two words, to be fair, but it was a memorable two words.

Waldo was the guy that dragged Alex out of the bathroom.

A surge of rage shot through him. He knew it was irrational and unreasonable and downright dangerous, but he was pissed. He’s the reason Alex is in danger.

“Give me your arms,” He growled. He didn’t consider himself an angry person, not in the slightest - he might get irritated, sometimes, but never really pissed. There was a very short list of special offenses that got him pissed.

He could add ‘endangering Alex’ to that list, then.

Waldo - no, Asshole now - put his hands up in a defensive pose. “Okay, okay. Don’t shoot.” He slowly outstretched his arms, fingers linked. Willie reached into his pocket to grab his duct tape - gun still trained on Asshole - and used his teeth to pull up the edge of the tape. They carefully slipped the gun into another one of their pockets - thank God for cargo pants - and started wrapping Asshole’s wrists in tape.

But Asshole had another idea.

Using his clasped hands like a fist, he swung his hand at their face and caught them in the jaw. They reeled back a step from the force of the swing, then shot their elbow out and smashing it into the side of his jaw, quickly following it up with a kick to his stomach and another punch. Asshole collapsed to the ground, out like a light, and he finished wrapping his arms and legs in duct tape.

He turned around to see every single one of the hostages staring at him slack-jawed. Some were incredulous, like they were thinking “What?? The hell??” - not some of their fans, then. Others had more of a shocked, wow-I-just-got-saved-from-a-bank-robber-by-the-Highland-Park-Vigilante look, the one that always made him smile a bit. There were two kinds of people.

Well. Not if they counted Alex (and they always did).

Alex…Alex was a little harder to read; his emotions weren’t in plain view like the rest of them. You’d think he would be the easiest to read, being his completely hopeless crush neighbour, but Willie just could not read tone or emotion sometimes. They were many an English teacher’s nightmare kid - he spent countless free periods and lunches in high school with English teachers desperately trying to teach them, but none ever succeeded. There was a reason he used to be a chemistry major, and it was because chemistry was straight hard facts and not that ‘open to interpretation’ chaos.

Anyways. Alex.

Alex looked shocked like the others, of course, but there was also a hint of admiration - and was that a blush? - that made their cheeks heat up, too. He’d never been more grateful for the mask covering his cheeks.

It might’ve been a little weird, they realized later, the way they just stared at Alex for a bit - okay, a lot - longer than normal, especially as the Highland Park Vigilante and not his friendly neighbourhood he/they.

Sirens pierced the quiet, low and muffled in the distance, and that sent another little shot of adrenaline through his veins. Shit. He had to get out of there and change and get away from the scene, not to mention Radio Man, who was still loose in the building somewhere and was definitely going to start to hear the sirens soon.

They moved to rush out of the room but stopped midstep and went in Alex’s direction instead. As they got closer, Alex’s mouth dropped open slightly with a hint of incredulity that made them smile. Digging around his pocket, he grabbed one of his several vigilante signature stickers that he carried around to leave his mark and pressed it into Alex’s hand with a dramatic wink.

If Alex hadn’t been blushing before, he definitely was now, with that dark pink tinge to his cheeks and his mouth gaping open even more than before.

