#under the moonlight in manila | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writer-komaru · 11 months

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.♱ 𓆩𖤍𓆪 ♱. Moonlight Kisses ｡✧ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ﾟ｡⋆ 𖤐

✧Rating: Fluff + Smut

✧Characters: Edgar Allen Poe

✧Word Count: 3.9k

✧Summary: Headcanons about Poe and Karl because they’re precious.

Platonic + Romantic + Sexual + Karl

.𖤣 .𖥧 𖡼. ⚘.° :Platonic

✿ Poe’s main interest in life is to write. More specifically, write a mystery novel even the great detective Ranpo can’t crack to get his sweet, long-awaited revenge.

✿ He spends hours, long, grueling hours, slumped over his desk with adorable raccoon freind curled up on his lap, writing none stop. His feathered pen flutters through the air as its ink soaked tip etches Poe’s ideas into words. It’s almost beautiful.

✿ His sleep deprived eyes struggling to stay open, hyper focused on the air taking shape in front of him

✿ Just like a sculptor, he chisels away at the manila paper with the hopes of soon creating a magnificent statue to stand the test of time.

✿ That uplifting dream helps keep his head high and his pen working overtime

✿ But even a talented writer like him often has his off days. Days where he feels his river of rushing inspiration run dry; days where the negation of his health finally finds the opportunity to pounce.

✿ Usually when he finds himself stuck at the bottom of an ocean of despair, he hesitatingly leaves his room and takes a stroll around his mansion.

✿(btw I headcanon, I’m pretty sure it’s cannon but idk, he lives in a secluded mansion on the outside of town with a view of the ocean by his window and a lush garden of roses in his front yard. He usually doesn’t take very good care of it cuz he spends most of his time writing but sometimes he likes to stop by and admire the new buds)

✿(I also headcannon he has tons of shelves and climbing equipment set up up the wall and on the ceiling of his study so if Karl gets bored he can scamper up there and have some play time)

✿He takes note of anything that catches his eye; whether that be intricate designs of the wooden trim on the walls, the feeling of smooth tiles under his shoes, the sounds of leaves rustling against the windows, the faint scent of mahogany and spruce hanging in the air from the numerous candles he likes to light.

✿ Although these senses may sound boring, all it takes is a small spark of intrigue to set of an explosion of fireworks in his mind that leave him rushing back to his chamber to jot it all down, Karl scampering after him excitedly.

✿ But on days he doesn’t even have the will to get out of bed, it leaves Karl with the duty of getting him back on his feet.

✿ He’ll give him tons of fluffy cuddles and licks on the cheek, deliver him snacks leftover from Ranpo’s last visit, and eventually yank him out of bed by the sleeve of his pajama shirt when it’s time to get some sun.

✿ He’s perfectly content with this lifestyle and finds comfort in his solitude. Big crowds of loud, unfamiliar people make him uncomfortable and afraid. All he really needs is his writing, Karl, and Ranpo.

✿ There’s just one thing. The more he ventures outside of his sanctum, the more he begins to long for something.

✿ It’s a solemn feeling; Like the sad cry of a lost wolf pup, endlessly marching through a thick and dark forest, calling out for any signs of its pack. He can practically feel the cold biting at his torn paw pads and the thicket’s thorns scratching at his back.

✿ No matter how many sweet nuzzles Karl gives him, the feeling still persists.

✿ That was until he finally ran into you. In that moment where his eyes gazed into yours, his breathing stopped. The heavy, painful feeling of loneliness suddenly falters, like the metal cuffs weighing from his wrists and ankles unlock.

✿ Even though he has the conversation skills of both a theater kid and a wet rag, he does his best to keep up.

✿ His long, dark locks covering his eyes don’t do much to shield the slight red glow of embarrassment from his cheeks

✿ When he gets nervous, he likes to glide his fingers loosely through Karl’s dense fur. He makes sure to give him a nice brushing when it gets too tangled so it’s usually in pretty good condition. The quiet action helps steady his nerves, and Karl’s almost too willing to get some extra attention.

✿ After meeting you, he begins to leave the house more often.

✿ He loves to rant to you about the next chapter of his novel and how the newest twist will finally prove itself too difficult for Ranpo to deduce. He’ll go into detail, explaining each and every complexity, red herring, and hidden meaning of his writing which will probably go straight over your head. Following everything up with a villainous cackle.

✿ After noticing your lost expression, he apologies enthusiastically and laughs it off.

✿ When Ranpo learns of the new friend Poe made, he will invite both of you out with him to a local arcade. Even though he acts all cheerful and aloof as he urges you to play games with him, he secretly hides the fact he’s just using this as an excuse to scope you out.

✿ He can’t have some unworthy person try to come along and steal his close friend away from him, no matter how childish that sounds. He also just wants the best for Poe.

✿ If you pass his vibe check, you’re now added to the list of people Ranpo actually enjoys spending time with (good for you)

✿ Now that you’re officially a certified friend of Poe, you’ll have to take on some of the responsibilities Karl once did when Poe gets stuck in a stupor of blank pages.

✿ Make sure to get him some groceries (using his card ofc with his consent) and kind words.

✿ Sometimes all it takes to displace the dark, thunderous worries in his mind is a pat on the shoulder and a few words along the lines of “I’m proud of you.”

✿ He’ll look back at you with such a sickeningly sweet smile as tears gush from his shining, dark eyes.

✿ Expect a neatly folded envelope with a ruby red seal and a few jet black raven feathers decorated under it on your doorstep. In it contains a handwritten thank you letter from Poe. (He’s so extra I love him)

✿ But can you blame him? He’s just so glad to have another friend he can count on! <3

° .; ʚ❤︎ɞ ‘｡˚ :Romantic

➷ Having Poe as a boyfriend has to be one of the most exquisitely beautiful yet taxing experiences in the world of dating

➷ He’s a major hopeless romantic and would always find him mind drifting off to thoughts of you while trying to work on his novel.

➷ When he eventually realizes he got off draft he’s already covered the whole page in praises, poems, and hearts. He grumbles to himself for making such an embarrassing mistake and tears out the page.

➷ Right when he was about to crumble it, he stops himself and instead tucks it neatly into his desk, never to see the light of day again.

➷ He turns to a new page and takes a deep breath to calm his mind. Yet, his pen remains stationary. His eyebrows knit together as he tries desperately to push away the surplus thoughts of you and his love for you out of his mind.

➷ “Why can’t I just focus on what’s in front of me…?” He groans in defeat as he flops against his desk. Karl brushes his fluffy tail over his back, nudging his ear with his nose.

➷ “I’m fine, Karl. Just a bit distracted, it seems,” he mumbles, covering his growing blush with his arms.

➷ Is he really reduced to a complete flustered mess, just by the mere thoughts of you? He whimpers at the idea.

➷ Just give him some time to wallow in self pity and he’ll finally pull himself together.

➷ He decides to vent out his feelings into stacks upon stacks of love letters, poems, and sketches, all embodying his undying love for the beauty known as you.

➷ Now that his mind is free of clutter, he can begin work on his novel once more. But, out of the corner of his eye, he doesn’t quite catch the faint blur of gray fur that swipes one of the poems and speeds off to an unknown location.

➷ After around two hours, Poe wipes his brow and stands up from his desk, finally ready to take a needed break for some food and rest. When he reaches to his shoulder to pet Karl, the spot he usually rests while cuddling around Poe’s neck, he finds it worryingly empty.

➷ The adrenaline spike of a mother’s primal instincts shoots directly into his veins like a drug as he jumps up from his chair and scrambles all over the house in search of his beloved friend.

➷ Sooner or later he finds Karl curled up by the fireplace with nearly folded piece of paper in his mouth. Poe gently takes it from him and gasps as he reads it. It… it was a poem… with your name on it? Did Karl steal one of his love poems?!

➷ Without fully reading over the poem, he hurries back to his study and shoves it into his desk, along with the rest of the incriminating material of his love.

➷ “Not a soul shall hear of this, especially not t-them…” He murmurs to himself before preparing a cup of tea to calm down his racing heart.

➷ After a large quantity of time goes by and he warms up to being more open with his love, he’ll make it his duty to write one poem for you each day and have Karl deliver it to you. He could be swamped in work, suffering from a fever, or caught up in a fiasco with the guild and he would still find the time to jot down a few words for your eyes and heart only.

