#which accidentally refract light a lot of the time

[aniron48]

offering

Another evening, another time I accidentally wrote a thing I didn't mean to. I have another short fic, which you can read under the cut and on ao3. It takes place after the canon ending of NTTD (so TW for a major character death). As I was working on a completely different (and much happier) sp00qy season fic, I kept finding my mind returning to one of my own cultural traditions, día de muertos, and the tradition of building altars, or ofrendas, to celebrate the dead. It's something that means a lot to me, and so eventually I gave in to the inevitable, and gave that to Q, too. There's a bit more explanation on ao3, as well as some translations for the Spanish.

Writing this gave me space for some of my own mingled joy and grief from the last few years. I hope it is a space that holds you gently as well.

“It’s terribly inconvenient, grieving you,” Q says to no one. “Somehow I think you’d like that.”

He clears his throat, adjusts the cempasúchil in their clear turquoise vase, and straightens the fuchsia cloth laid across his repurposed beside table. While he’s moving, grief is a verb, something he can do, instead of something he must carry. He has never been good at being still.

He hadn’t built an ofrenda in years, before he became Quartermaster. It was another tradition he’d let fade to dust, lost with his kind-eyed father before Q was old enough to shave. And then he’d started at MI6, where death walked the corridors, and sat in high-backed chairs: another bureaucrat, worn at the edges from her ceaseless work. Q had lost his first agent the same year they’d lost M, and suddenly nothing made sense but this. So much of grief in England was monochrome, a gray funeral in a gray stone cathedral where the only splash of color was the Union Jack draped across a casket. Q would never begrudge his colleagues that, but he needed this, the color and the irreverence and the bits of life he felt his ghosts were owed. 

“The dead are going to follow you home no matter what,” his father had explained once, the year Q’s grandmother had passed away. “Give them a corner of their own, or they’ll think the whole house is theirs.”

“There’s a certain logistical element to it,” Q says aloud. “I have to find a room I can shut the cats out of for at least a night and, well, you’ve seen the flat. They’d eat the pan de muerto, which is one thing, but it could actually be bad for them if they got into the whisky.”

He reaches out to turn the glass as he speaks, the late evening sun refracting off the crystal and turning it briefly into a prism that scatters shards of light across the room.

“It’s Macallan,” he says. “In case you were wondering. It’s tradition to leave the dead their favorite things, you see. Normally that’s food and drink, but, well.” Q gestures to the altar. “It’s just like you, to be as inimitable in death as you were—“ 

Q takes a long moment before he continues, his long fingers clenching and unclenching around his own untouched glass.

“Not many people have guns left out for them, I would imagine. Wouldn’t be safe. But then, no one can ever fire this one again, can they? No one but you. The height of Q Branch technology, and in the blink of an eye it was nothing but a relic. 

“So much of MI6 was like that, after. So many things I’d taken for granted, only when you were gone, they didn’t work anymore, and no one knew why.

“And then there’s this,” he says after a moment, pointing at the white ceramic bulldog draped in the British flag. “Imagine my surprise when they told me you’d left me this in your will. This, and an entire box of kit you’d said you’d lost, just sitting in your garage. It’s as if you deliberately went out of your way to make me remember you as a menace. And you were. You were that. But also—“

Q rubs a sleeve, uncaring, across his face. “Every now and then, out of the blue, something will remind me of you, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s a feeling, nothing more. And then I realized, it’s just living. You were so bloody alive that living reminds me of you. It drives me mad, because then I don’t have any choice but to keep doing it. Even during all those weeks right after, when there was nothing I wanted less.”

He stands, and runs a finger against the picture of Bond on the altar. In it, he’s laughing, unguarded and free. “You were never easy, but no one can convince me that the heart of you wasn’t good.”

Q stays there as the last of the light fades, until he has to light the candles on the altar to push back the dark.

“‘Amo el trozo de tierra que tú eres,’” Q says. “Descanse en paz, James.” He touches his glass to the one on the altar, and leaves the room to its ghosts.

[cloudyswritings]

Old Light, New Light

This feels like a crazy idea but I’ve been on such a destiny kick lately I feel like such an idea I just need to put out there. Picture if you will, a Destiny and Hollow knight fanfic. There’s a couple of main ways I think this could go, that said:

SPOILERS BELOW FOR THE FINAL SHAPE. Please turn back now if you’ve somehow not been spoiled or played it yet.

Okay cool, let’s get into it then. I’m grouping these ideas by character

THK:

Fic/Campaign title: Synapomorphy

The most interesting path I can think of for Hollow(whose name in this might end up being Atlas) is taking the role of our guardian. Now it might be cliche but I really do think it’d give both Hollow and their ghost the best chance at growth as characters.

I think that Hollows ghost actually had a really hard time raising them, see ghost kept reading that their guardian was being attacked and infested with darkness and worked very very hard to excise it. I think you can see where I’m going here, but when Hollow first rose it was with chitin as pale as the travelers shell, a voice that carried the low rolling growl of a wyrm, and eyes like blue crystals. Ghost essentially removed their shade, and accidentally revealed the god that they could have been. Hollow themself doesn’t really know why their body bothers them, speaking makes them nauseous, and the color of their chitin sends a deep sense of guilt and loss rattling through their guts.

Hollow ends up actually being a fantastic shot with any gun, and finds that they remember a number of what appear to be spells(including focus, which is huge tbh). Naturally ghost is absolutely bamboozled and has no idea who they’ve rezzed as their guardian but cheerfully goes along with it. I feel like there’s a slim chance that Hollow gets mistaken for a hive by less experienced guardians but in general they just follow the main story line and work on figuring out their memories. They still have their nail, and get it repaired at some point. I feel like after people get used to them slinking about and being impossibly sneaky for someone of their stature, as well as them being yk not human, they end up really loved at the city.

Favored light: Void, though all of their light comes out pale, bleached of nearly all of its color. They either cannot or will not use solar, it reminds them of someone they can’t quite remember, and sets stinging pains through one of their arms…

Class: Titan, people keep trying to get them to challenge Zavala for his job(Hollow is very much not a fan of that and they and Zavala are buddies.)

Other: Their shade is still out there, and I imagine we’d encounter it in an area of great darkness, possibly it even snuck into the black garden or the dreadnought, who knows. Either way it’s where a majority of Hollows memories are, and when they find it they’re forced to make a very difficult choice, made even more challenging by the fact that both the shade and them have grown into different people since they parted ways. So I’m not decide yet but they either take it back or leave the past behind to focus on the future(which could be a healing moment for them and represent them accepting who they are now and setting their regrets to rest, but it also means they wouldn’t remember Hornet, or Ghost, or their mother. Their father though… his influence is carved into their shell itself, and they don’t think they could forget him if they tried.). I think it could end up with their shade tagging alone in their actual shadow most of the time, or being their super maybe? If y’all have ideas lmk.

PK:

Fic/Campaign title: Refractions/Beyond the Pale

The Pale King absolutely belongs just post collapse along with the other warlords, I think it’d give me a lot of opportunities to explore how he’d feel about being responsible for having lives under his care after what happened to Hallownest. Additionally he wouldn’t have much of a choice in the matter which I think would really up the tension a lot and force him to confront his failings. There’s also the matter of his light to consider, it was so powerful it still blanketed Hallownest for an age after his passing, so it could present a really interesting situation to have him grapple with sharing his abundance of light with his ghost and how that overwhelming power could act as a sort of beacon, drawing in Eliksni and the eyes of other hostile warlords. Alternatively you could have him revived with his light significantly dimmed, and force him to face his fall from godhood and being powerless to stop terrible events from happening to his people once again(there’s also a very interesting parallel between him and the traveler.) it’s important to note that upon being risen he absolutely would retain all of his memories, at least in this path specifically.

The other option I have for him, which I think could almost be even more interesting, is for him to have been the Osmium Kings familiar, which is notably a dead, white, worm. Also the Osmium king descends into madness after the worm washes up, perhaps in this case hearing the whispers of the pale kings foresight?? There’s also the white palace to consider, it seems to function very very similarly to a throne world, and given my headcanons about what it takes to become a pale being in the first place(hint hint, mass deicide and cannibalism). If that was the case I could see him being risen during the witch queen. This would be super interesting from a lore perspective and also in connection for what I’ve got roughly mapped out for Hollows storyline. Meeting their father, who remembers nothing about them would be highly devastating.

Favored light: Arc, mostly used to power his fucking buzzsaws and such. I also see him having a very unique perspective on the sheer unbridled energy of arc when compared to other risen.

Other/Ergo Sum: So…. There’s quite an overlap between the travelers experience at then of this lovely little lore entry and PKs isn’t there… specifically about drowning in the sea. The traveler says: “The deep, dark ocean has gotten into your lungs, droplets of ink dispersing in silver blood. This time, you think, this time It has won.”. This whole section perfectly describes my thoughts on how the pale king died. He died of regrets and the void sea drowned him, and snuffed out his light. More than that, he sought a kingdom eternal, where death held no weight and new possibilities could be explored and he resolved to bear the weight of that all on his own in the end(plus or minus many vessels). There’s honestly so many parallels between these two, so I’d implore y’all to go read the whole lore tab for Ergo Sum and just like, have your mind blown by how similar and yet different these two pale gods are. All in all if anyone was going to be capable of hearing the travelers whisper quiet voice(Silent, Silent, Silent) it’d be PK(whose voice, I’ll note, is a chorus of whispers in and of itself.)

Class: Warlock, like with Hollow his light is completely bleached of color and burns coldly regardless of what type he’s actually channeling.

Radiance:

Fic/Campaign title: Old Light, New Light

She’s 100% a new light and absolutely ready to be problematic, which should surprise no one. I think she’d struggle a lot to fit in with the rest of the guardians, and still have a very arrogant attitude. Something I do think is important to note is that she’d absolutely never use any darkness aligned powers, it’s completely against her nature and she absolutely killed someone of the implication she’d do so. Her memories of the void and fighting ghost haunt her every waking step. She’s a warlock for sure, and probably using the black sun shell. She is super awkward around Hollow, and they very nearly splattered her across the city when they met her.

Favorite light: to no one’s surprise it’s solar. She also probably manages to develop her light in line with how she used it as a god, so invading dreams, controlling lesser beings, and a sort of shared mind/forced unity. All in all she’s got about as many unique light abilities as Hollow and PK.

Class: Also Warlock, unsurprisingly uses well of radiance.

How’d we get here then?

So, now that those ideas have all been laid out, you may be wondering; how the hell did they end up where they did? The short answer is Ghost did it. The longer answer is that Ghost, before heading into godhome to beat the shit out of Radiance, dropped off a fragile flower with the pale kings corpse and outside of the black eggs(for their sibling who they were gonna free no matter the cost) as well as giving one to the godseeker. When they ascended the flowers got everyone out of dodge, though the radiance that gets revived is really more of an imprint or shadow than the real deal, she’s basically got none of the juice that PK and Hollow get.

Other Notes:

Ghost: Massive parallels with the Witness, all of the shades are in consensus and the Lord of Shades is the result. They are both Ghost and not, essentially the black pearl to the witnesses pale pearl. They’re foils in the same way I imagine the traveler and PK could be. I don’t think they’d really show up in any capacity except through lore drops on Hollows weapons they made, you might be able to find and use charms though. Possibly if we leave the solar system I could see Hallownest being a location, and the guardians being able to get Hollow knight themed shells(I might do some art of these with lore??).

Hornet: Almost certainly uses strand, beyond that I’m not really sure how I’d incorporate her.

Grimm: alas probably mister not showing up in this au atm, this will likely change eventually though. He could contract with the drifter perhaps? Maybe tied to why the drifters ghost has its red eye?

[justaboutdead]

ENTITY Mission 1, Expedition 2

(Entity is a solo ttrpg by Peter Scholtz, this story is a log of my play)

>I have now rested since scavenging from that alien ship. I will be heading down into one of the nearby chasms; I require various rare mineral for my constructions, thus they seem like a logical place to start looking. The crumbling walls of the entrance barely support the weight of me and my tethers as I slowly lower myself down. >I find a narrow crevasse through which i cam continue my descent, illuminated by the synthetic beam from my helmet. Down here I am safe from the Pyramid, it cannot watch me. The crawl soon opens into a large room, seemingly built long ago. Familiar technology lines the walls- a robotics lab of sorts, used in some ancient expedition to this place. Its creators long dead, much like the rest of the humans. >I am able to persuade one of the ancient, rust coated arms to pry open a corroded storage box, revealing a collection of old drives and materials, useful for latter. The door on the opposite side gives way after I strike it a few time with my heavy glove, and I am on my way.

>The corridor continues down, revealing at its bottom a brilliant cavern high with crystalized carbon, its sharp geometric forms serving as a prism for light streaming down from below.

>My suit beeps. In the brilliant refracted light, I can barely make out the indicator; there are high levels of radiation here, likely some trace isotope in the crystals. I must move quickly. Some alien robots appear to be scattered among the bases of the crystals. Miners, perhaps. They are similarly organic, like the last. Maybe thats why the lab was down here.

>I approach them and attempt to extract some kind of information from the computer interfaces on their back. I am successful, but i use a lot of energy in the process. I accidentally wake one of them, and it knocks me over, as it heads on its pre determined course. This alien technology seems strangely intuitive, despite its unfamiliarity.

>I follow it back to where its charging doc used to be, although it has been long destroyed. The robot paces around, searching for a place to doc, but I am more interested in the large, miraculously mostly intact fresco above it.

>The fresco seems to depict the pyramid, or at least that’s the most I can make out. Seems I can’t even escape it down here. Strange organic fractal patterns fill the empty space. The mural itself isn’t flat but curved, various details inset against the wall. A large bulkhead lies open beneath it.

>Inside I find strange equipment, a refinery of some sort, left in disarray, as if the works fled, perhaps to their deaths like I observed on the surface above. Nevertheless their refined materials remain, perfect for me to make use of. I find a manageable crate and haul it ip a steep ramp to the surface. There, the evening sky greets me, the thin line of a large comet stretched across the horizon. The mountains in the distance gleam with the fading hues of the day. >I am able to make another trip down to the refinery before I stop for the night, my suit caked in the fine dust that coats the entire facility. I found some other useful bits and pieces, but in the end, I have to get going. I lug the crate back to what I intend to become my de facto base of operations, a small, mostly intact, mostly empty building on the edge of the desert, nestled between two hills. I need to rest before I head out again. >I.A.P. Mikonial Signing Off

(This concludes Mission 1, Expedition 2)

Side note: I’m surprised at how well things have been going for me, I’ve amassed large quantities of resources and data (the game’s 2 big amassed recourses), barely spent any energy, and only taken 2 strain from failures. Today I also got an aspect, the refined materials, one of 4 needed to complete the mission and build the map room. I kinda expected more to go wrong. Hopefully this situation will suddenly reverse on me so I can have some dramatic story moments :)

[aboatist]

got inspired and drew. surprisingly, doing the whole process at all, let alone in one sitting, is an achievement

if you like this art, consider reblogging it rather than just liking, or consider donating to my kofi

[frustrated-writer-skyeknight]

HiJack AU - Rise of the Guardians Plotbunnies

(Context: Before Hiccup returns to HQ when the Guardian signal came up, he was spending time with Jack, as per usual. When the signal came up, he had to go. Jack looked disappointed, because Hiccup had just arrived a bare ten minutes ago. It was the quickest the Aide of Hope had to leave. Hiccup was in a rush to leave, since it was the first time in a long time that the urgent signal was put up to assemble all guardians at the same time, the last time was to report about what had happened to Kozmotis. In his rush, he wasn't thinking, and accidentally kissed Jack on the cheek in a parting kiss.

They were both shock.

Before Jack could collect himself to make a respond, Hiccup dashed off, all the while thinking "Shit shit shit shit shit what did I just DO?!)

More details added to the Answer (an ask from @hamish-fanfic-fangirl )already mentioned here

The Guardians love children, as they are the Guardians of Childhood. They can't, however, have children. With the exception of Kozmotis and Anastasia's relationship, as they were created together at the same time by Manny.

Manny formed Pitch to safeguard chaos energy that would strike fears in children and leave them traumatize, impeding a healthy and happy development of growing up. Anastasia was formed at the same time, because children, and to an extent people, need to live in a harmonize environment, right?

The Guardians do consider themselves, as what humans coined nowadays, as 'Found family.' Addition to that, they think if they could have kids, they would be like and be treated like their aides.

They joke about it sometimes; North fits the role of a dad, as leader of the Guardians, Thiana being like the mother, with Aster, Sandy, and Kozmotis like uncles. Sandy's the "cool" uncle with a lot of stories to tell (or show). Kozmotis is the "chill" uncle who leaves you be but offers sage wisdom whether or not you ask for them. Aster is the one who nags a lot, sometimes more than the parents but is exciting to spend time with because of all his cool tricks.

Jamie and Astrid found it awkward, but Thiana was being playful and pretending to be like a parent and giving Jamie 'the shovel talk', when Astrid and Jamie got together, as she heard a story told to her by North, from Jim.

She was sweet about it though, going on about how they should be caring of each other and how lovely it all was so Jim made a remark later that he didn't think the guardian of memories got the point of a 'Shovel talk'

Even to the aides that aren't their own, the Guardians do feel rather paternal/maternal towards them.

Dialogue

North: Sandy, thank you for coming.

Sandy descends from the plane and floats to the ground. He joins North, Bunny and Tooth as they walk through the Globe Room. Sand glyphs appear above Sandy's head communicating

Jamie: He says that he is busy and has a lot of work to do.

North: I understand, you work ‘round the clock, da, But I obviously wouldn't have called you all here unless it was serious.

North, Bunny, Tooth and Sandy reach the center of the room. Tooth does her best to shush her mini-fairies.

North: Kozmotis as the Boogeyman was here at the Pole. *points to the globe. The everyone turns to look.*

Astrid: *shocked* Sir Kozmotis? Here? After all this time...

Jamie: Jim, did you really see...

