#this might be a bit of a stick in the mud answer but like | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

atlabeth · 1 month

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too sweet

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: a night out makes hotch realize a few too many things.

a/n: me??? writing for criminal minds again out of nowhere??? what is going on. and i do not have an answer i was just in a hotch mood bc he's fine asf and i finally have the confidence to write for him here we are lol. hope u enjoy this short lil thing

wc: 2.4k

warning(s): alcohol consumption, a sexual joke or two, written in one go so might be a mess! aaron is all in his head but this is basically all fluff

Hotch can’t focus.

Mostly because he can’t stop glancing over at you. Normally it’s not a problem—he’d lost count of how many times he’d distracted himself from mounds of paperwork by meeting your eyes through his office window, often accompanied by a smile that made even his heart beat a little faster—and especially now, it shouldn’t be a problem.

You and Derek have had some kind of bet going on during the past few nights out—you didn’t believe he was as charming and suave as he claimed, and Morgan was all too happy to prove you wrong.

You bet that he couldn’t get at least five numbers every night, and come last Thursday, Morgan took the win at the end of the evening with a smile on his face. As punishment, the first round of their next night out was on you.

And that’s nice, sure. Hotch is always thankful that his team can still joke around and have fun with each other despite everything they have to deal with each day. He hopes they keep the light in their eyes as long as possible, especially the younger ones. He’s fine with being the stick in the mud, the one who never smiles, the iron willed chief that scares local uniforms.

Hotch is not so fine with the way he feels right now.

It’s a busy night at the bar, which is understandable. Hotch is sure half the precinct is out alongside them, celebrating the BAU finally solving the case that had torn them to shreds over the past week. You, Reid, and Garcia put the threads together an hour into scouring through evidence, and the unsub was cuffed before noon.

Certainly something to celebrate—there’s a reason the whole team agreed to go out tonight and leave tomorrow. Even Rossi decided to join when he learned you would be buying, but he’s already abandoned them in favor of catching up with some old friends. Hotch even thinks they might have another round in their future because of their solve, courtesy of the local chief. They had a long night ahead of them.

But you haven’t gotten the drinks yet, and Hotch wonders how long it’ll take even after you do. Because some officer is trying to talk you up, and you’re smiling and laughing along and giving him every bit of your attention.

Hotch recognized him the moment he set eyes upon him, even in plain clothes. He’s some joke of an officer from the station, and he’s been trying to get your number—or even just get your attention—throughout their whole visit. Always sidling up to you during debriefs, specifically giving you any information or evidence he finds—Hotch has overheard him asking for your number more than once.

Hotch has been so focused on the case he’s not even sure if you’ve rejected him or not, and the mere thought is enough to annoy him. If he wasn’t equally as sure of your ability to defend yourself and afraid of overstepping with you, he would have stepped in.

But it makes sense. The officer is young and handsome, you’re young and pretty—not to mention you have a way of lighting up any room you step into. Hotch spent the whole first month of your employment wondering why you would want to do a job like this. He’s spent the rest of it thankful that you did.

You’re sharp as a whip, naturally, but you’ve also done wonders for the team atmosphere. It’s hard to feel down with a smile like yours beaming his way. The job weighs you down like it does everyone, but you still manage to lift everyone’s spirits on the jet ride back before they jump into the next case. It’s impressive.

It’s also trouble. You’ve been part of the BAU for almost two years now, and Hotch has spent just as much time tearing his eyes away from you as he has working. It’s wrong, and it’s wholly inappropriate in terms of your working relationship—he’s your boss, for god’s sake.

But sometimes, Hotch will be beating himself up over one thing or another on a case, and you’ll plant yourself in his vicinity and refuse to leave until you’ve helped him work through it. If you ever tire of the FBI, he thinks you have a second calling as an elementary school teacher.

Sometimes the hotel they’re staying at will have truly shitty coffee, worse than they’re used to at the BAU, and you’ll already be in the lobby with a tray full of the team’s orders. Hotch never recalls telling you his order—you just figured it out, and you remembered it.

Sometimes his gaze will drift your way, and he’ll find you already staring at him. You look away just as quickly as he does, and it makes him wonder.

Hotch has made a living off of studying the behavior of others. More often than not, he finds himself profiling his co-workers just out of instinct. His job is to know what others are thinking.

But god. When it comes to you, Hotch doesn’t think he’s ever felt more unsure in his life. Especially when you look at him the same way he wants to for weeks, then act nothing but proper another day; when you fall asleep against his shoulder on the jet one night and entertain some desk jockey another night.

It makes him feel like a highschooler again, trying to figure out if Haley really liked him or if she was just playing around, and it’s more embarrassing than it should be. Especially when he’s still dealing with the lingering emotions from the divorce.

“Hotch.” JJ’s voice is enough to break him out of his trance, and he blinks as he turns to her. At least someone paid him the mercy to dispel his thoughts, even if only for a temporary time.

“What?”

“Did you hear a single word I said?” she asks, a slight smile curving on her lips.

“Of course,” he responds. “The chief’s over there talking with the commissioner. He’s the same guy who made your life difficult the last time we were in Milwaukee.”

JJ’s eyebrows shoot up, and she nods. “I didn’t think you were listening.”

“I think he just got lucky,” Morgan cuts in, his gaze darting over to you momentarily. “I think you were too focused on our drinks.”

Reid frowns. “I don’t think he was focused on the drinks. He’s—”

“Just making sure they’re still coming,” Hotch interrupts, and he straightens his tie. Today really has been a long one—usually, he’s better at covering these things up. “And I wasn’t lucky. I was listening.”

“Trust me,” Morgan says with a laugh, “I’m watchin’ her until I’ve got a glass in my hand. She’s not getting out of this after the way she bragged this whole month.”

“The stupidest thing to make a bet on,” Prentiss remarks, “especially with you.”

“She said she just wanted to prove you wrong,” Reid contributes. “She thinks you’re too cocky.”

Morgan grins. “It’s not cocky if you can back it up.”

Hotch’s attention goes back to you, and you’ve finally gotten their drinks. You’re loading them onto a tray like you’re the bartender yourself, and his brows crease. Maybe he should have gone up with you.

“Do you think she needs help?” he asks. How obvious is too obvious? Why does it feel like his brain only works at half power whenever it comes to you?

“She’ll be fine,” Prentiss says. “And if she needs it, that guy talking her up can help.”

“Jason Rodriguez,” Reid remarks. “He hung around her the whole time we were trying to pinpoint a location, and he wasn’t any help, which makes sense because he's practically desk-bound at the precinct. I’m surprised she got any work done.”

JJ chuckles. “I’m surprised he hasn’t given up yet. He’s been following her around all week, like some lost puppy.”

Morgan shrugs. “I dunno. She seems pretty into him.”

“I don’t think ex-frat boys are her type,” Prentiss says wryly. Hotch doesn’t think so either, but he doesn’t say anything. Contributing to this kind of conversation is certainly too obvious.

“I doubt we’ll be back here for a while. She might as well.” Morgan smiled. “She probably needs a win after such an embarrassing loss.”

Thankfully, before Hotch has to keep pretending not to care about this topic, you walk over carrying a tray of cocktails—and you’re alone. The subject of their previous conversation seems lost in the crowd, and he feels a dangerous amount of relief.

“Are you all talking about me?” you drawl.

“You know we are, sweetheart. Thought you were never gonna get here.” Morgan sits up, smiling at you. “What’d my win get us?”

“Long Island Iced Teas,” you muse as you set the tray down. “Enjoy it, because I’m gonna be working some overtime to make up for all these.”

Morgan grins as he takes his drink. “You should’ve never doubted my skills.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t need any help,” Prentiss says. “You’ve done this before, huh?”

“Bartended my way through college.” You slide into the booth next to Hotch, just a bit too close for a bit too long, and he hopes that no one can see his chest still for a moment. It’s impressive that he still hasn’t figured out how to lessen the effect you have on him. “I’ve probably got better hands than you, Morgan.”

“Do we need to make another bet?” he asks. “Because I’d love to clean out your wallet.”

“Maybe wait another month before you prey on any more poor, defenseless agents,” you croon, and Morgan laughs.

He pivots the conversation away from you when you pick up your drink and take a sip, and you look at Hotch. Whenever your gaze is on him, you make him feel like he’s the only person in the room. He’s sure you never look at anyone else that way, but Hotch wonders how much of that is his mind trying to justify his imagination.

“I’m surprised you agreed with this,” you say, mercifully interrupting his thoughts. “I thought you’d want us to go back tonight.”

“You all earned a night out after the work you did,” Hotch says. He thinks about taking a drink, but he decides against it, at least for now. He can barely trust his sober mind.

“You’ve earned it too,” you say. “We wouldn’t be anywhere without you, Hotch. You keep us all together.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think I ever would’ve connected the dots like you and Reid can with Garcia. I hate unsubs with secret codes.”

“I’ve always liked puzzles,” you muse. “There’s nothin’ like it when it all finally clicks.”

Hotch hums, and for a moment, he’s silent. Your gaze remains fully on him, and that might be why he has trouble thinking. It’s too easy to get lost in your eyes.

“What did that guy say?” Hotch finally manages to ask, because he honestly can’t help it. Morgan’s points actually worried him a bit, and he wonders what that says about him. Ex-frat boy certainly isn’t your type, but someone forgettable for a one night stand isn’t the most absurd thing in the world.

Your brows knit together as you drink some more. “What guy?”

“The officer you were talking with,” he says. “He seemed to like you.”

He’d been flirting with you since the moment you stepped into the precinct, actually, desperate for your attention, but Hotch didn’t really want to say that. He’s sure you noticed either way, if the rest of the team did.

“Oh. Him.” You shrug. “He’s nice, I guess. Definitely a looker. But he’s got nothing beneath that hair.”

“Morgan’s surprised you didn’t bring him back,” Hotch says. He wonders if he’s pushing too much, and again, he feels like a highschooler testing the waters. Do you know what you do to him? What you reduce him to?

You shrug as you take a sip. “If he knows what’s good for him, he knows he doesn’t have a chance. My attention’s on someone else.”

Prentiss calls your name and you get drawn back into the middle of the team’s conversation, and thankfully, Hotch has a chance to digest your words—and the stunner of a smile you flash at him before you get pulled into their talk.

His decision to not drink seems even wiser, now. Hotch has to loosen his tie, and he ignores Reid watching him. It’s futile trying to hide anything from Spencer Reid—the kid already knows everything.

Again, it's dangerous how much satisfaction he gets from it—from knowing you never really paid that officer a second thought. You didn’t smile at him the way you smile at Hotch. You don’t smile at anyone the way you smile at Hotch. He thought he was imagining it at first, or that he was just a bit too stuck up, but it was the honest truth. You paid him special attention, and he couldn’t blame the warmth in his chest from the thought on any alcohol.

He tunes back into the conversation just to hear Morgan demand you pay for his next drink.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous,” you say.

He puts a hand to his chest. “Generous? You’re just paying what you owe me.”

You laugh and shake your head. “Pick your poison, pretty boy.”

“How do you feel about tequila?”

You make a noise of disgust and shake your head. “As long as I don’t have to drink it.”

“You’re just paying, sweetheart.” Morgan’s eyes dart to Hotch, and he nods as he grins. “One for me and our fearless leader.”

Hotch shakes his head. “Someone has to get us back to the hotel.”

“That’s what cabs are for!” Prentiss exclaims. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Hotchner. You deserve to let a little loose.”

“It takes most people an hour to process a drink,” Reid contributes, “so you’ll be fine before we leave if you want to drive.”

“Come on, Hotch,” you say, and you nudge his shoulder. “You might as well—I’m paying.”

“...Fine,” he says, and the whole team cheers. Even Reid smiles.

“Y’know, you can smile tonight, Hotch,” you say with one of your own before you down the rest of your drink and stand up.

And one actually tugs at his lips. It feels a lot hotter in this bar with your eyes sparkling and you beaming right at him, and he fights the need to shed his jacket. Your grin somehow grows.

“That’s what I came out to see,” you remark as you pick your wallet back up from the table. “I expect another when I get back, Hotch. There’s a lot to celebrate tonight.”

Yeah, he thinks as he watches you go. There just might be.

#me ignoring all my wips for a hot man?? it's more likely than you think #also ive listened to too sweet on repeat for like 3 hours i dont want to take my whiskey neat anymore #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner imagine #sadie writes

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tizeline · 3 months

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I was actually wondering what the Sep Au Brothers feel about fashion? I read an analysis the other day about Rise Donnie and he seems to have the best fashion sense out of them all (and may or may not have his own fashion line?? Idk but I love that idea)

So I was wondering if it was the same or different for your Donnie? Do the Drax brothers have more of a yokai fashion sense or like- idk, what do they think of human fashion?

I have no idea is that makes sense but words are difficult

I think I've seen the same post actually, haha! Yeah, I really like the idea of Donnie being into fashion, and I don't see why it would be different for AU Donnie. As for the Drax Bros, I mentioned it in This Post but their outfits are mostly inspired by what Draxum wears, which in universe would be explained by them wanting to be like their father by emulating his sense of style. After the whole Redemption Arc thing and the Draxum family decides to abandon their Evil Plan, the trio might start exploring and developing their own taste in fashion.

Leo I feel like would be quite excited to try out human clothes, considering he already has an interest in human stuff. It might actually end up being a bit of a bonding experience for him and Donnie when they properly become friends, with Donnie helping Leo find the right outfits for him!

