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bvlladonnas · 2 months

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NOW PLAYING:

𝗪here'd All The Time Go? Dr. Dog ♥︎ 0:09 ━●────────── 3:54 ⇄ ◁◁ 𝚰𝚰 ▷▷ ↻

♡ — esmeralda has been homesick lately. whether it's for the warmth veracruz provides or the fact that she can't crawl into her father's arms when she's sad, she isn't sure. she misses her mother brushing her hair, and the parties that didn't end until sun up when she'd pass out on rafa. the hustle and bustle of new york city and the mornings spent in homeschool math class. but most of all she misses luna, and the esme she could be for them when they were anywhere but here.

their favorite place lately has been the roof; when you look up, you can see all the stars and constellations, the lack of light pollution illuminating the sky in a way that reminds esme of her favorite nightlight. the shingles of the house don't hurt her back, and when she holds luna's hand she's sure they could never fall; even if they did, it'd be together. so it'd be okay.

but right now things aren't okay, which esme has become adept at realizing in the past couple of years. kids had been meaner recently, spurred on by those movies their mom always does; which esme doesn't really get — can't those idiots tell what's real or not ? their mom isn't a bruja, she's just cool. she's gotten a lot better at brushing it off.

luna hasn't, though. defending their mother came naturally, esme did it too, but her skin's thicker, used to shielding luna from what she could. at age eleven she stands tall ( four foot nine, thank you ) and spits vitriol to any child bold enough to talk mean to luna in front of her. that's the issue, though — they don't do it in front of her now. and she only finds out later, when they're on the roof and luna's crying because it's been a particularly bad day ( which seems to be happening increasingly often ).

" lunita - lunita, esta bien. son pendejos que no saben de lo que hablan. " ( " lunita — lunita, it's okay. they're stupid anyway. don't have any clue what they're talking about. " ). her voice is gentle — she doesn't know to harden it around luna yet, has never had to. luna cries when esme sounds even a little bit mad, she doesn't want to set her off even more.

"¿ya se, pero porque todo via lo asen? mami no ase nada malo. ¡es su trabajo ! she's cool ! " ( " i know they are, so why do they keep doing it ? mami doesn't do anything bad. it's her job ! she's cool ! " ) luna's voice is full of all the emotions the world hasn't tried to wring out of her yet. their words pierce esme's little heart and, if she were older, maybe she'd know how to take them away. right now she can only flounder.

" es como - ¿tu cuerdas lo que dijo papi? ¿cuando vino dante la semana pasada y los junto a todos para hablara? " ( " it's like — you remember what papi said ? when dante came over last week and he sat us all down ? " ) esme props herself up on her elbows, not satisfied with how flippant she seems while laying down. this isn't anything to be flippant about, this is her sibling's feelings. " papi dijo que la jente van a hablara - que no les gusta las cosas que no entinden. so los llamen cosas como raros y brujas y - y es porque son celosos. " ( " papi said people were going to talk, that — that they don't like things they don't understand. so they call us freaks, or weird, or brujas, and — and it's 'cause they're jealous. " )

sometimes she doesn't really know if she believes that. sometimes she thinks it's because her father just wants them to feel better, and that maybe they are kind of freaky. but esme doesn't understand why that would be so bad. she wishes dante could just be with them all the time, so that maybe he could beat them up and then she wouldn't have to be so mean.

luna's quiet in response and it worries her. luna is many things, quiet has never been one of them. the soft sniffle startles esme and she jumps into action quick, pulling luna into her arms. her chin hooks right on top of luna's, like it's meant to, and she's immediately softening her tone even more.

" lunita - ¿habla con migo, porfavor ? tienes que habalar. " ( " lunita — talk to me, please ? you need to talk. " ) tries to pitch her voice down so she doesn't sound like an eleven year old playing parent. it doesn't work.

" ¿no saban que las palabras dañar ? " ( " don't they know that words mean something ? " )

that makes esme freeze. because, well — how does she argue with that ? they've been taught that their entire life. it's a dominguez-herrera motto, at this point. so she pivots, or tries to.