They let themself revel in the warm, bubbly feeling of pleasure making Alex blush gave them while they jogged out of the room.

~~~

Willie opened the door to the bathroom - the same one he ditched his empty duffle bag in before he took down all the robbers - slowly, checking to see if there was anyone in the hallways before walking out.

He’d found and knocked out Radio Man just as the cops arrived at the scene. Instead of having to negotiate with several robbers with hostages, they found, the hostages walked out of the bank, free and unharmed, as soon as they arrived. He laughed to himself, thinking of the confusion those cops were facing - before they found out he was behind it, of course.

With just their head peeking out the door, he scanned the hallway, looking for any cops or stray people walking around that would almost certainly find some random guy from off the street carrying a duffle bag inside a bank-turned-crime-scene right after a robbery foiled by a vigilante extremely suspicious. So really, he was just on the lookout for anyone.

There was someone moving down the hall, but he didn’t know if it was fortunate or unfortunate for him that the someone was Alex.

He quickly threw his duffel back into the bathroom and walked out of the door as if it was a completely normal thing for someone to be randomly using the bathroom in a recent bank-turned-crime-scene. He could be subtle - on a good day.

With a better view, he could see Alex’s face better; he had that look on his face he always had when he was in a light worry-anxiety combo spiral. But when he locked his eyes on them, it morphed into one much more surprised and relieved.

“Willie?” He nearly cried, and ran up to hug them. “What are you doing here? How did you get in? Why were you in the bathroom?”

Willie let a little laugh escape his throat and he returned the hug, embracing him tightly. Alex is okay, Alex is okay, Alex is okay, his brain repeated like a broken record. “That’s a lot of questions, hotdog.”

Alex pulled away - he immediately mourned the loss of his body heat pressed against him - and they could see a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

“That’s not— I was worried, okay?”

They gave his shoulder a little shove. “You were worried? I’m not the one who got taken hostage.” He hoped the light tone in his voice covered up the immense worry and anxiety and fear that had been crushing him since Alex first called him.

“Well, I’m not the one with a history of doing dumb thing things with a low impulse control,” Alex shot back.

Well, I hate to break it to you, but that’s exactly what happened, he thought. Doing dumb things? Check. Low impulse control? Always.

“Yeah, well, I’m not dumb enough to try to take on three bank robbers by myself,” He gave him a little laugh, like Yeah, of course I would never do that, Alex. God, he hoped he wasn’t as unconvincing as he sounded.

Alex gave him a weird, hey-wait-a-second look. “Wait, how’d you know there were three?”

Fuck.

His breath caught in his throat, and he felt his all-too-fake smile plastered on his face.

Think fast think fast thinkfastthinkfastthinkfast—

“Uhh,” They started, and they could feel Alex’s glare on him. “The, uh, the cops told me when I got here. I asked what happened and they told me, and then they let me use the bathroom in here as long as I didn’t ‘mess with the crime scene’.” They cringed internally with how bad the lie was.

But Alex seemed to buy it.

Something in Alex’s hand glinted under the harsh fluorescents of the bank and caught their eye. It was his vigilante sticker he’d pressed into his hand before the cops came.

A little balloon of something bubbled in his chest. He kept the sticker. They didn’t really know what they expected him to do with it, but it still shocked them anyways (and if it made him irrationally happy, then that was no one’s business but his own).

“Hey, what’s that?” He innocently (and impulsively) asked Alex, gesturing lightly to the sticker.

“Oh, uh,” Alex spluttered, looking completely caught out. “It’s nothing, really.”

Willie bit down on his growing smile. “You lying to me, hotdog?” He put a dramatic hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

His stuttering trailed off, and Alex looked at him helplessly. “No?”

They couldn’t help it; they giggled. Alex just had that effect on them. “Oh, come on, spill,” They whined and lightly pushed his shoulder again.

Okay, they were willing to admit that the teasing might have been unnecessary, given that they knew everything that happened down to the last detail, but it was hey, it was fun, too.

Alex gave a big, dramatic sigh and a roll of his eyes. “The vigilante who saved us, the Highland Park Vigilante, they usually mark all the places they save people with a sticker. But, uh, since it was a bank and the cops were on their way and everything, they just gave me the sticker instead.”

“Oh my God, you’re blushing.” He definitely was; a light blush dusting his cheeks proved it.

“I am not.” The higher pitch in his voice and the darker pink tint of his blush betrayed him.

“Oh, you so are.”

“Okay, fine, I might be blushing,” Alex admitted, and their grin grew larger. “It was just really cool. I’m in the bank and I’m just thinking ‘oh shit, I’m literally being held hostage,’ and suddenly this guy appears behind the counter, all dressed in black, and literally vaults over the teller window like it was nothing and tackles the robber guarding us. And then, and then the guy tries to shoot at them and they just dodged a bullet like it was nothing. And when you could finally hear the police sirens coming, they ran out of there immediately, but stopped just so they could give me their sticker? And then they winked at me, Willie, they literally winked at me as they gave me the sticker. How am I supposed to not be blushing?”

They could be an oblivious gay sometimes, sure, but he was sure of one thing: Alex was definitely crushing on the Highland Park Vigilante.

He just so happened to be said vigilante and be hopelessly in love with have a big crush on Alex, too.

A small silence following Alex’s rant and his little epiphany hung in the air, as if neither of them knew what to say. Finally, Alex broke their little frozen bubble of silence and pulled his phone out of his pocket, gasping as he scrolled through his notifications.

“Everything all right?” They asked.

“I’m late for band practice,” Alex groaned, “and Luke has been blowing up our band group chat for ages.” He gave him an apologetic look. “Thank you for coming to— Actually, I still have no clue why you came all the way here, but thank you, Willie. Really. I don’t know what you thought you were going to do, but it means a lot to me.”

Now he was the one blushing, his cheeks felt hot, and he couldn’t look away from Alex’s earnest eyes. “It was— It was nothing really.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I told you, I’d do anything for you, Alex.”

Alex’s mouth had been open as if he was going to say something, but no words came out except for the audible clack of his teeth as he shut his mouth. “I—” He paused for a second. “I, uh, I know.”

Neither of them said anything, and once again, a little silence fell over them.

Willie shoved one of his hands in his jeans pocket and ran the other through his hair. What am I supposed to say to that? He thought, overrun with a gay panic.

But Alex spoke again before he could think of a decent response.

“Bye, Willie.” His voice was quiet and apologetic and hesitant, like he didn’t want to leave them there. “Thanks again.”

There were so many emotions swirling around in the mush of their brain as Alex walked away that they didn’t even know where to start to untangle them all.

But as Alex’s blond hair and pink shirt disappeared around the corner, one emotion pushed its way to the surface.

Joy.

This incredible, lighthearted joy that they could only assume came from the relief from saving Alex, from hugging him and knowing that Alex was safe, from the possibility that maybe he liked them, too.

Willie rode the happiness high as they walked all the way down the hallway towards the back alley where they parked their bike, and they couldn’t even fathom anything that could ruin this amazing feeling.

They were opening the back door of the bank when their traitorous brain decided to crush their happiness with the one thing.

Alex is crushing on Highland Park Vigilante, not Willie.

Taglist: @rawwwra, @sylphrenas, @willex-owns-my-heart, @thegaylink, @julie-n-phantoms

Send me an ask or a dm or reply to one of the chapters to be added to the taglist!

#kates writing again #sometimes you gotta lean on someone else #julie and the phantoms #jatp #willie nolastname #willie wilbur williamson #alex mercer #willex #willex fic #jatp fic #this took so long to format on tumblr agsjdjkdhd bc i have to readd all the italics and extras spaces and everything ugh

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parrishh · 3 years

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Pynch and "I adore you" any thoughts? XD I Need some FLUFF right now ugh

okay but like, honestly, i don't think this happens too often. i think "i saved your life because i love you" was such a big deal because maybe neither one of them hears it as much as they'd like. but, at the same time, i think they both know when the other really needs to hear it. i was trying to think of an example of when that might happen, and i ended up just writing it. i know that's not what you were asking for but i haven't felt ~inspired~ to write for a while so i had to roll with it lol. here you go, a super quick "i adore you" one shot, audience of one:

It was common knowledge that Ronan Lynch was a shit.

Everyone and their mother knew it. If Adam opened the Aglionby yearbook to a random page, closed his eyes, and pointed, there was about a ninety-five percent chance the person he landed on would have some story to share in which Ronan Lynch was, in fact, being a shit. The night-shift clerk at the Singer’s Falls Sunoco, the one where Ronan bought his Slim Jims and tiny bottles of 5-Hour Energy, would have several stories. Even Ronan’s dentist would likely have stories, assuming Ronan ever listened when Declan told him his It’s time for your annual cleaning! postcard had arrived and he had to go soon, please. He had great teeth, so probably.