Mikey and Raph would proably still mostly stick to yōkai clothes, while they do eventually become, not just more open-minded about humanity, but also curious about it, they'd still wanna stick to what they're familiar with.

Actually, with Raph it might be more of a necessity. It would be really hard to find human clothes that'd fit his size, and also work with his spikes. Yōkai on the other hand are a lot more diverse physically than humans, so the people in the Hidden City who work with designing and creating clothes would take that into consideration. So needless to say it would be easier for Raph to find yōkai clothes that fit him rather than human clothes.

Seasons probably don't effect the Hidden City that much, I'd assume? Cuz it's underground? So the Drax turtles might not have that much experince with seasons. Still, I don't think they'd love winter considering the fact that they're reptiles and as such are more sensitive to cold. (I think Draxum would've made sure they're more resistant to cold than normal turtles, it would be quite inconvinient if they started brumating in the middle of a fight just cuz it was snowing lol, but they're still more susceptible to it than mammals)

I think Mikey would appreciate autumn, when all the leaves turn a vibrant orange. Both because as an artist he'd appreciate the autumn aesthetic and because... y'know, orange. I think all the bros would like summer cuz, again, reptile biology, they'd like the heat.

I'd assume yokai would have their own unique holidays that the Draxum family would celebrate, no idea what those would be, though.

Draxum has definitely informed his sons about how dangerous Big Mama is and how bad it would be if she found out that they were literally created with her favorite champion's stolen DNA. They don't like her and know to avoid her, if any business is being done between their family and Big Mama then Draxum is the one who handles most of the negotiations.

And lastly - episodes like Todd Scouts and Snow Day, and then The Mud Dogs - none of these I have figured anything out for of how they would be handled in the AU sooooo no answer for ya there, sorry!

#tizel art #Tiz Sep AU #tmnt #rottmnt #rottmnt au

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junkdrawerfics · 9 months

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First Suspicions

And final findings.

Summary: Two instances when your curiosity gets the best of you and Jasper has to distract you from the truth. And one instance when he's not there to do so. Curiosity might just be the thing that kills you.

Words: 1768

Note: I like this part a lot more, so I hope you guys also enjoy it! I tried to do a quick but believable process of discovery. Longer note at end.

Also @little-miss-loves-fictional-men your comment on my last post almost made me cry. Thank you for that.

---

“So you’re not related to your siblings, right?”

A month into the semester, and Forks feels like home already. Largely in part to Jasper, not that you’ll ever tell anyone that, especially him. It took only a few days for you to become fast friends. Being around him felt easy, maybe because he never seems to judge you for your odd habits, or maybe just because he’s one of the kindest, most empathetic people you’ve ever met.

Whatever it is, your friendship quickly breaks from the confines of the school. Whether it be studying at you new favorite coffee shop - though you’re thinking of going somewhere else since he rarely wants a drink or anything - or going on a walk through the woods as you’re doing now.

Jasper offers a wry smile as he helps you over a large log, “Just Rosalie, I’m afraid.”

You shoot him a disapproving look, though he catches the glimmer of laughter in your eyes, “Don’t be mean, Jasper Hale. She doesn’t seem that bad.”

It is strange though. Except for their matching gold hair, there’s not a singular similarity between him and Rose. They’re honestly the most different out of the family, personality-wise at least. Maybe that’s normal for siblings though.

“No, I suppose she’s not,” Jasper murmurs, looking up at the sky, which is practically hidden behind the canopy of pine needles. “Though I’d much rather listen to Edward go on about Bella than her talk about herself.”

Bella Swan. The girl who moved to Forks just one year before you. You have a class with her, and you honestly like her quite a bit. While you’re both awkward, it’s nice to know someone else who’s close with the Cullens.

And she might know things that could answer your growing list of questions.

Like why are they all so pale? Why do they avoid most of the school? Why do you never see them on the rare sunny days Forks gets?

“So why do you ask about my siblin’s darlin’?” Ah. Right. You weren’t being too subtle, you guess.

“I just think it’s crazy how similar you all look,” you explain, keeping your eyes glued to your shoes. Mud sticks to the sides, both dry and wet. You’ve been walking for a while now. “I mean, you all look different, obviously, but you all have the same eyes. And you’re all gorg-”

You bite down hard on your tongue and come to a stuttering stop.

That wasn’t supposed to come out.

Jasper stops right beside you, lips drawing into a wolfish, slanted smirk. You stand completely frozen, eyes wide as he steps closer, too close, leaning forward against the tree behind you. Your heart flounders wildly in your chest. Sometimes you forget he’s so tall.

“I’d sure like to hear you finish that declaration, miss (L/n),” he hums, tone bright with barely concealed mirth.

“Nope!” Your heart lurches as you duck under his arm and scuttle away. Heat burns across your cheeks despite the chill in the air. His laughter echoes behind you, warm and deep and lovely. Too lovely. Your face goes darker. “You didn’t hear anything. I didn’t say anything. Oh hey, look at that tree!”

Jasper watches you dash away, relief warring with his amusement as he follows close behind. You’re observant, more observant than he expected. He’ll have to be more careful. At least he was able to distract you.

This time.

---

“Do you always run this cold?” You poke Jasper’s shoulder as you pass him on the way to your desk.

The blond glances up from his textbook, eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to figure out where you’re going with this, “I suppose I do.”

“Maybe it’s cause you don’t eat enough,” you muse, reaching for the bag of chocolate you keep hidden in the bottom drawer. You hold it out to him with a conspiratorial smile, “I always like to keep a secret stash, want one?”

“No thank you, darlin’.” Jasper smiles, though it’s tighter. Maybe you only see it because you’re looking for it, but you swear he looks uncomfortable for a split second.

“I feel like I never see you eat,” you admit, putting the bag back in its hiding spot, “Even at school. None of you eat.”

Jasper’s brow furrows. He can feel your concern, but also your curiosity. They radiate off you in equal degrees, so he can’t tell how carefully he should tread.

“My siblings and I are on a…special diet,” he explains slowly, eyes falling back to his textbook. He can’t hold your worried gaze while he lies to you, even if it’s not really a lie. “We prefer not to talk about it.”

You tilt your head, pouting softly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to push.”

Guilt. Jasper can feel it biting at the back of his mind. But he smiles and murmurs a soft, “Thank you for understandin’.”

You nod. It still seems strange, though. The more you think about it, the more questions you have. You’ve hardly seen him even drink water, and that can’t be normal, even more for a special diet. But it’s not like he looks unhealthy. No one can look that good if they’re not eating enough.

A sudden heat creeps up your neck. Coughing awkwardly, you turn your attention to your own homework, trying to not focus on just how good Jasper always looks. The man is surprisingly fit under all those sweaters -

Then why does he run so cold? The thought comes back to you, like an annoying fly circling your head. You’ve noticed the same thing about Alice when she gave you a hug. Their touch is like ice, cold enough to leave you shivering after the smallest graze. It’s the kind of cold you read about in your murder mysteries, when someone is dead.

Curiosity burns hot in your chest, making you all but forget the slight warmth in your cheeks. Some things just don’t add up. And you know you shouldn’t pry, it’s none of your business and you don’t want to push him away. So why does it matter so much to you?

“Do you need help with that problem, darlin’?”

You jump, glancing up to find Jasper looking over your shoulder at the worksheet in your lap. You didn’t even hear him get off the bed. It’s almost like he’s a ghost.

“Um, sure, yah.” Your growing anxiety seems to slip away with him so close, and with it goes your curiosity. Shaking your head, you cast him an apologetic smile, “Sorry, I’m a bit distracted I guess. Did I space out?”

Jasper squeezes your shoulder warmly, voice tender with something fond, “You were starin’ at it for a few minutes. I figured it might have been givin’ you trouble.”

“Yah, yah, I guess I’m stuck.” To be honest, you don’t even know what worksheet you’re on. Help can’t hurt though. “Thanks, Jasper.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

Another successful distraction.

---

“Huh.”

You pause in your reading, jaw dropping a little.

To end the quarter, your U.S. History teacher was allowing you to do a report on anything that has been covered in class. You decided to do research into the Civil War, specifically the confederate army since you felt like it was often dismissed in class discussions. Understandably, since it’s an uncomfortable topic for most.

But you were curious, as always. There’s no doubt they were on the wrong side of history, proven by how things ended. Even if you hate what they stand for, you want to know both sides of it.

So you dug up some old books. And by old, you mean old. Written very close to the time period of the war old. They’re only digital copies, since there’s no way you could afford them otherwise, but still. And it took searching some obscure website to find them.

It makes this all the more confusing. You double check the publication date. The copyright. All of it. They all confirm the age of the book.

So how are you looking at what seems to be a carbon copy of Jasper?

It’s an old photo, dated 1862. Black and white and a bit fuzzy. A young man sits perched on a horse, decked out in a full confederate uniform and a cowboy hat. His hair is longer, light, brushing his chin, just like Jasper’s. But that’s not it. No, it’s something about his face. About the lopsided grin on his lips.

You quickly skim the few paragraphs next to the photo, eyes going wider with each word you read.

‘Jasper Whitlock, born in Texas, became the youngest man to earn the rank of Major in the Confederate Army. Major Whitlock was labeled missing in action in the year 1863, when he disappeared while evacuating U.S. citizens who were at risk in the wake of the war.’

Jasper.

They even have the same name. Different last names, but still. Can that be a coincidence? Maybe they’re related, you try to reason. That wouldn't make sense, after all. It’d be crazy. Absolutely crazy.

You decide to google this man, Jasper Whitlock, but only a few generic results for ‘jasper’ show up. Nothing about the young Army Major. You lean back in your chair, brows furrowing. That doesn’t make sense either. Unless-

“What are you reading?”

You shriek, slamming your laptop shut.

Bella holds her hands up, eyes wide.

“Oh my gosh, you scared me!” You press a hand to your chest, laughing breathlessly. “I thought you were Jasper.”

The brunette looks at you strangely, “Why? Are you hiding something from him?”

You flinch. That’s straightforward. For Bella at least.

Trying to give her an easy-going smile, you explain, “No, he just has the tendency to sneak up on me. I’m working on a history project, that’s all. He knows all about this stuff and I definitely don’t, so I’m trying to spare myself some embarrassment.”

You hate lying. It makes you feel gross, but you don’t want to freak Bella out. There’s a lot of ways this could be explained, you’re sure, and you’re probably overthinking all of it.

Yah. There’s no way that this Jasper Whitlock could be connected to your Jasper. It’s impossible.

Right?

This time, Jasper isn’t there to blow out the spark.

---

Unless.

The word rings around in your head.

Ringing and ringing and ringing until you jolt up in bed later that night and snatch your laptop from your nightstand.

‘cold skin’

‘doesn’t eat’

‘avoids sun’

‘doesn’t age?’

You click enter and only one word comes back.

‘vampire’

---

So! I was so excited to incorporate the whole history thing! My headcannon is that Jasper would have been recorded in history because of his accomplishments (I mean, the real youngest major of the confederate army was 36 so him being 19 is crazy) but the Cullens have worked to to keep his name off the internet somehow. I'm sure one of them could pick up some computer skills with all that time.

And that's why you only see him mentioned in old, written text. I don't know, I think it's something really cool to think about! And what a cool way to do a reveal!

Anyways! I hope you guys enjoyed this!

#reader insert #x reader #reader #jasper hale #jasper whitlock #twilight saga #twilight #jasper hale x reader #jasper whitlock x reader #jasper x reader #jasper whitlock is a minor historical figure and you can't prove me wrong

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dewitty1 · 2 months

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Fic Recs Wrap Up February 2024♡(੭ˊ͈ ꒵ˋ͈)੭*･:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆

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Tapestry by Kbrick @kbrick

In 2017, Harry is on his way to Pansy and Luna’s beach house. He’s a bit terrified of seeing Draco, to be honest. It’s been a while, and then there’s the little matter of Draco having married someone else in the interim. In 2001, Draco is drunk, wearing Pansy’s mother’s ermine coat, and afraid to walk into the Leaky because someone might throw a curse at him. So, of course, he runs into his ex-nemesis and hopeless crush, Harry Potter. This is a love story that isn’t perfect, about two people whose timing is never quite right, and all the moments that come together to make something extraordinarily beautiful anyway. Rec Post

Sense of Doubt by FibromyalGIA

Normalcy is driving Harry insane, and just when he thinks it can’t get any worse, he’s invited to Draco Malfoy’s hearing as a witness. Drama ensues. Rec Post

Canary Creams and New Yellow Paint by dothechachaslide

It’s not Draco’s fault that Potter is seeing things and Scorpius’s campaign to be the Ministry’s Creature Liaison is struggling, it’s not. Draco didn’t ask for Potter to walk into his Ocularistry Clinic in Northern Ireland fifteen years after they last saw each other, demanding to know why the Spectroculars Draco invented malfunctioned while Potter was painting and cost him an eye. Scorpius hadn’t asked for any of that either, though, so when Potter and the rest of Draco’s patients start to see mysterious symbols through their prosthetic eyes, and the resulting blow to Draco’s public reputation drags Scorpius’s campaign through the mud, Draco is determined to fix it. If that means trudging through a boggy moor in search of a fictional species Luna thinks is causing their problems, Draco will just have to pluck up the courage, march in with a team of Gryffindors, and be ready to battle any beast they meet. Even if that beast looks less like the large, bipedal talking toads they find and more like the Ministry of Magic as a whole. Rec Post

Draco’s First Holiday by Meowfoy @resilientkitteh

Draco catches Blaise cheating, breaks up with him and decides to leave his French Villa behind to swap houses with a woman named Hermione and her husband Ron. His relaxing vacation becomes far more interesting when a handsome stranger (Harry) knocks at his door in the middle of the night. They meet and get to know each other, and suddenly Draco feels much better about his decision to leave France behind for Britain. Rec Post

Englishman Extraordinaire by BlueSundayCake @bluesundaycake

When Draco’s life goes to shit, he gets scammed. Maybe it’s for the best. Who doesn’t love new beginnings? Rec Post

Here are a few more fics I've read recently that y'all might like to check out as well!(ノﾟ∀ﾟ)ノ━☆ﾟ･*:.｡. .｡.:*･.*･｡ﾟ*:・ﾟ✧

Mirror Mirror by epiphany_dex

Harry’s new year starts with a bang when he encounters Draco Malfoy at the Ministry Ball.