Jim: Well, I didn't but sir North had. I think, I... Wait. *frowning as he looked around in concern* Where's Dimitri?

Tooth: But... Pitch Black? Was it really him?

North: Yes! There was black sand covering the globe.

Aster: What, what...what do you mean black sand?

North: And then a shadow!                                                

Aster: Hold on, hold on, I thought you said you saw Pitch.

North: Well, ah, not exactly...

Aster: Not exactly? Can you believe this guy?

Bunny turns to Sandy, who shrugs while forming a Dreamsand question mark above his head....

Aster: Yeah, you said it, Sandy.

Bunny goes back to painting one of his Easter eggs.

North: Look, he is up to something very bad. *gropes his gut* I feel it, in my belly.

Aster: *eyes narrow* Hang on, hang on, you mean to say, you summoned me here THREE DAYS BEFORE EASTER - because of your? Mate, if I did this to you three days before Christmas-

Tooth (to her fairies): Argentina. Priority alert! A batch of bicuspids in Buenos Aires.  Weather advisory, Astrid?

Astrid: *Pauses* Fair, all of them. Snowstorm warning in Moscow.

Jamie: Maybe that's where Jack is now.

Jim: And maybe Hic too; would explain why he's running late... Now Dimitri...           

North grabs Bunny's painted egg, casually juggling it in his          hand as he walks off. Meanwhile Sandy, who is being served          eggnog by a yeti, suddenly notices something high above.         

North: Please. Bunny. Easter is not Christmas.

Aster: *sarcastic laugh* Here we go... North, I, I don't have time for           this. I've still got two million eggs to finish up.

The moon rises into view, high up in the ceiling; its rays of light begin to shine brightly through as they cascade down the walls of the globe room.

North: No matter how much you paint, is still egg!

Sandy points to the moon unsuccessfully to get the others' attention. Even Jamie is distracted with Jim and Astrid, talking about whether one of them (Jim) should go and get Dimitri. Their guardians are distracted and they didn't want to interrupt them...

Aster: Look, mate, I'm dealing with perishables. Right. You've got all year to prepare.                                                

Tooth (to her fairies): Pittsburg, boy eight, two molars. Saltwater taffy.

Sandy puts his fingers in his mouth to whistle, a silent musical note forming above his head.                                                

North (to Aster): Why are rabbits always so nervous.

Aster: And why are you always such a blowhard!                                  

Tooth (to her fairies): Ontario, sector nine: five canines, two molars, and fourteen incisors. Is that all in one house?

Sandy waves a sand flag above his head, pointing and jumping and down as the moonlight continues to fill the room.

North: Tooth! Can't you see we're trying to argue.

Tooth: *Good naturedly* Sorry, not all of us get to work one night a year. Am I right, Sandy?

Sandy tries to signal with a golden arrow, pointing toward the ceiling, but to no avail as the others continue their bickering. Sandy thinks Tooth has noticed for a split second, but then-    

Tooth (to her fairies): San Diego, sector two! Five incisors, a bicuspid and a really loose molar on stand-by.

North: I know it was him. We have serious situation!

Aster: Well, I've got a serious situation with some eggs.

Tooth: Hey, I hate to interrupt the, "We work so hard once a year club" but could we concentrate on the matter-

A silhouette comes out from a black spot of a shadow in the middle of the room, and Dimitri comes up and stumbles out from it. The aide of the former Guardian of Chaos seemed recovering from injuries. Even with his quick healing, it's taking some time...

Jim: Dimitri!

Jim rushes to help support him...

Tooth: Oh dear!

Astrid: Is he okay?

Dimitri: Sorry... The darkness is more restless than ever for some reasons. I had to defeat about a dozen minions before securing and leaving the base.

Jim: Wha- so if Pitch is really back, why hadn't he showed up here yet?

North: He did lad!

Jim: All due respect sir, you said it was a shadow.

North: Shadows are his thing!

Dimitri: I don't think that was Pitch yet, but a harbinger, maybe? If he had awoken, I think I would be the first to know.

Aster: Hah!

Sandy can't take it anymore, grabs an elf by his hat, and vigorously shakes it's bell. The other Guardians are finally silenced and all turn to look at Sandy, who points up, a sand crescent moon forming above his head. The dizzy elf staggers away. Finally the others turn to see the shaft of moonlight as it concentrates on the circle between them as Manny starts beaming down into the room...

North: Aah! Man in Moon! Sandy, why didn't you say something?

Sandy gives him a deadpan stare, Dream sand smoke shoots out his ears.                                                

North (to Man in Moon as he finally appears, with Anastasia by his side) : It's been a long time old friend! Madam Mother Nature *bows curtly*

Manny: Likewise.

Anastasia: A pleasure as always, North.

North: So... What is big news?

Manny: Before I get that, there is one thing I need to address first...

Everyone looks to the center of the room where Manny manipulates moonlight to shine down intensely, the light ebbs away, leaving a dark spot ---- which resolves into the shadowed silhouette of Pitch. The Guardians look on, stunned.                                                

Aster: It is Pitch.                                  

North pats his belly and gives Bunny a look...

North: Manny... what must we do?

Manny: The matter I mentioned needing to be addressed...

The shadow of Pitch disappears and the circle of moonlight intensifies and shrinks, concentrating further luminating an ornate symbol on the floor, at the center of their circle. The symbol rises out of the ground revealing a large gem at the head of a pillar.                                                

Tooth: Ah, guys, you know what this means?

The moons light suddenly refracts through the gem casting          light all over the chamber.                                                

North: He's choosing an aide for himself.

Aster: What?! You never needed one before, why now?

North: Must be big deal! Manny thinks we all need help!

Aster: We have our help. *Gestures to all aides present* Now if my own would show up too...                                               

Tooth: I wonder who it's gonna be?

Then a bright flash, a rush of wind- and a FIGURE resolves over the central pillar: slight, hooded, bearing a familiar  hooked staff.                                                

North:

North: Jack Frost.

The Mini-Teeth all sigh and swoon as the Guardians stand there, stunned.                                                

Jim: Well then, at least Hiccup's going to be happy

Astrid: *Shrugs, and idly shifts her axe from one hand to another* Well, as long as he does his part in caring for the children…

Tooth: And Hiccup’s going to be motivated more than ever now too.

Aster: Jack Frost!? He doesn't care about children! All he does is freeze water pipes and mess with my egg hunts. Right? He's an irresponsible, selfish...                                                

Manny: Aide.                            

Aster: I can tell you that Jack Frost is a lot of things, but he's--

Hiccup finally flies in with Toothless

Hiccup: I'm sorry I'm late! *He jumps down from Toothless* Snow storm in Moscow delayed me... Er, among other things...

Everyone looks at him

North: Perfect timing Hiccup! We need you to find Jack and bring him here.

Hiccup, remembering his final moments with Jack before leaving, looked mortified...

Hiccup: Do you guys hate me or something?

[writing-in-april]

Shining Bright Above You

Spencer Reid x Male Reader

Summary: Spencer finally gets to go out with his boyfriend after getting out of prison and gets to see the light despite the overwhelming darkness.

A/N: Hey guys! This is my twenty-first fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April. This ones one of my favorites I’ve ever written and is based on this request and is also inspired by some stuff @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff sent to me for inspiration. I know x male reader fics don’t do good in fandom (which is a crying shame) but there’s still a large portion of people it applies to that read fanfic so please share it around so it might reach them!! Inclusivity in fanfic is important and I’ve heard multiple people get very discouraged they don’t see more fics that represent them- so please help bring more inclusivity in fandom!!! My ask box is open for nice anons only- here- if I see a shred of homophobia I will curb stomp you (I will not have a debate about it in my inbox) BUT please don’t be afraid to point out if I made a mistake in terms of the gender of the reader (this is not an open invitation to critique the rest of the fic)Thanks for reading and hope y’all enjoy!

Warnings: Mentions of homophobia & the prison arc & subtle hints at a soulmate au (which is funny I wrote it like that because I don’t read soulmate fics lol)- otherwise its super fluffy 🥰

Main Masterlist Word Count: 1.6k

Time was just a construct created by humans to understand how we moved forward in the universe, and even though I was exaggerating it had felt like a million years since I had been out with Spencer. Prison had already made it hard to see him, with all the pat downs and checks only to still be separated by a plexiglass wall. On top of that, Spencer had only let me visit once, until he saw eyes leering at me with some uttering slurs underneath their breath.

It wasn’t until he was freed that I could see him again, and in the flesh as well. I remember our first hug after he had been released, both of us practically soaking our clothes with tears that didn’t seem to stop. For Spencer, it had even taken along time to convince him that I was real, and that I was safe- there would be no homophobic prisoners coming to attack us in the night.

Spencer didn’t like the night, one of his worst fears was the darkness and night was when the shadowy parts of his mind came out to play. Oftentimes I’d find him in other parts of the apartment at night, with all the lights on, the bed was no longer a place of comfort. One night I had pulled him to the couch, lights all flicked on and a nature documentary playing softly. When I had brought his head into my lap to stroke his fluffy locks that were still beautiful even though they were still damaged from the prison soap, he had fallen asleep a lot easier. Since then the couch has become our bed. Though I did not mind because he kicked and cried less in the night, and even when he did, it was easier to hold him.

The night was a scary place for Spencer, except when the stars shone bright. That’s why when I had remembered one of our favorite past dates, at the observatory, I immediately called in a favor. We had the place to ourselves tonight, sure it cost me more money than I’d ever spent before on a date. It had been ages, a million years it seemed like since we went out in public, so the price was worth it. It was all for Spencer, to make the night good for him again.

Though I definitely loved looking at the bright balls of gas up above I much preferred to rest my gaze on Spencer’s eyes. Spencer’s eyes often reminded me of the stars, not because of their color- but because of the slight twinkle that they got every time he was happy. The twinkle in my opinion rivaled the brightness of the stars with ease.

Normally I could listen to Spencer rambling on about facts all day, being completely entranced by his phrasing. But, his eyes had entranced me this time. I was no longer thinking about the black holes that he was rambling about, but how lucky I was. How lucky I was to see that twinkle in his eye and get to kiss him at the same time?

I could’ve been born at any point throughout space and time, to see any number of amazing things across the universe. But, I was put here standing next to Spencer. Just two specks of stardust ready to be in this world together. However insignificant life could seem in the grander scheme of things- however small we could both seem, I wouldn’t want to be next to any other speck of stardust nor be placed at any point in space and time.

“And no particles or even electromagnetic radiation such as light—can escape from it.” I caught the last part of what he said as he finished his mini rant about black holes. Thinking about light being swallowed up and being crushed into oblivion it made me think of Spencer again, it was a sad thought, though it was filled with hope.

I thought about all the darkness that had tried to consume Spencer throughout the years. Most recently prison had been the thing that tried to stomp the light out of him. It was nice to see that light that had dimmed sparkle a little brighter tonight. Even though we have been dating for a long time I felt myself filled with a small amount of happiness knowing that I was at least part of the reason the sparkle in his eye was bright tonight.

“You ok?” Spencer piped up, looking at me with concern.

“The stars are bright tonight.”

He looked a little confused at my seemingly somewhat random statement, he still looked back up at the stars. On the inside I wished he’d kept his bright glinting gaze upon me, then he confirmed my statement, “Yes, yes they are.”

“You’re still shining brighter.” Even after all this time I still had the capabilities to make Spencer blush. Every time he did so I was reminded of the stuttering boy I had met all those years ago. When he had first approached me in the library so long ago to ask me if I was finished with a book I had set down to the side, he was instantly just as endearing to me as he is now.

It had been such a different time then, it seemed almost like another lifetime. We had been through so much together, I often thought the universe might have some vendetta against us. Though logically the universe wouldn’t be so concerned with two small specks of stardust such as ourselves. Either way, whatever was truly out there in the unknown, there’s no place I’d rather be.

A piece of paper, folded carefully so the creases would be neat, was burning a hole through my slacks. It was a small gift in the grander scheme of things, a blip on anyone else’s radar. This held more meaning for us than just some novelty gift people buy.

His eyes were back on the stars, observing them with such intensity that I hadn’t even seen the astronomer Spencer had introduced me to last time we were here. Spence craved the light above him- who was I to deny him if I could give it to him?

It may have not been plucking the stars out of the sky for him to cuddle in his arms in a literal sense. I couldn’t buy all the stars in the sky, the website didn’t allow that. I could give him one though, one that was brighter than any others they had for sale.

“I-I have something for you.” I stuttered, which had Spencer looking at me with suspicion; he was the stutterer when nervous, not normally me.

Spencer’s eyes were on me now, not the stars, though he looked at me with the same reverence as he did when gazing up at the Milky Way. The same way I always did.

My hands were shaky when I pulled out the folded paper, carefully undoing the creases to present him the certificate of ownership for a star. Spencer steadied them with his fingers wrapping around my wrists. They were long and spindly, just made in a certain way that made me always want to kiss the tips of them as I did so often.

He then took the paper from my hands, even though I wanted to be greedy and take the warmth from his hands that the paper was stealing. I cleared my throat before telling him what the folded paper was, still nervous over a simple sheet of paper,“It’s our star.”

Somehow his eyes gleamed ever brighter because of how the tears that were now welling up in his eyes refracted the light even more. He wiped them a little, so he could scan the paper over to read the certificate that to most people meant nothing.

“It’s so we can have a little bit more light in our life.” I chewed on my bottom lip after I finished giving him my reasoning for the gift, nervous about his reaction. His hands were shaking now, as were mine, though for different reasons.

If my brain was thinking logically I’d realize he’d love anything I have to him, he’d probably even treasure a vial of sand. “You’re all the light I need” He then pulled me into his lips by grasping at my cheeks, the paper still in his hands brushing up against them accidentally. The only people here to see the light between us was a mingling curious janitor. It didn’t matter who was watching, I only needed one person to be here, Spencer. And, every time I was in his presence I always stopped to think, there’s no place I’d rather be. There’s no one else I’d rather be attached to, no one else I want to call me their boyfriend. He’s my home and my light just as much as I am his.

There’s an old Buddhist saying that, when you meet your soulmate, remember that the act to bring you together was 500 years in the making. So always appreciate and be kind to one another. I don’t know how much I put stock in the idea of soulmates, or the universe having some illogical vendetta against us, or the possibility of a being greater than humankind. I did know however, that if there was anyone in the world that I could possibly be soulmates with, it would be Spencer Reid. I’d spend the rest of my days comforting him from the darkness, happily showing him the specks of light in between that ultimately would defeat the swirling pools of black.

Ask Me Anything

—-

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[lesdemonium]

romtober day 7: misunderstandings

Rating: M Ship: Geraskier Word Count: 4319 Summary: Cirilla's new nanny, Mister Julian, is her favorite person in the whole world. Geralt's new boyfriend, Jaskier, is pretty high up there as well. No one realizes they might be the same person.

AKA: the nanny/parent au written by a nanny

a MASSIVE thank you for betaing to @boppinrobin. y’all have them to thank for how romantic this wound up being.

read on ao3

“Mister Julian says that the things we learn in school are very important but it’s also important to learn things outside of school. Like about rainbows. Did you know that any time light… ref… refracts it can make a rainbow? Like through windows or… or… Daddy, do you know what refracts means?”

Geralt hummed a little as he and Ciri walked. He thought that answer was enough, until his five year old pulled impatiently at his hand and Geralt looked down to see her frowning at him.

“I do,” he said, nodding a little. “Do you know? Do you want to tell me?”

“I do!” Ciri insisted proudly. She let go of Geralt’s hand now that they were inside their building and she ran to the elevator to make sure she could press the button first. When the button lit up, she gave Geralt a devilish smile and he pretended to be disappointed that he couldn’t hit the button first, much to her delight. “It’s okay, Daddy. Maybe next time. I’m just too fast.”

“You are,” Geralt agreed. He nudged her into the now-open elevator. “Didn’t you want to tell me what refract means?”

“Yes! Mister Julian told me all about it! It’s when something makes light change directions! Like… like water! Or windows!” Ciri was literally bouncing in her excitement to share her knowledge and Geralt found himself grinning down at her, just before leading them both to the door to their condo.

“It sounds like you’re learning a lot of really cool things from Mister Julian,” Geralt said. He unlocked the door and ushered her inside.

“Mister Julian is the best. He’s the smartest guy in the whole wide world!”

Ciri attempted to drop her things--backpack, coat, art project and all--onto the floor, only to be stopped by a chiding look from Geralt. She huffed dramatically and picked it all back up and put her belongings back where they went. Geralt offered a quick “Thank you, Ciri,” but she had already moved on to go play in her room until dinner.

Dinner, of course, was filled with chatter about nothing but Mister Julian, but Geralt couldn’t bring himself to be bothered. It was nice that she enjoyed her new nanny at Yennefer’s. By the end of the meal, Geralt was pretty sure he wanted to meet Mister Julian.

--

Geralt thought it had to be a new level of pathetic to be stood up by your own brother, and yet here he was. He wouldn’t have necessarily chosen this bar for himself, but now that he was here, he figured he might as well order a drink, even if Lambert was a dick who didn’t bother to show up. Only a quick “something came up” text and some shitty joke about maybe Geralt could find someone to pull the stick out of his ass for him. Prick.

Geralt was halfway into his drink when someone sat beside him. He didn't bother to look--he was pretty sure the stranger was just trying to order a drink--until he felt the other’s shoulder knock against his.

“I’d love to give you a pickup line, but I get the feeling that wouldn’t go very far with you,” blue eyes said.

Turned out, the rest of him was just as beautiful as his eyes. Given the line the man had already paid him, Geralt felt no shame in letting his gaze drag over his company’s body, and Geralt had to admit he liked what he saw. The curve of his lips screamed mischief, and the cut of his shirt betrayed a deceptively muscular chest. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be a total bust.

“Perceptive,” Geralt answered, taking a long drink of his beer. His eyebrow raised as he met Jaskier’s eye again, and Jaskier straightened up as he settled into the stool beside Geralt.