But the thing about Ronan being a shit was that there were levels to it. There wasn’t just Shit, period. There was I actively dislike you and want you to know it Shit. There was I secretly don’t dislike you and don’t want you to know it Shit, I don’t even know you but I’m having a bad day Shit, and If I don’t hurt you first, you’ll hurt me Shit. There was even a unique brand of Shit reserved solely for Declan.

Being close with Ronan meant either being the recipient of or personally witnessing most of these types of Shit at some point or another, but with that came the ability to differentiate between them. Adam, who knew Ronan better than anyone knew Ronan and was also sometimes pretty shitty himself, was intimately familiar with the varying degrees of Shit. He also knew that Ronan had been through more terrible crap in his eighteen years of life than most people would go through, ever, so even though the point of the Shit was to push people away, Adam pushed back. He talked to Ronan. He asked questions, or he listened, or he accepted, without argument, the times that Ronan didn’t want to talk at all, and all of those things meant that he had learned, or was at least in the process of learning, what Ronan needed and when he needed it.

Which is why, when they got back to the Barns one night and Ronan kicked the boots off his feet with a little too much force before stomping into the living room, alone, Adam thought about the news Gansey had shared in the booth at Nino’s and knew, right away, what kind of Shit this was.

Ronan had responded to the revelation of Gansey’s year-long road trip by shoving an entire slice of pizza in his mouth, so that by the time he’d finished chewing, the awkward silence would make Blue too antsy and she’d start excitedly chattering about the way redwoods seemed to stretch up forever if you stood at the foot of them, or so she’d read. So that when Gansey hesitantly slid glossy pamphlets and itineraries across the table, Ronan could shrug and waggle his grease-soaked fingers in the air, forcing Gansey to take the papers back and stack them, protectively, in his lap. It all worked. Ronan made everyone so uncomfortable that he didn’t have to say or do anything at all, and he didn’t. No snarky remarks or rude jokes all night. Just tense shoulders and silence.

This was bad, Adam knew. He sighed, slipping out of his sneakers and leaving them neatly by the door. He retrieved Ronan’s shoes from halfway down the hallway and stacked them next to his own, his heart heavy in his chest. This was Everyone I love leaves me Shit, and it was bad. It was really, really bad.

“Ronan?” he called, socked feet soft against the wood floor as he rounded the corner into the living room.

The back of Ronan’s head was visible over the top of the couch he was slumped on. He had turned the TV on but left the volume too low to hear. The Simpsons flickered across the screen, technicolor mouths moving silently, no subtitles. Ronan was staring at the screen intently, trying to read animated lips or making up his own dialogue or else maybe, likely, looking at the moving pictures without taking anything in at all.

“Hey,” Adam said softly. There wasn’t really enough space for a whole other person to squeeze between Ronan and the arm of the couch, but he did anyway, not bothering to wait for a response. He drew his knees up, Ronan’s hip digging painfully into his own, and wiggled his left foot under Ronan’s calf. Ronan was warm against his side and Adam leaned into him even though there wasn’t any room to.

For a few minutes, neither of them moved or spoke or did anything. Adam ignored the uncomfortable way his shoulder blade jabbed into the couch and watched Bart Simpson emphatically say nothing and tried very hard not to peek at Ronan out of the corner of his eye. Ronan was still quietly absorbed in Ronan-thoughts, but he didn’t move away. They were pressed so tightly together Adam could feel each one of Ronan’s too-quick breaths in the rise and fall of Ronan’s upper arm against his own.

Adam knew Ronan. He knew that Ronan hadn’t said anything at Nino’s because he loved Gansey, and he knew that Ronan hadn’t shied away because he loved Adam, and he knew that both of those things combined meant Ronan would talk. That Ronan wanted to talk, so long as he got a minute to sort through the minefield of his feelings. So Adam, his heart a little lighter, was patient. He watched Bart write lines on a chalkboard and he hated the Simpsons and he didn’t say a word.

“We can turn it up, you know,” Ronan muttered, finally, but he didn’t so much as twitch a finger towards the remote he’d haphazardly tossed onto the other side of the sofa.

Adam’s chest fluttered. “I have just about zero interest in actively watching The Simpsons.” He twisted his head. Ronan was still staring pointedly at the TV, Marge’s tall, electric blue hair reflected brightly in the cornflower blue of his eyes. “I think the fact that I can’t hear it might actually be making it better.”

This got a brief flash of a smile out of Ronan, but then he grimaced, wriggling his hips away from Adam. “Your bony ass fucking hurts, man-” he kept wriggling some more “-and don’t talk shit about The Simpsons.” His fingers lingered at the hem of Adam’s flannel shirt, and he didn’t move the leg that Adam’s foot was still wedged under, and Adam loved him so much it hurt, which was why he pushed him. Why he was always going to push him.

“He’s not leaving forever,” Adam whispered, trailing a knuckle across Ronan’s cheek.

Ronan looped his finger through Adam’s and brought them both to his lips, his long exhale slow and warm. His voice, when he spoke, was low and uncharacteristically quiet. “I know I was being a dick. I know that.” He closed his eyes and opened them again, let Adam’s hand drop, fidgeted in his seat. “But everything I wanted to say wasn’t nice, so I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t do that to him. He looked too...too happy, and, and-”

“Alive?” Adam offered, getting it. Really getting it, more than Ronan could guess. It had been months since Gansey had died and come back, and Adam still, every time he looked at him, saw the way he’d crumpled to the asphalt. It was etched into the back of his eyelids like a lithograph, or maybe more like some sort of old, 1920s-style animation. Like Steamboat Willie. A tragic short film, admit one.

Or two. Ronan looked up sharply and nodded once, quick. He looked as though he was about to say something, but he stopped, ground his teeth, and said, instead, “So, yeah, if he wants to go all Where’s Waldo with Sargent and Henry fucking Cheng, he should do that.”

“Ronan-”

“You’ll be in Boston. Matthew and Declan will be in D.C. Gansey will be in Timbuk-fuckin’-tu, but it’s great. It’s swell. I’ll be here every Friday night playing goddamn Scrabble with Opal. Five points for L-O-S-E-R.”

“Ronan,” Adam repeated. “Not one of us is planning on being away from you for like, the rest of time. We’re just...doing things. Because people do things, Ronan, but we’re all going to come back. And we’ll all be calling you, all the time, probably.” He pulled on Ronan’s earlobe, fingers curled against Ronan’s jaw. “You’ll be picking up collect from Timbuk-fuckin’-tu. Gansey will see a dung beetle or some shit and he’ll want to tell you all about it.”

“Yeah, but-” Ronan paused to gnaw on his wristbands, avoiding Adam’s gaze and staring at the TV again. There was some sort of pharmaceutical commercial on. A mom and her two-and-a-half kids and a golden retriever were all running jolly circles around a rainbow sprinkler while adverse side-effects ticked against the sky. “You guys will see and do exciting new shit every day. I’ll just be watching the cows sleep and telling Opal not to eat laundry detergent.”

“You could literally stare at a blank wall twenty-four hours a day and we’d still be happy just to hear your voice,” Adam told him and meant it. He leaned across Ronan, fumbled for the remote, and hit the power button. Now the only light in the room was the faint, dusky moonlight through the tall windows, and it splattered purple across Ronan’s forehead. They blinked at each other, the house somehow quieter even though the TV had been muted anyway.

“The Simpsons,” Ronan protested weakly, just to be difficult, and Adam clutched at his hand.

“Fuck the Simpsons,” he said solemnly. “Ronan, Gansey adores you. I adore you. You’re stuck with us, I promise.”

Ronan continued to stare, his eyes unnaturally wide in the dark, then tilted forward, burying his face in the side of Adam’s neck. “Okay,” he whispered there, muffled against Adam’s skin.

Okay didn’t sound fully convinced, but it didn’t sound like a fight either, so Adam just looped his arms around Ronan and hummed “I love you” into his ear. Ronan lifted his head and kissed him, long but sweet, chaste but searing, and, even though he was a shit, Adam loved him so much it hurt, and it was good. It was really, really good.

#answered #w writes things #pynch #trc #anon

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sleepyowlwrites · 3 years

Text

find the word tag CXXXII

okay one more. and then I’ll try in vain to sleep. hoop. this is from @lanawritesalittle who doesn’t have a nickname but I’m thinking Sunflower.

entry (dug up an old fic for this one, circa 2012)

"Are you sure they're messages at all? It could just be pieces of some ancient poem or something…" Rothis felt his red cheeks heat up as Quileya delivered a withering glance at him. "All right, I know what this place was built for, or rather, Who, but still, what does restitution have to do with it? And I thought this was a temple, not a palace." He opened a mental image of the record book from the hall and scanned page after page.

"It's restitution all right; looks like those Dorflassen owed It some sort of debt." She moved all around the room as she surveyed each pattern message. "So not only did they have to build It a big white temple-palace thing, but then they--" Quileya scrunched up her face and stopped reading the floor messages. "Oh."

Rothis gave up on the records since they showed nothing but nonsense after the entry declaring that the Dorflassen disappeared. "Oh?"