(Never) Let Me Go by maraudersaffair @maraudersaffair

Harry and Ginny are married, but she abandoned him for her Quidditch career overseas. He is lonely and desperate for love and very interested in sleeping with a man. Then, one night at a party, Draco Malfoy whispers in his ear: Do you want to leave with me? Harry knows he should say no, especially since a scandal would ruin his chance at becoming Head Auror, but Malfoy is entirely too fit to pass up the opportunity.

Another Mind Game by May_May_0_0

Harry’s occlumency reveals his disturbing home life which sets off a chain reaction that cannot be undone. Snape finds himself begrudgingly caring about the bespectacled boy, Harry discovers what it's like to have adults who care, and Hermione finds herself becoming an accidental crime lord. Draco Malfoy is very much along for the ride, in all senses of the word. A ridiculous blend of hilarity and tragedy, Another Mind Game is the multi-faceted fanfiction you didn't know you wanted but will absolutely adore. Featuring a sassy Harry Potter, good friends, and a great deal of sarcasm.

Dragons Don't Know Paradise by teacup_tai @teacup-tai

In 2004, when Remus spends two scary weeks in the ITU due to complications of pneumonia and his HIV condition, Sirius walks around the house like a ghost and Harry finds comfort and strength in Draco through a chat in an online LGBT forum. Harry falls for him, but Draco has a lot of secrets and, before long, will need to come clean—even if he believes that no one is able to understand a dragon. This is a story about falling in love online and about facing the reality of death, but above all, this is a story about hope, finding love and acceptance.

( •ॢ◡-ॢ)-♡ I hope you enjoy these fics as much as I have! Happy reading, y’all! xoxo Carey (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*💜💙💚💛❤💗💕💖

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see-arcane · 5 months

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And as she so sat she became aware of an aged beautiful gentleman with white hair, drawing near along the lane; and advancing to meet him, another and very small gentleman, to whom at first she paid less attention. When they had come within speech (which was just under the maid’s eyes) the older man bowed and accosted the other with a very pretty manner of politeness. It did not seem as if the subject of his address were of great importance; indeed, from his pointing, it sometimes appeared as if he were only inquiring his way; but the moon shone on his face as he spoke, and the girl was pleased to watch it, it seemed to breathe such an innocent and old-world kindness of disposition, yet with something high too, as of a well-founded self-content. Presently her eye wandered to the other, and she was surprised to recognise in him a certain Mr. Hyde, who had once visited her master and for whom she had conceived a dislike. He had in his hand a heavy cane, with which he was trifling; but he answered never a word, and seemed to listen with an ill-contained impatience. And then all of a sudden he broke out in a great flame of anger, stamping with his foot, brandishing the cane, and carrying on (as the maid described it) like a madman.

This bit is sticking with me in a way it didn't last year.

We'll see Jekyll's explanation for what he says is the cause of Hyde committing this murder. Maybe he believes it, maybe he's guessing, maybe he'll somehow believe there's a last fig leaf that needs hiding behind, even in the wretched condition he'll be in by the time of his confession. But looking at the details of poor old Carew laid out like this, I think I can spy a shortcut to a pretty good reason without just his word on it:

Edward Hyde saw in Sir Danvers Carew everything that Dr. Henry Jekyll could only pretend to be.

At least he leaps to that assumption. This is a story in which the impression of someone's character is always somehow visible at a glance--dreary but beloved Utterson, jovial Lanyon, respected but sly Jekyll, loathsome Hyde, odious housekeeper, et cetera--and we're to take the maid's opinion at face value. Carew was a stately old pinnacle of natural politeness and kindness. Aged, distinguished, self-content.

The point of Hyde's existence is to let Jekyll hide. To wear his own worst impulses as an outer disguise, free of inhibition or blame. Repression as physical manifestation, because he's so certain of his need to distill himself into two selves, the better to keep Jekyll 'pristine'--at least as presented to the world. Now here's Carew. Carew, who seems to radiate an intrinsic goodness. Carew, a happy old man. Carew, who is serene, who is at peace with himself.

No need of a 'Hyde' for him.

No shame.

Nothing to bury or let run wild.

Carew, for as much as we and Hyde get to know him, is only himself. Good. Kind. Needing nothing but directions, if you could point him along, sir.

Another strike. Sir Danvers Carew bowing and smiling to a loathsome little nobody like Hyde. This, when surely he has to have been disgusted like anybody else with sense..! Hypocrite! Liar! Fraud!

I think it's that very sterling regard that broke the dam in Hyde and let out the flood of verbal bile and violence. Insults and bludgeoning and a great childish fit--the kind of senseless viciousness of someone desperately flinging mud at the proof that they are Wrong, they are Lesser, they will Never Be Up to the Level of the Person Before Them.

Worse, Carew looks hurt even before the first blow lands. Not angry, not shocked. Just hurt. A final proof-positive (in Hyde's eyes) that he is as untainted and innocent as he looks.

So down comes the cane.

Striking the old man the way someone else might smash a mirror in frustration.

#sorry Carew #edward hyde #sir danvers carew #jekyll and hyde weekly #the strange case of dr. jekyll and mr. hyde

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cherry-flavoured-thot · 2 years

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Maybe Haley was a bit mean when you first introduced yourself to her. But honestly, what did you expect? You were covered in dirt and mud, smelt like you crawled right out of the earth trapped beneath your nails. She thinks at first glance, from how little you seemed to care about your clothes that neither of you are going to get along. Which is why she doesn’t bother being nice, but despite it all you still hand her a daffodil. She’s grateful. But it doesn’t change anything.

Then about a day later you bring her another one, asking her about her day. You’re just as dirt covered as the first meeting, and just as unfazed when she’s about as pleasant as she was prior. You’re weird. She thinks, thanking you again and heading in the opposite direction. And she thinks it again as she stares at the two daffodils she’s placed in a vase on her dresser.

“Looks like you might have an admirer!” Emily had commented on the two additions, and it made Haley roll her eyes.

“No it’s from that new farmer, they’re an absolute weirdo who looks like they roll in the dirt.”

“Harsh.” Yes maybe it was. But it was the truth. And she sticks to that concept of you, even during the rest of the week where you go out of your way to greet her on the way past. The week comes to the end, the daffodils in the vase start to wilt and so she throws them out. Much to Emily’s dismay, claiming Haley could have pressed the flowers or at least kept them longer. She’s ignored.

Haley’s going about her day, when she hears your voice. Another daffodil in hand. She wonders if you ever considered what she did with the ones you gave her, taking the gift from you regardless. With a wave, you’re going off in the other direction, when you’re out of her line of sight she asks herself why you keep giving her flowers. She puts the new one in the vase, replacing the old ones.

She doesn’t see you again until her birthday, she thinks it’s going to be another daffodil. But you’re handing her fresh made fruit salad instead. “I heard it was your birthday today, happy birthday!” You appear to be as happy to give her the gift as she is to receive it. And she’s so overjoyed by the present that she doesn’t even notice that you’d done something different with your hair today, or that you don’t nearly have as much dirt all over you.

The week after is same as normal, well the new normal. She’ll be going about her day, and you’ll present her with a daffodil. When you do it for the second time that week she decides to ask you why you keep giving her flowers, only for you to grin at her.

“Pretty flowers for a pretty lady.” She rolls her eyes, openly calling you a weirdo, but she’s smiling and so are you.

Then the Flower Dance arrives. And she thinks it’ll be funny that if you show up it will probably be looking like an absolute mess. She doesn’t even consider that you’d be wearing the formal outfit... or that you’d clean up so nicely.

She’s practicing meticulously, when she catches someone walking up to her in the corner of her eye. She doesn’t recognise you first glance, but second glance it dawns on her that it is in fact you. She stops, not because you were coming in her direction but because she forgot her steps as she was looking at you. She’s even more surprised when you do walk up to her, and ask her to dance.

“Do you want to dance with me?” The time she takes mulling over her answer is brief, because she can’t think of a reason to say no. It’s as she’s dancing with you, noting your smiling face as you complement her movements, that a small thought passes through her mind.

Maybe she likes weird.

#haley #haley x reader #sdv haley #haley sdv #stardew valley #sdv #sdv x reader #stardew valley x reader #haley sdv x reader #my writing tag

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kookaburra1701 · 7 months

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WIP Wednesday - Aristeia

tagged by @skyrim-forever, ty friend!

I am tagging @mareenavee @gilgamish @greyborn2 @dirty-bosmer @thana-topsy @nientedenada @totally-not-deacon @sylvienerevarine

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: T (blood and violence) Category: gen Genre(s): Adventure, Homer retelling Main characters: Borgakh the Steel Heart, the orcs of Mor Khazgur

Summary: Borgakh is a dutiful daughter of Mor Khazgur, an orc stronghold in a remote corner of the Reach that has existed since the Merethic era. Expected to someday become the shield-wife of a distant chieftain, Borgakh tries to uphold the Code of Malacath as best she can. But when her father, the chief of their stronghold, goes missing while on a quest for vengeance, the suitors that show up to vie for his place cause no end of trouble and threaten the strength of Mor Khazgur. Borgakh soon finds herself traveling far from home across the Druadach Mountains to find her father and save the stronghold.

The first chapter is here on AO3.

This continues directly from a snippet I previously posted here.

At once there was the sound of steel being drawn, and she answered it with a growl and whirled, holding her staff up to block the sword she was certain was coming.

There was no blow— instead the other two men were backing up, swords held in front of them. Borgakh used their hesitation to side-step, placing herself in a better position to intercept them if they went for the goats again, while not allowing herself to be trapped in between them and the cliff face.

“You’ve assaulted one of the Emperor’s Legionnaires, stand down or we will be forced—”

“You stand down, and leave our territory!” Borgakh snarled. “They belong to Mor Khazgur, we do not suffer thieves lightly!”

“Stand down, citi—”

Borgakh roared again, and charged. The man swore, parrying the thrust of the staff with the flat of his blade. Out of the corner of her eye Borgakh saw the third man coming at her flank, and spun the leg-hook of the staff to catch him in the side of the head.

Before Borgakh could finish the swing something large, flat, and unyielding struck her from the side, knocking the breath out of her lungs as she hit the ground. She knew someone was lying on top of her: she could feel their legs tangling with hers, trying to get a purchase in the mud. But when she grabbed for limbs using the grappling techniques her mother had taught her all she found was flat boards and iron ferrules.

She was under a shield.

As foot-steps approached she smiled to herself as they were forced to jump back with a swipe from her staff. Eventually someone managed to get a boot on the staff and that put an end to that.

“Are you hurt, Julius?”

“I just took that damn stick to the skull, of course I’m hurt,” said a peevish voice.

“Can you walk?”

“Aye.”

“Go get the Captain.”

Footsteps approached, and someone made a grab for her outstretched arm, but jumped back with a curse when Borgakh kicked out. The weight on top of her shifted, and a large hand encircled her wrist, pushing it back down into the mud.

“Stop—stop fighting,” the man on top of the shield grunted. His voice was strained and Borgakh redoubled her efforts. “You’re making it worse for yourself!”

“Malacath curse you,” Borgakh hissed.

“Filly’s got spirit, I’ll give her that,” said the man who was standing nearby.

“Hold your tongue, Cario. The captain will deal with this.” The weight on the shield shifted again, and the metal-rimmed edge bit into her arm as she twisted it in the man’s grip. “And you, Orc, if you stop fighting I’ll let you up out of the mud.”

Borgakh cursed again, echoing some of the more colorful words she’d heard Ghamorz use when working in the mines.

“I don’t think she likes you.”

“I said, hold your tongue.”

Try as she might, with her arm pinned by the edge of the shield Borgakh was unable to free her arm from the man on top of her. If she could only bend her elbow just a fraction of a degree more, she would be able to gain enough leverage to push him and his accursed shield off of her, but his weight seemed to be positioned to prevent exactly that.

Should I yell for Olur and Gul? Borgakh did not know if she would be able to fill her lungs enough for a scream to carry down the mountain. And it would likely just alert the men to Olur and Gul’s presence. How long will it take for Olur to notice I haven’t come back? Borgakh smiled to herself, imagining the surprise on the mens’ faces when Olur’s arrows pierced them where they stood, like the Reachwoman who thought she could steal their deer.

Multiple pairs of heavy footsteps approached; Borgakh could feel their vibrations through the ground as they approached.