" pues - son estupidos. ya tu deji eso. nosotros no devemos a escuchar a la gente que no son honestos con sues palabras. " a childish attempt at comfort, but it's from a child, so that's to be expected. ( " well — they're stupid. i told you that. we shouldn't listen to stupid people who wouldn't be honest with their words anyway. " )

" ¿pero como yo se que tu no estas mientiendo? " ( " but how do i know you're not lying ? " )

esme considers telling luna that if she were lying, then their parents would be lying, and their entire extended family, too. but she bites her tongue; it'll just hurt them more.

so she pulls away, fishing around in her sweats pocket. luna looks confused, brows tightly knit and fresh tears beginning to well up in her eyes because esme just stopped hugging them. esme finds what she needs quickly — a pocket knife she'd swiped from david at their last party.

she flips it open — luna's more confused for about two seconds, until esme rolls up one sleeve of the snoopy as a dinosaur t-shirt her mother had gotten her for halloween. then their eyes go wide and she remembers the movie they watched the other night when they weren't supposed to be watching tv — the hangover, or something. she'd thought it was really cool and meaningful — what could bond you better than blood ?

she's shaky when she brings the blade to her palm, but her voice is even. if only so luna believes her more, " yo nunca tu a hecho mientieras y yo se que eso tambien su escucha como una mientira pero - vamos as see un pacto. ¿no mas esmos estoy y yo nuca puedo a echar te una mintera, esta bien? y yo nuca tu eviria a ser eso. las palabras si dañia pero tambien tienen otor setimento. " ( " i would never lie to you, and i know that sounds like a lie, too, but — we're going to make a pact. as long as we do this, i can't lie to you, okay ? and i never would. words mean something. " )

and if esme had the vocabulary, or the forethought, or the words to say it she'd tell luna that this means she'd never lie to her. that the blood pact isn't what makes them honest; it's not a truth serum, a sincerity spell, but a representation of her devotion. that as long as she can hold a hand to her palm and bleed freely, she will never lie to the other. so long as she lives and breathes.

but she doesn't, and so she closes her palm around the knife in her hand, slides it across the skin and shuts her eyes tight through the pain. it's almost exhilarating, and it isn't deep. the knife comes out the other side crimson, and she hands it to a now eager luna. the tears are drying up, the sniffles now few and far between, and esme feels invincible. she did it. she doesn't think about what shielding luna from so much harm might lead to, because she's done the one job she's decided to take on for life. and so she can rest a little easier.

" blood brothers. "

luna follows suit quickly after — their shared scrunched up face of determination is sweet. they clasp hands and their blood mixes, they laugh because it stings. then they laugh because they're happy. they stay like that for a bit, hands clasped and curled together like kittens. nothing could hurt them now, not when they have each other. and nothing could bring them dow —

" ¡estrella! ¡luna! mis amores, — ¿porques estan ai riva - tu esta saliendo sangre? ¡¿que esites ?! " ( " estrella ! luna ! my loves, why are you up her — are you bleeding ?! what did you do ?! " )

okay, well, maybe their mom can.

it's weird to think that that was nearly fourteen years ago. that the bullying came to a head a week later and they'd left for new york. esme traces the little scars that litter her left palm, the result of countless blood pacts. countless promises, countless assurances. we don't lie, we don't hide, we're honest all the time.

it makes esme's heart seize and she isn't entirely sure why. she shakes her head to clear it, throwing her bag over her shoulder — she's got an exam to take. can't be thinking of childhood silliness now.

#* self para / esme.#self harm tw #not because sad but like yk #blood tw #bullying tw #haha #i'm normal!#very very normal #this has been brewing in my brain since i got high and had a transcendant experience #is that a word #anwyay #some dialogue didn't really lend itself to translation and i'm tired so take htis as it is #and it's translated more conversational but still

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seasinkarnadine · 1 year

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Thanks @luckyfirerabbit!

“Alright c’mon baby, bring papa the big money, big money–” Chetney tosses his dice. “YE-ES! Take that you little shit!” He thrusts a gnarled finger at the poor dealer.

“Be nice, now,” Orym scolds gently.

“Oh, this one’s hot! Hey, is this table free?” A young elven man squeezes in at Imogen’s side as Chetney scoops up his winnings.

“I was here first!” A woman nearly knocks into Imogen trying to secure her own seat.

“Watch it!” Someone else snaps, even as their elbow nudges against Imogen’s. The contact sends static slithering up her forearm.

“Fuck off,” she snarls. “There’s other tables.”