➷ Plus, he makes sure to give each letter a stamp of approval from Karl by dipping his paw pad in some animal safe ink.

➷ No matter how much time he spends with you it’s just not enough for his poor enthralled heart.

➷ Often, he’d find himself lying awake a night, thoughts and dreams of you echoing and spinning through his mind like a carousel.

➷ Just a light touch on the hand can turn his poor cheeks bright red. The picture of his blushing, flustered face barely concealed by his unkempt dark hair is enough to make anyone want to tease the life out of this man

➷ On days he’s not as busy and a little more confident than usual, he’ll take you out somewhere nice. And when I say nice, I mean NICEEE.

➷ We all know this guy is loaded and he’s 100% willing to spend every dime of it on you.

➷ Thousands of servings of food, luxury clothing brands, sparkling jewelry, spa trips every day, fuck it, even a private jet if you really wanted. Just remember to not be too demanding because he can get pretty reckless with money.

➷ One time you told him how much you loved bunnies and the next time you went into your living room it was completely full of bunny merch of all kinds. Plushies, blankets, clothes, I could go on for days.

➷ All and all, his love language is most definitely giving gifts or words of affirmations.

.༺ཐི♡ཋྀ༻. :Sexual

ღ This guy is such a bottom in the kindest way I can put it. Everything about you sends currents of love streaming through his body, setting it ablaze. He’s completely at the mercy of this feeling, at the mercy of you.

ღ The only time he won’t be a bottom is when he’s going through a spout of confidence from either one upping Ranpo somehow or syncing himself up. But even then you won’t get anything more than a service dom.

ღ Let’s start of with his bottom side.

ღ He’s always pining for you, daydreaming about how lovely you are to him and how angelic you look. But his thoughts don’t always stay pure and fluffy.

ღ On days he’s especially pent up from working long days and nights on his writing, he can often find himself sucked into the honey trap of more… explicit fantasies of you.

ღ Sometimes it’s him tied up with you looming over him, sometimes you’re stroking him under the table during a guild meeting, sometimes you’re giving him head under his desk when he’s supposed to be finishing his novel, and sometimes you’re littering his pink tilted skin in hickies and lipstick stains.

ღ He whines in annoyance at the prominent bulge in his pants he now has to take care of.

ღ But maybe, if you’d be fine with it, you could make some of his fantasies come true…?

ღ He let’s put a yelp as he feels your hands slide up his thighs and your smirking face appear between them.

ღ his workaholic brain tries to resist the temptation in front of him in favor of working just a little bit more but… as soon as his fly is down and your intoxicatingly warm tongue laps against his head, he’s once again completely at your mercy.

ღ Even though he may have needy fantasies about you, I don’t see him having a very high libedo. You can expect to have sex maybe every week or so, adjusting around your needs instead of his.

ღ This brings me to discuss his service Dom side.

ღ When he’s in his confident mindset, you can find your back pressed against his mattress and his hands interlocked with his own as his lips trace against your jaw.

ღ You didn’t hear it from me, but his dirty talk is leagues ahead of most people in BSD.

ღ “What an alluring temptress I have below me, if I wasn’t the gentleman I am I would have taken you against every surface of my mansion until we’re both breathless and shaking~”

ღ “I can’t wait to bathe every inch and curve of your body in so much love and pleasure to the point your crying my name so loud even the angels in heaven will get jealous~”

ღ “Just like that, my beautiful goddess, I- Hahh I’m devoted to you and you only. I’ll pray and worship you every… se-second, hour, day of my life, I promise- Promise promise promise I’ll serve you! I’ll please you, I’ll make you feel an unending amount of ecstasy I swear to you!”

ღ “My angel, my love, my life, my everything, let your burning love out!! Nghhh~ Let it burst from your cunt, drip onto the mattress. I’ll clean it up later, I swear! J-just relax and cum for me, I-I Aghh!!! I just can’t hold on much longer! Please cum please cum please- Aghh!!~ I-I gonna cummmmm!!~”

ღ I totally see him as a virgin until he meets you. Either you’ll have to teach him or you’ll try to educate himself.

ღ How will he do that? Well, let’s just say there’s a certain shelf of his room no one, not even Karl, is allowed near. After exploring the world of more… erotic writing, that’s when he started to have fantasies about you.

ღ If you have a corruption kink, you better get to him before his private writing collection does~

ღ It’s pretty easy to make him lose his mind if I’m being honest.

ღ it can be done by giving him a sudden, deep kiss on the lips, a hug from behind where your hands wander further than his stomach, maybe even having him catch you in nothing but a bra and panties.

ღ Now that’s a great way to stay in his mind for hours~

ღ One of his guilty pleasures is marks. Hickies are his favorite because the pain that comes with scratches and bruises takes him out of his romantic mood. On days where he’s out and about with his dearest friend Ranpo and he catches the faint glimpse of a reddish bruise under the pearly white collar of his button up. Dread seeps into every corner of his body like a rock sinking to the bottom of a pond as a sinister smirk stretches across Ranpo’s face.

ღ “My my my, did someone have some fun last night?~ I never took you for the-“ Ranpo’s smirk widens as a hand quickly covers his mouth.

ღ “D-Don’t… allow me to keep at least some of my dignity…” Poe stammers out, using his other hand to cover his incriminating blush.

ღ But he could be caught in the act a million times before he ever even for a second regretted the nights of sinful passion you two spend together. Reaching a new level of nirvana with you proudly riding the life out of him makes him the happiest, most lucky man in all of the world. Even if you tease him, deny him, even degrade him, he’ll still love you more than anything.

ღ “Look at how desperate you are, cumming back to back like this is the best pussy you’ve ever gotten. Is it good? Do I make you feel good, my love?~” You coo to him, stroking his heated cheek.

ღ The lovesick expression on his face, drool dripping down his chin, a cherry red blush, his clumped locks sticking to the sweat of his forehead, it all says more than even a million, trillion love poems could ever hope of communicating.

ʕ(◕ᴥ◕)ʔ Karl

꩜ He absolutely ADORES both you and Poe

꩜ I'd like to think the story of how Poe met Karl is a long and detailed one, but I’ll try to keep it short

꩜ One day after being rejected by the 27th publisher, Poe began his sad walk home.

꩜ He knows he shouldn’t give up home and that soon enough someone would be interested in his stories, but the crushing despair of not being good enough ate away at him.

꩜ he keeps his head low and to the ground, to ashamed of himself to meet anyone’s eye. That was until he noticed the hard concrete sidewalk had now turned into a loamy, grassy mix.

꩜ When he looked back up, he found himself lost in a dark forest of looming trees, pointed thickets, and changing owls.

꩜ All around him was a never ending void, disturbed by only the chirping of small animals and the rustling of bushes.

꩜ He was completely lost.

꩜ After checking his phone to of course find it has no signal and the path he had just taken was now covered in thick bushes his blood went cold.

꩜ Was this his destiny? To get rejected from every publisher in his city and die alone and hungry in the forest at night?

꩜ He sank to the ground and hugged his knees to his chest.

꩜ Tears he has been fighting back for hours finally spilled down his cheeks, swamping the first floor in dirty, murky mud.

꩜ That was until he felt a strange tickling sensation against his back. His head whipped around to find an unexpected acquaintance.

꩜ It was a small, furry raccoon with large, black eyes. It cocked its head like Poe was a weirdly rock and chittered softly.

꩜ Poe backed away slightly. He knows the animals of the forest were never ones to be messed with, including a baby raccoon. Whenever there’s a baby, an angry mom is always nearby and ready to pounce.

꩜ But instead, the raccoon squeaked again and turned his back to him, shaking his tail side to side. Was it… trying to tell him something?

꩜ Suddenly, it began to march away, it’s tail swinging behind him. Did it want Poe to follow it?

꩜ Without any over ideas, the two began to make their way through the forest, weaving between thorny brambles and suspicious ivy. After only a few minutes the glowing lights of the city finally illuminated from the clearing of the forest.

꩜ “Little raccoon, you saved my life. How can I ever repay you?” Poe knealt down on the ground and gave the kind creature a sincere bow.

꩜ The raccoon chittered back at him and stood on its hind legs, reaching up to Poe. The writer’s poor heart is pierced with an arrow of affection for his new furry friend, scooping him up into his arms and carrying him back to civilization.

꩜ Karl was born into a little of cute, healthy raccoons, owned by an unknown russian author.