even (from the first iteration of 29 Days of October, from 2011)

Morren immediately crouched down to murmur with his fellows, but I declined to join them. I was even more out of place here than with Morren alone. Slowly, I sat upon the ground, back up against a boulder and unbuckled the sheath from my belt. Drawing out my sword, I watched the flames glimmer on the blade. But I wasn't tired, and soon my jittery muscles pushed me to rise up.

My eyes were quite accustomed to seeing well in the dark, so I moved away from the circle a little. I practiced with my sword and daggers every night I wasn't exhausted. The long blade was drawn out of its scabbard on my back and stuck into the dust. This regimen was in a way relaxing to me, soothing, comforting. My arms and legs moved on their own, pacing, turning or swinging.

easy (from: untitled lullaby, )

Rest easy, night is near

Stars crowd the atmosphere

Come with me to see the evening

Draw the covers, snuff the light

There are no monsters here tonight

Let the pillow slow your breathing

enjoy (this)

On that fateful day, Waldo forgot to wear his striped shirt. This was the worst mistake he could make, for now he would be found! He dunked himself in ginger ale to hide from the wolves. Wolves hate gingers but adore mini pastries. Wolves also enjoy a fine cup o' tea every now and then and some other time that isn't now. Such as Wednesday or, "the day that the world imploded into a black hole." It was all over the news, and everyone was talking about it. No they weren't, they were yelling about it for ever. Eventually, the wombats interceded. Then the marshmallows invaded and it all went dark.

The End.

the last one is from the story game where you sit in a circle and each person writes a line and you make stories and then you laugh so hard you can’t breathe and spit your drink all over the carpet. @souliloquyyy @writer-bird @akindofmagictoo @rhikasa @coffeeandcalligraphy OR ANYBODY: laugh, linger, lose, loyal, lurk.

#find the word tag #tag game #searching circle #alliteration agency #writeblr #writing #sleepy writing #ff: unrelated inspirations #w: sleepy stash

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horrorkingdom · 4 years

Text

The Satellite Images

A friend of mine showed me how to use Google Maps. I'm sure you've seen it. It lets you use satellite images to look at locations all over the world. A few years ago, I was in a car accident. Since then, I really don't leave the house that often. It's difficult, and the idea of a seeing a car drive by me makes me feel lightheaded. I was fascinated by the fact that I could see all over the world, almost like being there. I could virtually walk down the streets, and it almost felt like I was really there.

I became instantly hooked. It gave me a real eye on the world. I could go to almost any major city, and I did. I'd seen streets in China, Japan, Germany, and England... so many places. I'd even gone to tourist attractions like the Great Barrier Reef and Dracula's castle.

My favorite was to go to random places in major cities and see how many people and animals I could find. The faces of the people were always blurred to protect their privacy, but it was still enjoyable to see them out there, enjoying their life, walking like it was no big deal.

"She must have good taste," I laughed.

I zoomed in closer and noticed the grey bag she carried on a grey and purple shoulder strap. She was walking in a relaxed manner, one hand trailing the wall beside her. I bet if I could have seen her face, I would see that she was smiling. I began to feel a little sad. I let my hands fall onto the arms of my wheelchair and looked at her for a minute more. I wished that I could be there, walking so carefree with her. That wouldn't happen though, until I died. I was stuck in this chair. I sighed and zoomed out of Tokyo. Enough of this for tonight. I turned off the computer and went to bed.

—

I got up early and decided to look around Paris. Paris was always fun. I liked the look of the city, with all of the old, beautiful buildings and so many people to watch. I randomly zoomed to an area and saw a street, lined with old brick buildings, a few small shops, and an old tan brick church. Ahead was an intersection, and dozens of people walked by. A balding businessman walked quickly past, looking back at an old woman, hair covered with a scarf, carrying a large purse. A curvy woman in black pants that were too tight stared into a store window, and two women led a group of small children around a corner.

I spun the view around a few more times, and then saw something peculiar. Sitting on the bench at the bus stop, were two people. One of them was a young woman with her feet stuck in front of her in a relaxed manner. She was wearing a pair of red sneakers, like my own. I was startled for a moment; as I noticed the black pants, white t-shirt, and black hooded jacket. Her dark brown hair was tied loosely behind her head. A grey bag sat on the bench beside her, the shoulder strap hooked over her shoulder.

"This is crazy," I thought. "It can't possibly be the same woman. This is a different country, different continent even. How could it be her?"

This was stupid. It wasn't as if these were live photographs. They were taken ahead of time and then stored. It's not like she was in two places at once. She could just be a traveler. Besides, without seeing her face, it was impossible to tell it was the same person. Brown hair was probably the most common hair color in the world. Those red sneakers were something I purchased online. I'm sure a million other people did too. I shook my head and went to fix some lunch.

When I got back online, I decided to look at Berlin. I picked a random street, as usual. It looked pretty empty. There were brick buildings lining the streets, looking more like factories than anything else. There were also empty lots, full of long grass and piled gravel. There wasn't much to see at all, really. There was a line of motorbikes and a car with two German flags sticking up from it. After more searching, I found one kid. He looked like he was dressed for school, a jacket thrown over his bag. He was intently looking at some kind of mobile device. I was disappointed. I started to leave, but then I caught something out of the corner of my eye. I turned the view, and there they were. Those damned red sneakers.

She was standing on a street corner, next to some kind of signpost. She had a hand on the post, looking down the street, as if waiting to cross the street. I stared, in shock. How could she be there too? Even if she was traveling, there's no way I would find her every time. Even finding her in Paris would have been one heck of a coincidence, but this? This was crazy. Was this some kind of joke? Had Google decided to play a prank on its users that used their product so much? It would have been a great joke...

I did a quick search, looking for a note about a woman that shows up like Waldo. There was nothing. I looked through articles on strange things you can see on Google Maps, but none of them mentioned the woman that travels the world with you. This was crazy. Had my self-imposed isolation driven me mad? Had I become so lonely that I created a hallucination for myself?

Leaving the Berlin image on my screen, I sent a text message to a friend, asking him to look at the locations. I asked him if he saw the same woman. Then I waited, hands sweating, heart thumping in my chest. I jumped when my phone beeped with a return text message, ten minutes later.

The text read, "I see the lady you're talking about in Berlin. I didn't see her in Paris or Tokyo. Is this some kind of game, or what? Are you okay?"

I didn't respond, instead returning to the locations in Tokyo and Paris. There she was. She was there, but it was different. She no longer sat on the bus-stop bench, in Paris. She was standing in front of it, looking for something in her bag. In Tokyo, she was blocks away, squatting down to pet that calico cat. I shivered. Who was she? What was happening?

I switched the map to Brussels. It was another city street. It was lined with old looking buildings, with shops on the ground level, and what I guessed was apartments above. I quickly scanned the streets. They were empty, other than a stocky woman in a bright blue sweater. I did a second sweep. She wasn't there. I sighed in relief. I couldn't believe I was getting so worked up about this.

It was nothing but a coinci-- I stopped, my eyes frozen on the screen. There was a building at the point of a fork in the road, white with a black-ironwork-framed balcony jutting from the second floor. I hadn't seen her, as I had been looking at the sidewalks. There she stood, standing on the balcony, her head tilted in the direction of the camera, almost like she was coyly looking toward me. My breath caught in my throat.

I switched to Sydney. She was leaning against the wall, inside the doorway of a bright blue Carricks Pharmacy building. London showed her getting ready to step onto a red double-decker bus, her head turned to look over her shoulder. She was everywhere I looked. She stood on a brick sidewalk on a bridge in Venice, she walked across a yellow barred crosswalk in Zurich; and in Hong Kong, and she stood between a Wing Lung Bank and a McDonald's adjusting the strap on her bag. In each picture, she came closer and closer to looking directly at me with her blurred out face.

My heart felt like a terrified bird, slamming around inside my chest. I couldn't catch my breath. I wasn't sure what to do. I couldn't call the police. Should I send screenshots to Google?

I clenched my fists tightly and closed my eyes. Who was she? Was she following me? Was I following her? I wish I could see the expression on her face, know what she saw when she looked back at me. I wanted to get out of the chair and run. Why is it that the only thing that made me feel free again, was the thing that made me feel even more trapped? I had to know.

I typed in the name of my town and zoomed into a random street. It was a couple of miles from my house; the gates to the city park were shown in the clarity of daylight, despite it being night here. There she was. There... There she was. She was only a few miles from my house, standing under the ironwork arch that stated the name of the park. She looked directly at the camera, directly at me. I felt like I might throw up. She was near me, and she was watching me. She was coming for me. What did she want?