“Lady all the other tables are full, and you’ve been here for an hour.” What? No–oh. So they are. So they have been. The crowd’s really picked up at the Lakecap Skyport since she last looked up. That’s–that’s a lot of people.

“You okay?” Orym’s voice is gentle but it still manages to cut through the hum of the crowd.

“Mmhmm.” She nods with what she hopes is conviction. Her chest is tight. She inhales deeply tin an attempt to loosen it up some. Maybe it’s the alcohol. She’s had two more of those “lavender martini” things that Ashton brought. Her head’s certainly buzzing. She raises a hand to press against her temple. Orym’s saying something.

“Yes, feel free. We’re heading up.”

“What? No! There was– oh. Oh! Okay. Yes, ah, um, keep the table warm for us, we’ll be back in the morning!” Chetney adjusts his vest with an air of self importance.

“Wait, what? No.” They think they’re being subtle, do they? “I’m fine! Let’s go play that card game–what was it? Stork of the Storm?” She slides off of her seat and bumps into a half-orc whose drink nearly sloshes out of his hand.

“Hey!”

“S-sorry,” she stammers. It feels like her whole side is staticky from the contact. A burst of nausea rolls over her. She clamps it down and grits her teeth. The Stuck of the–Stork— Storm game. With the cards. It’s over in the corner. Gods where even IS the corner? There!

‘Fewer people, see?’ She points it out to Orym and Chetney. ‘See? I’ll be fine.’

‘It’s getting kind of late. I’m ready to go to bed. I think the others are wrapping up.’

‘I’ll just tell em to meet us at that table, it’s fine,’ Imogen replies. She won’t let them stop having fun on her account. Not even if her head is screaming with each word sent. There’s all kinds of voices pressing in on her. Needles, needles, ice picks, knives. One foot in front of the other, Temult.

“‘Scuse me,” she murmurs as she pushes past a dark haired man.

“You’re excused!” If her head were in better condition she might psychic lance his rude ass. No, no–no harming civilians, Imogen. She’s still heading for the corner table. Right? The world’s going a little blurry around the edges. The world tilts.

Someone’s yelling. What? My drink all over–arrested for being drunk and disorderly–Skycap shouldn’t let so many people–Please dice please dice please dice— That woman is absolutely wasted–If I roll once more I’m sure it’ll turn out– Should I call security –PERFECT ROLL!--Kind of behavior— intolerable—

Stop, stop, stop. Quiet. Can you not yell? I can hear you just fine, you don’t have to–

‘Imogen.’ The thrum of a cello slides right through the clamor. She knows that voice. She’d know that voice anywhere.

‘Laud?’ She swallows. ‘Where are you?’ There’s a dozen faces in the crowd all directed at her but they won’t stay still. It feels like someone’s stabbing her eyes.

‘Can you open your eyes?’

‘Light’s too bright.’

‘Okay. Can you feel me?’ There’s a pressure against her palm. Something cold, even through the leather. The string quartet of Laudna’s mind swells and the nails-on-chalkboard of the crowd fades.

‘Yeah. Yeah.’ She squeezes. The leather squeaks. ‘Chetney wanted to…we were gonna play cards.’ It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

‘Tomorrow, hmm? We’re all a bit tired. Let me take you to bed.’

‘You gotta–’ she hiccups. ‘You gotta buy a lady dinner, first.’ She feels Laudna’s mirth through their connection more than anything else. Imogen thinks maybe she laughs, too.

‘How about breakfast?’

‘Yeah. Breakfast sounds nice.’ She keeps her eyes shut, trusting Laudna to guide her through the crowd. They can always play cards tomorrow.

#imodna #cr3 #critical role #prompt fill #original content #my writing #short fic #imogen temult #laudna #luckyfirerabbit #no editing we die like men

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cloythedramatic · 7 months

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Fic idea: Nightmare kidnaps Dream like 2 weeks after he breaks out of stone, already working with Ink, and instead of like being evil or something he takes care of Dream like a child, because last time he was conscious, he was six years old and just going through the most traumatic thing of his life

Nightmare watches as Killer and Dust slaughter the inhabitants of the AU they were currently raiding. Right on time, 1 minute and 25 seconds, or 85 seconds, however you decided to keep track, wait, Ink is late... It takes a full 308 seconds (5 minutes, Nightmare prefers seconds however, they are more precise) for Ink to show up, and they have a child with them. Dream. Dream is with Ink, little six year old Dream is about to fight a group of murderers.