꩜ But one day after playing with his siblings, he suddenly found himself picked up by the author and sold off to a family looking for an unusual house pet.

꩜ After a series of events, Karl escaped and scurried off into the forest.

꩜ He may finally have freedom, but since he’s still so young, he doesn’t know how to find food or protect himself.

꩜ Just as he was about to curl up in a pile of leaves and sleep, he heard unusual sounds coming from deep in the forest.

꩜ That’s when he found Poe.

꩜ Back in present time, he spends all his time either resting on Poe’s shoulders, curled up by the fireplace, or nestled on your lap.

꩜ His favorite treats are nuts like cashews, acorns, and peanuts. He also likes blueberries, sunflower seeds, and grapes.

꩜ (don’t give him cotton candy he will cry and Poe will scold you)

꩜ Poe won’t let you feed Karl too many snacks in fear he might get even more chunky, but if Karl gives him some big, sad eyes and whimpers, Poe will eventually cave.

꩜ He loves to chase laser pointers and you may or may not have used that to lead him on a wild chase all over Poe’s study. (It was of course Ranpo’s idea)

꩜ You too giggle to yourself like little gremlins as Poe races around the room chasing Karl like a madman.

꩜ Poe makes him wear little boots when it rains and he hates them so much, always tries to pull em off so he can splash around in the mud.

꩜ Surprisingly love baths and will purr the entire time like the attention loving stinker he is.

꩜ Has been caught digging in Poe’s and your trash on occasion. When caught he stands on his hind legs and freezes, slowly backing away with an apple core in his mouth.

꩜ Cuz Poe’s so wealthy he often buys him tons of dog and cat toys, testing each out to find what he likes most.

꩜ Karl loves feathery cat toys to swat at, squeaker dog toys to chew on, and remote control mouses to chase. But his favorite toy has to be Poe’s long jacket and anything shiny or jingling on your outfit.

꩜ Always vies for pets and cuddles, hence why he’s always snoozing away on Poe’s shoulders or lap. He’s like a little baby you both raise together and he couldn’t have better parents <3

Reblog + Comment + Like if you want to see more Bungo Stray Dogs or Poe specific content!

(After taking a few days to recover from writers block I’ve FINALLY been able to finish this. Phewww!~ The schedule I’ve been experimenting with is still being worked on but I might be able to post it soon along with another question. Cya all then!~ <3)

#bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs headcanons #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs poe #edgar allan poe #edgar allen poe bsd #poe x reader #edgar allen poe x reader #bungo stray dogs smut #bungo stray dogs fluff #poe smut #Poe fluff #gn reader #Karl #karl bsd #bungou stray dogs

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strawberraemochi · 11 months

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Day 2 of Narumitsu Week: Truth!

Day 1 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5

Theyre uhhhhhh finding the truth. Together. Because they are in love. And care about the law. Love wins babey

Close ups under the cut.

[ID:

Miles Edgeworth and Phoenix Wright sit on the couch in the Wright and Co. Law Offices. Behind them is a bookshelf on the right and Charley on the left. The scene is blue tinted to indicate that it is nighttime. Moonlight from the (unpictured, but implied) window on the left softly illuminates the left side of the room. The tv is partially pictured at the bottom of the piece, and it is implied that it is on because of light that shines from it.

Miles and Phoenix sit close together. Miles sits on the left, wearing his typical maroon suit and glasses. He is holding a Manila folder filled with papers. He is looking at Phoenix with a soft smile, appearing to be listening to what he is saying. Phoenix sits on the left, pressed against Miles’ side. He is wearing his typical blue suit, minus the suit jacket. He points at the papers in Miles’ hands, his mouth open and eyes focused on said papers. There is another open Manila folder with papers in it spread out on Phoenix’s lap. Between the two of them, their hands are interlocked, held at about shoulder height. Phoenix’s index finger is held aloft as though he is using it to emphasize his point. Both of them are wearing wedding rings on their left hands. Next to them on the couch is a pile of more Manila folders filled with papers. End ID]

#my art #fanart #ace attorney #aa #phoenix wright #ace attorney fanart #miles edgeworth #naruhodo ryuichi #mitsurugi reiji #art #narumitsu #wrightworth #nmweek23day2 #nmweek23 #day 2 #mitsunaru

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the-five-bright-stars · 1 month

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FBS Draft Scene: Still Undone

Word Count: 1600

Author's Notes: This has been a landmark scene in my head for a long time, but I realized recently I had never really told anyone about it! This takes place in the middle of the story. Content Warning spoils the heaviest part of this segment, so try to skip over it if you want to be surprised! Sorry I can't blank it out!

Summary: While searching the abandoned winter grounds of the carnival Taps once worked for, he and Riker discover the body of Hinge, Taps' childhood sweetheart. Title comes from Orville Peck's 'Hope to Die,' Taps and Hinge's theme.

Content Warnings: Dead robot, body desecration, attempted revival and subsequent putting down

Previously: Taps and Riker were being dragged back to New Amida by Kilroy and Lucy, but at a split second opportunity, stole their car and made off. While laying low, Taps is revealed to have an emotion blocker in his head, which Riker hastily removes, causing Taps to start experiencing extreme mood swings and reactions. Afterward, they decide to search for clues as to the whereabouts of Lindy, Taps' missing sister, and the first place to search is where Taps saw her last-- the carnival winter grounds where they worked together, now abandoned.

　Taps shuffled through the dusty papers in the desk drawers, keeping the lights of his eyes dialed up. Riker had their one flashlight tucked between his cheek and his shoulder and was picking the locks on the filing cabinet on the other side of the room, muttering under his breath. They’d checked a few other rooms in the deserted building before finding this office, all of them trashed in the time since the winter grounds were abandoned. The rooms had been shifted around after Taps left the carnival, except for the big storage room where they’d found, miraculously, a still sealed gallon of diesel.

　　Taps was trying not to let that diesel’s presence distract him. There were lots of reasons why a carnival might have that on hand, not just the one that he feared. Right now he had to focus on finding clues of where Lindy had gone.

　　“Got it,” Riker said, pulling open the top cabinet drawers. He wrinkled his nose at the contents; they probably smelled musty. “What year did you leave, again?”

　　“1959,” Taps said. “November.”

　　“Right, so--” Riker paused. “You were built in ‘47? Christ, you were still a kid.”

　　Taps silently straightened up and walked around the desk. “Demétrio had to move our contracts fast,” he said. “Medical bills. Here, I found a key, if there’s nothing in that one.”

　　In the second-to-bottom drawer, they found something. The manila folder nearly crumbled as Riker shifted it up into the light. It was unlabeled, but as Riker flipped through the tops of the papers within, he perked up. “Contract receipts. Jackpot.”

　　Taps leaned closer, staring at the papers as Riker jumped to the back of the folder. Focus, he thought. Don’t think about--

　　“Bettencourt!” Riker exclaimed. He grinned at Taps, pointing to a yellow page. “Bettencourt, L. Sale of contract: 1961. I can’t believe we fucking found it!”

　　Taps was frozen; his engine slowed. Riker’s smile began to dim.

　　“Hey,” Riker said softly. “You OK?”

　　“Yes,” Taps said, voice stiff. His illuminators had turned to pinpricks. “Yes. I just--”

　　Riker reached out and rested a hand on Taps’ shoulder. “Relax. This is big, and you’re just getting your feelings together. You need a minute before we get out of here?”

　　Taps vented a small burst of air, his head dropping forward, and he nodded.

　　Riker gingerly folded the receipt along its age-old crinkles before putting it in the inner pocket of his jacket. He stood with a grunt, rubbed his knees, and then held his hands up to his mouth, puffing a faint, misty cloud of hot air over them.

　　After a few minutes, the pair stepped out into the hallway, the shattered window at the closer end spilling moonlight across the floor. They walked carefully toward the exit, but stopped at the door, hearing whooping voices in the distance.

　　“Those damn teenagers are still here?” Riker growled. “Shit. They better not fuck with the car.”

　　Taps opened the door a crack and peaked through. “I can see their flashlights. They’re between us and the car, but I don’t think they’re moving toward it.” Taps paused, thinking. “There’s should be another way around, through the warehouse. I think the door was this way…”

　　They slipped as quietly as they could through the office building to the side door, then darted to the warehouse. Like the office, any sort of padlock had long been broken off, and the door opened with a soft creak. Riker flinched at the sound, then ducked inside, turning to wave Taps through. Taps only hesitated for a split second.