The weight was lifted off of the shield but before Borgakh was able to take advantage of the opportunity more hands grabbed her arms and she found herself hauled to her knees, arms held firmly behind her by more men. Some of them wore the same uniforms as the three who had been stealing the goats (Borgakh noted with satisfaction that one of them was bleeding profusely from a knot on his temple) but two were wearing leather gambesons and mail covered by a deep green surcoat. They carried round wooden shields blazoned with stylized ram’s horns.

#mor khazgur #fic: aristeia #borgakh the steel heart #skyrim fanfiction #skyrim #tesblr #wip wednesday #kb writes #orc posting hours #it's not easy being green #orc #hot orc summer #orctober

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inactive02 · 1 year

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The opportunity chapter 5

a/n: "is that lethalhades posting after many day", yes it is, after a good break i deiced to write the next chapter of this story. i had fun writing it too, quite the challenge might i add. i hope you enjoy it just as much as i did.

warnings: besides heimdall being a asshole, there's nothing else slight nsfw might i add.

Call him crazy, but he’s been losing him mad every day after that kiss, not being able to face you after what happened, he should’ve seen it coming, but he didn’t, he allowed it merely out of curiosity of the feeling of someone's lips on his. But you were no stranger to him, a person he knew since childhood.

Heimdall refuses those thoughts, the fears of not knowing the answer to it distract him from his own false assumptions, standing on the high clouds of the Asgard wall. Looking below to the lively town, kept by mortals.

It was very early, his eyes were not sluggish even though he got up a bit earlier, but his mind felt empty. “That damn woman” he whispers to himself, heading back to the wooden lift, flipping the switch, and feeling the morning air breeze through his braided hair. He hasn’t seen you for at least 2 days, well, hasn’t talked to you. He did see you, but every time you tried talking to him, he scurried away. Tail tucked in between your legs, it pissed him off, As the lift carried him, his eyes gazed upon the Asgard Plaza below, the home he’s been protecting for many years.

This is nothing but his routine, hearing the lift come to a stop and him taking a step off. The mud of Asgard smooched under his feet as he headed to the lodge, pushing the wooden doors open. Only to be greeted by you who sat at the table eating from a bowl of soup, listening to sif’s words. Sif gazes behind you seeing him, scowling before whispering something to you, getting up from the long table, and approaching the Aesir.

“Is there something you nee-“ his sentence was cut short by a grip in his hair from sif pulling him out of the lodge, he should’ve seen this coming, but she wasn’t thinking about it nor giving him the chance. Tugging him outside with a heavy tug.

She lets go of him, scoffing “did you say something to her” she interrogates him, not caring a single bit about the slight height difference.

“To that commoner? And why would I need to talk to her, besides telling her the truth” he tucks the hair strand that was in his face, back into his hair.

“Well take that stick out of your ass and apologize to her, she has been looking like a sick puppy for the past few days” her brows furrowed in frustration as if she was talking to the wall of Asgard, looking at him. As he continued to focus on his hair, the watchers' minds were on you, did he have such an effect on you? Making your everyday somber, he doesn’t know what’s this feeling in him but it makes him feel battered.

He focused behind the blonde woman to catch a glimpse of you, spying on him and sif, swiftly shifting your head back the other way. You knew he probably caught you staring, being the god of foresight and all. “Are you even listening?” his ears tuning the woman back in, somewhat listening to her. Maybe he could try taking a lucky guess on what she was talking about, it couldn’t be that hard, her guiding and enduring words weren’t more bothersome than that stupid hair strand that kept settling in front of his face.

Fixing the braces on his wrist, not ever gazing up at sif “how about this, I’ll fancy you and talk to her, Goldie locks.” that nickname didn’t settle in her stomach well, her eyes narrowing at him.

“Keep pushing my buttons, and I’ll cut yours off, do remember what I said Heimdall” she twisted her body, walking off from him and heading back inside the lodge. Leaving him to his own pathetic thoughts, even now being all-knowing, he doesn’t know what to do. His expression turns into a regretful one, feeling as if he can never convey his feelings as he intended to and calling those feelings lies, false things that can’t exist in him.

He’ll try to fix it.

—————-

Later on in the day, you only overheard a little of sif’s conversation with Heimdall earlier. You mean, sure you felt a little offended, hurt, and many more things while being ignored, but you didn’t see it as a massive problem. Is what you told yourself, you prefer to know the answer than to stay blind and deaf.

Sighing heavily, continuing your small job of sharpening a small blade. It was late in the night while you did this, only being in here to distract yourself. Aware of your shop door opening and closing, hearing that small chime, “we’re closed for tonight” you told whoever walked in.

“Well your sign was still flipped around” you recognized that voice from anywhere, turning around quickly and seeing him, Heimdall. With his hair down? Taking you a minute to take in the sight, his strands of sunshine gold, and waves of woven braids still present as if his locks were still there. Swept to the back of his neck, a few front strands dangling in his face. You’d forgotten to breathe, but then the slight clearing of his throat brought you back.

“My eyes are right here, sæta” he focused on your eyes then elsewhere once he felt shy enough, “are you busy?” He said it so low that you almost missed it by a hair.

“The sign was supposed to say close but no, I am not busy, do you need something?” You asked, noticing his tense posture, was he avoiding something? Beating around the bush or some sort.

But then you see his hand touch his hair a little, rolling his eyes, “sif is busy with all father, And I need someone to braid my hair back. I sometimes struggle to do it myself” holding out a small brush that adored a golden handle, black bristles. It’s cute knowing that he does care about maintaining his hair's appearance just as much as everything else.

You came around from your counter, stepping on eggshells carefully as you came closer to him, those glowing, purple irises weren’t helping either. About to reach for his hair, he snatches your wrist, stopping your pursuit. “Wash your hands first, I don’t want dirt in my hair” the grip wasn’t a hurtful one, only to stop you from touching his silky locks. Apologizing quietly, you went over to where you washed your hands, dipping them into the clean water bucket. Washing them thoroughly, while you tend to your hands, he sat on a dusted-off spot on the floor. It was only comfortable for him as he waited.

Seeing you come back from behind the counter, you bring a chair to sit behind him, as you take a seat looking down at him. You couldn’t help but notice how tense he was in his back, sitting there.

“Is something bothering you?”

“Would you just do my hair” putting your hands up to not protest, scooting up in your chair, you take the brush from him and start to gently brush his hair. Looking for any sign of discomfort, the feel of his hair in your hands felt like cotton, silky, something that only fairy tales could describe. Even being in those braids that still kept their form. You took your time brushing his hair, Heimdall felt himself becoming less tense. Thinking maybe you won’t yank his hair out.

“Do you hate me, commoner?” He felt a slight tug from one of his hair strands in the back, causing him to whimper, whipping his head around to you. Daggers came from his eyes, he was too met by daggers as well.

“If you keep calling me that for the rest of our lives then yes I will hate you, but no I don’t hate you Heimdall. You can be quite an asshole sometimes” you saw a slight dimness in his eyes before he turned back around, letting you go back to doing his hair.

His lips turn to a taut line before opening his mouth, “I’m not an asshole com-, y/n. I just don’t trust people like you” his ears perked up to a slight snicker from behind him but didn’t dare to turn.

“You trust me enough to do your hair”

“Because it only benefits me in the end” you hum in approval to his false little fantasy, as your fingers gently run through his bundle of locks you hear a slight groan of satisfaction from him. So he’s a sucker for hair touching, is what you said to yourself. Slightly, digging your fingers in to get a grip, starting to braid his hair.

The soft noises of hair being braided were the only thing he heard, slightly feeling less tense, and he leaned a bit more back. In Between your thighs, “why have you been avoiding me?” A question he saw coming but really was trying to avoid.

“I did not feel like hearing your barrage of questions on why,…on why-“

“On why we kissed? I’ve known you for five years, surprised you're not used to me as I am with you” a slight huff falls from your lips in question to your response.

He plays with the belt of his tunic, focusing on the floor, “you become tolerable every two years, so you're lucky”. His tone meant no harm, maybe a little joke for you two since he’s only three years older than you, at the moment, weirdly he felt comfortable.

Relax even, as you finish on his hair, doing the final braid, your hands search in your pockets for one of the silver cuffs you usually use to hold your hair. Finding it you, put it at the end of his hair, he nearly dozed off from the gentle interaction. As he tried to stand, you leaned down to gently kiss his cheek, feeling his stubble under your lips. Eyes were shining like diamonds as he searched yours. “If you stop chickening out on me, I’ll give you answers” you imply, his sharp gaze never left you. That kiss sparked a fire in his body like last time.

Patting his cheek lightly, standing to walk away from him, leaving the man star stricken.

a/n: hope you enjoyed this chapter, next chapter might just have smut who knows, it might be something more. Have a great day.

#god of war heimdall #gow heimdall #heimdall god of war #heimdall x reader #heimdall #gow heimdall x reader #heimdall gow #god of war ragnorak #hes so cute #hes so babygirl

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jovesstudyroom · 7 months

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In That Room (Chapter 1)

Ghost COD x Reader

Slow burn love not for sauce (though it still might take a little)

TW: Gore, violence, sexual stuff (later), and abuse/torture

Y/N is a former army recruit turned investigator trapped by a mysterious and weirdly fatherly war criminal, Morinda. You are locked in a room for three years, in a state of weakness. Task Force 141, with the help of others, breaks in to find Morinda and rescue their men. Ghost breaks down the door to your cell, finding you in chains...

The dark mud-cemented walls around were your home. Time passes so liberally without including you in its ticks. Your captors fail to give you enough food and water, a sick game of keeping you weak yet conscious enough to be used for whatever information they crave. Your hair sticks together in dirty bits, though Morinda would come in sometimes to brush it as you fought against your chains, well when you used to fight. His perfect captive-made daughter, Mira, seems to be your destiny now. Drops of water fall into a plastic bucket in a corner.

“One, two, three, four…”

Before, however long ago that was, you would pull your chains and let the metal bite into your wrists and ankles just to kick over that stupid red bucket. It’s a devil roommate you can’t ignore or stop. Now you count them in groups of four like a song. Your head aches with the beat. All a game from some unknown group. You lay on the floor facing up at an incandescent light that never falters overhead. No point in huddling in a corner. You just want to be free, to murder everybody in here. You imagine the sky, the stars and the moon; the sun on your skin. All you can do is close your eyes and dream… until he comes with more questions that won’t be answered. Why did they think you had all the answers? Electrocution is just a day in the sun now. Something that reminds you you’re alive, though one time your heart stopped. You came to with Morinda over your body, a devilish look of worry spread over his face, you were still his. Morinda never offers death. He “likes your face too much.” The face of his Mira. Your thumb and pointer fingers are bandaged, the nails growing only to be harvested again. Soon they’ll have to kill you.

"No one is coming, so please let them kill me."

The static of silence disperses into heavy footsteps. Maybe this visit… A dream of eternal peace washes over you in preparation. Gunshots. You quit counting. You quit coping. Fear ricochets through your brain like electricity, but you stay down. Eyes closed. Whatever is going down, you can at least be an easy target if lucky.

The sound of doors being busted down sounds around you in tandem with incoherent yelling from two men never heard before. Let them be killers, just killers.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

They reach your door. It falls inwards. Someone enters. Their grave footsteps crunch while more banging takes place down the hall.

“Come in Price,” a deep voice grumbles, softened by a British accent you can’t place.

“Found a prisoner, only female so far, looks about early to mid-twenties. (Y/H/C). Maybe, (Y/H).” The footsteps draw nearer. “Do we have any records?”

He speaks but you can’t comprehend. Everything in your mind is in a frantic fire while your body is useless. Nothing makes sense, you just repeat prayers for release.

Opening your eyes slightly, you are sure Death truly has come. A hulking skull-masked figure towers over you. His head and body are covered in thick fabric, armour, and a large tactical vest. Light shines in behind him. Sunlight.

“Finally,” you murmur. “One, two, three, four…” You keep on in whispers.

“Oh, so you’re alive then?” He looks over his shoulder before crouching down over you.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” you rasp and smile.

“That’s quite the compliment, darlin’. Do you have a name?”

“You should know. It took you enough time to find me on your list.”

“List?”

“If Death is a proper physical being, then what other stories are true?”

“Hell,” he sighs. “Call me Ghost. Just a guy here to get you out.” Ghost quickly brings out a knife from his waist and then grabs your hand, unscrewing the bolts that keep the metal clasped around your wrist. “You’re not dying yet.”

He moves on to the next hand as you speak. “You’re taking me outside? One, two, three, four…” The drips continue, and so do you.

“I’m taking you somewhere safe.”

“I want to be outside.” You want to live in the woods in a burrow under a tree, far away from any person.

“You will be. Now what’s your name?”

“Did you kill them all?” The man moves to your ankles.

“That I don’t know. I've answered your lot of questions, now your turn.”

“Mira…no…no.” What was it again? “Y-Y/N” Saying your name feels awkward, your mouth has lost the feel for it. “One, two, three, four…”

“Come in Price,” Ghost speaks into his earpiece.

“I’ve got a name, (Y/N). She’s in pretty rough shape.”

“Let’s get you up.” A firm arm, thick with tactical clothing, lifts so you sit up. He offers an arm, which you take slowly. Dense muscle gives good support. You can’t help but gaze at his face. Death trying to keep you alive after being so near all this time. Stark white eyes, surrounded by black paint dig into your own as he wraps his arm around your back. You both begin to hobble out… till you see that stupid red bucket. Something snaps in you, maybe reality. It feels animalistic and real. Maybe it’s what you’ve been keeping down so you didn’t fully lose your mind. However, you’re getting out now. You can act. The real world stood out there, and you- you were in here for an eternity being branded, ripped at, and groomed by a man and his overzealous posey. You push yourself away from the man, Death, and shriek.