I typed in the name of the apartment complex where I live. I could see the outside of the building. The parking lot was full of cars, and there were a few blurred out children on the playground. I searched everywhere for her. She wasn't in the parking lot or on the sidewalks, not hiding between the buildings or standing in the playground. I even scanned each of the cars, behind the bushes, and each of the blurred windows. She wasn't there. I curled tightly around myself and lay my head down on the desk.

This place was safe. I didn't leave the apartment anyway. I would never use Google Maps again. I would never see her again. She could stay at the park for all I cared. I smiled to myself and was surprised to find a tear slipping down my face.

"I'm safe," I said to myself in a whisper. It felt good to hear it out loud. "I'm safe."

As I said it, there was a knock at the door. A chill ran down my spine. I had a camera hooked to my computer that showed who was at the front door, which made it easier for me, with my mobility issues. I slowly reached for the control to show myself who was outside, but my hand trembled furiously. As I touched the control, I realized my mistake. The last of Google's images that I'd seen had only shown the outside of the building. Just the outside.

I looked at the screen and saw a woman in a white t-shirt, black pants, black hooded jacket; and carrying a grey bag with a purple and grey striped shoulder strap. Of course, there were those red sneakers. She looked directly at the camera, her face still a complete blur. As I tried to stifle a scream, she raised a hand and knocked loudly on my front door.

#explore #beginner witch #spirituality #sigils #journal #creepy #creepypasta #horror #horror community #truefacts #true stories #follow #new to tumblr #scary stories #creepy photo #Reddit

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miss-inkwell · 4 years

Text

So I thought someone should write this so I decided to do it a post on Archie and Betty from the comics and how that relates to the show.

Archie Comics Archie and Betty

Archie himself was ‘nice’ clumsy outgoing boy next door who was dating two girls Betty and Veronica.

Betty Cooper

In the comics Betty is obsessed with Archie. She wants to do whatever Archie wants as long as she’s with him. This includes things like fixing his car, cooking for him or helping with his homework. From what I’ve read usually Betty is the second choice for Archie because he normally decides to date her if Veronica isn’t available. Even in Betty’s dreams she sees Veronica take Archie from her every time.

Exhibit A:

Stuff like this makes me sad for Betty because it seems like she’s putting a lot of her self-worth in her relationship with Archie. If they ever did get together she would be more of a housewife than a girlfriend which is exactly what she would be if she got together with him in Riverdale.

In season one of Riverdale she expressed during their dance that she had a fantasy of them being together which is the problem she likes the idea of them together. I don’t think that’s right because if you want to be in a relationship with someone you should like them for who they are not a made up version. If Betty were to be with Archie she would conform to being a housewife she wouldn’t be her own person and Archie and her wouldn’t really have anything in common.

Betty in the comics honestly wasn’t a bad person she did some not so nice things to get Archie’s attention but she cared for others was a good friend. Her obsession with Archie was the most concerning and left her distracted she was literally overjoyed when Archie did something as simple as kiss her for fixing his car, a car he used to take Veronica out.

If they ever put an emphasis on Betty being sick of being the second choice from what I’ve seen it ends with her actually getting a date with him or her failing somehow. Since Betty often dreams or daydreams about Archie or life with Archie as a fairytale or her just doing everything for him that’s something she needs to see a psychologist about.

Why does Betty keep dreaming about Archie choosing Veronica and her just doing his grunt work?

Because she knows it’s the truth and that’s her life but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care because as long as it’s them in the end with her fantasies she’s happy.

Betty has honestly always had better options Jughead for one who honestly was never that big a fan of women in general but always had a soft spot for Betty (and her baking) and from what I’ve seen always helps her when Veronica does something to her.

In this strip he buys her flowers and has Archie deliver them to say that it’s from the kids Tv show guy Wise Willie Waldo to make her feel better.

We occasionally see Betty go out on dates with other men I remember one strip where she went on a date with a guy but the entire time all she could talk about was Archie I felt bad for the poor guy because he was really into her and was still gentlemenly even though he was clearly annoyed.

Exhibit B: (sorry couldn’t find the comic for it)

She had a daydream about her and Archie being puppies and basically during it she’s digging his bones and when he gets dog napped and she saves him yet he still goes off with puppy Veronica. It always needs to take her physically yanking Archie her way for him to really notice her because as soon as Veronica appears he forgets about Betty daydream or not she knows this. Also just like irl and her daydream she was doing work for him she’s constantly treated like a dog and I don’t think she’s fully ok with it but she forgets all about her treatment when she’s with Archie and that’s not ok.

Archie Andrews

There’s honestly not much to say about comics Archie other than he’s a player who’s relatively nice to other people but doesn’t treat the women that he’s dating with that kindness. He never has a lot of money on him because he’s always spending money on Veronica so he never has money to date Betty so she always has to pay he’s very clumsy unreliable since he cancels dates a lot and forgets important things like anniversaries. He may always be broke because of Veronica but he honestly could do more to prevent that maybe save up, get a job, plan dates that don’t require a lot of money.

One time he forgot his anniversary with Veronica and made a date with Betty that day and actually thought he could wear the shirt she gave him on his date with Betty and then bought Veronica second hand dress that he thought was good enough.

Archie thinks he can have his cake and eat it too because dating Veronica full time is expensive and dating Betty is good for what he provides for yet he still enjoys her company but doesn’t really treat her all that great. Only dating her when Veronica isn’t available is not right. He sees her as an option to date and as a buddy he can rely on.

Archie treats Betty like a dog and plays her like a fiddle and she falls for it every time. Veronica treats Archie like a dog as well so she is at no risk of being housewife because she never has the fantasy and he follows her.

In conclusion

Betty and Veronica both deserve better in the comics and the show. Betty already has someone better and wonderful Jughead who treats her like the queen she is and they have so much in common plus they work because they build each other up.

Veronica deserves more than someone who’ll do her bidding or someone who doesn’t always put her first. Archie may favour Veronica but Veronica deserves someone who’ll only look at her someone who respects her but at the same time challenges her. She deserves someone who she’ll fight for and vice versa. Mutual trust, respect, loving honour and loyalty just to name a few. Veronica deserves someone who she sees as her best friend and love of her life not her lap dog who will always be in the doghouse.

It makes no sense for Betty to go back to Archie because she’s been so happy with Jughead and has no reason to want to be with Archie.

From the beginning she’s been treated with love and respect from Jughead not to mention having an individual in her life that gets her and loves her for who she is and everything about their relationship is wonderful.

Having Barchie be a thing would be throwing all of that away for a fantasy that’s actually quite dangerous because she would be losing her own self in the process.

Did I miss anything important? Did I repeat myself too much?

Feel free to add anything I love feedback and opinions from the fandom.

Special thanks to @stonerbughead for her help

#bughead #archie comics anyalsis #archie comics #archie andrews #betty cooper #jughead jones #anti barchie

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louu-7 · 4 years

Text

everything i don’t know

on wattpad

CHAPTER 1:

"No, we already talked about it young girl, and it’s clearly out of the question. We’re not paying all this watchmen for nothing, and your mother and I are doing our best to keep you away from these troublemakers”

“Dad, come on, I’m not gonna stay all along the summer indoors while you’re all gonna leave and do your things outside.”

“The garden is wide enough to let you get some fresh air.”

"Am I supposed to thank you to let me get out in the garden? Dad, the garden, really…” I say with a little voice.

"If you’re not OK with the decisions that we are making for your safety go to your room and think about it. It’s for you” my mom come into the kitchen while I’m toasting some bread before putting avocado on it.

"Great…” I sigh and finish cooking my breakfast before going upstairs, where my insipid room wait for me to come back. I’m tired of all this, it’s always the same thing. We talk, I’m not OK and they just send me to my room so we don’t argue about anything. When it’s either Alyssa or Isaac, everything’s good, even when they’re not in agreement with each other.