　　The main chamber of the warehouse was a disaster. Riker tried to keep the flashlight pointed at the ground as they walked, but the light would twitch nervously toward any open doors they passed. Riker’s foot collided with something and he yelped as it tumbled forward; Taps froze again, staring at the black diesel canister lying on its side, lit up in the circle of yellow. Riker breathed through his teeth.

　　“Christ, thought that was a rat for a second,” he said.

　　Taps stepped forward and picked it up, sloshing the liquid inside. Riker frowned at him-- or more specifically, at his eyes. Taps could feel his lights narrowing again.

　　“Taps?” Riker asked, voice a quiet hiss. “What’s the matter?”

　　“There was another robot,” Taps said. “His name was Hinge, and he ran on diesel.”

　　Riker stared at Taps for a moment, and Taps stared past him. There was a large doorway with no door just ahead of them, with smears on the ground, grimy shoe prints leading in and out. Before Riker could form a response, Taps had moved into the doorway.

　　There was something in there, against the far wall.

　　Taps’ footsteps were jerky as he took one, two steps in. Even with his illuminators turned all the way up, the shape was hard to make out. But it was big and bulky, crumpled forward over itself.

　　The flashlight shone past Taps shoulder, and Riker swore.

　　Hinge’s body sat with its back against the wall, head bowed forward over its bent legs. The left arm was missing below the elbow, and the chassis and the wall surrounding it were covered in spray paint. The graffiti on the wall made a terrible halo around the slumped form.

　　Taps barely registered his legs moving. He walked forward as if compelled, the carnage that had wracked Hinge’s body more apparent with every step. At some point he had dropped the diesel canister; it wasn’t in his hand when he knelt, almost falling, and reached out to touch Hinge’s knee.

　　“You stayed,” Taps whispered to the corpse. “Why did you stay?”

　　Taps couldn’t stop staring at Hinge’s face-- the hanging jaw, the dark holes of his glass-broken eyes. Some irreverent vandals had messily applied zigzags and meaningless blobs and a singular holographic sticker across his wide torso. Hinge would have hated it. Would hate it. Hated it.

　　Taps stood and turned sharply, nearly knocking into Riker. He ignored the words that stumbled out of Riker’s mouth and snatched the diesel canister off the ground, unscrewing the cap as he hurried to Hinge’s side. His fuel intake was just behind his left shoulder.

　　Taps did not stop pouring when Riker grabbed his arm and pointed the flashlight in his face, but he did start to hear him again.

　　“--can’t do this, buddy, there’s nothing left--”

　　“He has two ignition switches,” Taps said. “One on each side. I can’t reach both at once.” He turned his head and locked eyes with Riker. “I need you to hit the other switch.”

　　Riker’s eyes were round, the whites of them catching the light that bounced back into his face.

　　“What? No. I won’t,” Riker stammered. “Taps--”

　　“Do it,” Taps snapped. And then, venomously: “You owe me.”

　　Riker’s jaw snapped shut, and slowly his brows furrowed, the crease between his eyebrows deepening darkly. For a long moment he said nothing. Taps removed the nozzle from Hinge’s intake, and was just feeling the stirring of hesitation when Riker whipped around. Taps thought he might be storming out of the room, but he turned at Hinge’s feet and came back to his other side.

　　“You’re going to fucking regret this,” Riker snapped, casting the light over Hinge, looking for the switch.

　　Taps reached out and pried Hinge slightly more forward from the wall, enough to slip their hands beneath his shoulder blades. “Just press, and hold for three,” Taps said. “One… two… three--”

　　There was a gurgle and a bang from within Hinge’s chest, and he jerked violently. Black smoke spat from his mouth, and one eye flickered. Riker pulled back, and Taps’ hands snapped out, ready to steady him.

　　“Hinge? Hinge!” Taps cried. “It’s alright, it’s--”

　　Hinge continued to spasm, and Riker jumped back as his only arm swung aimlessly. Sounds gargled out of his voice box, a waterfall of half-words and metallic screeches, and with a full-body jolt he fell onto his left side, nearly taking Taps down with him. Hinge-- his body-- contorted on the ground, thrashing and scraping itself on the concrete, howling.

　　Taps stared and realized what he had done.

　　“Hold his head.”

　　Riker was holding a long metal rod, some piece of detritus from the floor.

　　Taps could have screamed, but with threadbare restraint, he did not. He only knelt and did his best to hold onto Hinge’s head, a hand on both sides. Hinge was--had been-- was so, so strong, and it was difficult to steady the head.

　　Riker missed the first blow, the end of the rod bouncing off the center of Hinge’s faceplate. The second spike hit true, going deep into the eye socket, back into the elongated skull. Riker wrenched the rod to one side, then the other, and with a snap something gave away, and Hinge’s body went still.

　　Taps kept holding the head as Riker-- Riker was crying, Taps dimly realized-- as he pulled the rod free and tossed it aside. The flashlight had been left on the ground, pointing at Hinge, and Riker retrieved it, knuckles bone white around the grip. He was breathing heavily, teeth grit, and his wet eyes shot accusing darts at Taps.

　　‘“I owe you?”’ Riker hissed bitterly. “I should have told you to get in line.”

　　And then he did leave, stalking out into the hallway. Taps heard him begin to retch, and he looked down again. He ran a hand over Hinge’s forehead.

　　“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, love. You deserved the whole world. Better than this. Better than me.”

#the five bright stars #hinge fbs #taps bettencourt #riker venczel #robot fiction #fbs2024 #fbsdev #fbs stories

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7-dreamers · 7 months

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[PRESS] 230828 ‘Dreamcatcher: Under the Moonlight’ in Manila

#dreamcatcher #jiu #sua #siyeon #handong #yoohyeon #dami #gahyeon #ot7 #230828 #e 230828 #era: a from us #p: press #p: performance

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dreamaugur · 11 months

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Tickets are still available for the DREAMCATCHER: UNDER THE MOONLIGHT IN MANILA

08.28.2023 | 7PM | New Frontier Theater

Get your tickets here: https://ticketnet.com.ph/events/detail/DREAMCATCHER-Under-The-Moonlight-In-Manila

#dreamcatcher #dami #handong #gahyeon #siyeon #jiu #yoohyeon #sua #philippines #concert #kpop #rock #manila

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westanthewaterman · 2 years

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Gender neutral reader with Noir? Them working together on a case while also being lovey dovey? Sfw perhaps 👀

--Milestone Celebration requests are now closed--

tw: none, just fluff

“Sweetheart, can you hand me that file?”

You look up from the newspaper clippings spread out on the desk in front of you. Noir is smiling at you, pointing to one of the manila folders stacked on the corner of the desk.

“Which one did you need?”

“On top, the folder on the disappearances.”

You grab the file and cross the room to where he is pinning things up on the bulletin board for the latest case. When you had it to him, Noir leans over and presses a kiss to the top of your head with a tender smile.

“Thank you, sugar.”

It doesn’t matter how long you two have been at it now, his casual affection also sends your heart racing. You duck your head to hide the warmth spreading across your cheeks, turning to go back to your work.

Noir grabs your hand, pulling you back and spinning you into his chest. “I think we can take a break for a while, don’t you?”

“Well, we have been at it all night.”

“Dance with me.”

“W-What?”

“Dance with me.”

He leans over to the radio set under the bulletin board, turning one of the knobs until a soft melody begins to play. Noir pulls you into a small back and forth, swaying you gently. One of his hands holds yours in the air while the other wraps around your waist.

Moonlight pours into the room from the window, illuminating him in soft, gray light. You lay your head on his shoulder, looking up into his beautiful, gray eyes.

“This is nice.”

Noir smiles. “We should take a vacation after this case, get away for a while.”

“Yeah? You think you could really take a break from your work for more than a couple hours?”

“For you? I’d do anything.”