“I’m Jaskier,” the man said, and motioned at the bartender. He ordered quickly, then turned his attention wholly back to Geralt. “So, does this statuesque masculinity come with a name, or do you prefer to brood your way to recognition?”

“Geralt,” he answered with a smirk. Geralt was pretty sure he had never been made fun of so quickly into what he was almost certain would become a hookup. He quite liked it.

“Geralt, the man of few words,” Jaskier grinned. He received his drink, and held it up, looking pointedly at Geralt’s beer until Geralt clinked the glass together in a wordless cheers. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The pleasure, it turned out, was all Geralt’s. If Jaskier was bothered by carrying the conversation, he certainly didn’t show it. He seemed to even have a knack for pulling information out of Geralt efficiently, between stories. Geralt didn’t learn too much about Jaskier’s personal life--he didn’t think he would--but it only took a few minutes into their conversation for him to realize that he might like to.

From the moment he laid hands on Jaskier--in the privacy of Geralt’s own condo, as neither one of them was particularly keen on giving any unassuming strangers even a tame show--he felt indisputable chemistry. They didn’t have to discuss much to understand that they were on the same page about, well, everything. Even how they both liked to kiss, or the way they liked to be touched. It wasn’t magic, it wasn’t perfect, and Geralt definitely had his hands shoved away from somewhere Jaskier apparently did not enjoy being touched, but it was about as close to electrifying as Geralt had ever gotten with a new partner.

“Jesus,” Jaskier panted as his head hit the pillow.

Geralt snorted into Jaskier’s sweat-sheened shoulder, but he had to agree.

When Geralt woke to find Jaskier still in his bed, starfishing and completely unbothered by another body, Geralt was surprised. Pleasantly surprised, but still surprised. He sat up slowly and made his way to the bathroom, and by the time he came back, Jaskier was sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“I swear I normally don't do sleepovers without at least discussing it first,” Jaskier said, smiling sheepishly at Geralt. “Apparently you wore me out.”

“Apparently I did,” Geralt answered, shrugging. “It’s fine. Do you want breakfast? I can make eggs.”

Jaskier watched him for a moment, with a cautious smile, then nodded. “Breakfast sounds incredible.”

Nearly an hour later, they both were fed, dressed (though Jaskier scrunched up his nose at rewearing last night’s wrinkled outfit), and Jaskier leaned forward into the kitchen table, staring at Geralt.

“Would it be bold of me to request a repeat performance?” Jaskier asked. “Maybe even a meal that isn’t immediately following an accidental sleepover?”

Geralt hesitated a moment. He wanted to, more than anything, but.

“I have to let you know,” Geralt started, “so you can make a fully informed decision. I have a daughter. A five-year-old.”

Jaskier grinned, then bent down, disappearing beneath the table. Geralt watched, his head tilting as he puzzled out this bizarre reaction, and then Jaskier sat back up, a pink stuffed bunny in his hand.

“You mean to tell me this isn’t yours?” Jaskier asked, his voice affronted, though he was still grinning and even managed to wink at Geralt.

“His name is Mr. Bun and he’s part of the family,” Geralt said, with a smile in return.

Jaskier left that morning with the clothes he had worn the night previously, a full belly, and Geralt’s number entered into his phone and a promise that, yes, they could try for dinner next time. Geralt found himself feeling almost as if he needed to thank Lambert for being a prick. He wouldn’t, though.

--

“You’re looking cheerier than usual,” Yennefer said as Geralt stepped back to let her inside.

“Ciri, your mom’s here!” Geralt called. “Do you have your bag ready?”

There was a bang from behind Ciri’s door, one that Geralt absolutely did not want to ask about, before she called back, “Yes! I just forgot something!” Geralt was pretty sure she was lying and that he should say something about that, but it didn’t seem like a battle worth waging when packing her bag was already going to take her time.

“Going to explain, or should I start guessing?” Yennefer asked, smirking at him. “Hm… there was a sale on ugly combat boots and you picked up a few dozen more?” 

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Surely you could do better than that. Don’t tell me you’ve lost your touch,” he teased. 

“Haven’t lost my touch, simply want you to get to the point. What has you looking so pleased?” She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrow, and even if Geralt wanted to deflect, he knew from the set of her shoulders Yennefer wasn’t going to just let it go. There was no need for him to, though.

“I have a date tonight.” 

“You do? Well, tell me about them? What’s so great about this date that made you pawn off your daughter a night early?”

“You asked to have Ciri early. She’ll think you’re serious if she overhears you,” Geralt frowned. Yennefer waved an insistent hand back. “His name is Jaskier.”

“Mommy!” Ciri called, bounding out of her room and running straight into Yennefer’s arms. Yennefer spun her around once before setting her feet back on the ground, and Ciri grinned up at her. “Is Mister Julian coming to see me this week?”

“Of course he is,” Yennefer answered, nodding at her. “He’ll pick you up from school on Monday.”

“Good.” Ciri’s voice contained every ounce of seriousness in the world, and Geralt had to bite back his laugh. Ciri did not like thinking that Geralt was laughing at her. Not that he blamed her. “I have something very important to tell him.”

“And what’s that?”

“Hippos make pink slime instead of using sunscreen!”

Yennefer’s nose scrunched up and she glanced at Geralt, who shrugged.

“We spent this weekend looking up facts to tell Mister Julian. She picked that one,” Geralt answered.

“That is fascinating and adequately disgusting. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.” Yennefer took Ciri’s hand and her bag, which she slung over her shoulder. “Say bye to your dad, Ciri. We need to run.” She pointed a finger on her free hand at Geralt. “I expect to hear all about your weekend when you come pick her up.”

--

It wasn’t until their fifth date that Geralt took Jaskier home again.

Coming back for a hookup was one thing; usually people Geralt brought home left as soon as they caught their breath and never came back. Going on an actual date with someone, though, was different. Bringing someone he was actively dating into the home Geralt shared with his daughter was a whole other level that had to be handled extremely carefully. And slowly.

Luckily, Jaskier understood.

“It’s been so long, I almost forgot where you lived,” Jaskier said, grinning as Geralt opened the door for him. “I’m flattered I’m being invited back. I must be doing something right.”

Geralt snorted, then backed up to let Jaskier back into the condo. Jaskier followed after him, only to crowd Geralt against the door and bring him in for a kiss. Geralt’s arms wound around Jaskier’s middle, turning them both so he could close the door behind them, lest they give Geralt’s neighbors an unintended show. 

“A lot of things right,” Geralt answered once they pulled away, and he lived for the way Jaskier beamed at him.

“Did you know,” Jaskier said conversationally, over the dinner Geralt had cooked for them, “that your daughter and my charge are the same age?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at Jaskier and finished his bite. Jaskier didn’t often volunteer information about his charge. Geralt hadn’t pressed, of course, after Jaskier mentioned his job as a nanny on their first official date, and then followed up with “For confidentiality reasons, I can’t tell you much about her, but she is just the best.”

“I thought you didn’t talk about your charge with people you were dating,” Geralt answered. He put down his fork, as he was finished with his meal, and rested his hand on Jaskier’s leg.

“I don’t, but I would consider it, a bit, with a boyfriend,” Jaskier answered, and his hand hovered above Geralt’s, just barely avoiding contact. Though his tone was as even and nonchalant as possible, and he shrugged his shoulders, Jaskier wouldn’t look at Geralt; he was nervous. “And, well. I figured it might give you permission to talk about your daughter. And know that you’re not going to scare me off if you do.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said. He captured Jaskier’s still-hovering hand and entwined their fingers. Geralt waited until Jaskier met his eye again, then smiled. “I suppose telling my boyfriend about my daughter makes sense.”

--

“I’m just wondering what sort of name Jaskier is, anyway,” Yennefer said.

Geralt rolled his eyes and gave her an exasperated look, but Yen only grinned wickedly back. 

“It’s a stage name, and a nickname,” Geralt answered, shrugging.

“A nickname for what?”

“I don’t know. He hasn’t told me and I haven’t asked.”

“You’ve been dating this guy for, what, three months now, and you don’t even know his name?” Yennefer sounded incredulous.

“I know his name. It’s Jaskier. “ Geralt smirked, and Yennefer looked likely to hit him.

She hadn’t given Geralt even the tiniest bit of rest about it all since Geralt had admitted that he and Jaskier were serious over a month ago, but Geralt found himself less and less bothered by it. She had made it clear that she simply wanted to meet him, and that was her goal with all this teasing, but Geralt wasn’t ready. Yennefer meeting Jaskier likely meant Ciri meeting Jaskier, and though he knew he was serious, he felt they needed quite a bit more stability before his five-year-old was brought into the picture. Jaskier seemed to agree, if his lack of pressing about it was anything to go off of.

“Do you even know his last name?” Yennefer asked.

“I do. But I’m not telling you. You don’t need to internet stalk him.”

“Oh, but I so love being nosey.”

Geralt snorted, then turned to the bright patter of Ciri’s feet running to him and jumping in his arms. He caught her, and lifted her up in a bear hug. “Ready to go?” he asked. Ciri nodded enthusiastically.

“Did you ask Mister Julian if he’s free Friday?” Geralt asked, turning back to Yen and holding out his hand for Ciri’s bag, which Yennefer passed to him.

“Sorry, he said he was busy,” Yennefer answered with a sympathetic grimace.

“Someday I’ll meet Ciri’s favorite person in the whole world,” Geralt said. He slung the bag over his arm and put Ciri down, instead taking her hand. “That’s fine. How’s a night at Grandpa’s then?”

Ciri’s eyes grew comically large. “Yes! Last time we had unicorn pancakes! For dinner!” she said.

Geralt very much did not want to know what unicorn pancakes were, or just how much of a sugarbomb they contained. Instead of asking, he waved at Yen and took Ciri back home.

--

Geralt could feel himself drifting. He shouldn’t let himself, he knew, but it was hard not to when he was wrapped up in his warm bed, still shaking off sleep, and Jaskier was lightly tracing patterns on Geralt’s bare chest. There were things he had to do, like clean up after their date night, and go pick Ciri up from Vesemir’s, but Geralt figured there wasn’t much harm in letting himself have this moment. He hummed, to let Jaskier know he was awake. Hopefully he’d not let Geralt drift off again.

“Morning,” Jaskier said. His voice wasn’t a whisper, but it was a near thing.

“Since when do you wake up before me?” Geralt asked. With great effort, he opened an eye to look at Jaskier, who was smiling down at Geralt, his head propped up with his elbow.

“I wouldn’t get used to it,” Jaskier answered. He continued trailing his fingers along Geralt’s chest. “I’m sure next time you’ll have to chase me out when I inevitably oversleep and your daughter’s on her way home.”

Geralt hummed and caught Jaskier’s hand, then pressed his lips to Jaskier’s fingers. Though the light streaming in from the window was entirely too bright, Geralt found he didn’t mind. Jaskier was haloed in the soft light.

“Maybe sometime you can meet her,” Geralt said.

Jaskier grinned and leaned in to press a kiss to Geralt’s collarbone. “I’d love to. When you’re both ready,” he said. He lifted his head again, then paused, before pressing a slow, sweet kiss to Geralt’s lips.

“Hmm, yeah, it’s official,” Jaskier said as he pulled back.

Geralt furrowed his eyebrows as he reached out to card his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. “What’s official?”

“That I love you,” Jaskier said.

He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he hadn’t just thrown Geralt completely for a loop and left him boneless. Jaskier sounded so sure, so honest, and he was beaming down at Geralt.

“Is that so?” Geralt finally answered, his mouth dry.

Jaskier’s face did not dampen, not even a little, as he nodded. “It is. I know because I still felt that way when I kissed you, morning breath and all.”

Geralt snorted and pushed himself up to sit. He still held Jaskier’s hand, and he pressed a kiss to his palm--to spare him from any further morning breath--then let go and stood up. Jaskier sat up, too, and was looking at Geralt with such a look of adoration, that Geralt felt himself flushing under the attention as he made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

The escape helped clear his head. After his teeth were brushed, he left the bathroom to find Jaskier getting dressed, pulling a new outfit from the drawer Geralt had cleared out for him. They smiled at each other, then switched, Jaskier brushing his teeth and Geralt getting dressed. 

It was so easy, that Geralt found himself a bit floored. It had been slow, and Geralt hadn’t truly noticed, but in the warm shock of Jaskier’s confession, he noticed there were little reminders of Jaskier everywhere: the clothes in the drawer, Jaskier’s toothbrush in Geralt’s bathroom. The pictures from the photobooth of the two of them sitting on Geralt’s nightstand. 

Geralt returned to the bathroom and leaned against the doorway. Geralt watched, silently, as Jaskier finished brushing his teeth, then grinned at Geralt.

“Don’t tell me you’re kicking me out already. I woke up early for you! I thought we could go to brunch. Maybe do an early six-month anniversary thing, since I’m working on our actual anniversary.” Jaskier paused to let out a nervous laugh and card his fingers through his hair. “Monthiversary? Whatever. Six months is a big deal, okay, I promise I’ll let you off the hook for other month markers, but six months is a big deal.”

“I love you, too,” Geralt said. He reached out a hand and Jaskier allowed himself to be pulled into a hug. Jaskier’s body sagged in relief against Geralt and Geralt held him all the tighter for it. This was right. Geralt hadn’t felt this sure about anything in a long time.

--

“How would you feel about Jaskier meeting Ciri?” Geralt asked as soon as Yennefer opened the door.

Yennefer paused for a moment, blinking.

“I hate when you do that. Next time can you greet me before bombarding me with big questions?” Yennefer asked, frowning at him.

“Hi Yen,” Geralt answered, nodding a little. He supposed that was fair. “How has your week been? I wanted to chat about this before Ciri comes down. So she doesn’t get excited or think it’s happening if you say no.”

“Well, I appreciate that.” Yennefer let out an audible breath, then gestured for Geralt to come inside. “So, things are pretty serious with him, then?”

“Yes. We’ve been together nine months.”

Yennefer put her hands on her hips and regarded Geralt for a moment. “You’ve been seeing this guy almost a year, and you’re just now considering having him meet Ciri? Jesus, Geralt. I guess we’re all lucky you didn’t wait until a marriage proposal before any of us got to know him.”

“I can’t consider marrying anyone that Ciri hasn’t signed off on,” Geralt answered, shrugging.

“You are the most ridiculous man I’ve ever met. Yes, absolutely, have this guy that’s been in your life for almost an entire year meet Ciri, I give you permission.” Yen’s eyes rolled as she crossed her arms. “I get to meet him after. Before Lambert and Eskel.”

“Agreed,” Geralt said. He thought about sticking out his hand to shake Yennefer’s and seal the deal, but he figured now wasn’t the time to incur Yennefer’s wrath.

--

Geralt was nervous. In fact, nervous didn’t even begin to describe Geralt at this precise moment. Geralt had a feeling Jaskier was probably just as nervous, if not moreso, judging by how quiet he had been all day on the phone. No social media posts, only a couple clarifying questions about the plan for tonight to Geralt, and otherwise completely silent. It helped, if Geralt was being honest. That meant Jaskier knew how big of a deal this was, just as much as Geralt did. If Ciri didn’t like Jaskier--well. Geralt just had to trust that was impossible.

When he heard the knock, Geralt startled. He opened the door to find Jaskier standing there, looking sheepish and gorgeous.

“Ciri? Jaskier’s here,” Geralt said. He reached out a hand for Jaskier, who gladly took it and stepped inside.

Geralt was still turned toward the door, closing it, as Ciri’s steps turned from walking to an all out sprint toward them.

“Mister Julian!” she yelled as she jumped into his--thankfully, just barely ready--arms. Jaskier looked bewildered, and like he was still processing the girl now in his arms. Ciri pulled back and pressed her palms to Jaskier’s cheeks. “I didn’t know you were coming to my dad’s! You didn’t say you were coming over!”

“I...I didn’t know,” Jaskier answered. He bent to put her back on the ground, just a bit too fast to be intentional, but Ciri was delighted by the move. Jaskier then wrung his hands together, but Geralt could still see that they were shaking.

“Julian? You’re Mister Julian?” Geralt asked. He couldn’t process this. He felt dizzy and thrown and suddenly very uncertain of what he should do with his hands.

“Julian’s my first name,” Jaskier answered. Geralt could see the blush creeping along Jaskier’s face. “Since it’s on my driver’s license and easier to say, that’s the name I use. You’re Cirilla’s dad?”

“Dad,” Ciri whined, and when Geralt looked to her she had the most disapproving frown Geralt had ever seen on her face. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re friends with Mister Julian? You said we don’t keep secrets!”

“You’re right,” Geralt agreed. He hesitated a moment, then ran his fingers through her hair. “I didn’t know I was keeping a secret, it was an accident. I call Mister Julian ‘Jaskier.’”

Ciri turned her now very suspicious frown on Jaskier. “Were you keeping a secret? You didn’t tell me you’re my dad’s boyfriend.”

Jaskier laughed and shook his head helplessly. “Trust me, sweetheart. I had no idea. Apparently your dad and I are too good at keeping you safe.”

Ciri seemed to accept that answer, because she shrugged, then ran off to the kitchen as if nothing had happened. Jaskier, however, wheeled on Geralt the moment she turned her back.

“You were married to Yennefer?” Jaskier asked.

“Yes,” Geralt answered. Jaskier let out an incredulous bark of laughter and Geralt placed a hand on the small of his back--trying to steady them both. “We divorced just after we adopted Ciri. How did you not connect her name?”

“I thought maybe you were both inspired by Apple products! Who was I to judge?” Jaskier threw his hands up. A moment later, one landed heavily on Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt could still just barely feel that hand tremble.  “And I don’t call her Ciri! She wanted me to call her Cirilla. I never connected--” He laughed again, shaky and disbelieving. “Oh my god, this does not help nanny stereotypes.”

“At least we know she already likes you?” Geralt offered.