Your knees crash down onto the cement, and the thin pants give you little help from scrapes. You grab the bucket and start thrashing it at the ground, water exploding.

“Fuck!” You scream and hit the bucket over and over into the ground. You wail like your mother must have when she heard of what happened to you. You wail like the first time you felt chains around your limbs. Crying and heaving till the bucket is nothing but shards of red plastic. Your hand seeks out the sharpest one, it comforts like nothing has in a long time. Quiet resumes in your countenance. You both just need to get out of here.

“Go Price.” Ghost pauses, listening to a short version of your folder they must have at base. “Two years? Fuckin' hell." He looks me up and down. "We are going to extract. I’ll leave the rest to the team. We’re pretty much done over here anyway. Over.”

A giggle escapes you as you go to leave the room. This has to all be some absurd dream. Two years? Ghost makes his way to you, grabbing your arm with his firm hand, but you shrug him off and lean against the wall.

“Listen to me, alright? I know you were trained in the army before going investigator, remember that training. Stay silent, you already caused enough racket to get us killed… and take my fucking arm.”

You grab it and hang on this time. You both go on quickly. Ghost holds his large M4 Carbine, checking corners. Gunshots ring out, but you keep going. The building has broken-class windows and is dusty with sand and wartime fallout. Footsteps your way. Ghost grunts as he pushes you into a side room, shutting off his radio. You two press behind an open door. Ghost towers over, arms on either side of you. You clutch your weapon. He smells like metal and sweat. People pass by, shouting in a language often heard, but never understood.

“Deep breaths,” Ghost whispers. You can see his eyes behind the mask, they are unnerving but calm. A deep breath is forced, in and out.

“One, two, three, four.”

“Move on,” his husky voice commands.

You leave the room and can’t help but look outside. Outside. It shines brightly like a mirage. You count your steps in four quietly. Ghost practically drags your broken body through the clay-coloured hallway. A flash of metal glints outside behind a broken-down car. You pull him down.

“What the-” Gunshots ring out from over us as you both kneel on the floor, looking both ways and at each other. “Quick eye.”

“Lucky,” you respond.

The two of you crouch-walk along the floor, a movement hard on your tired body. You pant, already exhausted. “Come on just a little way further,” he says.

Windowed walls end and it's a straight shot to the stairs. You go for it but are stopped by two men. Ghost quickly shoots one. The other man charges him, grabbing the barrel of his gun, and readying his own small pistol. It all happens quickly. You know that man’s face, clear in the background smiling while shocks rippled through your whole being. He doesn’t even pay you any regard now. Your hand tightens around the sharp piece of plastic from the bucket. This violence is quiet. You move swiftly from behind Ghost as he pushes the attacker off. You raise your arm and jump on him, toppling him to the ground. A bullet goes off from his gun. The large shard in your hand comes down and punctures his neck with all vengeful strength. The man's eyes go wide. He grabs at his throat while you remove the piece. Blood spurts out, spraying everywhere. You’re in shock for a short moment, but everything snaps back like an elastic band. Warm liquid runs over you as you wipe your mouth. Metal can’t help but be tasted.

“Jesus Christ.” Ghost stares at you. You wait for ostracization, but Ghost cuts the tension with: "I can’t judge too hard, you saved my skin… though I didn’t need it.”

“I need a fucking cigarette” You rasp while wiping your face. Why would you ever care what he thought? A wave of dizziness succumbs you as you collapse. The moment of adrenaline is starting to pass, and that last pounce took all you had.

“Common,” Ghost tries to pull you up. You try, but find your limbs in a state of cold sleep. You shake before collapsing again. Without a moment to waste, Ghost scoops you up in his arms. Your head rests against his bulky vest, vision slightly blurry. “Stay with me (Y/N).” The smell of him, of the earth you have almost reached is the only sense intact. You feel your body beat against his chest as he moves. Ghost rushes down the stairs to the entrance.

Light fills your vision, you didn’t even realize your eyes were closed until now. You see Ghost's concerned eyes look down at you before scanning the environment. “Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He ducks behind a car, breathing heavily now that he also has to carry you. Beyond him is a light blue-grey sky with sparse clouds. Dusk or dawn? you can’t tell yet. The wind picks up, it's fresh and cool. From there it’s a blur until you both meet up with an armoured jeep with a gunman on top. We made it, hopefully.

#cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #female reader #fanfiction #canon is dead this is my mind reality

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cursedvibes · 1 month

Note

Jinichi zenin, noritoshi kamo and maki zenin for character ask

Thanks for the ask! Interesting choice of characters. I usually don't think much about Jinichi beyond that he's hot, so I hope my answer isn't too bland

Noritoshi

Sexuality Headcanon:

Gay. I think he hasn't really delved into it though because of the expectations of his family. He knows he's attracted to guys, but he also knows he's expected to marry and have kids in the future, so he's just trying to ignore both for now. Since the Kamo are the Edo or Heian era type of conservatives, not modern conservatives like the Zenin seem to be, I think they're actually relatively fine with homosexuality in itself. They don't care who you fuck or romance on the side as long as you continue to pass on their blood. There's extra pressure on Noritoshi to perform well though because of his CT and his mother not being part of the clan, so he feels like he has to prove himself and doesn't indulge in any kind of relationship one way or another. While he was in the clan at least. Things might change now.

Gender Headcanon:

I think he identifies as male, but that was also what was always expected of him. He has worth to his clan because of his CT and his sex, so that is what he is holding onto to make it to clan head. He has recently dabbled in trying to express himself differently and define himself outside of the Kamo Clan, so he might also start to rethink or question his gender. Even if he firmly stays a guy, he will see himself differently and have another perspective on it.

A ship I have with said character:

None really.

A BROTP I have with said character:

Maki. I liked their bonding over matricide and their fight in Sakurajima in general. I think Maki is exactly who he needs right now and who can give him some stability. Maki might appreciate his company as well. They are in a very similar situation after all. Both were thrown out of their clan, never seen as good enough, after having tried in vain to change it from within and now have to try to make a new start after losing everything. They also have complicated feelings about their mothers. Noritoshi still has his though and seems to have been able to reunite with her and her new family (if only we got to see that...). Maybe he could help Maki after all this is over as well, even if it's just a few encouraging words like she did.

A NOTP I have with said character:

Him and Choso. It's just no. I already don't like Choso and all I've seen of this ship makes it even worse.

A random headcanon:

He can be a bit stiff, but I think he mostly got along well and cared about the other students in Kyoto, he just wasn't always the best at showing it. I still think they were very important for his mental health and he would've been far worse off if he stayed with the Clan for his training. Going to the school is what allowed him to shake off some of that pressure and also be able to be exposed to other opinions besides the conservative rules of the Kamo.

General Opinion over said character:

I used to not have much of an interest in him, he just seemed like a stick in the mud with a kinda interesting backstory, but his introduction in the Culling Game made into one of my favourite jjk characters.

Maki

Sexuality Headcanon:

Lesbian and I think she's pretty confident and secure in it as well.

Gender Headcanon:

It's a bit difficult. I think she's somewhere in the middle leaning towards female. Her family and clan always denied her womanhood and tied it to capability of bearing strong children and being attractive. She also served in the Kukuru Unit, which is usually reserved for men. So they didn't recognize her as a woman or more like girl at all. They don't accept her as a man/boy either though. She's both a failed woman and failed man in their eyes because of how she was born and her general attitude. So I think that affected her self-perception a bit and she now feels quite comfortable in the middle, takes even some pride in it. Not sure I'd call it quite nonbinary because she still seems to identify as a girl as well. Somewhere between there.

A ship I have with said character:

Not any particular. NobaMaki is cute, but they're a bit too nice for my taste.

A BROTP I have with said character:

Mai. Not quite as dramatic as other twins in fiction, but I still like what we got between them nonetheless. They just managed to somehow make up and see past their differences and grievances, but then they get ripped apart. Both of them always wanted to be close and just support each other, but never managed to really convey that or move towards real progress until it was too late. Their meetings in their shared domains are one of the most heartfelt moments in jjk I think. At least they can fight together now in a way.

A NOTP I have with said character:

Yuuta. Don't like the guy and I just don't see them showing anything other than friendship for each other.

A random headcanon:

I firmly believe her hair is black like in the manga and not green. You can't convince me otherwise. (same goes for Mai) or if it's green it's at least a very dark one. I just hate her hair in the anime

General Opinion over said character:

One of my faves. I also think it's really impressive that she got to where she is now considering that the only real teachers she had where Daido and Miyo. Everyone else just saw her as too different and complicated and didn't seem to have explained her much because they thought since she can't do jujutsu, it isn't relevant to her anyway.

Jinichi

Sexuality Headcanon:

uff, I'm not sure, so I'll just say gay or bi because why not. It would be a waste if he didn't get to fuck a few guys.

Gender Headcanon:

Cis man.

A ship I have with said character:

None

A BROTP I have with said character:

Ranta. I like that they genuinely seem to care about each other. Jinichi generally gets along with the lower level sorcerers in the clan, but they seem to be a special case.

A NOTP I have with said character:

None. Unfortunately, I barely see him shipped with anybody or talked about at all.

A random headcanon:

Not really hc, more like canon, but he likes to hang out with the lower grade members of the clan for training or just leisure time. He isn't overly friendly but as the volume extras show, he knows how to let them know he appreciates them.

General Opinion over said character:

I like him. Probably the Zenin Clan member besides Maki, Mai and Ranta. Certainly seems like the one of the most normal ones, who's actually a decent person. He's (together with Daido) the closest Gege ever got to drawing a bear before getting scared and removing his chest hair...yes I'm still upset about that and I will not forgive Gege for that crime. Genuinely he's one of the most attractive characters in jjk though. Would've been nice if we learned more about him.

#asks #kamo noritoshi #maki #zenin jinichi #jjk spoilers

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all-hail-the-witcher · 11 months

Text

questionable government spies (but better written and 5 years late)

chapter 1: surely the macarena has not been playing for the last 2 minutes without me noticing

words cannot even begin to describe how excited about this i am lets GO :D

___

words: 2800

edited: yes !!

ship: well its either going to be sprace or ralbert and you're all along for the ride

warnings: character death but the death is not real, minor injuries, mentions of the famed walgreens au, deep dish pizza slander, emotionally stubborn race

tags: @jack-kellys @ainti-pretty @boygirlctommy @jack-whatsyourangle @getchapapes @sun-kissed-star (let me know if you want on or off the tag list !!!)

again, big thank yous to katya for bullying me into writing this and my sister for beta-ing and providing chapter titles that have nothing to do with the story

read it on ao3!!

___

Even before Albert crashed his own funeral, Race was having a bad day.

For starters, there had been the paperwork. Always so much paperwork when someone died during a mission. And for what? This was the FBI for fucks sake, there were interns who could be doing this, not him, one of the best field agents in the country.

And there had been the eulogy. What even was a good eulogy these days? A heartfelt poem? A quote from The Fault in Our Stars? A melancholy tiktok dance? Race should have probably known the answer at this point, given that he had written a grand total of seven for Albert, only one and a half of which he had delivered.

Because that was the thing about Albert. He couldn't quite stay dead.

It was the one thing that drove Race absolutely crazy about his best friend. Well, maybe not the one thing. He did have a particularly dreadful habit of chewing all of Race’s pens. But anyway. Race felt bad every time he got the dreaded phone call and shrugged Albert’s death off. For all he knew it could be real this time and he was going to go up in front of his best friend’s casket to renegade while telling everyone what an idiot he had been. But then again. This was his eighth eulogy.

Jack, the newbie field agent that Race and Albert were supposed to be training, did not find Race’s lack of sadness even remotely acceptable. But then again, that was probably Race’s fault for not telling Jack that Albert didn’t like to stay dead.

“I still can’t fucking believe you,” Jack muttered, taking half a glance in Race’s direction as he merged into the exit lane. “Your best friend is fucking dead, you’re going to his fucking funeral, your eulogy is a fucking tiktok dance, and you're playing a fucking fish game.”

In the passenger seat, Race shrugged. “What? I have to feed them or they get sad. And I never actually said I was going to do the renegade.”

“I swear to fucking God Race,” Jack groaned, tears brimming in his eyes. The kid had been crying for the last week, Race was thoroughly impressed that he hadn’t run out of tears by now. “He was basically your brother. At least show some respect.”

Race rolled his eyes. “He’s not my fucking brother. Hell knows I have plenty of those.”

“You know, I’m glad he’s not here to see this,” Jack spat. “If he knew this was what his best friend was really like he wouldn’t want anything to do with you. Fucking sick of you to do this.”

Race continued feeding his fish. They may be silly, but least they weren’t yelling at him.

“I’m going to request a placement change after today, I can’t work with someone who doesn’t even give half of a shit about th-”

Thankfully he was cut off by Race’s phone ringing.

Not so thankfully, it was none other than Race’s arch nemesis on the other end.

“Racetrack Higgins.”

“Davey Jacobs.” Head of the NYC Branch of the FBI, resident asshole and general stick in the mud. He had had it out for Race and Albert since they had been in training and accidentally almost blew up his prized weapons lab.

“I need you and Dasilva to get your asses into my office ASAP.”