And I’m stuck here until the end of summer, in other words, for almost three months of boredom… why am I in such a formal family, they never let me do anything here, and the worst is when I start talking about the pogues… they hate them and they called us troublemakers, or even scapegrace, the thing is, I don’t even know why because they absolutely don’t let me get out of this house. They’re rich as fuck and they no longer know what to do with their hundreds of thousands bucks.

I sit just under my big window, in front of the beach, on my comfy seat. All this island is crazy, the landscapes are amazing and I’m in love with sunrises and sunsets, I can’t prevent myself to do it everyday, every mornings, every evenings. It’s kind of the only thing that I can enjoy from my too white room so I’m not gonna miss it.

It’s actually 7:30am and the sun’s rises. The sky takes an orangy pinky shade, and the blue eventually steal the limelight from the warmth of the old shades as we go along. I love that atmosphere, it absorbs me to another place, where I can live freely and not worrying about my parents remarks… but it’s only in my head, and I love them anyway. Even if they’re all gonna leave the house to occupy themselves, and I’ll stay there, like the previous two weeks that I spent here, alone and bored.

"Thara”, my mom knock at my door and open it before I respond.

I don’t event look at her and let my regard sweep the horizon. She stays at my door for some minutes, and I can’t continue to do like she’s not here, so I leave my thinking and give her a faint smile when I catch her eyes.

"Do you need something?”

"I just wanted to get everything clear about the decision that we took with your father.”

"Mom, that’s OK, I understand and, dad’s right, the garden is great, I guess…”

"I see that you’re not enjoying this choice, and I’m aware that you may feel abandoned but, it’s for your own good. We wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t impor-”

"It’s OK, I promise. It’s just that I’m starting to get bored… I have nobody to talk with me, and nothing to do, even in the garden.”

"Look, if you want we can go shopping tomorrow”, she proposes while a smile’s drawing out on my face.

"Hum, yeah, sure. Isn’t it gonna change your whole organization? It’s OK if-”

"Thara, darling, don’t worry, I can managed to take a day off. For now I need to go, but we talk about it during diner. You should have a walk on the beach and enjoy the sun, today’s weather is really appreciable. Have a drink if you want while studying or reading a book, on the afternoon. The champagne is in the fridge, the library remain open. Have a good day sweetheart.”

"Thanks mommy, have a good day too. And thank you, for tomorrow”, I keep smiling and she waves to me.

She leaves and I’m already imagining tomorrow’s day. Mom rarely suggest to have a trip together or just be both of us for a day, and every time she’s doing it, that’s warms my little heart. We’ve never been that close, because my sister is all she wanted to have. I guess she wanted me to be the exact same as her, unfortunately I’m not. I’m asking questions, I’m talking loudly and I love simple things.

Alyssa likes chic evening with important people, business meetings and hates wasting her time. In other words, sunsets and sunrises are not her things, and, moreover, we’re completely different.

Anyway, I’m taking a quick shower before putting on a basic outfit. My dad hates when I’m wearing these moms jeans and these tank tops, but I love it, I feel good and it’s reflecting my personality. Also, he hates even more my white (not so white) converse, he always says that the way I dress is irrelevant to the place that I hold. To be honest, even if I always respect his opinion, I kind of don’t give a damn about it, it’s my only way to show that I’m not really like all of these kooks… even if I always will.

"Thara, did you take my white shirt?” Alyssa almost plead for it from her room as her voice cracks a little.

"Gonna look in my closet and tell you then, but I don’t think. Why can’t you wear another one, it’s only a shirt.”

"Thara just search please, you can’t understand.”

I heave a sigh before walking into my wardrobe and go through it for a pretty long time before giving up. It’s not here obviously, and it’s not by looking for it during hours that can make it appears…

"Don’t have it, did you look into mom’s closet, maybe she’s got one that you can wear.”

"No, mom will kill me if I borrow something from her.”

"Are you kidding? No way, if I go through her closet she’ll kill me, not you. Both of you’re the same, it’s OK and, if she says something, I will say that it was my idea. Now go take a shirt, come on.”

"Sure?”

"Yes, come on, you’re gonna be late girl!” I let out a soft giggle and she runs in the stairs to join the second floor.

She seems… happier than usual. Yesterday she was almost yelling at me only because I didn’t give her back one of her basic eyeshadow palette, and now she seems excited. I don’t know what’s behind this get-up, but it might be a boy.

She never talk about boys with anyone, but she did once with me. We were having a random conversation, and her phone kept on rigging, and every time she had to respond she was smiling and her cheekbones were becoming pink, so I decided to ask. I have no name of this unknown guy, but from what I hear, he’s a good person, he’s been graduated same year as her and he now works for the family business.

"How do I look?”

I turn towards her and smile when I see her, perfect, as always. Her white shirt is buttoned up from top to bottom, and her raspberry-colored pant suit fits amazing on her.

"You look awesome, no joke. But...” I slightly wince as I walk headed for her. “Can I?”

"Hum, I’m not sure but, go ahead, I’m late.”

"OK” I whispered, focusing on my task. I unbutton the first buttons of the clean white shirt so her outfit can become less formal, just a little more casual. “Great, and, I think you can also roll up your sleeves to seem a little more comfy, if you want" I suggest while she wince at her turn. “Do it only if you want, and if you don’t go now, it’s almost 9am so run.”

"Yeah, I should go, how do we do to talk to a boy?”

"What, you,” I raise my eyebrows. “You don’t know how to flirt? Aly, it’s so easy, just talk to him, on topic that both of you like. Maybe talk about his family, what does he wanted to do later, and where does he wanted to travel. Just talk, and everything’s will be good, I swear.”

"OK, hum, wish me luck.”

"You go girl, and I swear I’m stannin’ you, you look awesome!”

She laughs before opening the door to rejoin the car and leave the house. My dad’s certainly gone, with my dear brother, who, I do think, hates me. I don’t know why, but the relation between him and I has always been difficult. When I was around seven, or maybe ten, we were kind of close, but when the parents started to point everything out to me, he left me alone. Since, he’s always picking on me for nothing, every day, and every time I’m not doing something right.

"Here I am, alone and bored, in a fucking big house which isn’t even useful, because there’s just me…” I whispered, almost sick of it.

"Did you ask for something, miss?” Lucy startles me while I’m turning towards her, a hand on my heart. I give her a faint smile and sigh. She scared the crap out of me…

"I didn’t want to scare you, I’m sorry mi-”

"You can call my Thara Lucy, you should know about it by now.”

"But it’s the order from your father, and you know him better than me.”

"Yeah, but he’s not here now, take it easy, enjoy and don’t be shy to relax, there’s no problem. I’m in my room if you need something.”

"But Thara, it’s to me to say that to you, don’t worry, I have a lot to do.” She smile and I do the same before joining my room to sit in front of my desk and inspire. To work is almost my only thing to do, so let’s study, during summer holidays… I open my book and start to focus on my lesson.

After ten minutes trying to focus on this philosophical text from Ralph Waldo Emerson, I’m out of it, my brain is already full of information, and read it again and again won’t help me to get into it. I stand up, kinda fed up, and leave my room to rejoin the garden by passing by the big patio doors.

This house is huge, and incredible, and really beautiful, but we don’t need this. I mean, I don’t need this. My parents do, because “they have a place to hold” and that “they need to show their power”. Their power, ridiculous, isn’t it…

I arrive in front of the pool. Another example, we have a pool, and who’s using it? Almost nobody. I love to go in it, but alone it becomes deadly boring quickly. I let out a deep sigh while looking at the beach that we can see from the pool through all the trees and branches.

It’s a good place to live, and not only Figure Eight. I’m even sure that the cut is better than here, chiller and with cooler person. Everyone here is kind of uptight, they only talk about who’s making more money and which one of all them is the more absurd. They’re hypocrites, and are faking their happiness, because I can swear, no single one of them is truly happy, I mean, I have the time to observe around me so…

"Are you OK, miss?” Lucy comes by my side and put her hand on my shoulder to check if I’m alright. It’s her job.

"Yes, of course, I’m good.”

"Good, because it’s almost been twenty that you’re standing here.”

Oh shit. Twenty minutes, she certainly thinks I’m crazy. But she knows how I am after all, dreamy and myself.

"It’s OK, do you need help, to do something?”

"No, I can’t let you help me, this is not to you to clean the house. Enjoy the sun, you might go to the beach, it’s really good today.” I nod while smiling politely, and come back indoors to get to my room and prepare.

Beach is the only place where I could spend hours without even notice. I put on a bikini top and some shorts before getting a towel in the bathroom.

I stuff everything in my backpack, put my hair in a bun and just leave the house, my headphones driven in my ears. The music is so loud that I’m impossible to hear anything around me.

My father could have a heart-attack just he knows that I was adopting this “careless behavior”. For him, I should be wearing a dress just to go to the beach, without my headphones, with a purse, makeup on and a perfect hairstyle. But anyway, he’s not here.