Jaskier gasped, his free hand covering his mouth. He glanced at the kitchen, and by the time he looked back at Geralt, his entire face had crinkled into a broad smile. Jaskier took Geralt’s hand between both of his own and pressed Geralt’s knuckles to his lips, and now Geralt could feel Jaskier’s grin.

“She does,” Jaskier said, sounding as wet as his eyes were. “She does like me!”

Relief washed over Geralt as he really considered what this meant. The hardest part and biggest potential barrier to the future of their relationship had already been crossed before it was even a question. Geralt was not looking forward to how much Yen was going to laugh at him, but he wasn’t worried about their future anymore. Ciri loved Jaskier as much as Geralt did. Everything would be okay.

Geralt pulled his hand from Jaskier’s hold to cup Jaskier’s face and bring him in for a kiss. Somehow, they had managed to do this right. Somehow, they were being rewarded.

“Are we having dinner, or what, lazy boneses?” Ciri called from the kitchen.

Jaskier pulled away to laugh, and Geralt had to capture the mischievous smile Jaskier gave him in another kiss. This time, when Jaskier pulled away, his eyes were soft and his hand was warm as he pulled Geralt to the kitchen.

“Coming, lazy bones?” Jaskier asked, as if Geralt wouldn’t follow him anywhere.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s Basketball Court Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Note: This is a cancelled date which will unlikely come to EN :’(

More from this Collection: Kiro // Lucien // Victor

The date begins with MC in the gym. She comments that it’s usually fully packed, and today is no exception. While leaving, she coincidentally meets Gavin at the entrance. 

He offers to send her home (even though he just arrived lol). He also invites her to join him for outdoor sports next time.

MC: Sure, but what are we going to do? A night run? Or our usual running?

Gavin: Let’s do something different. I’ll teach you basketball.

Basketball?!

This term leaves me shocked, and I suddenly feel like fleeing…

Even though getting smacked by the ball was something that happened back in high school, just the memory of it leaves me feeling faint.

It is nothing but a shadow of life.

MC: …but I have no idea how to play basketball...

Gavin: It’s okay, exercising is the main point.

MC: …

Gavin: Don’t worry, I’m here.

I look towards Gavin, his eyes carrying with it assurance, as though calling me to trust him.

MC: Mm… I’ll give it a try then! …don’t make fun of me if I play badly!

Gavin: Of course I wouldn’t. Are you free this weekend? I can pick you up.

I nod, agreeing to a date that I am both anticipating yet slightly worried about.

-

On Saturday afternoon, Gavin and I head to the outdoor court in Central Park. Although it is still morning, the courts already have quite a number of people.

I take in my surroundings and discover that most of the people consist of school boys, their movements bursting with energy. The sheer number of basketballs flying around the courts leave me shocked, and I unconsciously shirk backwards.

Gavin: What’s wrong?

MC: …I don’t know how to play basketball…

I lower my head and stare at my sport shoes, unable to say the five words: “I am afraid of basketball”.

Gavin hands me the ball.

Gavin: I picked up basketball late, and only started in Junior High.

MC: ?

Gavin: Back then, I was quite short so the seniors made fun of me. A year later, they couldn’t win against me.

I’m left flabbergasted. Minor mentioned that Gavin is amazing at basketball, but I didn’t expect to hear such a story behind it.

Although Gavin only gave me a brief summary, I know that he must have gone through a lot, and put in much effort during that one year.

Gavin: MC, enjoying the process of exercising is more important than anything else.

There is a smile on Gavin’s face.

He… must really like basketball. I can almost imagine him in the court, playing to his heart’s content.

Realising how much Gavin likes basketball, it no longer seems that frightening.

I muster my courage and pat the basketball, crinkling my eyes into a smile.

MC: A goal of mine today is to throw the ball through the hoop once! I’m going to trouble Coach Gavin to teach me from now onwards!

Gavin freezes for a moment.

Gavin: All right.

Gavin does a simple dribbling demonstration. It’s as though the basketball can understand his every command, remaining entirely in Gavin’s control.

I take a deep breath, deciding not to care about the flying basketballs around me. I focus on learning how to dribble the ball.

My current standard limits me to dribbling the ball in position. With a slight movement of my foot, the ball rolls away…

MC: I didn’t think dribbling the ball would be so difficult…

Gavin: There’s no rush, I’ll help to correct your movements.

I nod, cheering myself on once again.

Although my posture is awkward and odd, it seems like… basketball isn’t that scary after all…

Standing beside me, Gavin rests his hand on the small of my back.

Gavin: Relax a little more, your movements can’t be too stiff.

The warmth from his palm seeps through the thin material of my sports outfit, finding its way onto my skin.

It is only now that I realise how close we are. Just a slight lean of my head is enough to make contact with his face.

His eyebrows are bathed in sunlight, casting him in a gentle glow.

Gavin: When doing a low dribble, let your wrist be the axis. Use your wrist and the strength in your fingers to dribble. Like this.

His other hand gently holds onto my wrist. The resulting warmth and the warmth at my back mix together, painting my face a slight tinge of red.

I find myself in a daze, and am unable to speak for a long time.

Gavin’s eyes trail from the basketball to my face. Looking at my dazed state, the seriousness in his lips turns into a smile.

Gavin: Do you know what to do now?

His low voice and warm breaths enter my ear.

I unconsciously avoid his gaze, but accidentally make contact with his arm when dribbling the ball.

With a light cough, Gavin releases his hold on me. He rubs his neck, his ears turning red.

I apply Gavin’s techniques, and find that dribbling does become much easier.

Gavin: Try taking a few steps.

I try taking a few steps forward.

After an early afternoon of “intimate contact” with basketball, I no longer have a phobia of it. However, it is still difficult to master. With a slight movement, the ball rolls to a corner.

Gavin hands me the ball, comforting me once again.

Gavin: It’d be fine after you try a few more times.

Before I can say anything, I hear a man’s voice coming from the side.

Random man: If you’re playing like that, don’t take up space on the court!

Three young men are standing at the side of the basketball court. The one who just spoke has short hair.

Gavin moves to stand in front of me:

Seeing this, the short-haired man starts laughing.

Random man: Give us the court and go elsewhere to concentrate on your date! Your girlfriend can’t play well anyway haha!

The other two men join in the laughter.

I’m a little embarrassed and at a loss for words.

Gavin sweeps his eyes over them, then pulls me towards the basketball hoop, ignoring the three men.

It seems to be the first time the short-haired man has experienced being slighted, and his expression turns ugly.

Random Man: Let’s have a match. Whoever wins will get the court! How does that sound - do you dare to take me on?

Hearing this, Gavin stops and turns to look at him. The short-haired man laughs even more exaggeratedly.

Random Man: You’d lose out if it’s a 2-on-2 though, considering how your girlfriend doesn’t know how to play haha! I’ll give you a chance, how does a 1-on-1 sound?

I tug at the corner of Gavin’s shirt, a little worried.

Gavin: It’s fine.

Gavin assures me in a low voice, and then faces the three men.

Gavin: I’ll take on all three of you.

I widen my eyes in shock, and the three men are also visibly taken aback.

MC: ?!

The three men: What?!

Gavin: If you don’t dare to, then leave.

Random Man: Hmph, don’t accuse us of bullying you later!

An unplanned match begins. The rules are simple – whoever gets the ball through the hoop first wins.

Gavin takes on a casual posture as he dribbles the ball. Although he is alone, he exudes the aura of an entire team. The three men remain in front of the hoop, defending cautiously.

I am filled with a sudden spurt of spirit, running to the court and shouting:

MC: All the best Gavin!

Gavin doesn’t look towards me, but he suddenly goes on the offensive!

He is undeterred by the attempts of the three men to block him. The wind tousles his hair, and sunlight is reflected off his earring and into my eyes.

Building momentum with his spring-like movements, he takes a large leap. The sweat on his brow slides off his face and enters the air, glistening in the light.

He has a serious look on his face, entirely focused on the ball.

With a lift of his hand, the ball leaves the palm of his hand and fingers, forming a perfect parabola in the air.

With a “thud”, the ball steadily goes through the hoop!

MC: Amazing!

The three men are rooted to the spot, their expressions betraying utter disbelief.

-

After another period of training, I finally learn the basics of dribbling.

Gavin: Very good.

MC: It’s all thanks to your good teaching… even I find myself stupid…

Thinking of Gavin’s beautiful form when he shot the ball through the hoop, my heart does a flip.

MC: Um… could you teach me how to shoot next?

He nods and takes the ball. Within the span of a breath, Gavin dribbles the ball towards the net. The ball once again goes through the hoop!

MC: You’re amazing!

I copy Gavin’s movements, but the ball I toss completely misses the mark. The ball doesn’t even touch the board, much less the hoop.

MC: This is too difficult…

No matter how many times I try, the result is still the same… the basketball is in a completely different state when in my hands and Gavin’s.

I release a sigh.

Gavin moves to stand behind me, pulling both my hands over the top of my head, correcting my posture.

Gavin: Like this.

Perhaps due to our strenuous exercise, both of our breaths are warm. The temperature of the air surrounding us rises as a result.

My hands tremble and the basketball falls to the ground, rolling away.

Gavin: [coughs lightly] …let’s try again, following the same action as before.

MC: Okay…

I take deep breaths and try shooting the ball again, with slight improvements.

The temperature rises as noon sets in. Without realizing it, my forehead is completely drenched with sweat.

At this moment, a cool and refreshing object is pressed against my cheek.

I jump at the sudden coldness, whipping my head around to see Gavin standing behind me.

His lifts his head as he drinks from his bottle, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

The contents of the bottle refract the sunlight, morphing the white rays into a colorful, tiny rainbow.

Gavin: Drink some water.

MC: Mm!

I open the can and prepare to down several gulps, but Gavin stops me.

Gavin: Don’t drink too much. You’ve just finished exercising.

I nod, drinking a few small mouthfuls. The blazing heat of the day has left me in a slight trance.

Suddenly, a basketball comes flying towards me!

Before I can react, I find myself wrapped in a hug.

Gavin shifts us to the side quickly, avoiding the ball.

Gavin: MC, are you all right?!

MC: …

My eyes are wide. Gavin furrows his eyebrows, his expression worried.

The owner of the ball apologises profusely.

MC: I… I’m fine…

Looking at my frightened expression, Gavin holds my hand.

Gavin: That’s all for today. Let’s go.

MC: …why so sudden?

Gavin: You were really scared just now.

Gavin opens his mouth as though about to say something, but simply holds my hand tightly.

Could he have sensed that I’m afraid of basketball…

With this in mind, I summon my courage.

MC: I haven’t fulfilled my goal for today!

Seeing my smile, Gavin relaxes.

MC: Could you give me a demonstration again? I’ll definitely learn it this time!

Gavin nods, bringing me to a safer area on the court. He demonstrates how to dribble and shoot the ball.

Gavin: Try again?

MC: Okay!

Mimicking his posture, I take a leap, both arms raised over my head, exerting strength in my wrist to throw the ball…

The ball circles the hoop twice and falls through the hoop!

MC: !!!

I jump up excitedly, turning around and running to Gavin, excited to the point that I can barely form coherent sentences.

MC: Gavin, you, you saw that right! It went in, it really went in! I’m not dreaming, am I?

Gavin: You’re amazing.

He looks at me, his eyes smiling and filled with commendation.

The look in his eyes alleviates the tightness in my chest, and I finally relax.

MC: Before today, I was quite scared of basketball… I was smacked by a basketball in high school, and I’ve been scared of it ever since. I never thought that I’d be able to shoot it through a hoop today!

Gavin reaches out and rubs my head gently.

Gavin: Does it still hurt?

MC: Ah? …it stopped hurting a long time ago! It was quite strange actually – even though I’m afraid of basketball, every time I’m on duty for P.E. class, it’d always happen to be a lesson on basketball. I think I once met you in the gymnasium…

It was already very late back then. I thought the gymnasium would be empty, but I saw Gavin shooting hoops. He played for a long time, and there were several basketballs by his feet.

By the time I finished my homework and returned to the gymnasium to clean up, the floor had not a single trace of basketballs. They were all neatly returned into the basket.

MC: …at that time, I didn’t have the chance to thank you.

Gavin: Thank me for what?

MC: You might have forgotten… you helped me pack up the basketballs in the gymnasium…

Gavin doesn’t respond. He turns to look at me, the corner of his lips turning up into a smile. He takes my hand.

I look at him, not knowing what to say.

MC: You…

In the next second, Gavin embraces me gently.

His breath envelops me.

I hear the sound of steady heartbeats.

Gavin: MC, I remember everything.

[realcube]

romantic matchup ♡ 2k event — choose love! ♡ @luhvxiiao​

PLAYER PROFILE

♡ ♡ ♡

I’m an ambivert? when my social battery is up I’m rlly talkative and can hold conversations with many people but once it runs out (which is rlly quickly) I become the complete opposite won’t talk to anyone (aside from my close friends) and will just quietly mind my own businesses in a corner

♡ ♡ ♡

kenma will somewhat be able to keep up when you are feeling talkative. as for when it’s down (like his is 90% of the time), kenma will just chill quietly in the corner with you; most likely playing a game on his phone or watching anime, and if you want, he’ll give you an earbud so you can watch with him. (be warned, it’s probably a really sad anime. i hc that his fav is like violet evergarden or smth) 

♡ ♡ ♡

I prefer staying at home and spending me time (ie. gaming, reading, watching anime) rather than going out. i often go MIA on my friends and they get rlly mad at me. im only like initiating affection to others and won’t like it when others are affectionate towards me when I’m not in the “mood” for it

♡ ♡ ♡

perfect! that’s his preferred method of spending time too. (but instead of reading, he streams). though he enjoys being alone, if you agree to come over and accompany him while lazing around the house, he’d be silently ecstatic. however, if you just ignore him when he texts you asking if you want to come over, he won’t be too bothered. he might be a bit bummed but he has a habit of accidentally leaving others on read, so he can’t really be mad at you. 

kenma doesn’t like initiating affection most of the time, so he finds it relaxing when you start it. 

♡ ♡ ♡

it is very easy to rile me up? cuz I used to play a lot of sports so competitiveness is kinda in my nature. but I love rivalry w other people so it’s fine (just not academic rivalry). im kinda a science nerd I often tell my parents random bio, chem or physics facts when I notice them irl (ie. oh there’s a rainbow meaning white light is being refracted)

♡ ♡ ♡

he is so tired all the time, hence he can’t go to the effort of riling anyone up or holding a healthy rivalry at all. however, there is one excpetion, and that is video games. if you beat him in one round of super smash bros, he’ll stay up all night trying to beat you if he has to.  

kenma is used to science puns by now (bc kuroo and yaku’s constant bickering) but still, if you make one of those jokes in front of him he’ll probably scoff and tell you how embarrassing it is but it’s clear by his voice that he is quite endeared by them

♡ ♡ ♡

im VERY indifferent to those who act shallow or fake with me and do not care about those who gossip about me. i can easily make people laugh whether they are close friends of mine or just mutual acquaintances

♡ ♡ ♡

kenma doesn’t really care about what others think of him either, to an extent. (like he can deal with internet trolls, but the opinions of his friends and s/o matter a lot to him). however, he is to ever hear shallow gossip about you, he’ll just roll his eyes and express how stupid he thinks rumours are.

he’s not exactly a comedian but sometimes he can crack a joke or two; nothing compared to you though. you’re probably one of the only people that can actually make him laugh to the point where he is hunched over and wheezing.

♡ ♡ ♡

once I become interested in something I become SUPER invested into it but my interest only last for a short period of time as I’ll become disinterested very soon and pull a 180 (applicable to most of my hobbies and interest aside from science). i HATE small talk like I’d rather not talk to someone than be forced to make small talk

♡ ♡ ♡

honestly, he’ll try to hop from interest to interest like you do; no matter how short the curiosity lasts. as long as it makes you happy for the time being, he’ll try to enjoy it as much as you do. obviously, he won’t always be as invested as you, but he tries! 

as soon as you walk into his house to hang out, he’ll immediately greet you with on of the follow: gushing about a fun aspect in a game, ranting due to the stupidity of a teammate or just with silence. no small talk required!

♡ ♡ ♡

runners up: rintaro suna & osamu miya

[impossible-rat-babies]

quarter past (two am) 

word count ~4891 | angst pre-hb | chargestep | mostly under the cut!

read on a03

--

The streets in Los Diablos are rarely deserted at two am, the headlights dazzling as they pass by, bubblegum pink and electric green neon lights in store windows scattering hues across puddles on the concrete. Gasoline and spilled oil refract in electric rainbows, fine leather dress shoes scuffling and stuttering, disturbing the kaleidoscope.

“Y-You are....my bestest friend...! You are my bestest, best friend!”

Pollux rolls his eyes behind the mask, adjusting Ortega’s arm draped over his shoulders, keeping a hold on his wrist. He keeps blabbering on his ear, trying to rock them side to side across the sidewalk, kicking up water with god knows what in it. Pollux struggles to keep them from falling into a heap, cursing under his breath. Ortega would find it down right hilarious if they took a tumble into one of the heaps of trash, or perhaps smacked right into a telephone pole, the drunk bastard. He’d be finding their current struggles hilarious too if he didn’t have his pea sized drunk brain occupied singing to the heavens of his adoration.

“Hey....hey there, Lux?” He cajoles with a poke at his cheek and Pollux jerks away, giving him a grimace even though the mask. “Y-You know you’re my best friend, right?”

“Yes, you’ve been singing about it for the past hour, ass.” Pollux shoots back, sighing out of his nose. 

They’re still a couple blocks away and all he wants to do is dump Ortega on his couch, make sure he won’t throw up all over himself and drag his own ass back to his bed. He blinks quickly to dispel the creeping heaviness across his eyelids, adjusting Ortega once more as he goes into another verse of the same made up jabbering nonsense.

Pollux glances up at Ortega  as he keeps going, his brown eyes staring above and all around, glassy and vacant from the eight or so beers he’s had. Maybe a few other drinks bought for him in between; he’s not paid to watch how much Ortega imbibes. 