“Mmm, see, that might be a bit of a problem.” Race ran his fingers through his hair. “Ain’t nobody tell you that Albert’s dead?”

“Ain’t nobody tell you that I don't care?” Jacobs said, mimicking Race’s accent. “Just because one of you dies doesn’t mean crime stops.”

Race rolled his eyes as Jack pulled up in front of the church. “Ah Davey, good to know despite all your years of work, you still don’t have an ounce of sympathy.”

“You little-”

“And I assume you want me to drive from Chicago to New York cause your ass is too cheap to purchase a plane ticket?”

“If you don’t watch your tongue I’ll have you fired in two minutes flat.”

Race laughed. “My ass will be in your office after my ass goes to my partner's funeral, capishe?” Race threw his phone on the floor and rubbed his temples. He envied Jacobs’s ability to give out headaches like candy. Albert better be fucking alive cause there was no way he was going to New York City by himself.

Jack pulled the key out of the ignition and crossed his arms, staring straight forward. “What was that about?”

“Someone who wanted to talk to me and Albert.”

Jack said nothing.

Race fiddled with the edge of his shirt. Maybe he should say something. But what if Albert was dead? Then he would have gotten Jack’s hopes up too and then Jack would really never forgive him.

“I…I know you’re upset with me,” Race began lamely.

Jack snorted.

“But consider letting me finish your field training?” Race asked. “I know you still got a little ways to go and you got every right to be mad at me but you understand a computer better than I ever will and you’ve been really good backup and-”

“I’ll think about it okay?” Jack interrupted.

Race nodded, staring at his phone on the floor. Boy he sure hoped that Albert was still alive. He did not want this argument to come back and bite him in the ass later.

“Here.” Jack threw a crumpled bow tie at Race. “Put this on.”

“Why?”

“Because even though you may not be acting like it, we are still going to a funeral and you should at least look presentable.”

“Yeah,” Race rolled his eyes but still reluctantly tied the bow tie around his neck. It looked ridiculous with his t-shirt but he didn’t feel like upsetting Jack any more. “Cause this is gonna make all the difference.”

“Just shut up and get out of the car,” Jack muttered. “We’re already almost late.”

•••

The funeral itself was pitiful.

Aside from himself and Jack, the only other people were a handful of elderly women who looked mildly annoyed that their daily rosary praying had been interrupted by the untimely death of a twenty six year old. Race had not held a rosary since he was seventeen, but he was fairly certain one of the ladies was holding it upside down.

And out of all the seven people in the disproportionately massive church, including the priest, Jack was the only one who seemed like he wanted to be there.

Though, the lack of government officials and the fact that it was in a hole in the wall church in the middle of Chicago was a good sign. Perhaps Race wouldn’t have to renegade after all.

Twelve o’clock came and went and no one else entered the church. In fact, a few of the old ladies went as far as to inch further towards the door, hoping that they would be able to sneak out. Race did not blame them.

Whether the priest was waiting for more people to turn up or for the actual casket to make an appearance was hard to say.

“Aren’t there supposed to be government officials here because he died in the line of duty?” Jack whispered. Still, it managed to echo around the church.

Race winced at his lack of discretion. “We forfeited our rights to a fancy funeral when we almost blew up a weapons lab.” It was not the truth, but Jack did not need to know that five years ago Albert had gotten “blown up” and there was a full FBI sponsored funeral done for him, only for him to appear in a tiny hospital in the middle of Arkansas three days later. After that the FBI refused to give Albert a full funeral unless there was a body due to budget cuts. But that was irrelevant.

Jack’s face fell. “Albert always said that he would tell me that story.”

“He was never going to tell you that story.”

“Race,” Jack’s voice was firm. “Would you stop-”

“Thank you for gathering here today in the memory of Albert Dasilva,” the priest began. “Unfortunately the hearse seems to have gotten stuck in traffic and in the interest of making sure our later services start on time, we will just do an abbreviated service with no eulogies when it arrives momentarily. Unless anyone has any objections?”

Jack tries to raise his hand but Race held his arms down. Hearses didn’t just get stuck in traffic. This had Albert’s handiwork written all over it. The priest gave them a mildly amused look but ultimately said nothing.

Jack squirmed out of Race’s grip. “Don’t touch me, Race.”

“Jack I-“

“I said don’t fucking touch me, Antonio.”

Race grit his teeth. He already had to see Jacobs later today and he didn’t want a lecture from him on how you’re not supposed to deck the trainees at fake funeral services. How had Jack even known his name?

Moments later the door of the church slammed open and a ridiculously shiny gold casket was wheeled in. Race barely glanced at it. Maybe he should have told Jack. He liked the kid. This was the first trainee he and Albert had been given and he wanted to do a good job, be to Jack what Blink and Mush had been to him.

Albert would know how to fix this.

Race really hoped that he was outside.

He spent the rest of the hilariously brief service running through every possible outcome of the situation. At worst, Albert was indeed dead and Jack would abandon him. At best, Albert was not dead as Jack would forgive him for the misunderstanding easily. And in between there were seventy three other situations.

Something pointy jabbed Race in the ribs and he looked up to see Jack standing and glaring down at him. Fuck, the processional had already started.

Race wandered out of the church behind Jack in a daze. He fought down nausea as he trudged, absently wrapping and unwrapping his fingers in the chain around his neck.

The sun was blinding. Race squinted through it, trying to scan the parking lot for a familiar blob of red hair, but Jack jumped in front of him.

“Here “ Jack threw the keys to the truck at Race. “I’m done. I’m not getting back in that car with you after whatever just happened in that church. I can’t work with someone who can’t show an ounce of emotion when their best friend dies. You’re a fucking asshole, Race. An absolute, grade A premium-“

“Whoa there cowboy, I don’t condone arguing at my funeral.”

Jack jumped three feet in the air at the sound of Albert’s voice. A weight that Race hadn’t felt before lifted off of his chest at the sight of his best friend.

“Al,” he breathed a sigh of relief and opened his arms to hug Albert.

“Oi! Careful!” Albert warned. “I’m only mostly in one piece.”

“You can never come back to me in perfect working condition can you?” Race felt his stress evaporating as he gently hugged Albert to his chest. He looked like shit and smelled worse “What happened this time?”

“I don't know, I woke up in some fucking Canadian National Park to a moose trying to eat my socks and my shoulder was dislocated. I scared the park ranger shitless then had to hitch hike to the border and almost got stuck there cause they thought my FBI card was fake.”

“...Did the moose dislocate your shoulder?” Race stepped back to examine Albert. Sure enough, he had sloppily tied a shirt around his left shoulder to immobilize it. It didn't look completely correct but Race supposed he should be happy that Albert wasn’t in a hospital. Or even worse, moose food.

Albert half shrugged. “Hell if I know Racer.”

Race tilted his head. “Well then how-”

“Dude what the fuck is wrong with Jack?”

Race turned to see Jack opening and closing his mouth like a fish, eyebrows raised so high they were nearly touching his cornrows.

“Um-”

Albert crossed his arms. “You didn’t tell him, did you.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

Race glued his lips together. He’d known Albert for long enough to know that it was better to just say nothing.

“Fucking christ, Antonio.” Albert half kicked him and walked over towards Jack, shooting Race a We’ll Be Talking About This Later Look.

“Hey Jackie-boy, good to see you buddy,” Albert said in the same voice that people use to talk to small children or scared animals.

“Everyone said you were dead,” Jack muttered, eyes wide.

“Who is everyone?”

“Race,” Jack lifted his eyes from Albert momentarily to glare at Race, “The priest, the guy who called Race, I don’t know.”

“Alright buddy,” Albert said. “Lesson one-” “Lesson one is never leave the house without a weapon,” Jack interrupted.

Albert sighed. “Fine then, lesson two-”

“Is always scan your surroundings.” Jack nearly cracked a smile at Albert’s annoyed facial expression. “You’re up to lesson fifty three.”

“Fine. Lesson fifty three. Never believe anyone is dead until you see a body.”

Jack nodded. “I think that’ll be an easy one to remember.”

“Good.” Albert opened his arm. “Now bring it in buddy.”

Jack flew into Albert’s embrace. A distinct sinking feeling started in Race’s stomach when he saw Jack’s shoulders shaking.

“Everyone always leaves.” Jack’s words were muffled but Race could still hear them. “I’m so glad that you didn’t.”

Albert laughed but Race could see the strain in his eyes. “This is like the fourth-”

“Eighth,” Race whispered.

“Eighth time this has happened. I don’t think that I am going anywhere anytime soon.”

Jack nodded into Albert’s shirt and gave him one more light squeeze, which Albert tried and failed not to wince at before pulling away.

“Now that we got that settled,” Albert said, turning to Race. “I would love nothing more than to go to Walgreens and get some advil, the good cold medicine because Canada’s fucking freezing and I think it’s going to catch up to me soon and a real sling, some mediocre deep dish pizza and to go back to the safe house and sleep for three days.”

“Yes to the first two but you’re going to have to sleep in the car,” Race said.

Albert dropped his head back and groaned. “Don’t tell me they reassigned us already, I only just came back to life.”

“Mmmm no its far worse.” Race placed his hand on Albert’s good shoulder. “Jacobs wants us in his office.” Albert blinked once, twice, three times before giving in. “FUCK.”

“Yeah,” Race said. There was nothing else to say about that.

“Don’t tell me he wants us there tomorrow.”

“He wanted us there today. “Who the hell is Jacobs?”

“Not now Jack,” Race and Albert said at the same time.

“And we have to drive?” Albert asked. “And we have to drive.” Race confirmed.

“Well fuck me sideways with a fucking spork.” Albert groaned again for good measure. “Doesn’t he think I’m dead?”

“This is Davey Jacobs,” Race said. “Death means nothing to him.”

“Is no one going to tell me who this guy is?” Jack asked again, louder this time.

“Jackie,” Albert said, “When we’re on hour thirteen of this drive you’re going to be regretting asking that question.”

“He can’t be that bad.” “He is,” Race said.

“You owe me at least a whole pizza for this,” Albert said, jabbing Race in the chest with his finger. “With extra meat.”

“I didn’t expect anything less,” Race smiled. Sure he was not happy they had to go deal with whatever crap Jacobs was going to throw at him, but at least he had his best friend back.

“And another one when we get to the city!” He yelled over his shoulder as he followed Jack to the car. “I’ve missed my 99 cent pizza.” Race rolled his eyes. “You can literally get it for free cause Vinny loves you.”

“Wait, we’re going to New York City?” Jack asked

“I thought you wanted a placement change?” Race said, crossing his arms.

“I- Well- I guess I-“

“Look buddy,” Albert said. “Race is shit at communicating. He will never admit it, but he is. But you can’t blame him for not wanting to get your hopes up. This is a hard field to be in, nothing is guaranteed and nothing is ever as it seems. That being said, we would love to have you on whatever Jacobs has planned for us cause I can guarantee you it is going to be one absolute hell of a ride. And even though Race won’t admit it, he likes having you around.”

“I never said I didn’t,” Race muttered.

Jack considered. “I’ll come, but only mostly because my best friend is training in New York. I’m still kinda pissed at Race.”

“Welcome to the club, buddy,” Albert laughed, giving Jack a fist bump.

Race just rolled his eyes. It was pointless to argue at this point.

“This better be a relaxing ride, Race,” Albert said, ignoring Jack. “I want no shenanigans.”

“I make no promises.”

___

AHHH WE ARE SO BACK BABY !!!

stay tuned to see the boys entering the city :O

#saphie scribbles #spies 2.0 #newsies #newsies fic #newsies fanfic #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #spot conlon #sprace #ralbert

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theluckywizard · 7 months

Text

In the Shattering of Things, Ch. 54: The Dead Outnumber the Living

Chapter Summary: Rose and her companions continue to settle into camp in Crestwood and make contact with the village. On their way there, they quickly begin to grasp the scope of the undead problem they're faced with.

Fic Summary: Lady Rose Trevelyan's idle, aristocratic life blinks out in a haze of irrelevance when the breach destroys the Conclave. She may be soft and coddled when she joins the Inquisition, but there's a fierceness inside her she's yet to fully recognize. Armed with only a few relevant skills and the mark that makes her a legend, she is thrust onto a path delivering hope where it’s long been scorched away and finds comfort in the grumpy, handsome stick in the mud charged with her protection and training. As she stumbles her way across southern Thedas, she begins to realize she's tangled at the center of machinations she barely understands, and she's not alone in that. Enter Hawke.