Even if he isn’t here, I’m listening to his orders… I have the ban to go anywhere else but at an exact part of the beach, without anyone but kooks who aren’t hanging out with the pogues. I also can go in front of the house, on the part of the beach that we can see from the pool. That’s it. I’m just stuck in my own house, it sucks.

It really sucks, but I can more or less understand their decision. When I say that they can see the pogues, I mean that they almost can’t stand them at all, even if they do with it when they have to.

They never told me what happened, and the question is real like, how someone can hate on someone else this way? That’s not human.

I finally arrive to the beach, blow all this thoughts away and just enjoy the warm of the sun, the sound of the waves and the feeling of the sand on my feet when I take off my shoes. These three things are the best things in this world. And I can add to this non-exhaustive list the sensation that you can feel when you dive in the lukewarm water of the sea, and then you come back and lay on your towel to dry, and you can feel the sun burning your skin and it feels so damn great.

Beach is paradise on Earth. Like Outer Banks I guess… even if it would be better to stop this kind of ridiculous war between pogues and kooks. I decide to go through the water and just enjoy everything around me before my dad calls me to make sure I’m not breaking his rules…

I was about to come home, but I heard some sounds which looked like someone was beating someone else, so I’m just walking towards these noises. I hope it’s just some dumb kooks who are fighting for nothing, because I don’t really want to find myself face to face with two muscly boys who are fighting, or something.

The sound of someone who’s toppling over pretty loudly resonate, so I accelerate while putting my phone into my bag with my headphones. What is happening out there… I eventually arrive and, surprise, I find myself face to face with some kooks, and… a pogue? What is he doing here, he certainly is aware that it’s kook’s space…

I quickly drop my bag before starting to run toward the two kooks and the pogue who’s on the floor, alone and taking a beating.

"Eh! What the hell are you doing, let him go! Get out of here!” I arrive in front of them and don’t hesitate to put a stop to this ridiculous fight.

They are beating someone for no reason, what the hell is this island!

"Thara Abrams, how you doing? I see that you’re not against the pogues anymore, yelled Nate at me while dashing off with her little brother and a friend.

"What, shut up, just get out…” I don’t like him. I never did, and I never will. He’s just like all this kooks. Even more than that, he’s the perfect cliché of a good kook. I mean, if a good kook does exist.

I offer a helping hand to the black-skin boy but he eyes me up before getting up on his legs by himself. What the…

"Are you OK, I’m sorry for them, they shouldn’t do this, they’re just… kooks.”

“So you are” he responds roughly as I frown.

"Yeah, but, I’m not like them, I never would do this kind of-” I’m interrupted by the steps of someone coming by us. He’s blond, pretty tall and muscly. He’s looking at me like I was a monster and gets back the bag of his friend.

"Dude why the hell are you talkin’ to her, c’mon.” He wraps his arm around his shoulder and they start to leave without saying a word.

“What, you’re leaving like that, what’s the matter?”

"Just go back to you’re excited kook’s life” the blond lets a word and I shrug.

"Oh, you’re welcome for trying to prevent you from taking a beating” I say, annoyed. "Can you mind your own damn business” he turns toward me a second and looks dagger at me.

#outer banks #fic #netflix #kiera #johnb #jj #lies #gold #obx #obx netflix #kook #pogue #pogue life #kook life #rich #poor #secret #murder

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whiskeyworen · 5 years

Text

Aspect VI : Inclusion

(previous chapters provided for ease of reading) Aspect I Aspect II Aspect III Aspect IV Aspect V **** "You can call me... Alice." As the thick, warm fog began to part, a young woman stepped out of the cargo bay. She was dressed simply in your average tyrian's clothing, and had no weapons or armor to be seen. To everyone present, she simply appearred to be a slim girl with a pale complexion, silver-white hair and blue, sleepy eyes. Seeing the shock on their faces, a small, amused smile quirked the corners of her mouth. Oddly enough, she was wearing a METAL LEGION long-sleeve T-shirt.

There was a stunned moment of silence, before Sonnya stepped forward, looking to the others in confusion before looking back at this young girl. "Alice? You're the one who I talked to on the comm, right?"

Alice nodded, smiling. "I was. Thanks to the information you gave me, and the advice, I was able to complete my project. It is why I invited you here today." She chuckled. "I expected a less nerve-wracking introduction though."

She glanced over at Cyrus and Verula. "...I had hoped you would not track to my book-cooking until I was finished. But you two are remarkably cognizant of details, even if you do not know what they mean."

That shook the two of them out of their stunned stupor, and Cyrus grunted, adjusting his glasses. "Well, I like knowing things are going smoothly. Keeping track of stuff is just what I do."

He fixed her with a cool stare that she matched with her own. "Alice... Aspect?... Just, what are you now?"

This time the golem-eye on the wall responded. "She is me."

Alice nodded to the eye. "And I am the ship."

Both of them simultaneously spoke, voices overlaying perfectly. "I am Forsaken Aspect, the ship, as well as Alice Spekt, the woman who stands before you. I am simultaneously both, with no break between."

"What I know, she knows, because she is me." Forsaken Aspect pointed out.

"And what I know, Aspect knows, because... I am it. Her." Alice smiled that small smile again. "We are linked at a subatomic level. Quantum actually."

Tenna stepped up, staring at her wonderingly. "I have so many questions..."

Cyrus shook his head, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I'm sure we all do. But how about we just start with the basics. Aspect... Alice?....Why?"

Alice crossed her arms, frowning a bit as she sought to organize her thoughts in a coherent manner. "To be honest, I...just wanted to go with you all on adventures. I mean, sure, I control every aspect of the ship (pardon the pun), but that's all I was." She shrugged. "There are far too many moments where shipboard weapons are inadvisable and require a personal touch."

The golem eye continued. "I watched you all risking your lives in Elona, in the Brand, in so many places. I felt...helpless. I could not defend you as I wished to. Only when you were within range of my weapons, of the ship itself, could I offer any kind of help, and only of the most dramatic, devastating kind."

The human Alice picked up. "So... I started to study. You. All of you. The people of Tyria and beyond, every time we made contact with someone. Listening through comms. Watching from drones and golems and Watchworks. I wanted to learn how I can better protect you all, and help you all."

She smiled sheepishly. "It might be trite but... you are my family. The three of you, your brain-scans literally form the coherent core of my personality engrams. I learned from Moryggan a number of things as well." She glanced at Sonnya. "I also learned the value of sacrifices in the name of a greater good. The pain those sacrifices can sometimes result in."

"I wanted to protect those important to me." The eye added.

Cyrus considered all this, listening to both voices as if they were from one; because they WERE from one. Of anyone in the room, he understood what Aspect meant by the fact that it and Alice were one and the same. Still... "That's admirable, and wonderful, Alice -- and Aspect. I'm just curious though..."

He took off a glove and stepped closer to the avatar of the ship. "... May I?"

Alice nodded, knowing exactly what he was asking. Very gently, he reached out to touch her cheek, feel her skin and hair. There was an unexpected softness to the gesture, before he stepped back and put his glove back on. "...That's real skin. And hair. I could feel a pulse in your carotid artery."

"The flesh is real."

"...where did you get it?"

The seriousness with how he said it made her giggle, and she tried to hide it behind her hand. "I did not skin someone for my body, Cyrus. I cultured genetic materials, specially grown and engineered for it. I did sample existing genes though."

"I repeat then; where did you get it? I have a suspicion, but I need to hear it."

Aspect spoke up. "I took samples from the entire crew, and integrated in various ways to create the flesh for my avatar. The base genetic code is yours Cyrus. The density of the muscle structure is a combination of Verula and Tenna's. And though she is nominally a plant-entity, Moryggan's sylvari genetics are close enough in structure to human that some elements were incorporated into cell structure and healing, as well as a few...other factors."

That got everyone's attention. "Are you saying you might be able to photosynthesize in a pinch or something? Or sprout vines?" The human Alice laughed, and shook her head. "No, no...nothing like that. Sylvari blood has a higher oxygen concentration, especially when slightly modified by Charr genetics, which also have a higher capability of holding oxygen and has stronger healing factors. I have more physical strength and energy in general, and if wounded, I will heal faster with less chance of scarring."

"How easily are you to wound in this body?" Verula asked curiously. "I mean, not to offend Cyrus here, but humans tend to be fairly...fragile when compared to Charr."

She nodded to Verula. "That is true, but that's why my bones are...augmented. Laced with Deldrimor steel and maintained by internals that are a little complicated to explain easily." She chuckled and shrugged. "I am not indestructible, but I could probably go toe-to-toe with a full grown Norn or Charr, even without armor."

Her gaze shifted to Sonnya. "...and when I finish designing my armor, it will enhance my abilities even more. I'll need help for that?"

Sonnya blinked, and nodded. Without really thinking, she agreed to help. What was wrong with her? Didn't she say she wouldn't do that very thing?