But there’s honesty in his eyes, in how despite the awkward looks and snickering laughs from the few people still out as they clumsily pass by, he means every word of his stupid ballad. Drunk Ortega isn’t suave, isn’t the actor, wearing his heart on his sleeve instead of a mask on his face, looking picture perfect, taking it all in stride. It’s honestly slipping out of his mouth unbidden, the facade peeled back, the lies stripped away. The pretense and the formalities all gone and he’s just some drunk guy draped over a friend taking him home.

Pollux likes the pretense, when they don’t say the things they want to say--when he won’t drape himself all over him. Makes it easier to pretend he doesn’t feel like he does--makes it easier to lie to himself.

“I-It’s...it’s true, ya know? You are my, uh, my best friend.” Ortega waves his hand around theatrically, tripping over his own misplaced feet with a giggle. A giggle. God so help him. “An-And I don’t think you hear it enough. From anyone. You’re special, Lux.”

Oh he’s heard plenty of how he’s special--her words purred in his ear, fingernails digging into his shoulders, urging him on--more and more and more. Pollux swallows hard, smothering that voice in the back of his head. 

“Oh I hear plenty from you about how special I am, lover boy.” Pollux huffs because as much as he is an honest drunk, he’s also stupid as shit and mushy as fuck. He doesn’t have the space in his head to think about how differently it sounds when Ortega says he’s special, how his ears are burning and the strange roll of his stomach.

“It’s-It’s because it’s true, Pebbles.” Ortega objects, rather loudly and pointedly. “You really are my best friend an-and I care about you. A lot.”

“You’ll be caring a lot more about the toilet than me in a bit.”

Ortega blows a large raspberry and waves his hand, Pollux dragging him away from yet another hapless pole he’s aiming to smack into.

Going to Hoots on Friday nights is both equal parts exciting and the worst thing he gets talked into doing; the music leaves him with a pounding headache and the flurry of so many minds leaves him damp with cold sweat and shaky hands. Still its Ortega’s favorite place to go on a Friday night, plus Anathema had volunteered to come along and Pollux was feeling indulgent. Fat lot that did when he drew the short straw.

Should’ve told Anathema to do, damn them when they winked and smirked, ducking out the door in a flash, leaving Pollux to wrangle Ortega. 

Pollux sighs and he swallows down the lump, Ortega still mumbling away at his song as his building comes into view. Thank god--it’ll be easy to dump him at home and leave behind the weird feeling that refuses to go away. Going out with Ortega is always dangerous.  It’s far too easy for Pollux to convince himself to give up some of his boundaries and self imposed restrictions—the things that keep him from saying things he shouldn’t. Doing things he shouldn’t. Like walking Ortega home.

He gives an inch and Ortega takes it for a mile, drawing him out bit by bit like thread unraveling from a spool and he uses it to tie them in closer. Convinces him to stay for a little while longer, one more longing look.

One more chaste kiss...or maybe not so chaste kiss.

Ortega nearly falls and Pollux curses, half dragging him up the stairs to his building and he wrangles him through the door to his building. He’s half slumped over him now along with most of his weight on Pollux’s shoulders and he might as well be dragging his feet.

“Can you please stand on your own fucking legs?” Pollux huffs, knees groaning and he’s only twenty two--his body shouldn’t groan like that.

“Gravity is too much, Pebbles.” He mumbles against his shirt near his neck and that is most certainly not helping the situation, his face flushing the under mask.

“I’ll dump your drunk ass on the floor.”

“Please Lux don’t do that.”

Thankfully there’s an elevator or he might have sooner just dumped Ortega in the lobby and left rather than drag his ass up the stairs. The doorman knows Pollux well enough by now that he just waves them on and shakes his head, grinning to himself. Oh the indignity of the Marshal of the Rangers being dragged drunk through his apartment lobby, but the doorman has tight lips. Plus there’s undoubtable amusement in watching Ortega getting wrangled into an elevator when his feet aren’t working correctly.

The door closes before Ortega can spill his guts about how much he likes him to the doorman, or spills his guts all over the tile floor. That would be a mess and Pollux wouldn’t be the one to clean it up. He’s had enough of cleaning up vomit, acid dripping down his chin from his nose, the corners of his mouth..

“Please tell me you have your keys.” Pollux nudges him off and leans Ortega against the elevator wall, patting around his pockets. He finds his wallet—thankfully tucked in his back pocket still—but no keys.

“I got em Lux don’t worry.” Ortega oh so helpfully pats his butt and Pollux rolls his eyes.

“That’s your wallet, you ass.”

Ortega snorts. “You touched my ass.”

Pollux groans loudly, face flushing under his mask and Ortega laughs in self satisfaction. A sharp pinch of his side and he yelps, grumbling under his breath as he rubs the tender spot. His coat pockets next and Pollux finds the jingling ring of keys--thank god.

“At least you have some sense of hindsight...” Pollux grumbles to himself and the elevator dings. He helps him out of the elevator and they drift side to side down the hallway, Ortega mumbling something or another in his ear the whole time, oh so helpfully close like earlier. Pollux tries not to care--his cheeks are most certainly not warm--fumbling with the lock until it clicks open and he pushes Ortega inside. He kicks the door shut and miraculously Ortega is standing on his own two legs and even more miraculous is that he’s looking at him.

“Can’t believe it took this long t’get you to come to my house after Hoots...” Ortega mumbles with a lopsided grin, subtly lost when he’s still got that drunk look to him--the smell of beer and stale french fries still on him. Pollux’s face flushes and his ears burn, quickly squashing down *those* sprinting thoughts. 

“Save the drunk flirting for someone else, lover boy.” He helpfully turns him around to push him towards the living room, putting the keys down. Ortega somehow manages to not bump into too many walls along the hallway, hands outstretched to guide him. Pollux sighs and quickly squashes the little soap bubble thoughts of his goofy sashay down the hall--he was not staring. Not at all, no wandering eyes.

Ortega is reasonably safe in the living room. Not like he can go many places--he could fall down and break his head open on the coffee table his head helpfully tells him--and Pollux heaves a deep, long sigh.

There are pain killers and other meds he’ll need in the cabinet above the bathroom sink; Pollux picks out the ones he’ll need for tomorrow among the menagerie of orange bottles, sifting through what it means to keep a modded body running--thousands of dollars tucked away in that cabinet. They’re the ones he’s watched him take when he won’t stop complaining about the pain in his back and elbows. Others he’s listened to Ortega lament at how bad they taste.

Pollux pulls the throw blanket from off the bed where he’s held frozen peas to the side of Ortega’s head, listening to him talk about how the fight went--the good parts and the bad parts. He’s stitched bleeding wounds there and gathered up stained blankets to clean later, wrapped gauze over washed abrasions, keeping chiding words tucked behind his teeth. 

A cup for water in kitchen and he’s sat on the counter top and watched Ortega cook him all the foods he’s never tasted before. Pies that tia Elena makes, a beautiful cake that his cousin’s aunt makes which reminds him of this tiny hole in the wall place in downtown Los Diablos. He could rant for ages of all Pollux has missed like a fool, how he hasn’t lived until he’s tried this, or tried that. It’s sad just how close is accidentally gets to the truth.

Laughter calls from the living room and Pollux peeks his head out of the kitchen, finding Ortega sprawled out on the couch, one shoe on and the other off, holding a decorative pillow under his chin. Who knows what he’s laughing about now, something stupid inevitably.

“You need to take off both shoes, Ortega.” 

Pollux reminds him, picking around for the biggest bowl and settling on a rather large sauce pan instead. By the time he comes back he’s figured that out along with getting his jacket off, leaving it in a heap on the ground. Pollux knows he’s watching him, setting both the painkillers and the water on the coffee table for when he gets the sense to need them.

“Hey, hey Pollux?” He pauses putting the pan down. “Why do you always got your mask on?” Ortega asks, brows furrowed like a puzzle he’s trying to solve. Pollux mirrors the expression behind his mask, lips slipping into a familiar frown.

“My face is a secret.” Pollux retorts and Ortega grumbles.

“Friends don’t keep secrets...!”

“Oh yeah? I’m sure you’ve got plenty of secrets you don’t tell me.” Pollux gives him a pointed look and Ortega waves his hand dismissively.

“Nothing like my entire face, Pollux.

“You’ve seen the lower half of my face.”

He’s kissed him too, cupped his face and the back of his head and held him like he was all that mattered in that moment. But Pollux isn’t telling him that at all. He certainly does not want to think about that right now and he scoops up Ortega’s jacket, balling it up in his arms.

“That doesn’t count!” Ortega laments and oh this is just a piss poor attempt to cajole him into showing his face that’s for certain.

“Well tough luck lover boy.” Pollux heaves a sigh and sits down on the floor near Ortega’s head, face resting against couch cushion, jacket still balled up in his hands. He has half the mind to take it with him, as payback for making him drag his ass through the street at 2am. He’d be looking for it up and down his apartment tomorrow and the thought of the frantic text he’d get makes him bite his lip to suppress a smile.

Plus it is a nice jacket--a pretty leather bomber style, well loved and well taken care of.

“You’re so mean to me.” Ortega grumbles, playing with his lip between his teeth, and Pollux ugly snorts, dramatically rolling his eyes.

“Oh, I’m just the worst best friend huh?”

“Yes, the absolute worst best friend. You’re so awful and mean to me in the worst ways imaginable, Pollux.” He can’t help but snort and that sets Ortega off with a loud groan.

“I *cannot* believe that you are finding this funny, getting all this amusement out of you being so mean to...”

Pollux zones out watching Ortega rant, the clumsy way he’s speaking and the way he moves his hands like he needs them to speak, snapping for the words he’s struggling with. It’s...interesting watch the facade crumble, how he’s so perfect with words and oozing charm for crowd and cameras, but just the two of them in his apartment and he’s stumbling, stuttering. 

He’s not the Marshal when he’s sprawled across the couch, one foot dangling off the edge, slurring and tripping over his words, little unabashed laughs slipping out. It’s more real seeing him like this, less questions to ask, more straightforward. There’s no guessing here, no games of chess to play where he needs to be five steps ahead, no guessing his thoughts by the tilt of his brow or the quirk of his lips.

It’s just the calm even breaths between them, enough space to breath the same air and yet it’s still like an ocean dividing them.

Pollux swallows against the lump in his throat and he pushes the thoughts out to sea, staying on the shore where he keeps watching Ortega talk, the turn of his lips and the slope of his neck, down to the hint of collarbone. Places where Pollux has put his lips and felt Ortega’s breath hitch--his pulse race. Put his hands and felt him breathe in his chest, the rise and fall of rushing breathing, the scratch of five’o clock shadow on his cheek, under his nose, the gasp of air in the space between wet lips.

If he was the betting kind of person, he’d put money on Ortega not remembering anything tomorrow and it would so easy...could pull the mask off and let him see for a bit. His hands sweat at the thought, giving an inch and losing a mile to a silly drunk man’s smile and how comforting it is--how is so completely and utterly easy to lose himself.

H’s betting on him not remembering and Pollux is running low on chips. Either and neither way he’s screwed and he takes a long breath. Steadying his hands and he reaches under his mask, pulling it up and over his head.

He blinks, adjusting to the soft hazy light of a nearby lamp, the flush of alcohol and cologne in his nose. Cool air on his sweaty face and he resists the urge to sneeze. Ortega keeps talking, eyes even fluttering over to him once, twice, three times and...there he gets it, brown eyes growing big. 

He blinks once, twice, three times and a wide smile breaks across his face, eyes focused on him. With difficulty, Pollux shoves down the urge to yank the mask back on, cover himself back up and hide; he worries the jacket between his thumb and index finger instead, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Happy?” 

Pollux chokes out past the lump, face flushing. Ortega keeps staring, keeps his eyes focused on him and it’s because he’s drunk, Pollux tells himself, and he’s never seen his face before, and he’s staring at him like he’s something far too precious--a twinkle in his eyes, the curl of crows feet. Pollux’s skin itches and he resists the urge to scratch and pick, tear and yank yank yank--

“You have red hair...” Ortega mumbles and instinct makes him take a deep breath to quiet his nerves. Neither here nor there and Ortega’s hand twitches like he wants to reach out, but he can’t quite get there

“Nice observation there captain obvious.” Ortega snorts at his reply and Pollux runs his fingers across the fuzzy curls starting to grow back in.

“Do you know how many freckles you have?” He still has that half stupid grin on his face, eyes darting about his face, taking it all in like he’s piecing together the person he’s always wondered about under the mask. Fitting him into the image he’s made of him, constructed in his head. 

Pollux is too used to that and he fights the roll of his stomach.

“A million.” Pollux grumbles and Ortega whistles dramatically. “You’ve seen them on my hands before, don’t act so surprised.” Tacking that on and he rolls his eyes too.

Ortega found his hands fascinating back then too, his fingers long and slender compared to his palms, compared the whole of him. Piano fingers Ortega had called them as they measured palm to sweaty palm one lonely day in the break room. Ortega’s fingers daring to slip a fraction, to slip his fingers into his, to hold his hand palm to palm, five fingers interlocking. It was enough to set a fire in his gut then, like pressing his hand to a stove and he’d yanked his hand back and shoved his gloves back on too. Too much of a touch--far too real and new with skin pressed to skin.

“You’re very handsome, Pollux.”

He blinks, tossed from his thoughts by the sudden admission, scrambling, eyes shooting up to look at Ortega. 

That wasn’t what he was expecting--not the words like that, for Ortega to blurt that out and there’s that damn honesty again. 

Ortega is staring at him, eyes more focused than he should for how drunk he supposedly is...or was, for that matter. Damn it. There’s the truth wrapped around his tongue, coating his words and fuck Pollux doesn’t like how it makes him feel, not one single bit.

He blushes deep red and his ears burn, tucking his chin against his chest like that will do any good. If pulling the strings on his hoodie tight to hide his face would do any good he would.

“Shut the fuck up, Ortega.” He manages and fuck his voice shakes more than it should—more than he wants it to.

“I’m not lying.” Ortega’s got that stubborn look in his eyes and there’s a frown of his own on Pollux’s face, lip twitching in an almost sneer.

“I...” Pollux snaps his mouth shut and bites his lip hard. “I don’t care if you’re lying or not, just shut up.”

That’s a lie of his own and he pinches hard between his thumb and index finger, worrying his lip.

“Just because you say that doesn’t mean I’m lying. I am being honest, Pebbles.” He presses further and Pollux looks up at him and he shouldn’t have because Ortega is leaning in far too close.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t get to call you a bastard.” Pollux replies, breathing harder than he should, less butterflies and more like a beehive in his stomach, waiting to be shaken.

“You would call me a bastard no matter what.”

“That’s because it’s the truth, Ortega.” Pollux doesn’t lean away even though the rational part of his brain is screaming otherwise. Ortega’s breath still smells like booze, but he smells more like cologne this close, the subtle musk that tickles his nose, stale french fries a thing of the past.

“Do you want the truth?” Ortega asks and that is the question.

It’s always been the question, the one he can’t find answers to no matter where he goes looking—what is the truth? What does he need to know the truth about? What happens when the truth is laid before him--or if it’s set in front of too many people, naked and exposed. Far too many questions for the skinny space between them right now, breathing in sync.

“Could I stop you from saying it?” Pollux asks in return, eyes sliding down the slope of Ortega’s neck, fingers itching. He can’t remember if he wore a necktie or not, but the top buttons are undone regardless. Pale pink cotton sharp against deep brown skin and Pollux swallows against the lump in his throat.

“No...” Ortega grins, a soft flush on his cheeks that isn’t from the alcohol. “But I would very much like to kiss you.”

Pollux bites his lip and he’s still, holding himself just so he won’t bolt from the floor, knuckles tense in the jacket. He steals a glance at Ortega’s face and fuck that isn’t any better than staring at other parts of him, his stomach twisting itself in knots of indecision.

“You smell like beer.” Pollux skirts the question, Ortega’s lips just inches from his--breathing in time, breathing in the same air and if it were anywhere but here, anywhere but this moment. If he was anyone--anything--but what he is.

“Is that better than blood?” He asks and Pollux quietly snorts. Bastard.

“I’m used to blood.” 

Pollux unknits his hand from the jacket, reaching and pulling back and he knows he’s touching what he shouldn’t be--feeling what he isn’t mean to feel--but he’s doing it regardless. Reaching again, his fingertips ghost up the side of Ortega’s neck. He smooths his fingers up bronzed skin to the curve of his jaw, jagged thumbnail slipping along the rough line of stubble there, thumb finding his chin. He swears there’s a sharp intake of breath, but Ortega is still, staring, eyes searching his. 

He knows it’s almost three am and he doesn’t know how he’ll drag himself back to his bed with how tired he is now, tired enough to think that kissing Ortega is a good idea, tired enough to loose his inhibitions. He’s seen his whole face and he hasn’t run, trembling fingers still holding his face in a gesture far more intimate than palms pressing together, fingers almost linked.

Pollux supposes he’ll wake up the next morning and if his phone isn’t dead he’ll have a slew of text messages waiting for him; supposes Ortega will remember and ask a dozen questions, or he won’t and still ask a dozen questions like he’s used to. Either way Pollux supposes he’ll lie to him, tell him that nothing happened, that he just dumped him on his couch and got him settled in. He supposes they’ll both know better than that, but neither will say anything. Supposes Ortega won’t even remember his face in the morning, or remembering kissing him.

His thumb is still stroking his chin, eyes staring at his lips.

“But I can make an exception. Just this once.” 

Pollux lies to himself, to both of them. Another one to add to the dozens, a pile like he’s digging his own grave. 

He crosses the gap between them and he pauses just enough to know how bad of idea this is--how screwed he’s going to be. Ortega doesn’t give him time to back out, cradling the back of his neck and he yanks him close, lips pressing against lips.