#west writes #milestone celebration #noir!mark x gn!reader #sfw #detective dreamy

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maronkumanomi7 · 9 months

Video

youtube

2023 DREAMCATCHER UNDER THE MOONLIGHT IN MANILA - BON VOYAGE + DEMIAN 4K

#youtube

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blob-monster · 9 months

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Fun night with Deukae

#demian and propose live #it was fuckin awesome #siyeon cried twice #yoohyeon lost her voice #dreamcatcher #deukae #manila #kpop #under the moonlight in manila #philippines

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erikathewillow · 10 months

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SINO MGA NASA BALCONY LEFT DITO LIKE ME BAT LAHAT NANG NAKIKITA KONG SOMNIA NASA BALCONY RIGHT

#dreamcatcher: under the moonlight concert in manila #dreamcatcher #kpop #manila

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kstarvibes · 9 months

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5 Must-Listen DREAMCATCHER Tracks Before The "Under The Moonlight in Manila" Concert

PH InSomnia! Immerse yourself in the captivating melodies of DREAMCATCHER as these five finest tracks hype you up before the upcoming Manila performance! As the anticipation builds for the highly awaited DREAMCATCHER Under the Moonlight in Manila, fans are eagerly preparing themselves for the enchanting world of this talented K-pop girl group. With their unique blend of rock-infused melodies and…

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#Concert #DREAMCATCHER #Manila #Moonlight #MustListen #Tracks

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elbertoko · 1 year

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#IFTTT #the sleepy head

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cutesilyo · 2 years

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my heart is ever true — an amephil fanfic

“Ugh,” he groused, “you’re such a dick.”

“Takes one to know one,” Isabelo chirped. He was remarkably chipper for being only clad in a thin, silky robe during the winter; somehow, Alfred thought, he made freezing look sexy. “And if you walk by any treacherous backstabbers on the street, I’m sure you’d pick them out easily too.”

Since the war ended, Alfred and Isabelo's relationship has become . . . complicated, to say the least. The morning after another night together, the two nations share a smoke.

TAGS: 20th Century, American Occupation Era, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Swearing, Smoking, References to Sex, From Almost Lovers to Enemies to Fuck Buddies, Morning After, Dialogue Heavy, Slap Slap Kiss, lots of banter, the vibe is mostly comedic with angsty undertones, Drama

Also available on: AO3, FF.net

—

It couldn't have been any earlier than four in the morning, but Alfred still found his partner having a melancholy smoke by the hotel room windows. Still drowsy from having just woken up, he reached messily for his glasses by the bedside drawer before turning on the lamp.

"Isa," he called out, because that's what he called Philippines now, in the decades after the war. "Isabelo, babe, what are you doing up?"

"You know, you're the only one who calls me that." He didn't even turn around to address him properly, the bastard; with just the lamp on, all Alfred could see were the bare outlines of his figure. But Alfred didn’t need to see his face to know that the other nation was rolling his eyes. "Isa, really. I have at least dozen other nicknames, but of course you’d pick the one that nobody uses."

“Have you considered that maybe I just like being special to you?” He burrowed back under the warmth of the comforter. "You're letting the winter draft go in. Come back to bed."

“Consider yourself my special pain in the ass,” was the glib response, which made Alfred chuckle. “Counter proposal: you get up and burn this deck with me instead.”

Alfred yawned, feigning disinterest. “You know I don’t smoke.”

Isabelo finally turned to look back at him. His eyes were bright and his smile was mischievous. Under the soft moonlight, he looked as luminous as ever. “Liar,” he sang. “I know all of your dirty little secrets, America. Shouldn’t you know this by now?”

When the war had finally ended — after three years, a dozen regrets, and hundreds of thousands of casualties — the both of them had been pushed into a meeting where they could formally reconcile. Together with their generals and leaders, they laid down the terms and agreements from which they could build their relationship in the decades to come. Philippines, who had finally been officially introduced to him as Isabelo, had done nothing but glare at him all throughout. Still, he had kept silent, and he passively accepted his new role: he was now United States territory, and at Alfred’s request, they would live together on American soil for the rest of the foreseeable future.

Alfred had seen it as a spectacularly good deal if he was being honest; when he was a colony, he had always hated it when Arthur left him behind. He would’ve given anything to be taught how to be a real nation when he was younger. But rather than appreciate what Alfred had done for him, Isabelo had instead decided to spend every waking moment talking back, being rude, and trying his very best in annoying Alfred until he was given independence.

The charming boy who had swept him off his feet in the pinks and oranges of the Manila sunset was nowhere to be seen. In the years that passed, Alfred was forced to realize that the real Philippines was someone else entirely.

Still made his heart race like crazy though. He’d been forced to realize that too.

“Alright, shut up, you’ve convinced me.” Alfred stood, not bothering with modesty anymore — like he said, there wasn’t really anything he could hide from the other nation at this point. Isabelo hummed appreciatively, staring him down as he walked the short distance from their bed to the window sill. He took a cigarette in his mouth and idly watched the shorter nation light it for him, admiring the way the light danced on his face. “I didn’t think you were a Camels man.”

“I’m not, but these were all your dear Frankie had in his office,” Isabelo said, wrinkling his nose. “He’s obsessed with them, honestly. He’d probably do an ad for them if he could.”

Alfred paused. “Are you telling me you stole a pack of cigarettes from my president?”

Isabelo smiled innocently. “No, I’m telling you I stole five packs of cigarettes from your president. Three of them are hidden in this bedroom, and I already smoked through the first one yesterday.”

Alfred promptly choked in the middle of taking a drag. The other nation didn’t even bother to pat his back or ask if he was okay or anything; Isabelo just laughed heartily through his short coughing fit. “Ugh,” he groused, “you’re such a dick.”

“You’re a bundle of laughs,” said Alfred. “Remind me again why I like you so much?”

At this, Isabelo’s mouth turned up in an absolutely lecherous smirk. He angled his hips and lowered his lashes and moved just enough for his bangs to fall on his face and for his satin robe slip ever so slightly from his shoulders: the very picture of an inviting, submissive spouse. Immediately, Alfred’s throat went dry — and immediately, he hated himself for it.

Good colonizers didn’t have feelings for their colonies like this, didn’t they?

“Clearly,” Isabelo said lightly, “it’s because you think I’m a good fuck.”

“Clearly,” Alfred repeated, trying to preserve what little composure he had.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I just said, do keep up, will you?” Isabelo said. Alfred couldn’t stop himself from letting out a chuckle and, at that, the other nation’s smile turned softer. He glanced down at the cigarette on his fingers, watching the smoke fade out into the cityscape. “I’m also absolutely hilarious. And a brilliant dancer. And I can make friends with just about anyone, you know. I’m a real catch.”

“You’re real modest too,” said Alfred.

Isabelo lightly shoved him. “Feeling smart tonight, aren’t we? You should savor it, I bet it’s a rare sensation for you.”

“Aw shucks,” Alfred grinned. “Thanks for the concern, but I have to say: when I’m around you, feeling smart is easy as pie.”

“Asshole.”

“Right back at ‘cha, babe.”

They simultaneously raised their middle finger at each other, then laughed.

Their relationship was . . . odd, to say the least. Alfred had initially wanted to be like a teacher to him, guiding him through the bureaucratic and diplomatic pains of democracy, but Isabelo had been so resistant to any sort of mentorship that Alfred had given up almost instantaneously. For their first few years together, they had been so cold: barely making conversation, barely feeling each other’s presence. He would be just as surprised to pass him by in the house corridors and to learn that the other nation had apparently been traveling to a different state the week prior. They gave each other space, and though it was far from what Alfred wanted, he was determined to give Isabelo the time to settle until he reached out on his own.

Then one day, Isabelo demanded that Alfred bring him to a theater. They watched the last showing of the latest Chaplin film, made out in the car, and woke up the next morning in the same bed. Isabelo had looked at him with his mussed-up hair and his upturned lips and softly said, so you want me like this after all, señorito?

Alfred didn’t recall what he had said in response, but he distinctly remembered thinking: uh oh.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Isabelo asked. He carelessly dropped his cigarette and lit himself another. “It’s not like you to be so quiet, you know.”

“The stock market,” Alfred said immediately. “It’s very serious nation business, I don’t think you’d understand.”

Isabelo hummed. “Oh yes, I’m sure only the great and bountiful United States of America is the only nation capable of understanding the complexities of the stock market. Tell me, what are the projected numbers for your economic recovery in the next decade again?”