This week I have two companion fics for this chapter:

Into her Hands (Hawke POV) The Gift (Cullen POV)

Excerpt below the jump ⏬

Hawke and Blackwall bear lanterns as we make our way along the road to the village in long silent strides, mouths sealed and ears sharpened for shamblers finding their way up from the lake. Twilight barely registers through the heaviness of the clouds and the mist that drifts in from the lake. The four of us are a colorless muddle where the orange firelight doesn’t hit. It doesn’t take long for the corpses to find us, or one of them anyway, the unmistakable thwip of an arrow narrowly missing us revealing the mode of attack. “For Maker’s sake,” I scoff, tugging my helmet lower. At least it’s not bloody hungry. Hawke slips silently around to my right, sliding his shield onto his arm and holding it up high enough to block any arrows that might strike us as he tugs me to cover behind a large boulder. Varric and Blackwall duck behind rocks closer to the perceived direction of the corpse. Behind Hawke’s shield we hold our breath, waiting for a rustle or a hiss. When it doesn’t immediately come I become keenly aware of his utter nearness, his arm scooping me close to his angular cuirass, his helmet leaning against mine. He doesn’t seem the least bit concerned with it, his eyes focused on nothing in particular as he listens for threats. “I got eyes on it,” hisses Varric. “Your eleven o’clock.” Bianca would barely slow the creature but Blackwall could take care of it. Heavy steps through the underbrush indicate he’s chased after it. “What if he attracts more?” I ask Hawke, whose eyes flick to mine finally. He smiles gently. “We’ll take care of them,” he says softly, patting my back where his hand holds me. We hear the guttural groan of the corpse and shing of steel as contact is made. In another moment the rustle of leaves. “Looked like it was just one,” says Blackwall, his voice muffled by shrubbery as he trudges back toward the road. “Thank you,” I say to Hawke. “And they say chivalry is dead.” “It is dead. We’re all sunk without you,” he says with a smirk. I give him a light shove against his breastplate which only intensifies his smile. “Besides who else would help me prank Varric?” “I can think of a few people.” “But none of them so beautifully,” he answers. I drop my head forward, the force of his brazen mouth provoking another ridiculous blush. “That wasn’t a flirt,” he adds hastily. “Really, Hawke,” I scold him. “I was merely stating the objective truth.” “For Maker’s sake!”

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DAFF Tag List:

#Crestwood #Devouring Corpses #Flirting but not #Nosy Companions #cullen x trevelyan #slow burn #hawke x trevelyan #fast burn #Blue-Purple Hawke #multiple ships #dragon age inquisition #in the shattering of things

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genshinemblem564 · 9 months

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Genshin Roommates

Isekai'd reader being roommates with different characters. Whether this is sagau or a normal isekai is left to interpretation.

CW: Hu Tao's segment contains religious trauma, slight mentions of "x reader" ( I know some people don't like that ), and dark humor

Kaveh

• Kaveh was thrilled when you invited him to stay at your place. Finally, no more Al Haitham ruining his day before it even starts.

• You may not be an interior designer, but your aesthetic sense was still something he appreciated,as his former housemate would just put anything anywhere if it wasn't work related. If you ask him for advice, he'll gladly give you any pointers you need.

• Kaveh truly appreciates your views on things. If he asks for advice, you recall the tech used in your world, even pulling out your phone to demonstrate. He asks if he could take a look at it, and is disappointed when you refuse, but understands as it is your only one.

• Meeting you was like Kaveh's prayers were answered. A roommate with some aesthetic sense, who is both an optimist and a realist, and being from another world with such advanced tech makes you the perfect partner in his endeavor to help people. He may be getting a bit obsessed, but that's just because he spent so long with someone he couldn't stand, that should remedy itself in time.

Hu Tao

• Hu Tao took you in when you first arrived here, and she's been having the time of her life ever since.

• You share her views somewhat. You don't see death as something to be feared, but due to the fear mongering that certain religions back home did, you still feared what came after. Hu Tao does her best to remedy this without exposing you to spirits as she's not quite sure how you'd react to them.

• Hu Tao was happy that you weren't a stick in the mud in terms of humor. You were serious when necessary, such as telling her to tone it down on advertisements, but when she had a good one, you'd say something cute like " Now that's a deal to die for." There were times she was caught off guard by your humor, such as when prepping a body of a burn victim for burial, you ended up saying " Looks like someone couldn't take the heat." and she looks at you with a face that screams " You did not just say that." (The exact emotion she expresses is up to you.)

• You two have come dangerously close to starting a romantic relationship, not out of any romantic feelings, but you're both so starved of affection that you have to actively refuse your instincts to keep from going beyond a simple hug.

• You don't scare as easily as everyone else in Liyue. When Hu Tao asks why, you simply pull out your phone and show her a video of a field. She was confused but kept watching, the next thing she knew, she was on the floor as the calming sounds of the field were interrupted by a pale woman's blood curdling screech. You had to comfort her afterwards, she wasn't crying or hurt, but that doesn't mean her heart didn't nearly burst out of her chest.

Ayato, Ayaka, and Thoma

• Given that they all live in the same household, it's kinda hard to write for one and not the others.

• Thoma was the one to bring you to the estate. Upon hearing the details, Ayaka wants to take you in, but Ayato would not tolerate freeloaders, so you help out around the estate. While you are compensated for the work you do, you aren't a servant since you don't take orders and aren't assigned the tasks you do.

• Thoma is like an older brother to you when you move in. Anything you want to learn from tea brewing to gardening, he's happy to teach you.

• Your reaction to being taken in by a prestigious clan gave Ayaka the impression that you were like everyone else, but she gets proven wrong in one of your conversations where you state that she's only human and no one is perfect. You tell her if she wants to be more lax around you, that you won't judge her. This might be the first time that she's happy to have been wrong.

• Ayato is always busy with commission work, so you never really get the chance to speak with him unless the Kamisato clan is hosting an event, but these events tend to be formal, so you usually stay out of sight. You're not too keen on meeting any corrupt shogunate, and you're afraid to make a fool of yourself in front of the ones you aren't wary of, mostly because you don't want to drag Ayato's reputation down with you.

• Thoma enjoys the simpler things, so the thing about your home that's going to interest him is most likely the food. For example, I haven't heard one person in Teyvat bring up strawberries. He wants to try cooking the recipes you show him, again on your phone, right away to see if his lord and lady would like them.

• Ayaka is another enjoyer of the simpler things, but she is more intrigued by your worlds culture, more specifically, the festivities, traditions, and holidays. She adores the idea of Christmas, the exchanging of gifts is a delightful idea to her, she finds the outfits rather cute, she also wishes she could try one on, she turns into a blushing mess when you explain the tradition about mistletoe, you decided to omit Santa Claus, the children's tale not Saint Nick, from your explanation, as while he does exist in some worlds, you're not sure if Teyvat is one of them, best not to get her too excited.

• Ever since you showed up, Ayato has noted how you're becoming more and more like Thoma, taking a mediator position to lessen any burden it may be giving the siblings, making tea after working hours are done with, and even training to protect the people who helped you. At this point, your origin doesn't matter to him, you're someone he can put his trust in. That said, he has to wonder, did you have a family back home, and how are they faring in your absence? No matter how much he has come to respect and trust you, if you ever had the chance to return home, he would urge you to do so.

___________________________________________

Note: This was highly self-indulgent and is more for writing practice, so some constructive criticism would be appreciated if you have any.

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines #kaveh #genshin kaveh #genshin impact kaveh #hu tao #hu tao genshin impact #kamisato ayato #kamisato ayaka #genshin ayato #ayaka genshin impact #genshin ayaka #thoma #thoma genshin #genshin impact thoma

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starrclown · 6 months

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Pigsy character sheet! 🐷🍜

(It's a work in progress...)

Is it bad that my second favorite character is the main character's father?? Also, PIGSY IS MK'S FATHER!! NOT WUKONG!! Don't get me wrong, I love Wukong BUT HE IS NOT THE FATHER!! *Insert Jerry Spinger meme* Ya know a oneshot I'm working on, (and just a silly headcannon I've seen that isn't that popular but it's cute) is that Pigsy adopted both Mk and Wukong. Like he got used to Wukong and just decided "Yep I need another one." and Wukong is Mk's big brother. It's cute okay. (Also I'm pretty sure that Tripitaka was a father figure to some extent to Wukong. I can't fact check that because I've never read Jttw but I think it's cute that Tang would be a father too Wukong twice after Wukong lost his family. (I don't know, I like it.)

Anyway back to Pigsy. Pigsy is a very underrated character and I wish he just got a bit more outta him. Like I know he's in I think every episode but I just wish we knew a little more about him. Like does he have siblings? How did he meet Tang and Sandy? Why does he yell at Tang for being a freeloader but still provide him food?

(I know the answer, they're married/srs.)

These don't have to be episodes or anything but I wish we knew a bit more. Exept the Tang one. I do genuinely want to know how they met. We knew from a photo in Pigsy's kitchen that they graduated together but HOW did we get there?? Just curious. Anyways back to my drawing and why I added stuff I added!!(Stuff will change so be prepared)

☆ Why he is so scruffy/fluffy??

1. I like the idea that Pigsy is a mix between a boar and just a normal fluffy pig. His mom is a boar and his dad is pig. I don't think female boars have tusk but shut up okay!! Let me have this. I just like the idea alot that Tang is this polished, rich boy while Pigsy is this fucking scruffy wild animal.

(Same dynamic with Wukong and Macaque. Wukong is this fluffy, golden, heart shaped monkie and Macaque is this scraggily animal.)

☆ Trans Pig??

2. Yes. I whole hearted believe that Pigsy is FtM. So is Mk. I just have this silly idea that Mk came out to both Pigsy and Wukong as Trans (Pigsy first obviously) and they both responded "Same kid." (I like Genderfluid Wukong but that's still under the Trans umbrella so ehh.)

☆ Lil details you might not have noticed.

1. Mk's little front hair part that sticks out of his headband is in the same shape as Pigsy's ears.

2. Pigsy has rips in his ears because he used to get into fights at school. (Another oneshot idea i'm working on where Pigsy is being made fun of like always so Tang decides to one punch man his bullies. Yeah Tang gets his ass beat and Pigsy and Tang get emotional.)

I believe that while most of Megapolis is accepting of demons and monsters not all parts like demons. Especially back when Pigsy and Tang were in middle and high school. It's better now be he still has scars from it.

3. Pigsy's wedding ring is on his right hand on the drawing to the left. Pigsy has a pretty and shiny wedding ring from Tang while Tang has essentially a tinfoil for a ring because Pigsy's couldn't afford much. (Pigsy feels bad about it but Tang wears that thing likes it's gold so he obviously likes it ALOT.)

4. Pigsy has both darker and lighter parts of fur. I have no explanation for this. Let's pretend it's because boars are darker than pigs so his Mom's fur tone is shining through. (Also that stupid "Pigs roll around in dirt and mud joke.")

5. I know I've talked about my oneshots on Wattpad (that's aren't out yet cause I want them to be good.) But for a Freenoodles oneshot I'm working on I 100% believe that Tang brags about Pigsy.

6. I updated my Tang design! If you look at my Instagram you can see this ugly art I did for Tang and Pigsy and they alot diffrent then I drew them three months ago. (Yes I am slow when I update.) I really like the way I drew him. His hair is really fun to draw.

I think this is as much as I wanna talk about this drawing. I've gone on long enough and I wanna work on other art projects. Anyways live, laugh, love Pigsy 🐷🩷!!

-⭐️StarClown⭐️

#digital art #artwork #lmk #lmk fanart #lmk pigsy #lmk tang #lmk mk

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angelasscribbles · 1 year

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Savage Love Chapter 26: Squid Whiskey

Series: Savage Love

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Riley x Liam, Riley x Drake

Rating: R

Warnings: Mature themes

Song Inspirations: I Want You to Want Me by Cheap Trick and Don't Stop Believing by Journey.

Huge shout out too @nestledonthaveone for pushing me to write a fic with Drake as a drummer since forever lol, sending me song ideas and picture inspirations forever.

Word Count: 3,329

My other stuff: Master List.

We had the answers we’d gone to Auvernall to get. All of the ones that existed anyway. I was anxious to get back to Cordonia, to follow up on the missing Rys sibling, to get back to taking down the Via Imperii, and to get back to doing what, and who, I wanted when I wanted.

But a promise was a promise. We had one charity variety show to save first.

I spent the day with Liv and Savannah sightseeing and having lunch followed by an afternoon at the spa.

Since I was stuck in Auvernall for an extra day with nothing productive to do anyway, might as well enjoy it.

We were well into the middle of a pedicure when Savannah decided to give me the third degree. I was trapped in that chair, and she knew it.

“I like you, Riley.” The words were nice, but her tone conveyed something different.

“Okay…”

Olivia’s head snapped toward us with interest.

“I’ve never seen my brother like this over a woman before. He’s in deep.” It sounded like an accusation.

“I like your brother, Sav. A lot.” I responded carefully.

“It sure seemed that way at the bar the other night.” She agreed.

I waited. There was obviously something else.

“But am I wrong that there is a strong vibe between you and Liam?”

And there it was.

I arched an eyebrow at her, “Are you asking me what my intentions are with your brother?”

Olivia cackled. I could see where the thought of Drake needing protection from a woman was amusing. From what I’d heard from others, and even from himself, it was generally the other way around.

But I couldn’t deny that this was different. His heart was involved. I could tell.

I could tell.

And wasn’t that the crux of the problem right there? I knew him. I knew him on a deeper level than I had ever anticipated, or wanted, or intended.

Liam too.

Shit.

Savannah didn’t flinch at Liv’s laughter. She returned my gaze with the same steadiness I’d seen a million times in Drake. “Yes, I am.”

I sighed.

Fuck my life.

“Drake and Liam are both grown-ass men, Sav,” Olivia said, “Why don’t you let the three of them work that out?”

“Thank you,” I told Olivia, then to Savannah, “But I understand the sibling protectiveness. I had to talk Drake down off a ledge yesterday over Bertrand. What’s up with that?”

Savannah flushed, “We’ve been seeing each other for a couple of months now. I think it’s getting serious.”

“Really?” Olivia asked doubtfully.

“Yes!” Savannah tossed her hair back as she spat, “Just because I’m not from the nobility-“

“Oh, good lord, Sav, it’s not that!” Olivia scoffed, “I was wondering what you see in him! He’s a bit of a stick in the mud, don’t you think?”