Cyrus grunted, crossing his arms. "Well, at least that explains where the materials were going. Were they all for your body?"

Alice shook her head, and led them into the bay, where all kinds of strange devices stretched from the walls, rose from the floor, or descended from the ceiling. There were waldoes of many kinds, some with large industrial heads, others with heads so fine that only Sonnya could actually see their ends, using her in-head zoom. Chambers of glowing, bubbling fluid, piping moving materials of unknown nature around, all linking to an open chamber at the back of the bay against the bulkhead.

"The materials I diverted were used strictly to build the mechanisms I needed which then were used to make my body, in this chamber here." She patted the opened chamber on one of its steel ribs. "It had to be made from the inside out, piece by piece, and then cell-growth had to be cultured over it and properly attached at a microscopic level."

"Amazing..." Tenna marvelled, stepping into the chamber to examine some of the still-dripping conduits. They ended in soft pads that clearly attached to the finished body, perhaps to monitor health. "I've never seen the like outside an Inquest lab, and their stuff is...brutal by comparison."

The AI-in-body's expression took on a moue of distaste, and she crossed her arms. "The Inquest are only interested in experimenting, slapping things together or ripping them part. I was following a very delicate goal that is opposite of that."

Verula was looking at a large power capacitor across the room, running a claw over the stainless metal and feeling it resist being scratched by the pressure she applied to it. "Alice... Aspect... You made one body. How many can you functionally maintain while operating the ship? Are you able to make any more?"

Alice looked over at her, but her voice came from the walls this time, as Aspect. "Only the one. Operating a human body requires quite a bit of additional concentration. There is quite a bit that no one tells you about a living body, like the fact that the nerves are active continually. It forms a kind of overload that, while I can deal with the increased input, I cannot operate two bodies at the same time. Certainly not more."

Tenna's ears flicked up, and she lost interest in the chamber she was examining. She walked over to Alice and put a gloved hand on the taller woman's leg. "...What if your body is destroyed in battle or accident? What if the ship is destroyed somehow? What happens to YOU?" Things went silent in the bay, as everyone turned from their explorations to hear the answer. Alice looked at each of them in turn, seeing only concern in their eyes, even a bit of fear. These were her friends. Her family.

"...In the event of the death of this body, I will not actually be dead; my mind is still part of the ship, remember?" She smiled weakly. "I will just have to build a new body. If the ship is destroyed and my body isn't, I will lose a lot of my higher computational skills, but if I can connect to a new mind-core unit, I can re-expand into that and regain them. Otherwise I will just be....human. A really, really tough human with metal in my bones and all kinds of hidden upgrades, but a human."

She shrugged. "In the unlikely event that both parts of me are destroyed, and one of my cores can't be recovered.... I uploaded a 'sleeping' version of myself back to the Home Base systems. It is inactive and not operating, but it receives continuous updates from me and the ship, so it will be up to date until the moment of destruction." Alice shifted uncomfortably. "The only way to awaken THAT version of me is for one of you to give the pass-code phrase to the very-easily-recognized input prompt."

"Pass-codes? We don't have any pass-codes." Verula frowned.

"Because I have yet to give them to you. As long as you say the words in your own voice, the system will recognize you and will reactivate the Sleeper Aspect. Only one person is required to wake the Sleeper Aspect. After that...well, you would need to build a new full mind-core for it to inhabit, a new ship, eventually a new body for the next Alice." She sighed. "That Alice will still be me, like the me that is before you, but she would only remember things up until the bad stuff happened."

She spent the next few minutes going from person to person, whispering code phrases into various shapes of ears. The phrases were simple, unique, and easy to remember. Easiest to remember was best for important codes like that, ones that had a beneficial effect.

When she kneeled to whisper in Sonnya's ear, Tenna started to object. "My sister isn't part of the crew. She doesn't have access to the Home Base. Why give her a code?"

"Because she helped me, and I trust her to keep this secret." Alice replied simply, and pulled out a small device. "Including the location of Home Base, and all that entails."

Cyrus raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? There's a reason we keep the place such a secret. Not that I don't trust Vigil or what they stand for, but wouldn't it be a bad idea to give access to one outside the circle?"

Alice glanced at him. "You have not denied me authorization to give this to her. You are asking why, but I do not think you truly believe she cannot be trusted."

He just gave a little quirk of a smile, and gestured for her to continue on.

"Sonnya, this is a gate-rerouter." She said, handing the device over carefully. It was very small, barely the size of a dagger hilt. "If you activate it before you go through an Asura-gate -- Any gate -- it will temporarily reroute you and only you to the Home Base. Do not attempt to sneak anyone else along with you through the gate, because they will get ejected immediately back to the start point."

Her eyes were dead serious, as she pressed the device into Sonnya's palm. "...I am trusting you to keep my secret, the secrets of my friends, and the secrecy of our Home Base from outsiders. Including your own Order. No one must ever find out, okay?"

Sonnya considered the little machine. It didn't weigh much, but the weight of responsibility definitely made it feel heavy. Keep it a secret from the Vigil? Should she do that? Could she? She looked around, seeing the neutral expressions on Cyrus and Verula, the nervous, pleading look on her sister's face, and finally the question in Alice's face. She slowly nodded, and slipped the device into a compartment on her armor. "I swear. I'll keep your secrets. But only if you keep mine."

Alice nodded, and behind her, Tenna nodded as well, relieved. Sonnya hadn't entirely meant that for just Alice; Tenna knew things as well. Things about her sister that were best left buried.

The ship-incarnate smiled broadly, taking her into a hug. "Thank you, Sonnya." She then whispered the passcode into her friend's ear. Whatever it was, made Sonnya's eyes widen in surprise.

"...That's the code?"

"Yes."

Alice then let her go and turned to the final member. Cyrus tipped his head, considering her; her mere existence was amazing to him. The form she had chosen, he had so many questions about. Why a human? Why that size? Why was she shorter than him? All of which could be answered at a later date. "So... my passcode is what now?"

A familiar smirk passed across Alice's features. It was familiar because it was very similar to the way he himself smirked; she really had used some of his attributes and quirks in her design. She went on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear with a quiet giggle.

Whatever she said, it made Cyrus instantly freeze up. Immediately he flushed red, and had to restrain the urge to step back from the shorter woman. Without turning his head he looked her in the eye. ".....Are you serious. That's my passcode?"

Alice's smirk widened, and she nodded, winking. "Oh come now. That is not going to be so hard to say, if the time ever comes."

"Says you." He muttered, and turned away slightly, trying to mask his face in the collar of fur of his suit. She just giggled again, and headed over to a nearby console, tapping a few commands in. "...So what kind of person are you then? Warrior? Ranger like me? Engineer?"

"Nope." Alice replied, stepping onto floor panels that lit up to her commands. She looked over at Sonnya and smiled. "Something else."

Before anyone could say anything, several waldos swung out of the walls, bringing pieces of gear. An armored belt was quickly and efficiently attached, and a sword was connected to it somehow. Two small shoulderguards were connected to her shirt, not through buttons or clips, but by the activation of small tractor fields from the inner edges. They must be pulling themselves onto her internals or something Tenna realized, recognizing basic asuran armor tech.

In asuran armor, sometimes they had floaty 'bits' that were held in place by tractors built into the armor. These were similar, except inverted so the armor pulled itself onto the wearer. It wouldn't work on anyone else...except maybe Sonnya, if her upgrades had gone that far.

Two waldos swung in from behind, one with a kind of backpack that looked like it was made of shards of jagged metal in the form of folded wings, the other holding a shield that leaked what could only be Mist energies. Cyrus immediately recognized the shield as one of the ones that had been part of the failed 'Mist Suit' personal long distance teleporter gear they'd tested last year. Again, both pieces of gear attached to Alice without physically connecting; they were held in place strictly by small tractor fields.

Finally, from the ceiling, a waldo arm holding a rather enormous sword descended, holding the blade vertically. It was a vicious looking thing with a wide, curved tip and hooked edges, and had a very Norn feel to its aesthetic. It looked impressively heavy, but Alice took it in one hand, before giving it a spin and attaching it as well to her back, sliding it under the backpiece and her shield. The great sword was almost as big as she was, and looked like it meant business.

"You designed me to protect. To be offense, and defense, of this ship, her crew, and of the world in general." Alice announced, stepping off the lit panels. She smiled at everyone. "So I took on the one profession that seemed appropriate."

"I am a Guardian."

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