“Fairly positive, thank you,” Alfred bit back. It was a lie and they both knew it: just the thought of it made him want to hurl all over the balcony. Instead, he took a long drag. “You keep talking below the belt shit like that. That really hurt.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Isabelo said, and now it was Alfred’s turn to shove him. Gently, though; he knew how fragile the other nation really was. The typhoon that hit his country last month had him coughing up blood for weeks. “Really, you should be glad that this is all I’m doing to you. I could’ve shown you what a real insurrection looks like. I could’ve hijacked your car and ransacked the White House. And then I could finally go home and start a rebellion, or something.”

Alfred sighed. “Well, I guess if I lose my car soon, I’ll know the first place to look. Not that it matters. You do know that I have people tracking your every move, right?”

“It’s been said,” Isabelo said coyly. He looked at him from under his lashes. “Just business as usual in the land of the free, I suppose.”

Alfred couldn’t respond to that. Instead, he blurted out, “Why are you always so mean to me?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized there wasn’t much point in asking. He had realized too late what he had robbed from Isabelo, the day that America declared war on his nation. At the time, Alfred had seen him as the spoils of war he had rightfully earned from Antonio; Antonio himself had only seen him as the latest in a long list of rebellious colonies; while Arthur, Ludwig, and the rest of Europe had seen him as an idle source of potential income. Alfred had fought and laughed and died with his soldiers thinking that this was it, it was finally his time to stand equally with the other, powerful empires that surrounded him. Finally, he would have a colony of his own, and nothing else mattered but that.

It was years after the war ended when he was walking the streets of Cavite, by chance overhearing an old soldier tell his child: Hijo, if we had won, we could’ve been the first republic in Asia.

It had been harder to fault Isabelo for his coldness, after that.

Alfred slumped against the windowsill. He looked out at the hazy yellow streets of his waking capital and tried to remember what the other nation’s favorite breakfast was, hoping he could calm him down from an angry outburst that felt inevitable.

But rather than scream at him or roll his eyes or cry his heart out, Isabelo simply shrugged and said, “I just don’t like it when you lie all the time, that’s all.”

Alfred sputtered. “What the—I haven’t told a lie in my entire life!”

Isabelo laughed. “You literally lied to my face just now! You don’t even realize you’re doing it, don’t you? Is being a huge hypocrite baked that deeply into your psyche?”

“Is this still about when I betrayed you in 1899?” Alfred demanded, fuming. “I thought we were over that, I thought I’ve made it up to you—”

“First of all, you are never going to be able to make that up to me.” Isabelo fiercely interjected, jabbing the end of his cigarette onto Alfred’s bare chest. Alfred didn’t even register the pain. “But I can understand why you did it. It was horrible, and if I was in your position I would’ve done it differently, but I understand. We’re nations. We fight, and we hurt each other, and that’s just the nature of who we are. I understand that much from growing up with Antonio, and I bet you learned the same lessons with Arthur. Personal power overrules all, and all that white imperialist bullshit all those Europeans say. Trust me. I get it.”

Then he gazed back out the windows, his head hanging low. Isabelo breathed out another cloud of smoke. ”What I don’t get is why you lie about things that don’t even matter,” he sighed. “Small things like whether you smoke or not, your thoughts on traffic, your favorite pre-movie cartoon short. You know why I can call you out on your bluffs so often? It’s because I had to keep watching you for your tells, because for sure, you don’t tell me a damn thing that’s real.

“And then, you know what else I realized, watching you?” Isabelo stared at him, his bright eyes piercing. All Alfred could do was stare back in silence. “You lie even to yourself, Alfred. You act like admitting the truth will kill you, and it’s a hell of a sorry sight to see.”

“So you pity me, is what you’re trying to say,” Alfred said flatly. His ears were ringing, his head was reeling, and all he could think was wrong, wrong, wrong. “Fuck off.”

Isabelo just rolled his eyes, as if Alfred wasn’t one sarcastic quip away from punching him in the face. “Fuck me yourself, coward,” he said. “Oh wait.”

Alfred snarled. In seconds, he hoisted the smaller nation off his feet and pushed him on the bed. He gripped Isabelo’s hands over his head and spread his thighs with his knees. This was a familiar position; he’d fucked the other boy like this just last night, slow and sensual, while covering his body with bites and kisses. Alfred knew what lust was like but it hadn’t been until Isabelo that he felt it like that — waves upon waves of overwhelming heat, drowning in desire until he could barely breathe. He remembered how Isabelo had moaned his name last night. He remembered how he dug his nails deep enough to leave scratches on his back. He remembered how he clenched his legs around his waist, screaming for more. He remembered how he grinned up at him, purple eyes filled with brightness and exhilaration and something that looked almost like love, and Alfred had yearned for it so badly that he came right there.

Now, Isabelo was looking up at him again, his robe just rumpled up enough to fully display the bruises Alfred had marked on his neck. With his lips upturned and his eyes half-lidded, he looked like he had all the world’s riches laid down at his behest.

“I’m still the one in power here,” Alfred said. “Admit it.”

“Lie to yourself all you want,” Isabelo teased. “Just know that you can’t fool me.”

Isabelo had smiled just like that before shooting him and leaving him for dead. But he had also smiled like that before loudly announcing that he’d eaten the last of Alfred’s favorite snack before he could get to them, so he was sure that smug expression was always specifically for when he felt he’d one-upped Alfred in some way.

Alfred decided the pettiest thing to do was collapse on top of the smaller nation. Over Isabelo’s muffled shouts and laughter, Alfred said, “I’d like to see you try to get out of this.”

Isabelo managed to gasp for air a moment later. “You’re such a dick,” he whined. “I didn’t even get to finish my smoke before you attacked me, you brute.”

“Takes one to know one,” Alfred said, and Isabelo lightly smacked his back — the only part of his body he could reach, with the way he was trapped under like that. He decided the smaller nation had suffocated enough and he rolled over to let him catch a breath. The two of them laid down on the bed, side by side, reveling in each other’s presence. “And I don’t lie for no reason, you know. I’m protecting myself. I’ve got a lot to lose if I make mistakes.”

“I know that,” Isabelo said, still a bit breathless. “I’m just saying, I like you more when you’re honest, and you rarely are.”

“I can be honest right now,” Alfred said. The sun was starting to rise, and out of the corner of his eyes, he could see that the light streaming through the window was enough to make Isabelo’s skin glow golden. He swallowed, his throat dry, and admitted, “You’re very pretty.”

The other nation huffed. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Alfred scowled at the ceiling. “You’re also a narcissistic prick.”

Isabelo giggled, bright and cheery. “Oh, that’s a new one. Jot that down, else you’ll forget.”

“I won’t forget it, I think that at least twice a day,” Alfred said, and he felt warm when Isabelo erupted in uproarious laughter. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how much you’ve been spending on clothes lately. I’m watching you too, you know. This whole I’m paying you attention so I can learn more about you thing you’re doing to me goes both ways. Suck on that.”

“Yeah, I’ve been sucking on something alright,” Isabelo said, then he laughed again when Alfred groaned. Isabelo reached out to cup Alfred’s face in his hands, his eyes alight with mischief. “Look, when we walk out that door, we’re playing benevolent master and docile colony again, and you know I can’t make jokes like this around your senators — they’ll have a hernia on the spot. Let me have my fun for now, will you?”

“Only because I like you so much,” Alfred muttered. He turned, shifting his position so he could face the other nation fully. His lips gently brushed against Isabelo’s palm. “You’re such a pain.”

“You’re such a pain too,” Isabelo mockingly cooed. “See? We’re even.”

“Now that’s a terrifying thought,” Alfred whispered, moving closer.

Isabelo smirked. “It’s only terrifying from your point of view. One day, I’ll make you see. I’m just as much of a nation as you are.”

Their faces were so close; Alfred couldn’t even concentrate on what he was saying. His heart was beating so loud that he felt like it could burst out of his chest at any moment. He barely sensed that Isabelo was kissing him — softly, sweetly, like he thought Alfred was fragile enough to break. It had been so long since someone had touched him this gently. He didn’t know what emotion he was feeling but whatever it was, it was overwhelming him. Alfred stayed as still as he could. He didn’t want this moment to end.

It had slipped out of him before he even realized. “Isa, I love you.”

Isabelo’s eyes widened, then his face broke out in a small, bittersweet smile. “Sure you do.”

Outside their hotel room, the day had finally broken. Their two cigarettes lay forgotten on the ground, their flames having long since sputtered out.