“What?” Savannah seemed genuinely surprised, “He has an amazing, dry sense of humor and he’s so smart, he knows so many things! He’s like a walking trivia game! And you should see him without his shirt!”

“Oh, no, thanks!” Olivia laughed, “I’ll have to take your word for it!”

Savannah was suitably distracted for the time being. I owed Liv one.

But just wait until Drake’s sister found out I was also a suitor for Leo. She was going to lose her mind. She might try to stab me. I made a mental note to watch my back around her.

I picked a shimmery gold dress for the variety show. It had a cowl neck and spaghetti straps that crisscrossed over my back. It hugged the curve of my ass and the skirt stopped midway to my knees. No bra and no panties because damn if I was ruining it with panty lines. A pair of glittery metallic stilettos completed the look.

The event in question was a thousand dollar a plate dinner and variety show. There was a comedian, a magician, clog dancers, and several other acts before the finale. Squid Whiskey was performing last, a four-song set. They had been rehearsing for two days.

Sav, Liv, and I would stay backstage, the dresses were for the afterparty.

Max had insisted we go.

We met the guys in the green room, where a table full of food had been set up for the performers and staff.

I already knew I looked good; the mirror had told me that and the turned heads as we made our way through the building were satisfying but the real payoff happened in the green room.

Drake saw me first. Our eyes met as I went through the door. He had been laughing at something one of the guys had said as his head turned toward me. His body froze as his eyes slid down my body and back up.

“You okay there?” Leo slapped him on the back and Drake fumbled the food that had been halfway to his mouth, dropping it onto the floor.

Drake still hadn’t spoken, and I was definitely feeling myself when Liam’s voice got my attention, “Riley!”

I turned my guaranteed to knock the socks off of them smile on him.

Listen. Don’t judge me. These two had been mercilessly tormenting me for days. Maybe not on purpose. But still.

Revenge is sweet. So very, very sweet.

Liam literally tripped over his own two feet as he made his way across the room to me, “You….look….amazing! I mean… you always do! But that dress….”

I felt things low in my body tighten as he took my hand in his and kissed it.

Heat flared everywhere our skin touched and his lips left tiny pools of lava on my flesh.

I glanced over at Drake who shook his head as if to knock cobwebs out of it and then walked away while Leo was in the middle of saying something to him.

“Really, man?” Leo asked, throwing his hands out in front of him.

Liam had me wrapped in a hug when Drake made it to my side, “Hey, Brooks.”

I stepped out of Liam’s embrace and into Drake’s. “Hey yourself, Walker.”

“Damn,” he whispered in my ear as he hugged me, “are you trying to kill me with that dress?”

“Obviously,” I smirked at him as I stepped away.

Leo, Max, and Bertrand had made their way over to greet everyone. Drake didn’t even glower when Bertrand hugged his sister.

“We should move out of the doorway,” I suggested as one of the clog dancers tried to squeeze past us.

Our little group congregated in a corner, eating, drinking, and laughing as the guys regaled us with stories of their college boy band days.

“This must be the origin of your man whore reputation,” Olivia said to Leo.

Drake laughed, “He never went home alone after a gig, I’ll tell you that!”

“I’ll bet you all could say that!” I asserted.

“You would be wrong,” Liam told me, “I was more…discerning than these guys.”

“More lame, you mean!” Max chortled, “Even Bert got more tail than you did!”

“Excuse you,” Bertrand shot his brother a disapproving look, “I don’t think Savannah cares to hear-“

“Oh, yeah, Savannah does!” She put one arm on his shoulder and leaned on him as she pointed with her drink at Max, “Tell me everything!”

Pink rushed across his face as Bertrand gave Max a death glare, “Not if you value your life!”

“What was that?” Max cupped his ear as if listening to someone then walked away, calling over his shoulder, “I think that blond in the corner is calling me! Sorry guys, bye!”

Laughing, I asked Drake, “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Did you get a lot of girls in college?”

“I had my fair share, but not after playing a set,” Drake answered.

“Why not?” I was genuinely curious. Drake was hot as hell, there was no way he wasn’t pursued by all the screaming groupies.

“Well, the lead singer, that’s Liam, and the guitarists, Max and Leo there, they were right up front for all the screaming girls to see. Even Bertrand was visible. I was hidden behind my drum set and soaked in sweat before the whole thing was over.”

“So?” I lifted an eyebrow, “I like you soaked in sweat.”

He stopped with his beer halfway to his mouth, “Damn it, don’t say shit like that right before I have to go out on stage.”

“Why not?”

Leaning over so I only I could hear him, he asked, “Do you want me to have to go out there with a hard-on?”

“I mean maybe…”

“Anyway….” He made a point of shifting his body away from me as he finished his story, “After a set was over, these fuckers would take about five minutes putting their damn guitars in the cases and walk right off the stage into the hordes of horny women. Meanwhile, it took me forty-five minutes to break down my kit and three to four trips to the van to load it all up. By the time I got back, if there were any girls left hanging around, they’d say shit like, oh, you should have been here earlier, you missed the band, they were really good.”

I looked at him skeptically, “Are you telling me that you weren’t able to close the deal with the stragglers?”

The rest of the group howled with laughter as shocked indignation crawled across Drake’s face, “What? No! That’s not what I…. you know what? You have a mean streak, Brooks, a real mean streak.”

“You like my mean streak.” I bumped my body into his.

He laughed as he slid one arm around my shoulders and tipped his drink up with the other, “That I do.”

“Should you be drinking before you perform?” I asked.

“It’s one beer, Brooks.” He shook his head, then he leaned in to whisper in my ear, “You of all people should know that one beer isn’t going to affect my performance.”

“Touché, Captain.”

Anita, the brunette woman from Dr. Boedecker’s office appeared in the green room signaling for Squid Whiskey to get ready. “Come on, I’ll show you to your dressing room!”

“We have to go now,” Drake removed his arm from my body with a good deal of regret.

“You’ll be backstage,” Anita told me, “Roland will show you where to go. You’ll be able to see everything from there.”

The young reddish blonde man we’d met the same day we’d met Anita ushered Sav, Liv, and me to a spot in the wings.

We watched the magician for about twenty minutes then the guys joined us.

Liam was dressed like a freaking rock star with a leather jacket and sunglasses. The guitar slung across his body completed the look.

“Damn.” I made a show of checking him out.

He blushed a little.

Why did that turn me on so much? He was just so goddamn pure.

“Like what you see?” He held his arms out to the side and did a slow turn.

“Yes!” I told him as I applauded, “You’re hot, Liam!”

“Glad you think so.” He moved the guitar around to his backside so he could pull me into his body, “Can I have a kiss for good luck?”

“How could I deny that request?”

I was expecting a quick, and socially appropriate, peck on the cheek. But what I got was pulled into his chest and kissed like he was leaving for war and didn’t know if he’d ever see me again.

I can’t say that I was displeased with that turn of events. It was a toe-curling kiss.

Fuck I needed to get laid. And soon.

My fingers covered my lips as I watched him walk out onto the stage.

“If you’re done drooling all over Liam, can I get in on this action?” Drake’s voice rumbled from behind us.

I spun around to take in his simple Cheap Trick t-shirt and ripped jeans. He looked better than anyone had any right to look in a damn t-shirt and pair of jeans. “Damn, Walker. You’re looking pretty damn good yourself!”

“Nobody looks as good as you though,” he said softly as he ran his fingers through my hair.

His thumb traced down the side of my face and the look he gave me made my stomach do flip flops. His eyes were soft with unspoken emotion as he placed a finger under my chin and tipped my head back.

“There are things I want to say that I just can’t seem to find the words for,” he told me.

Before I could respond, his lips brushed across mine with such tenderness that it took my breath away.

“What was-“

“Hey,” He said with a sudden grin, “I picked the first song. It’s for you!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!” He twirled a drumstick in his right hand then turned and damn near skipped out onto the stage.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

I turned toward Savannah in surprise, “What will you be damned about?”

“My brother. He just straight-up watched you kiss Liam and didn’t bat an eye!” She replied.

“Yeah,” Liv supplied, “And then he kissed her too! Damn girl, what kind of spell did you cast on those boys?”

“I have no idea, this is kind of a new thing,” I replied.

“But haven’t you been seeing my brother for a couple of months?” Savannah asked.

“And the thing with Liam, that’s been going on for a while too, hasn’t it?” Liv added.

“That’s not what I meant…. Never mind,” I responded.

The blatantly touching and kissing me in public, in front of each other, that part was new.

If anyone thought I was going to say or do anything to discourage it, they were sorely mistaken. I was not going to complain if both of the ridiculously sexy men that I was currently sleeping with wanted to kiss me back to back. It actually opened up some pretty intriguing possibilities that I was more than willing to explore.

I turned my attention to the stage as the first notes of Cheap Trick’s “I Want You To Want Me” filtered backstage.

I couldn’t hide the smile that stretched across my face. It fit his personality perfectly. Drake Walker wasn’t a sappy love song kind of guy.

But it was a love song.

I pushed that thought out of my mind as my foot started tapping along to the rhythm.

I know I’ve said it before, but I’m saying it again. You don’t really appreciate the physicality of drumming until you see it up close and personal.

Drake was right about being hidden behind the drum set. The audience focuses on the guitarists and the singers because that’s whom they see.

But when you do actually see a drummer doing their thing, well, it’s hot as fucking hell is what it is.

I was mesmerized watching him play. From my position in the wings, I could see him clearly, drumsticks flying, muscles rippling, his body a flurry of motion as he played, sweat dripping from the hair that fell across his face. The vibration from the percussion instruments washed through my body, accelerating my heart rate and making me want to dance.

As the song ended he threw a quick glance my way. I gave him two thumbs up and a smile that threatened to reach my ears. He smiled back and tossed a spinning drumstick into the air then caught it again before they moved on to the next song.

They played “Come Together” by the Beatles and “We Will Rock You” by Queen.

My attention darted back and forth between Drake and Liam as they played. Liam, Max, and Leo all had good stage presence, but Liam was the only one of the three that I was interested in.

He was wearing skin-tight leather pants to match the jacket and the way he swayed to the music while strumming the guitar and leaning into the microphone had me ready to pass out.

I suddenly understood why women at concerts throw their panties onto the stage.

In no time at all, they were announcing the final song.

“This last song goes out to the most amazing woman I’ve ever met,” Liam said into the microphone as he glanced backstage, “Brooklyn, this one’s for you!”

Olivia elbowed me in the side with a smirk as Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” started.

My stupid, traitorous fucking heart melted.

It was kind of our song.

The one we danced to the night we met. The one his nickname Detroit came from.

He was totally trying to remind me of that night, and it was totally working.

Memories spun through my head.

The first time I saw him….

I glanced up in annoyance then my breath caught in my chest. Holy mother of God this man was gorgeous!

The first time we danced together…

We danced to Don’t Stop Believing by Journey, his arms wrapped around me, holding me close, our hips pressed together as we swayed back and forth. His eyes ran down to my lips and lower then he cleared his throat and pulled me closer. I laid my head on his shoulder and he rested his on top of mine.

The first time we kissed….

I decided to kiss him. On the ferry, under the moonlight, it was romantic as hell, not gonna lie.

The first time I’d taken off my clothes for him…

I swayed my hips and started doing a little strip tease. He froze, leg in the air, one shoe off, one shoe on, mouth hanging open as I peeled the dress off my body.

The awe in his voice afterward….

“That was amazing, you’re amazing! Thank you for the most amazing night of my life!”

And the sadness I’d seen in him that night….

Several emotions slid through his eyes, but his only response was to whisper, “Spend the night? Sleep with me?”

I now knew why he hadn’t been able to tell me who he was. I hadn’t cared at the time, I’d had my own secrets to keep.

The song finished to uproarious applause. The crowd was on their feet.

Olivia and Savannah were jumping up and down and clapping. I joined them in the clapping.

Drake was off the stage first. He just dropped the drumsticks and walked off while Liam and the rest of the guys were waving to the audience.

His shirt was soaked with sweat. His hair was wet with it. He strode off the stage with purpose and made a beeline straight for me.

He took my face in his hands and delivered a crushing kiss. I tried to move closer but he pushed me back as he broke the kiss, “That dress is too nice for me to cover it with my sweat, but believe me, I want to do so much more than kiss you. I’m going to take a shower now. I’ll see you at the after-party and if there’s a God, I’ll have that dress off you by the end of the night.”

I was regretting my choice to forego underwear as I felt a gush of wetness between my legs.

Before I had recovered from that, Liam had me in his arms spinning me around with a laugh. “Woo hoo! I had forgotten how much fun that was!”

I laughed as he sat me back on the ground. Leo and Liv were making out and Savannah was hugging Bertrand.

“Fuck this,” Max said to no one in particular, “I need to get to that after party, see you bitches later!”

“Go, we’ll meet you there!” Liam told him as he slid an arm around me, “I’m going to go shower and change. See you there?”

“Yep.” I agreed.

“What the hell are you going to do?” Olivia asked me once the guys had all disappeared.

“I have no idea,” I answered truthfully, “None at all.”

Lead vocals/rhythm guitar: Liam Rys

Lead guitar/backup vocals: Maxwell Beaumont

Bass guitar/backup vocals: Leo Rys

Keyboard/backup vocals: Bertrand Beaumont

Drums: Drake Walker

#savage love #angelasscribbles #trr au #trr poly #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #drake walker #liam rys #agent riley brooks

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