He tastes of stale beer--better than fresh blood, the taste of metal and electricity on his tongue. Here he feels the shape of his chapped lips against his, the curve of his jaw, hand curling sharp into the nape of Ortega’s neck, fingers slowly bunching in his hair. Ortega’s hand cupping his cheek and jaw, hand warm against his already flushed skin. Nose bumping nose to try and fit lips together and it’s soft, tender, worming into the dark places he’s hidden away, pulling lengths of thread to bind them together. Pollux pulls away, forehead to forehead, biting wet lips.

Oh he’s certainly going to be cursing himself later, Ortega pulling him back in for kisses upon kisses that keep bleeding into each other, one after another, tongue and teeth and he wonders how much Ortega is trying to memorize the shape of him, the flush of his lips against his, fitting puzzle pieces together. Ironic considering he wasn’t meant to be remembered and here Ortega is, slowly, achingly, trying his best to do just that and fuck it *hurts*.

It isn’t fair, kissing Ortega when he’s drunk on his couch, Pollux’s fingers knitted tight in his hair, hand finding it’s way under his collared shirt to press against his chest, needs these needy kisses. Hands holding his own face, the back of his own neck, hands daring--wanting to explore more. Fuck he wants to hold him tight, let him keeping touching him, drink in every single kiss and then maybe he won’t feel so empty. 

Maybe he’ll feel like an actual person, like he’s more than what’s on his skin, what’s buried deep down--the terrible, gut wrenching truth. 

 And that is one of the scariest thoughts he’s ever had.

He pulls away from the kiss, peels his hands from Ortega and Ortega’s hands away from him, hiccuping with each time he tries to breathe, trying to hold the panic steady in his gut. 

“Stop.” His hand is firm on Ortega’s chest, keeping him at bay as he tries to lean back in, to try and kiss him again. “You’re far too drunk, Ricardo.” Pollux whispers, sense crawling back up his spine, a cold weight filling his gut.

“Just drunk on you.” He’s trying for smug and the way he’s looking at him through his eyelashes would almost be charming, but it’s just not fair, not fair at all.

(It’s always the almost, isn’t it?)

“Stop, please...” Pollux presses his hand firm against his chest, enough to push him back a bit and Ortega’s brow scrunches together, confusion slipping into worry and further into scarier emotions.

“Pollux? Are you okay” 

“You’re drunk and I’m going home.” 

Pollux says again, trying to be firm, to hold his ground, despite knowing what he wants to be feeling, his chest tight. He needs to go, needs to leave before those feelings get the better of him, before he decides to do dangerous things--things that come attached with regrets. Things he can’t even fathom, ones that leave his skin like pins and needles.

(Needles under the skin, needles in veins, wrists chafing)

“Pollux, please, I’m sorry...what did I do?” Ortega tries again and Pollux gets to his feet to stay out of reach of scrambling hands, jacket knitted in his hands once more, knuckles squeezed of their blood.

(blood on white tiles, muffled screeching and sobbing)

“You didn’t do anything, I’m sorry.” Pollux chokes out, pursing his lips into a thin white line, looking everywhere but at Ortega.

“No, I-I did something...I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have kissed you--” He tries to get up, but Pollux puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes him back down, quickly pulling his hand back out of reach.

“No, I’m...I’m going back home. You’re drunk and didn’t do anything wrong.”

That’s right, it’s always him making the bad choices, going against the boundaries he’s set for himself and they’re there for a good reason--to keep him safe. Keep his secrets safe, locked away behind his teeth and his lips still taste like Ortega.

“Pebbles, come on...pl-please...”

“No, I am going home, Ricardo. I’m sorry.”

He takes his mask out and slips it back over his face, adjusting the fabric and he can hide again, pretend like he’s calm and not that his stomach is still twisting itself into knots upon knots, that he doesn’t want to bolt down the stairs and out the door.

“Don’t throw up all over yourself, please. Take your meds. Call Steel in the morning so you don’t cause a panic when you don’t show up at eight am.” 

Pollux speaks quick, sliding the pan closer towards Ortega with his foot and he skirts around the couch, jacket still locked in his hands. He hears Ortega scrambling to extract himself from the couch, still whining for Pollux.

Pollux reaches the door and disregards his pleas, opening the door to the cold hallway bathed in green florescence from the flickering lights overhead. 

“Bye Ortega.”

He slams the door closed behind him, the sound ringing in his ears over and over again, a rhythm as he takes the stairs in sets of threes and he’s out into the night, disappearing into the dark.

[morning-star-57]

Miraculous Quirk AU

Idk if someone has already done this but here we go!

So, I recently got into Boku no Hero Academia and I got to thinking, what if the Miraculous universe was set in the same one as Bnha?

So, those of us who watch Bnha know the drill, 80% of the population has superpowers, called “quirks.” The other 20% are “quirkless.” So here’s how it would play out in my brain.

Super duper long, oops, so under the cut!

Miraculous:

works pretty much the same way as canon

only doesn’t give you a suit the holder picks that themselves

they work similar to One For All does in Bnha

the power of the previous owner fuels the power of the miraculous and the previous user can still use the power, but a weakened version of it

Ladybug miraculous gives the holder the power to create things and heal

Black Cat miraculous gives the power to destroy things with a touch (at will)

And so on, pretty much like canon but with some modifications

Marinette

was born quirkless

when she was younger, kids (cough Chloe cough) would make fun of her for it

was insecure about it for a long time and then saw all of the ways that quirks could backfire and decided it wasn’t worth it and it no longer bothers her (much)

(seeing Chloe blind herself was funny tho, even if it was temporary)

still wants to be a fashion designer

wary of superheros because of all of that property damage and also some of them are lowkey sus.

parents still own a bakery

Sabine’s quirk is levitation. She can make items and people float with her  mind but they have to be things she can physically lift (it’s okay tho cause she’s smol but strong). The drawback is that she gets really bad headaches and if she uses it too much or for too long, she can get a migraine.

Tom has a smaller, tamer version of pyrokinesis. He can’t make his entire body burst into flame but he can make certain parts, like his hands. He has a naturally high resistance to extreme weathers as his body heat is unusally high (hugs from him during the summer are bittersweet b/c he’s a great hugger but it’s too damn HOT DAD GET OFF-). The drawback is that he can’t control the temperature of the flame so if he’s not careful or if he uses his quirk for too long, it’ll burn him. His arms have many burn scars, rip.

back to Marinette

Decided the Hero Life wasn’t for her but still supports her friends who want to do it

Until she met the Lucky Hero, Tikki, her favorite

After plot happens, Tikki gives her the source of her “quirk”, the miraculous, and entrusts Marinette to carry on her legacy

Lots of angsty turmoil before she accepts the miraculous and decided to become a hero.

Chooses to be named the Ladybug, same as canon

Her hero costume would be the same as canon AT FIRST since her decision to go to a hero school was last minute af but then the suit will go through modifications to better suit her power needs and fashion needs

Got through the entrance exam after training with Tikki and because she’s badass shh

Doesn’t get a crush on Adrien until later once they’re already friends (or at all really idk yet)

Adrien

was the result of a quirk marriage

was the *failed result of a quirk marriage

Instead of inheriting both quirks of his parents, like intended, they combined and created a new one

His quirk is Charm. His body releases an invisible pheromone that makes him seem more attractive or trustworthy, sometimes both, depending on the person who smells it. This makes the “victim” more susceptible to his suggestions, but it’s not a total brainwash, unlike his father, so they can still easily fight it off if they wanted to. The drawbacks are that he can’t really stop it so he has to be constantly covered so that he doesn’t accidentally charm everyone. Also, after a while, people can build up tolerance to him and it won’t work as strongly on them.

Gabriel has Brainwash, which is often seen as a villain’s quirk. Everyone is thankful the he decided on fashion as a career and not villainy (oh those poor naive souls). If he looks into your eyes, you are put in his control and won’t be able to fight it unless he lets you go or if you receive a blunt impact to the head. The drawbacks are that he can’t control it so anyone who he makes eye contact with gets brainwashed unless there’s an obstacle in the way i.e.: glasses

Emilie’s quirk is sleep gas. Her skin cells naturally produce a gas that can put people in a coma-like state. The drawbacks are, again, can’t turn it off and the person has to be within range. She also has to be constantly covered.

Adrien wanted to be a hero at first to spite his father

Gabriel always hated heroes and saw them as a nuisance.

So Adrien basically said “fuck you, I’m going to be the best hero because I can”

And somehow convinced his dad to enroll him in College Francois Dupont, a local hero school

(he acutally just charmed him cause his dad isn’t around him enough to build up immunity to his quirk but shh)

He gets in through recommendations and is put in the hero course

This version of Adrien was still childhood friends with Chloe (who is immune to him) and a lot more distrustful of people, especially if they’re nice since he has no way of know if they’re genuinely a nice person or if they just fell prey to his quirk

rip the sunshine boy he has no friends except Chloe for the first few weeks of class

Becomes friends with Nino after they got paired up in a fight simulation

The slowly gets more comfortable around people and becomes more open to friendships

Doesn’t get the Black Cat Miraculous until much, much later when the Squad gets caught up in a fight with villains and the Unlucky Hero, Plagg (Tikki’s partner and husband) decides to entrust him with it

Impulsive chaotic gremlin that gets threatened to be put on a leash made by Marinette 

Chloe

also the result of a quirk marriage, this one being successful

Her quirk is called Diamond. Her skin has an extra layer that acts very similarly to an actual diamond so she can reflect, refract, and disperse light. This layer can also harden at her will so that she can become a semi-indestructible prism. Her body’s reaction to light intensifies while in this state. The drawbacks are that while her body is hardened, she cannot move easily and her speed will be greatly reduced. Also, her skin is just very sparkly almost all of the time which makes it hard to hide from villains and to see when it’s sunny out. Usually wear large sunhats and sunglasses to try and reduce the shine

Her and Adrien bond by being products of a quirk marriage

also got in through recommendation and everyone thinks she bought her way in but actually tried very hard to earn her spot

is VERY protective over Adrien and will blind someone if they say anything she deems offensive

She and Marinette practically hate each other on a good day before they were forced to hang out since Adrien kept bringing Chloe along with him whenever the Squad would get into shenanigans

They developed a mutual agreement to be civil at one point and that slowly turned into friendship

Y’know the type of friends that insult each other and fight over every small thing but the second someone else tries to come for the other they won’t h e s i t a t e BITCH

yeah that’s them

anyways, I digress

Is surprisingly the sensible one of the group

“no you cannot run headfirst into the fight Adrien, these are actual villains and you can’t even pass a simulation without dumb luck.”

“I don’t care if your quirk can heal you Marinette, stop jumping off of rooftops and go down the stairs like a normal person!”

“Put it down, Nino.”

“Luka. No.”

you get the idea

she is Mom

Says she wants to be a hero because hero’s are cool and she’s cool so it just makes sense for her to be a hero

(actually though because she wanted to make her mother proud of her but you didn’t hear it from me)

Is lowkey really powerful and if she tried to use the full extent of her powers, she’d be a beast

but don’t tell her that, she’s already got a big head

Luka

is working towards becoming an underground hero

His quirk is sound amplification. He amplifies preexisting sound waves to what ever frequency is needed. Depending on the frequency, he can break through almost any object. The drawback is that sound waves can damage his hearing and can become temporarily deaf if he uses it too long or if he creates a frequency that’s too high for his body to handle. Has a chance of becoming permanently deaf if he overuses his quirk too many times

His suit comes with modifications to help with that so he should be fine he hopes

His guitar doubles as a weapon since he usually amplifies whatever chord he plays

Already has his provisional hero licence

is still really chill

is one of the first to figure out Marinette’s secret but is a good boi so he doesn’t tell

you’d think that being the oldest of the group he’d be the sensible one but nope

is accidentally the one that encourages shenanigans 

Luka, innocently: Hey, did you know that the teachers don’t lock up the sim rooms?

Chloe: *Death glare*

Luka: *nervous confusion*

the one who encouraged Juleka to go for the hero course 

Nino

Adrien’s best friend, just like canon

started out as general studies since he wasn’t sure if he was good enough to be a hero but a teacher saw his potential and was transferred into the hero course

His quirk is time reduction. He can slow time or even stop it completely if he concentrates very hard, allowing him to get one place to the next in literally no time at all. He used to think it was super speed because this but found out what it really was when he tried to save a cat from being run over and stopped time. He can also stop  only certain objects in time but that takes up more energy. The drawback is that if he overuses his quirk he starts to speed up his own time in order to compensate for the time he’s losing so he becomes very tired and after “3 hours” of his own time passed he will pass out from exhaustion. Also, he can only manipulate the time within his quirk’s range which can go up to about the size of an american football field (160 feet/49) meters.

is super insecure of his quirk because he thinks it’s not as cool as everyone else’s

they make sure to let him know that that’s bs and he’s very cool

feeds off of Adiren’s chaotic energy during simulations

has been put in timeout by Chloe when this happens

will stop time to bask in the moment 

gets emotional during this

there have been many times where the Squad is chilling and suddenly everyone just sees Nino sobbing 

group hugs ensue

Adrien, probably: “Chloe get your shiny ass in the cuddle pile or so help me-!”

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 I’ll make a part two since this is already so long, but that’s it for now! What do y’all think?

Part 2 is now up!

[moonchildsaurora]

The ex-Mercenary with the endearing dimples

»»—— Crew Member #5 of Space Pirates ATEEZ ——««

all aboard The Perihelion, welcome to the co-pilot’s log system! here you’ll be able to access the crew’s profiles should you wish to read about their journeys: (no nsfw content)

[CAPTAIN] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

“if you fall for those dimples, then you’re already half-way in the hunter’s trap”

only a handful of people actually know of his origins, and being a changeling sure comes with a lot of perks for his (previous) field of work

[database file: changelings are nomadic beings, and are able to shift both face and form at will. There are no official records of a changeling’s standard/normal form, and very rarely would anyone get a chance to witness it. Most changelings take on forms of existing beings, depending on the location they’re at and how much they want to blend in, some preferring to add their own artistic flair on appearance]  

San’s hair changes almost as quickly as he changes his dagger blades, his current hair of a rich dark brown colour with a turf of silver that never seem to stop shimmering slightly – much like moon light. Which makes his Selenian [database file: moon/silver elves] form all that more convincing

he started his mercenary life on the planet Tundaoria, where all main networks of black markets and underground work are based at

young blood with no last name, a growing reputation – San is an all-round enigma. But he had a talent for tracking, deadly accuracy and disappearing without a trace, hence nobody questioned him other than for getting a job done

he used to work with a small group, ‘Windstriders’, known for their efficient timeframe and clean work. People pay for the quality, majority of the time San worked with others but sometimes he might pick up a few solo missions on the side

earned the nickname ‘Dimples’ from his ex-team mates however whilst he seems harmless on first glance, “the kid? Aye he’s one big sweetheart he is”, he’s learnt to use that highly skewed perception to his advantage

that’s to say he’s managed to coax beings either to bed for a night of pleasure or their deathbeds, talk about deadly charisma  

“so on average, what are the chances of someone walking out of your room alive?” 

San prides himself with maintaining a level of morality, and won’t kill unless it’s the specific target themselves and/or out of self-defence for any unfortunate souls who decide to intervene with his job. Has nothing against stealing or gambling because, “what’s living without taking a few risks?”

lowkey has a soft spot for younglings and became unexpectedly close to a particular orphanage in a town on the far northern-side of the planet. The head guardian (most orphanages are cared by a guardian or two) found San passed out nearby after a particularly tedious mission and took him in for healing. Since then that place had become an unofficial healer’s spot and safe house  

the younglings absolutely adored having him visit, especially when “look, look! The Moon Prince is here!”, bearing gifts such as trinkets, new toys or aleagette pastries [database: assorted savoury or sweet pastry-type snacks that melt in the mouth when eaten, the surprise is that the flavour isn’t known until the first bite]. San would later on start contributing part of his earnings towards the upkeep of the orphanage as a repayment for the guardians’ hospitality (and it’s really for the younglings but he won’t admit that)

every time a youngling treats him to a toothy smile, a wild giggle or when the bolder ones would run up and wrap their petite arms around his legs his fondness grows exponentially. Once, a guardian caught him helping the younglings doodle whatever their hearts desired on themselves so they could match the many permanent silver ink patterns that decorated his arms and back

“already influencing the little ones with your ways, Sannie?” (another nickname that the younglings picked up on and would parrot it back)

“I’ll have you know what we’re doing here is called art”

the one time San was caught off guard was having a past target’s associate track him down to his safe space and carry out a revenge attack – “you took my family away from me and now I’m going to take yours”          

San never fully recovered (the invisible wounds at least) for causing innocents to get caught up in the crossfire, for realising too late how attached he’s become to these people and their meaningful presence in his life 

as a parting favour, the Windstriders helped San relocate the survivors of the orphanage far away to the much more peaceful city of Aeria (known as ‘City of Healing’ on the planet Cidestea). They said goodbye to a reliable comrade, to his old identity, to his previous lifestyle; mutually promising that contact will only be made again in a dire situation as a last resort – Dimples was off the radar for good

5 years later, after a successful loot haul The Perihelion stopped by Aeria for a re-fuel and mainly because Seonghwa wouldn’t miss an opportunity to stock up on his medicinal herbs (also adopting some new plant children). Hongjoong led his small crew after being directed by a local to “the best tea spot in town” which turned out to be ‘Mosaic Brews’ run by none other than San

now sporting a more turquoise shade of hair and a woodland elven appearance where once silver ink ran along his skin, now a bold black-brown. The younglings who decided to stick by him now have grown too, toughened up by life yet maintained their soft innocence under San’s care for the past years

curiously they stared in awe at Yunho and Mingi, clearly never seeing such giants (to them) before, the older ones enthusiastically brought out the multi-coloured teas for their new guests and the younger ones were spoiled by Seonghwa’s constant cooing. Hongjoong thought San was more than what met his eyes, the seemingly bright shop owner who’s dimples were on full display and heartily conversed with the young captain still had a guarded air around him

it wasn’t until Yunho and Seonghwa gave a few Urousbaines (with captain’s approval of course, one does not just hand out rarities for free) from their loot to the younglings and San’s nonchalant reaction that got Hongjoong’s eyes sparkling

“don’t worry little one, the flower isn’t frozen, here pass me that water bowl.” and the younglings are still convinced till this day that San is some intergalactic prince with magical powers. Because right in front of their eyes the supposedly frozen flower bloomed and the sunlight refracted off its crystal-like petals, casting a spectrum of colours to fill the small shop

“oh how wondrous! How did you know to do that?” (…and San has left the chat)

A LOT of convincing was needed to get San to hear Hongjoong out (by now the crew knew what their captain wants, he gets) and only after tucking the younglings in for the evening in their rooms on the upper level of the shop did the serious talk start

San swore to leave that life behind but he would be kidding himself if he said he didn’t feel a slight tug at his heart for adventure, yet again. It was a tug-of-war between what the head knows vs. what the heart yearns for

“But Sannie how are you going to save the galaxy if you’re stuck here?” came the soft-spoken voice of the youngest and the group nearly had whiplash turning around. The younglings had snuck downstairs and listened in on the convo, knowing it’ll be sad to part with San but even sadder for him to purposely hold back

the younglings won the debate, that they weren’t naïve nor helpless anymore and together they could take care of themselves and the shop – after all they’ve only learnt from the best (San did notify some of the locals whom were trusted regulars of his temporary leave and to keep an eye on the younglings in his stead)

Yunho offered a communication bot to keep in touch so San could check-in whenever he wished, the younglings were fascinated as the Sheirzoi showed them how to work it and a chorus of “oohs” and “ahhs” were heard when they saw the main deck of the ship through the screen. At present, he made sure to check-in at least once every week, all smiles & dimples when he sees the little ones’ faces squeezed into the single screen

San held onto the younglings right up until he boarded The Perihelion, and making sure to wave back until they were right out of sight. He packed simply but made sure to put up some of the drawings the younger ones gifted him up on his room’s walls and the ‘lucky charm’ that got braided into his hair was worn proudly (the older kids had woven a band with colourful beads & crystallised Echetta wings they found in the garden – from the ‘lucky butterfly’)

the crew reminded him of his old team, how they looked out for one another despite not being blood-related but nevertheless a family of sorts. Eventually everyone found out of his changeling abilities after he nearly gave them a heart attack, “SAN! YOU’RE PURPLE…WHY IS YOUR SKIN PURPLE?!”