—

NOTES: I picked the name Isabelo for Piri because I wanted him to have an old-timey name like Alfred. Here, antiquated Spanish first names like that usually mean that you are either old or come from old money; and Piri, as you may know, is very old. Piri has over a dozen nicknames because that's really just what being Filipino is like. The name Isabelo usually defaults to the nickname Beloy, which is very far from the Isa that Alfred uses. Fun fact: Isa (pronounced differently but spelled the same) also means "one" in many Filipino languages.

This isn't explicitly stated, but this takes place in Washington DC during the early 1930s. Alfred is barely recovering from the Great Depression while Isabelo is a few years yet from establishing the Philippine Commonwealth. FDR is the president and he loves Camels cigarettes. He honestly did do an ad for them while still in office.

Title comes from the English-translated lyrics of the classic Filipino love song, Dahil Sa Iyo or Because of You. Specifically, it comes from this English/Tagalog duet version of the song from the 60s sung by Santos and Cora Beloy.

#hws philippines #aph philippines #hws america #aph america #amephil #hws #mine

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slippinmickeys · 3 years

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Another Twitter prompt:

1. It was a weird thing to think, but it was odd that they'd put the new chemistry professor in Old Chem. The building -- cramped and dusty with an unreliable heating system -- hadn't actually housed the chemistry department in 35 years. It was now filled mainly with graduate students who either didn't mind that the clanking basement furnace would give up the ghost thrice every February, or just felt lucky to have office space and didn't complain. Dr. Fox Mulder, a tenured and often traveling research professor liked Old Chem, for what it was worth. Its bricks were the same orangey-red of the hoodoos of Bryce Canyon and it sat stalwart and proud on a rise above the river that purled through campus. The offices were small, and they lent everything in them -- from papers written in '82 to the newest state-of-the-art computers -- an aged patina that made you want to smoke a pipe and contemplate philosophy.

In any event, he never seemed to run into the new chemistry professor, even though his office was right next door.

2. One of the kids that rode on the same school bus route on the Vineyard had been a guy named Dana Dupree. He was five years older and a baseball star, and while Mulder hadn’t thought the kid was all that bright, he still worshipped him anyway, until the day Dupree graduated and Mulder never thought about him again.

He supposed that was why he thought the new professor was a man until she showed up at his door with a sheepish looking undergraduate he vaguely recognized from his Tuesday/Thursday lecture.

"I believe this may belong to you," said a caramel-soft voice from his doorway.

He looked up to see a short statured titch of a woman looking at him expectantly. Next to her was said undergraduate, who was hitching his backpack on his shoulder uncomfortably and looking anywhere but Mulder's face.

"Does it?" Mulder asked without standing.

"These are office hours, right?" the kid said, looking up through a thick hatch of shaggy hair.

Mulder looked at his watch. "Indeed they are," he said, and motioned for the boy to sit in one of the chairs opposite his desk -- the only one not covered in sheaves of paper and books. The kid slid into it and the woman in the doorway raised a hand and started to retreat into the hallway when Mulder said:

"And who do I have to thank for the saving of wayward students?"

The woman gave him a small, closed mouth smile that nevertheless reached all the way to her eyes.

"Dr. Dana Scully," she said, nodding at him and taking another step back. "Your new neighbor." With that she was gone.

3. He didn't see her again for almost a month. He was heading down the narrow back stairway that led from Old Chem's parking lot to the third floor hall of offices when he heard a forceful expletive followed by the sound of several light things hitting the floor. When he rounded the next landing, Dr. Scully was carrying an overfilled and close-to-disintegrating cardboard box and looking helplessly down at a wash of manila folders and dot-matrix printouts that were scattered across the floor and accordioning down three steps.

She was bending to put the box down when Mulder came trotting down the last few steps.

"Let me get that," he said, bending down to pick up the sheety detritus which he tapped into a neat stack.

"Thanks," she said, sounding reluctant to accept the help.

When he stood holding the papers out a little awkwardly, she gave him a grudging smile and he tucked the stack carefully into the box she now had balanced on her hip.

"Would you like help carrying all this up?" he asked, "I can get the box?"

"I can manage," she said, and Mulder thought she probably could -- she only had one more flight to go.

"Then at least let me get the doors," he said, bounding back up from the way he came, and seeing her safely to her office.

She gave him a small sideways glance as she unlocked the old Schlage, and when she fumbled with the keys, he reached out and wordlessly took the box from her hands so she could open the door. She gave a last hard shove with her shoulder and she was in, and he entered and put the box gingerly on her desk.

"Wow," he said, taking a look around the room. It was spotless and bright, airy in an effortless sort of way that was near impossible to find in the stuffy confines of Old Chem. "If Professor Abernathy saw this place, I think he'd want to move back in."

She smiled at him and he noticed for the first time that her eyes were a bright liquidly aqua, as cobalt as the Caribbean. His heart beat once, hard, then returned to its normal cadence.

"Then where would I go?" she asked, and he thought he detected maybe a hint of flirt.

"Next door," he offered, "it would be tight and wouldn't be good for much beyond a good game of Battleship, but wayward undergrads wouldn't get lost."

She laughed, a sheath of hair falling into her face, her locks the same color as the sandstone in Utah -- the same color as the bricks of Old Chem.

He felt something in his chest he hadn’t felt in a long time.

4. He normally didn't stay this late, but his TA was out sick and he needed to get the grades turned in by noon the next day.

The moonlight coming through the single window in his office was pale and diaphanous, and it shone in a small rectangle on the grungy berber of his floor, the small desktop lamp illuminating only the papers in front of him.

There was a sharp knock on his door.

"It's open!"

It swung in to reveal Dr. Scully, holding a couple cartons of what looked like Chinese food and two paper-wrapped chopsticks packs, her face looking hesitant but hopeful, her hair a muzzy halo backlit by the fluorescents in the hallway.

"Your light is on a lot later than normal," she said, holding up the cartons, from which drifted the tangy waft of Pad Thai. "Thought you might need some sustenance."

His stomach gurgled in response.

“Partay,” he said, gesturing her in.

She smiled and shuffled in, setting a carton in front of him and the chopsticks on top.

“Apologies for the dimness, the overheads were giving me a headache,” he said, reaching behind him for the large pillar candles he kept in his office -- the building was notorious for losing power in the summer months, and he’d learned to be prepared. “Too weird to eat by candlelight?” he asked, fingering a lighter.

She shrugged and plopped down into the free chair across from his desk and folded her feet under herself, somehow looking cozy in the notoriously uncomfortable chair. He lit the candles and placed one on the desktop between them, unwrapping the chopsticks and rubbing the handles together. He considered her for a moment and she seemed to do the same.

“Do you always order for two?” he finally asked, opening the top of his container and letting the steam puff up gently around his face. He closed his eyes and inhaled dreamily. It smelled wonderful. She opened her own, deftly spearing a bean sprout and delicately nipping it in half. “It makes great leftovers,” she said, then expertly twirled a small bundle of noodles onto her own utensil and took a happy bite. “And I’ve been curious about you,” she finished around a mouthful of food.

“Me?” he asked, surprised. He shoveled in a mouthful with far less finesse and she chuckled at him.

“Yes,” she said, “you. The enigmatic Dr. Mulder. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Normally, he probably would have said something like oh really? and then made a smartass comment about her spying on him, but something held him back. Instead he said, “...what do you want to know?”

She looked at him, chewing thoughtfully. The candlelight gave her a fresh-faced look, her skin dewy and glowing. She had cupid’s bow lips, the color of overripe raspberries. A thought flashed through his head that they would probably taste as good as they looked.

“How long have you been tenured?”

“Five years.”

“Undergrad?”

“Oxford.” She raised an impressed eyebrow.

“Married?”

He choked and covered for it by coughing. She was still looking at him earnestly, expecting an answer.

“Ah,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Almost.”

“Narrowly avoided the institution?” He felt like he was being interviewed by a seasoned criminologist. She was unruffled and laser focused. Normally he would have had sirens going off in his head by now, abort! abort! but he was into it. Really into it.

“Narrowly avoided the spouse .” She grinned and took another bite and he decided to lob one back at her. “Why, you in the market?”

She looked at him levely, chewing no faster or slower than before. When she swallowed, he kept his eyes on the elegant column of her neck, watching her throat work.

“I’m a professor of chemistry, Dr. Mulder,” she said, quirking one eyebrow in a way that charmed him even more. “I’d never rule out adhesion.”