Hongjoong never dug too deep into San’s past but was very grateful and appreciative of his fighting skills, thus made him in charge of training the others to be able to defend themselves at least. Cue strict combat trainer San to pop out (Yeosang adds a new curse word to his vocab list after every lesson)

they’ve seen his lethal side where he went on a rampage after Seonghwa got shot

Is probably the only one Jongho trusts to trial his new weapons without blowing something or someone up accidentally

argues with the hot-headed Wooyoung frequently that sometimes Seonghwa has to put them in time-out, initially was legit arguments but now it’s more with an affectionate undertone

Hongjoong and Seonghwa nearly gave him ‘the space dad & mum talk’ after, “bloody hell did you get attacked or something?” upon seeing an array of purple-pink marks across San’s neck when he came stumbling back to the ship just near dawn. The faint scent of perfume lingering and tousled hair gave away that much. “At least leave us a message if not we’re sending the precious cargo retrieval brigade next time”

recently adopted a Kiatrafel [database file: small winged feline-like creature that can spit fire], he calls her “my girl” and is in the midst of training it to not mark its territory everywhere (including on people)

“SAN! Your hellcat just pissed on Hongjoong...again and coughed up flames on Yunho’s notes. Captain says if you don’t come within 5 seconds he’s throwing her down the chute”                                          

(moodboard made with love, by @s1ardusk​ ♡)

[shealynn88]

It’s Hump Day! Have some DeanBenny Hump, with minor whump.

~Your DB Secret Scribe

~Love Potion #9.5~

Star date: 2706.08.22

Neptune Quadrant 

  “Been eight years since I was on Galatea in the Purgatory Caverns and spotted this blossom.” Benny stepped off the transport platform, following Dean onto shore, leading to the caverns’ entrance. 

  Dean’s stomach had Ganymedean butter bees floating around inside. Over the years, he thought he’d seen traces of his feelings, echoed back in Benny’s pale blue, beautiful eyes. Yet neither had had the courage to venture into that uncharted territory. 

  Seemed like yesterday since graduating from Europa and Benny scored that internship on the Neptune moon of Galatea, where he’d taken those groundbreaking shots of the rare plant they currently sought for study. 

  The Galatean Blossom was named for the Greek sea nymph in which Cyclops had fallen for, and only grew in the caverns found on the farthest edge of the moon’s ocean below the surface. The caverns were so richly oxygenated, he and Benny easily walked among the blossom fields without helmets. With their sterile field barge floating behind them, they tiptoed through the tulips as it were, marveling at the caverns’ array of bioluminescent botanical species. The air was cool, yet humid, and the sweet, tropical scent was reminiscent of Earth’s Polynesian Hibiscus and mango. 

  Spotting a perfectly symmetrical blossom, Dean ambled up with his aluminum trowel, carefully digging in the rough soil around the stem. Cautiously prying the roots free from the finer soil beneath, he then marched towards the barge and tripped over something scurrying at his feet. Dean fell face first into the path of a Hippocampean Felossum. The creature was possum-cat-esque in nature, which the citizens of Earth found utterly adorable, but had Dean sneezing his ass off. 

  When falling over, Dean was unaware the ovules in the plant had filled its ovary and made their way up through the pollen tube. When sneezing, he’d accidentally compressed the blossoms’ pistil, sending its pollen shooting into the air, surrounding he and Benny. 

  “Don’t that beat all, just look at their multiplication rate.” Benny’s face was covered in the glowing pollen speckles replicating in the air. 

  Dean noticed an odd feeling in his suit, as if given hormonal agents via IV push. His eyes dilated uncomfortably and an electric shock jolted directly to his dick. Looking at Benny, his friend appeared to experience the same. He was hunched over, sporting a suspiciously large bulge in his second skin environmental suit.

  What’ve I done? Dean righted himself and approached Benny, who held onto the cavern wall. The scorching gaze meeting Dean was that of a man who could no longer refrain from something. 

  “You alright?” Dean queried in genuine concern.

  “I..uh..I..”

  Both moved closer, into each other’s personal space like magnets. 

  “Sorry, must be from the blossom. Can’t help it..you need to know th-”

  Dean cut him off with a carnal kiss, one which simmered from years of yearning. His body sang with relief, feeling Benny’s craving mirrored right back. Refusing to break the kiss, they peeled their suits off of each other.

  Reaching for a thermal comforter from the field barge, Benny lay it down and pressed him onto its pleasant buoyancy. With his knees already falling wide, Dean welcomed the euphoric sensation of Benny’s cock, drenched in precum, rutting in primal need against his own. This wouldn’t be the slow, sweet lovemaking Dean envisioned so many times before. Nevertheless, the fierce passion they were feeling for each other now was what he’d felt all along, just magnified.

  Dean was vaguely aware of how the light from each fleck of pollen particle refracted light from the others, like tiny rainbow snowflakes settling around them. They seemed to pulse with the building pressure between them, and both gasped into each other’s mouths when coming so hard they saw stars, then nearly lost consciousness. 

  Normally, Dean would be grasping for the nearest towel or whatever to wash off the absolutely inhuman amount of cum coating their stomachs and chests. And yet, he found himself enjoying the feeling of it absorbing into their skin when lazily rubbing against each other in post orgasmic bliss. 

  Seconds later, Dean felt ready for another round. Evidently so did Benny, now kissing a Milky Way star map down his abdomen. The second he swallowed him down, Dean refused to miss out on the fun. He impatiently pointed to Benny’s raging hard on and fussed, “Gimme, c'mon.”

  Time lost all meaning. If someone said they’d made each other cum a whopping 69 times, it’d be no surprise to him. He could recall being coated with the blossom’s pollen, it being massaged everywhere. And when Benny could no longer move, Dean happily gave him an exhausted, but enthusiastic hand. 

  “Base to Team 8, are you there?”

  Dean couldn’t be sure how many times he’d heard the query in his cochlear implant. Pressing his lobe he replied, “Team 8 to base, what time is it?”

  “You’ve been down there forty eight hours, Sir.”

  Oh shit.

  “Sorry, problem with comms, seems good now.”

  Benny sat up, examining himself and Dean. Yep, they were a mess. 

  “Think we’ve found the solution to Erectile Dysfunction,” Dean nervously joked to break the tension,“no more Viagra 3,000.”

  Benny appeared on the verge of panic, none the wiser as clumps of pollen and blossom stamens comically wreathed his head like a crown.

  “Relax, Prince Benjamin of the Kuiper Bayou Belt, I’m okay. You?”

  “S-so sorry,” he choked out.

  “I’m not,” Dean rested an assuring hand on his arm, “Been wanting that with you for a long time. Maybe not making up for all eight years at once .. What were you saying before this,” Dean gestured between the two of them, “went nuclear?”

  “You’re really okay?” The guy looked so full of worry, Dean began to panic himself. Was what happened here something he really regrets? 

  “Look, I know I say I’m fine a lot, even when I’m not. But believe the jubilant after glow I’ve got all over my face..and a ton of..you.” He started wiping the mess out of Benny’s beard. 

  A softness fell over Benny. “Was trying to say I’ve been in love with you for years.”

  Dean’s heart kicked into overdrive with happiness. 

  “Wasn’t just the pollen’s effects, although it surely was a shove." 

  Dean stood, extending his hand to Benny. "Let’s bag some samples and get topside for a shower. Don’t know about you, but I could use a nap.”

  “As long as I can sleep with you, Cher. You’re Sleeping Beauty himself,” Benny laughed, brushing the who-the-fuck-knew-what outta Dean’s hair. 

This is PERFECTION!  OMG, I love it - that they’re pining idiots, OF COURSE, but I ADORE the sci-fi details you wove in, LOVE that, and the sex pollen -YES, a classic, and a wonderful one.  I loved all the Purgatory references, the sweetness, the hotness - marvelous, thank you, thank you!!   And I’m sorry I didn’t post, I know you were having issues and wanted to be sure they were resolved.  Rest assured, I love this to BITTTTSSSS!!

[dearlazerbunny]

Lie to Me (Ch. 24 of 28)

Pairings: Loki x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)

Words: 2100

Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)

SHOUTOUT TO @molmcb and @jessiejunebug, whose faces I have cared into marble so they shall forever be immortalized as gods

Requested Tags: @deraniel, @iamverity,  @yasnooshka24, @wegingerangelica, @themusingsofmany , @dark-night-sky-99, @tarynkauai, @stuffandstuff-stuff, @angelicshinigami, @my-current-fandom-is, @geekysimmerthings,           @lokis-butter-knife, @help-i-need-a-social-life, @vodka-and-some-sass

WARNING: descriptions of anxiety, PTSD, and severe depression

When the cab finally drops you off at your apartment, you flash him your badge, tell him to charge it to Tony Stark, and then wander away without another word.

Your hands shake as you try to unlock the door- these damn tremors, they haven’t gone away yet, even though the doctors promise they will- and it takes you much too long to finally get the key into the lock and twist and open the door and close it behind you and lock it back.

Then you secure the chain, tugging it tight. And turn the lock again a few times, just to be sure it’s latched. Paranoia has become something of a friend since the incident.

Your small home speaks volumes about your mental state. The bookshelf, normally pristinely kept, is full of tomes that have been unceremoniously shoved back into their places any which way. The sink is overflowing with dishes. You’re not sure if there’s anything remotely edible in the fridge. The blinds are drawn tight and patched with cloth to block out as much of the outside world as possible, because sometimes even seeing the sky is too much on a bad day.

Today qualifies as a bad day. You reach for the bottle of pills you know will be close at hand and pop one into your mouth, swallowing it dry. After a second thought, you swallow another.

You stand in the doorway for a moment, not sure what to do. Amongst the panic attacks, the healing scars, and the demons lurking in every shadow, Loki was the only thing keeping you functioning as vaguely as you were. Now you feel like there’s nothing to tether you from spiraling out of control- no green eyes, no warm smiles, no stories to smooth over your ragged nerves. He’s gone, facing a fate you can’t even begin to imagine, and you won’t even get to be his knight in shining armor. He’ll forever be your hero, and you can never return the favor.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, a kind voice whispers, “No, my dear. I believe you saved his.”

The sweater Loki magicked gets wrapped tighter around you, even though the warmth has long since worn off. Your bed is cold, despite all the blankets piled onto it, and once you’re finally burrowed in amongst the pillows you let yourself release the sobs that you’ve been holding back, making your chest ache with emptiness.

Sleep is going to be a long time coming.

Weeks pass in a blur. You don’t really keep track. It takes you far too long to realize you haven’t been in to work- would there really be any point in going back? Did they believe you were brainwashed? Would they try and ‘recalibrate’ you?- but SHIELD hasn’t called you either, so you just let it lie. You keep up with those mandated therapy appointments a few times, and then they switch to conference calls, since you start having difficulty going outside. Eventually when your phone rings you just sit there and watch it chime until the screen goes dark once more. You’re not really in the mood to tell someone all about how pathetic you’re being.

Because you know it’s pathetic. The anxiety attacks, the nightmares, the listless spells where you’re content to do nothing but watch shadows creep over the walls as the sun moves from dawn to dusk. You can’t even go to the grocery store without someone accidentally jostling your arm and having to reflexively hold back a shriek. Most days seeing your own reflection in the mirror is enough to make you jump.

So you spend your time sleeping, though that sleep is consumed by nightmares. The taste of blood on your tongue, the sharp crack of your ribs splintering into pieces, the feeling of concrete beneath you as you make peace with your final resting place. Sometimes you see Loki as he appeared in front of you, hazy and surrounded in green magic, ready to slaughter enemies as he sees fit. Your guardian angel. But in your dreams, he never reaches for you like he did that day. He just watches as you feel breath slipping away moment by moment, an indifferent sort of smirk on his lips. You cry, you scream for him, willing your broken fingers to close the gap between you- your bones crumble to dust before you do.

When you’re tired of living your own personal hell on repeat, you make a habit of sitting at the window looking up at the stars, trying to keep him alive in your mind. You hope he isn’t in pain. You hope that Thor has kept his promise, keeping him safe the best he can. You hope… well. You hope a lot of things.

You take to imagining a thousand and one ways you might get to him. Break into Stark’s lab and demand information on the Bifrost. Sneak into SHIELD’s vaults and swipe the Tesseract; use it to do… something. Somewhere in the universe he’s standing judgement before a judge who’s been biased against him from the start- why would he think to be fair now? Thousands of years ago, a little baby frost giant was thrown into a narrative where he’d always be five steps behind, always second best. He never even got a fair shot. You wipe a tear from your cheek. Life isn’t fair, but if it’s going to be this brutal, the least it could do is offer you a happy ending.

You must’ve fallen asleep against the window pane, because for once your dreams are ethereal and covered in stars. You float past space and time, and when you reach out to touch the sparks lazily floating through the air, they collect like small galaxies on the tips of your fingers. Some invisible string tugs you forward, gentle yet relentless, and you allow yourself to follow it, wherever it might lead. Over a glittering rainbow bridge that floats in a dark, vast ocean; towards a golden castle pointed towards the heavens. There’s a strange sense of familiarity here, as though you’ve walked this path before. Perhaps in another dream; perhaps in another life. The thread winds you through the halls of the gilded castle. You pass a throne room that could hold a nation, a single dias fit for a king. There’s a library on your left, full of powerful things, illuminated by a crackling hearth. A room with a locked door that shimmers with runes and wards glowing blue. They say hello as you pass.

Finally, descent- layers upon layers of staircases, past whom you assume to be guards, with their armor and swords, though they don’t even turn an eye toward you as you float by. Your feet don’t make a whisper on the stone floor. There are glass cages all around you, similar the ones at at SHIELD, but they reek of power. Only, it isn’t glass, exactly- it shimmers and refracts in the dim light. A beckon. You fingers pass through the wall of energy easily enough, then your hand- then you start to feel some resistance. You frown and push harder, determined, though you don’t know why or what waits for you on the other side.

There’s something in the corner, and it moves with a heavy clanking noise when the rest of you finally gets through the boundary. It can sense you, unlike everyone else in this strange place. “Who is there?” A man’s voice, tired and wary. Familiar? More rattling, which you can now see comes from thick golden chains sprawled on the floor and looping off into the darkness. “Show yourself!”

Yes. You know that voice. And his hair, though it’s messier than you’ve ever seen it. His eyes, dull as they may be, are still the ones you’ve been dreaming of since the day he left. With a cry, you rush to Loki, kneeling on the ground in front of him where he sits with manacles binding his wrists and ankles. “Loki! Loki I- can you hear me? Oh god, please…” gently, you let your fingers tuck a piece of his black hair away from his eyes. He jerks back, confused, but more alert. “No, it’s okay, don’t be scared. It’s just me. I- I found you, I don’t know how but-”

“Y/N?” You don’t think your name has ever sounded more beautiful than in that moment. “Love, is that you?”

“Yes! Yes, can you see me? I’m right here. I’m right in front of you.”

“No… perhaps? A little, out of the corner of my eye.” Tentatively, he raises a hand and traces a gentle thumb against your cheekbone. It feels as insubstantial as a breeze, but you could cry from that small touch nonetheless. It’s him.

“I found you,” you whisper again. It’s him it’s him it’s him.

“So it would seem.” You giggle as a child would, proud of yourself. “And how, precisely, did you manage that?”

“I- I don’t know. I fell asleep and wandered around this castle for a bit, and then I was here. Where am I? Where are we?”

“Ah.” There’s something he’s not saying- you can hear it hiding underneath his tongue. “I think you must be dreaming, my love.”

“I- are you sure?” You glance down at your ghostly hands, still shimmering with starlight. “It seems so real.”

“You always did have quite the active imagination, Witling.”

You hum nonchalantly, taking in the dark circles under Loki’s eyes, the rings on angry flesh trapped underneath his cuffs. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I am fine, love. Do not worry about me.”

“Bullshit,” you huff. “Don’t think I can’t see these.” You reach for a chain and tug, frowning when they barely move an inch.

He easily moves the restrains behind him, out of your reach. “Stop. I am far more concerned with you than myself.” Worried eyes roam your face. “What is wrong?”

“I’m tired,” you say simply, and your voice breaks halfway through. “Sleeping is… hard. And eating. And I need…” You is the missing word there, and though you don’t say it, he hears it nonetheless.

“I know, love. I know you are.” His voice is full of regret. “I never should have left you.”

“It’s not like you had a choice.”

“All the same. I wish it could have ended differently.”

The world around you wavers for a moment, then two. You look around, confused, instinctively reaching for Loki to pull him closer. “What…?”

“You can’t stay much longer, love.”

“I’m not leaving you! How will I find my way back?”

“You shouldn’t have come in the first place.” Green eyes darken. “I wish I could see you better.”

“I’ll find you again,” you say confidently, even though whatever strength that carried you here is slowly slipping away. “I promise.”

You wish Loki’s smile was more genuine, but as it is, you’ll take what you can get. “Such a brave Witling. Sleep, now. I am with you, even when you wake.”

A feather-light brush to your nose that feels strangely like a kiss makes your eyes open. You’re in your apartment, curled up next to the window, just like when you fell asleep. No rainbow. No castle. No Loki.

Only… you trace your cheek where maybe-Loki had done the same. It was so real. He was so real. Wasn’t he? Either way, you feel more at ease than you have in months. You have no idea what happened, but you don’t care. Seeing him was worth it.

To your surprise, you’re able to repeat your little cosmic jaunt every so often. You can’t control when or why, but the wandering seems to happen on the days you need them most. Sometimes he can’t hear you even when you sit beside him and confess everything you’ve ever wanted him to know, but others he’s so tangible you can lean against his side and press a kiss to his shoulder, if you work up the courage.

It isn’t perfect. You watch each other weaken by counting the shadows that appear under eyes and cheekbones, unable to offer any substantial comfort. You still break down more often than you should, and think of him even more frequently than that. But it’s easier to sleep at night knowing that even though he might as well be on another plane of existence, not even that can keep you apart forever.

Life still isn’t fair, not by a long shot. And you wouldn’t exactly call this limbo a happy ending. But it’s better than nothing, and so you savor every last drop.

A/N: I used the link below to work out the specifics of Loki’s cell; it’s a funny read if you’re interested: 

https://missviolethunter.tumblr.com/post/105099519018/mcuasgard-afterthought-lokis-toilet-prison

New chapter in honor of my new phone! :D Now all my fanfics are in SUPER HI DEF! 

[ephemeral-afterlight]

Day 22: Hallucination

(We have a message for you.)

Whumptober 2019 Day 22: Hallucination

Word Count: 1787

Relationships: Loceit (minor relationship? kinda)

Warnings: Mentions of mental illness, mild mention of trauma effects, cursing

A/N: okay,,,, ngl i have no idea where this came from. this idea is so dumb and not even really whumpy but i did it anyway lmfao. hey, at least it gave me an excuse to describe the characters in some of my timelines! anyway yeah i love these character designs, no matter how silly/unrealistic they are. they are my babies and i will take them to my grave

“Thomas, can we talk?” his best friend’s voice comes from beside him, speaking up in the silence after the two of them had finished watching a movie. It was comfortable, quiet, just a lazy day today, so they’d come over to hang out and forget about the stress of video-making. Thomas looks up with a cocked eyebrow, asking a question with his eyes as Joan sighs. 

“You… maybe you should see someone,” Joan says, their voice low and concerned, and Thomas doesn’t get it. See who? Like, a doctor? He isn’t sick. So he tells them so, asks what they mean, and they duck their head contemplatively. “You need to see a psychiatrist, or psychologist, or something. I know the videos are fun, and we have these awesome characters. I get it. But you… you think it’s real. You think the sides are real. That’s-- That’s not healthy, Thomas.”

Thomas just laughs, doesn’t even look up as he scrolls through his feed. His phone case is beaten up where it rests in his hand, and Joan shakes their head worriedly. ”Thomas, I’m serious.”

This causes Thomas’ expression to drop immediately, and he turns to them awkwardly. “Wait, you’re serious?” Thomas asks, confusion welling up easily in his head. What are they talking about?

“Yes, I’m serious! You stand here and talk to nothing for hours on end! You think they’re real, and they’re not! You need help, Thomas, please,” Joan begs, rearing back to sit taller in an unconscious show of authority. They don’t want to be mean about this, they really don’t, but if Thomas is in denial about the sides’ existence (or lack thereof), they can’t be sugarcoating everything. They need to be straightforward, because they care about their friend, and to see him hurt would be awful.

“Joan, they are real. You just haven’t been here in person to see them yet,” Thomas says gently, acting as if Joan’s the one who’s being irrational here, and Joan doesn’t think it’s an overreaction when they groan loudly. If Thomas believes that the sides are real and are defending their existence this fervently, then there might be something really wrong with his head, and the worry in Joan’s demeanour is insurmountable.

“Thomas, stop! They aren’t real! They’re in your head. They are in your head. They’re just characters that we made up for a YouTube series, nothing more,” Joan stresses, tries to break through that glass wall of denial that Thomas’ mind has built around itself. From what they know through random Tumblr awareness posts and late-night research, this sounds like a defense mechanism, something Thomas himself isn’t even aware of. But… aren’t brains only supposed to do that after severe trauma? Did something happen to him that Joan doesn’t know about?

“Hey, there’s no need to get upset. I understand, you haven’t seen them yet, and don’t realize that they aren’t just characters. Do you want me to show you?” Thomas asks gently, places his hands up but low in a placating gesture in an attempt to calm them down. Joan isn’t angry, and they wouldn’t lash out or anything, but they are troubled with the thought that there may well be something going on in Thomas’ head that they won’t be able to fix.

“Thomas… please, just. Please stop… don’t do this to yourself, okay?” Joan pleads with him, desperation simmering just beneath the surface ready to boil and spill over at a moment’s notice. The slightest nudge of the heat could send the water hissing to the ground, send tears from their eyes and shouts from their lungs, and they don’t want to accidentally say something they’ll regret. They aren’t angry with Thomas, but they are frustrated, and seeing their friend in this state is taxing in itself.

“No, it’s okay! I’ll show you, ready? Please don’t scream, alright? It’s scary the first time, but once you understand, it’s fine!” Thomas exclaims, happy and careless and he isn’t even listening to them. Fuck, does he need to be, like… forcibly taken to a hospital? This isn’t okay, he’s not okay, and they don’t know what to do anymore.

“Hmm… Logan, Ethan? I need you!”

For a moment, nothing happens, just as Joan expects. Thomas stands there, smile never wavering a single bit, and Joan sighs as they reach up to lay a hand on his shoulder. But before they can, before their eyes, a mist seems to envelope the floor. It’s not a moisture, but more like a haze, where light is distorted and twirling in on itself as if caught in fractals and thrown away from itself. It hurts Joan’s eyes to look at, so he doesn’t, and two people jump up out of the disturbance despite all logic and reason.

“Wha-- What the fuck? Is this a joke? Please tell me this is a practical joke, Thomas, and you just suddenly got really good at doing magic tricks. What the fuck?!” Joan forces out helplessly, bewildered and urgent. They’re…. they’re here. This has to be a trick. It has to be, but it… they look exactly like Thomas. These aren’t some random actors who just happen to share a resemblance with their friend, they could be clones, identical copies without a single mistake in sight.

And.. well, to Thomas’ credit, they do look similar to the characters they have created together. The one that’s clearly Logic has straighter black hair with blue streaks rather than brown, and his irises are a striking silver leading into an electric blue closer to the pupil, but otherwise he looks mostly the same. The only other big physical difference is his body type, which while slim and long and appearing to be tall in an odd sort of optical illusion, he’s actually quite a bit shorter than Thomas is. He’s wearing a soft-looking dark blue sweater, black leggings, and some fuzzy socks as opposed to the character’s typical outfit, but there’s no mistaking him. This is Logan… the real Logan?

The other one (obviously Deceit) is also similar enough, with hair that is a rich, warm chestnut brown, but there also seem to be literal strands of gold braided and looping through the very lightly curled locks. It’s almost mesmerizing, although not as much so as his eyes, which are just as heterochromatic as their beloved character. The right one is the same shade of light grey as Logan’s are, and the left one is a reptilian eye. Not the fake snake eye contact that they’d managed to find online, but a realistic one, a deeper gold and a darker black with depth and texture. He’s short too, somehow even shorter than Logan is, but he’s still quite intimidating despite that. His half-serpentine smirk is soft but empowering, and somehow cancels out a lot of the cuteness of his unexpected outfit. Rather than his signature bowler hat and cape, he wears a black beanie and a huge, thick black hoodie. Sweatpants long enough to cover his feet are draped over his legs, just as comfortable an outfit as Logan’s and Joan realizes that it’s late and they might have been about to sleep. Wait, do sides sleep?

But more than anything, they both have one feature that really stands out, a feature that makes Joan really believe that they might actually be real, that this isn’t just some elaborate prank. For Deceit, it’s the scales. It’s not makeup, not flat colour; they’re real snake scales, a shimmering, pearlescent emerald colour that refracts the light like diamonds. They’re beautiful, they really are, and Joan is almost sad that they haven’t done Character Deceit the justice he deserves, now that they’re faced with Real Deceit.

For Logan, it’s his eyes. Yes, the colour really is pretty if abnormal, the clear silver like liquid metal seeping and blurring into bright sapphire in a ring around his pupils. But that’s not the only thing, because Logan has what looks to be technology in his eyes, power buttons surrounded by slowly spinning lines radiating from the center almost like a circuit-board. They seem like they’re being projected slightly past his actual eyes, like he has a bright blue hologram playing in his vision. It’s… certainly in the realm of science fiction, so it really is aptly fitting, despite how Joan’s brain refuses to accept that this is actually real.

“Wait, you said his name is Ethan? Deceit’s name is Ethan? That’s not what we decided on…” Joan says, and it’s honestly all they can say through their confusion. This is too difficult to process, too perplexing to understand right away, and Joan seriously needs to sit down before they pass out in the middle of the floor. Thomas huffs a laugh as they plop down on the couch, hand rubbing hard at their face to try and clear their head, and he just sits on the edge of the couch beside them.

“Joan, this is Logan and Ethan. Logic and Deceit. They’re real, and they obviously look… differently to how we designed them, but they… this is them. You can take all the time you need; I certainly had to,” Thomas chuckles, gaze distant for a moment as if in the midst of reliving a faraway memory, and Joan just groans and drops their head into cold, waiting palms. 

“Thomas, you know to refrain from calling us here when it’s after one. We’re busy at night, you know that,” Logan speaks up from where the two of them are still standing in the middle of the room. Deceit-- Well, Ethan just shoves his hands in his hoodie pockets, looking down at the floor in an attempt to hide his knowing simpering. What the hell is going on? “Hello, Joan.”

“Yeah, sorry, guys. Just wanted to introduce you to Joan, finally. You can go now,” Thomas reassures them, waves goodbye and smiles when they return the sentiment (including Joan, too, which is simultaneously a thoughtful show of kinesics and mildly terrifying), and then they’re sinking back through the odd fog on the floor that has stayed there the whole time the sides have been standing here. It goes with them, leaving the normal appearance of the carpet to be on display, and this all feels like too much to deal with right now. Joan just wants to go to bed, if they’re being honest.

“Wait… are those two dating?” Joan asks incredulously, a previous comment stuck out in their mind just waiting for the loose thread to be pulled, and Thomas glances over at them. He just laughs silently with sly eyes, body shaking with unvocalized laughter, and Joan picks up the pillow next to them and yells into the fabric.

[thedreamsmith]

How (Not) to Seduce a Blueshirt (Chapter 5)

@atc74​ @arrowsandmixtapes​ @alleiradayne​ @captain-s-rogers​ for #OC appreciation day 2020

Warnings: swearing, innuendo

Pairing: Jim Kirk x OFC

Chapter summary: The morning after

Reyne smiled to herself as the door to her room swished shut, the lights automatically coming on as she entered the space. Although basic, the hotel room was far bigger than her quarters aboard the Enterprise. Despite the flagship’s size, it housed over a thousand crew members and space was very much limited.

The bubbly feeling in her chest hadn’t abated since Jim had first asked her to dinner – if anything it had gotten worse. With a shake of her head that dislodged several of the bobby pins in her hair, Reyne reached back to grab the zipper on her dress.

It took her several minutes and as many spins to grasp the tiny metal zip but the relief of being out of the tight dress was instant. As lovely as it looked – the garment had not been made for comfort. It had almost been as uncomfortable as the thigh holster that her legal-carry was tucked into.

Thankfully the strap hasn’t come loose during dinner. She felt that some of her mystery would’ve been lost if she’d had to hike the garter back up her leg in the middle of the restaurant. Classy.

Her feet ached as she climbed into her bed, but despite her exhaustion, Reyne’s mind whirled with memories and colours from the last few hours. The bubbly feeling from the other week hadn’t abated, in fact it had spread, fizzing in her chest as she replayed the kiss over in her head.

She hadn’t been on a date in a long time, not one she’d enjoyed half as much, There had always been the Academy, then work, and despite her friends’ urgings the years had just slipped by. But somehow James T Kirk had forced his way into her life; with a cocky grin and surprising depth of character. She was powerless to resist.

A soft sile remained on her lips as she drifted into sleep.

                                                              ***

Two pairs of hands grasped Reyne’s elbow as soon as the door swished shut. If it hadn’t been for the strength in the grip on her arm, she wouldn’t tripped over her own feet as her friend slipped into step beside her.

‘Were you waiting outside my room?’

‘Nah, lucky coincidence.’ Ensign Layla Scott (no relation to Montgomery Scott), grinned up at her, her dusky yellow skin glowing like the dawn even in the artificial lighting. Her right hands loosened their grip on Reyne as they continued along the hotel’s plush corridors. ‘So…’

‘My date with the captain?’ Reyne huffed in amusement.

‘Yes! Tell me everything.’ It wasn’t a long walk to the entrance, and before long the pair were blinking in the mid-morning light. Having known Layla since the Academy, she barely noted when her hair seemed to shimmer and change colour. Although it was an easy mistake to make, her ‘hair’ was actually make up of thousands of opaque fibrile filaments that refracted light and changed colours with her surroundings, much like the oceans of Earth.

Reyne had made her watch an old Terran movie called Avatar once and the Pertalian had laughed herself hoarse over the ‘hair sex.’ ‘I’m surprised you didn’t end up in his room. Did you two-‘ She made a sound in her swooping, bell-like language, accompanied by a gesture that involved three of her hands and a vulgar-looking tongue movement.

‘I don’t know what that means, and I don’t even think I want to.’ Reyne tried to arrange her face into something approaching unamused and failed miserably, shoulders shaking with laughter as she shook her head.

‘Humans.’ Layla sighed dramatically, tipping her head back as they continued towards the main plaza. ‘The way you reproduce is so boring. I bet I could show you a proper good time.’

‘This is harassment.’ Reyne commented mildly. ‘I am being sexually harassed.’

‘Whatever. You still hadn’t told me anything about your date.’ The Peraltian pouted, crossing her upper set of arms petulantly. The lower set remained behind her back, gloved hands loosely linked. It was a common posture for her species, to keep their second set of thoracic limbs away from accidental contact, even when wearing gloves. Their secondary hands contained billions of psychosensory nerve endings, and even the smallest of contacts could be overwhelming. Humans were such an emotional species, Layla had explained once, that touching them without years of training and experience was a sensory overload – like a million fireworks going off in your head at once.

‘It was nice. Really nice, actually.’ She smiled, remembering the previous night. ‘First base only, before you ask.’ Her friend only rolled her eyes. ‘We actually have a lot in common.’

‘Will he be getting a second date?’

‘If he wants one.’ Reyne laughed, adjusting the stack of PADDs under her arm.

‘Of course he does.’ Layla frowned as she finally noticed their trajectory. ‘Why are you going back to the ship? You do know we’re on shore leave, right?’

‘Animals are still on board.’ Reyne shrugged, ‘We’re only doing minimal checks, but I want to keep an eye on the leviathan.’

The creature in question was an aquatic reptilian species that they’d found on a K-class planet several months ago, affectionately named Noodle by the vet team. It was no longer than a foot in length, but so closely resembled the titanic sea creatures of ancient myth that they’d named the new species leviathan istum aquaticus. There had been some debate as to whether they should keep it aboard the Enterprise; several crew members weren’t convinced that the creature had reached its full size and they would wind up with a forty-tonne sea serpent aboard the ship.

However, Noodle had yet to grow any bigger, despite his voracious appetite for prawns, which he cooked using a peculiar ability to super-heat the water in his tank that had only ever been observed in rainbow mantis shrimp centuries ago on Earth.

Layla gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘That thing creeps me out.’

‘Aww but he’s so cute, look at his little whiskers.’ Reyne pulled out her comm, tapping away to bring up a picture.

‘And I’m off.’ She stepped away before she could show her the photo. ‘Enjoy your creepy fish-snake thing, and tell Murray I said hi.’

‘Will do, though I don’t think he’s coming in today.’ She mimed taking a draw of a blunt, making her friend snort through her nose.

‘Alright, see you around then. I’m off to see that see horror film at the holo-cine.’

Reyne waved good-bye as she watched her retreating figure head back towards the city. The checks wouldn’t take too long, and the film that Layla had mentioned did look good. Maybe she’d ask Jaylah if she wanted to go and see it. Although, she never had been able to break her of the habit of commenting loudly on the movie, much to the annoyance of the rest of the audience.

That was a problem for later.