5. It was a tempest. A Goddamn tempest, and it had come rushing off the plains and, propelled by the jet stream, roaring into campus with the force of a freight train. He was halfway to the building that held his evening lecture when the wind picked up, and he was just passing Old Chem when the rain came. A torrential downpour that would have felled even the strongest umbrella. A streak of lighting followed immediately by the crash of thunder and he darted into the Old Chemistry building just to escape it. He was standing in the small foyer looking out the small beaded window panes in the old oak doors -- there were still a few students darting haphazardly into random buildings -- when his phone dinged. He pulled it out of his pocket.

UNIVERSITY EMERGENCY ALERT -- STORM WARNING -- STAY INDOORS -- ALL EVENING CLASSES CANCELLED

Sighing, he turned to head into his office to wait out the storm. He was thinking he had lab results in his briefcase he could probably go over when the power suddenly -- though perhaps not surprisingly -- went out. He drifted up the stairs to his office in the uncomfortable beam of the stairwell’s emergency light box, the bulbs shining brightly in two different directions like some kind of demented wall-eyed robot.

When he got to his door, he saw a small light flitting about the office next to his, then heard a thud and a muffled curse. He knocked lightly.

“Everything all right in there?” he called out.

The door was flung open and a frazzled-looking Dr. Scully stood before him, the too-bright glow of her cell phone flashlight pointing somewhere around his belt buckle.

“Hi,” she said, then rather needlessly added, “the power is out.”

“Welcome to Old Chem,” Mulder said with a trace of sarcasm, just as another flare of lightning highlighted her dressed-down outfit. Unusually, she was wearing jeans, a white tank top that rather nicely showcased the twin pillows of her decolletage and an old chambray shirt, shirtsleeves rolled to her elbows, unbuttoned in the front.

“My phone is about to die and I can’t find my portable charger,” she went on, a bit flustered, “and I also can’t see a god damned thing. If I was near my lab I could probably improvise some kind of glow stick, but I’m… not,” she finished lamely.

“You want some help?” he offered, setting down his briefcase in the hallway. There was an emergency light at the far end, but its light barely reached them. They were mainly highlighted in the red glow of the Exit sign that hung from the ceiling just to their left.

“I was actually on my way out. I give up. I can charge it in my car.”

He’d just noticed that her laptop bag was slung over one shoulder. A crash of deafening thunder shook the building.

“I, uh, wouldn’t go out right now,” he said, holding up the emergency alert on his phone, “it’s biblical out there.” Her shoulders slumped. “Come into my office,” he went on, digging his keys out of his pocket, “I don’t have Pad Thai, but I still have those candles.”

She smiled and he flushed a bit at the memory. It had only been a week and a half ago. She’d been pretty forward, and he’d been about to ask her out when the janitorial crew came rolling down the hallway. They’d quickly emptied the trashcans in the various offices on the floor, but when they kick-started the industrial floor polisher out in the hallway, Mulder had been fairly sure his window had closed.

She passed by him while he held open the door, and was forced to back herself up to the wall so he could squeeze by a moment later to get to the pillar candles and lighter he kept on top of his file cabinet. Their hips grazed ever so slightly as he brushed by her and he caught a heady whiff of her perfume, a spicy, floral scent studded with hints of white musk and bergamot. He had to keep himself from leaning into her to get another sniff.

“You want to have a seat?” he asked, indicating the guest chair.

“Not on your life,” she laughed, “it took three PIlates classes to work out the kink in my back from the last time.”

“Take mine,” he said, and settled himself into the chair across the desk, shifting to try to get comfortable.

After several moments she let out an undignified guffaw and stood.

“Come on,”she said, still chuckling as she rose from his office chair, “let’s go into my office. We’ll be a lot more comfortable.

Slightly chagrined, he grabbed the candles and followed her obediently. She had two nice looking chairs sitting side by side with a small, tasteful side table in between them, and they both settled in.

“Well,” she said, looking at the candles, “this is romantic.”

He chuckled.

“Any idea how long this is supposed to last?” she asked, nodding toward the small window. The sun hadn’t quite set, but the sky was a frightening velvety grey and the branches on the ancient maples outside Old Chem were bending sideways in the thrash.

Mulder pulled up a NOAA app on his phone.

“Radar shows three cells coming through,” he said, pinching the screen to get a bigger picture. “One on top of the other.”

She smirked at the innuendo, but made no move to do or say anything. He tossed the phone on the desktop next to a candle.

“Well,” she said, “any chance you’re up for a game of Battleship?”

XxXxXxXxXxX

She’d actually bought one. He was delighted when, from under her desk, she pulled out a brand new, still-in-the-cellophane, honest-to-god game of Battleship. They were twenty minutes into their second game and she was absolutely handing him his ass.

“How are you so good at this?” he asked her, after he put the last red peg into his submarine.

She studied her board.

“My father was a naval officer,” she said, not looking up, “a Captain when he retired. He was gone a lot. As a kid I would play this game with anyone who would play with me. Even the old lady next door. It made me feel closer to him.”

“Where does he live now?” Mulder asked, then, “C8.”

“Miss,” she said, “He and Mom are in Maryland. B12.”

“Hit. Any siblings?”

“Three.”

“E1?”

“Miss. You?” she asked. “B11.”

“A sister,” he answered, then leaned back and sighed. “You sunk my battleship.

She smiled victoriously. “You giving up?”

“I know when I’ve been bested,” he said.

He looked out the window at the storm as he helped her pack up the game. There was a brief lull in the weather while one cell moved off and another moved in. One of the trees in the diag out her window had been uprooted by the wind and was leaning into one of its compatriots like a soldier limping off the battlefield.

“It’s been nice being stuck here with you,” she said, finally leaning back.

“I’m glad,” Mulder said, nodding to the window, “because we may end up being stuck here all night.”

She put her thumbnail in her mouth and tilted her head. “I can think of worse things.”

“Oh yeah?” he said, swallowing hard.

“Yeah,” she said. “I think you should ask me out.”

He felt himself flush. Again. “If I asked, what would we do?”

“Drinks,” she said, “dancing. Maybe see where the night takes us.”

He nodded at her, considering. He briefly bit the inside of his cheek. “Will you go out with me?” he finally said.

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “When?”

He stood. “Right now,” he said, getting a flash of inspiration, a jagged line of lightning streaking outside the window. “Stay right there.”

The candles sputtered as he swung open her office door. The dim red from the Exit sign gave just illumination for him to go into his own office and pull out the bottom drawer of his desk. When he returned, she was sitting up, intrigued. On her desk he deposited a bottle of Lagavulin and two small rocks glasses.

“You like Scotch?” he asked.

She nodded, smiling. He returned her smile and poured her a finger. He did the same and held it up in salute.

“To our first date,” he said.

“Slainte,” she said, tapping her glass into his own and then taking a slow sip, her eyes never leaving his.

The spirit was as smooth as high C, but burned its way down his esophagus, filling his belly with the warm haze of nerve.

He reached for his phone, which was still sitting on top of her desk, swiping and tapping until the soulful purl of Nina Simone’s Feeling Good began to leak through the tiny speakers. He upped the volume so that the sound of the singer’s velvet voice swelled over the roar of the rain outside, set down his glass and held out his hand to her. She took a large swallow, almost finishing what was in her glass, and set it down next to his, taking his hand. He pulled her to him.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, pressing his hand into the amati curve of her back. There wasn’t much room in the small office, certainly not enough for a good dance, but if they swayed, turning in place like a couple of kids at an eighth grade dance, it would get the job done.

She canted her face up to his, blinking slowly. “Yes,” she said in a voice as low as his had been, and then pressed her head to his chest. He pulled her in even more, pulling their clasped hands in close.

She fit perfectly into the lee of him, and something just felt right about it as she settled in, sighing contentedly. It was like a key sliding into the right lock. Click .

The song was over before either of them were ready for it to be. Mulder didn’t move as the brassy sound of the big band faded into nothingness. He scarcely even breathed. Dr. Scully shifted in his arms, but made no move to step back. After a moment, he worked up the nerve to look down at her and found her looking right back.

“What happens next?” he muttered, tongue feeling thick in his mouth.

“Next?” she said, voice barely a whisper. “We see where the night takes us.”

#it won’t let me post after the jump #im sorry this is so long on your dash #tumblr I swear to fucking god #fanfic #msr #my fic #the x-files #au #fanfiction #prompts

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