"KILLER, DUST," Nightmare starts to shout, faer tentacles wriggling in agitation. "New objective, capture the child ALIVE and SAFE," fae shouts faer commands. Fae watches as the confused child who currently only knows Spanish is captured, being brought back to faer, screaming and crying. Nightmare picks up Dream, walking through the portal.

"¡Para! ¡Para! ¡Eres malo! ¡¡Ink dijo que eres malvado!! ¡Mataste gente! ¡Yo lo vi! ¡Te vi matar a mis amigos!" (Stop it! Stop it! You're evil! Ink said you're evil!! You killed people! I saw it! I saw you kill my friends!) Nobody understands Dream, except for Nightmare of course. The kid was screaming and shouting in Spanish, desperately kicking faer, but fae never got angry, or irritated, only ever understanding etched on faer face.

Nightmare carried Dream away, down the winding halls, aware of being stalked. "Killer, do not follow me," fae demanded. Killer, albeit reluctantly, backed off. "Está bien hermano mío, te mintieron, pero no es culpa tuya. ¿Qué tal si juegas un rato en mi jardín? Puedes jugar en los árboles y el césped en lugar de tener que pelear, ambos sabemos que no quieres..." (Its ok my brother, you were lied to, but thats not your fault. How about you play in my garden for a while? You can play in the trees and grass instead of having to fight, we both know you dont want to...)

Dream, albeit reluctantly, got down in the garden, feeling the meadowy grass. The grass was long, but couldn't hold its own weight, leaving blades of grass easily a third meter (or a foot), folded over on each other, looking as majestic as the fairytales Nightmare read to him not long ago, atleast in his mind. It has have been five hundred years, but Dream wasn't present for any of it, could he really be anything but a child?

Lemme know if I should continue, maybe I'll make a series on my dreamtale head canon because the og creator (who didn't even make Nightmare) is not a good person, or a good writer tbf

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keikakudom · 2 months

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Agsudisg I'm so glad you liked it, Kazi, I literally sat down the moment I finished reading and started drawing cuz you freaking killed me, I MEAN, vox being stubborn and denying help, and Alastor stubbornly giving him the aid he needs, but crouched in their respective toxic egos and self-image? So delicious. Alastor, who needs to know why he was left behind, and vox who's desperately pouring himself into the new thing... Ahhhh...

The part where he implies he really was running off to die...and Alastor goes all soft...the shared frequency, the antenna petting... I reread that multiple times bc it's so good...and the claws, the claws, vox denies wanting help from alastor to the last, but the claws!

(also we tots need full seasons and reruns of 'Let's Shit on Vox', I bet Alastor even encourages to call in with more info, not that anyone would bc they're too scared. Hey, does carmilla have to listen his obsession LOL)

Btw for the artist questions, if you want, 9, 14, 30?

YOU NEVER FAIL TO MAKE ME GUSH, ES AAAA...oh lemme tell you when I lock-in, i do NOT fuck around with toxic old men yaoi. When I get better at writing, I hope to capture all their glory✨

I have never really written in this particular weird genre, I don't even know what to call it? Disgustingly intimate love/hate? At least, that's what I aspire for it to be XD

Heheh the part where "Alastor goes all soft" is also a little on the part of RR!AU characterization, so it's a bit exaggerated. He's trying to ween his way in appealing to Vox again, but RR!AU Vox is just so tired. Alastor keeps bringing up the past....This was kind of a wacky scenario to write because it does skip/make you infer a lot of stages of development, but the AU is close enough to canon that I think it's not far to imagine filling in the gaps hhh....

LMFAO yes, Alastor def encourages call-ins, "The 'Let's Shit on Vox' show, your one-stop opportunity to diss Hell's most saturated overlord!" -- on the rare occasion someone actually called in, Alastor killed whoever said something off about Vox that wasn't to his "flavor" of hate.

Carmilla has already read through these two idiots and just rolls her eyes at their immaturity. If she's there for Alastor's radio show, she's just in the background, utterly done and convinced they're playing everything up for entertainment at this point. Now that has me thinking, if Alastor ever started feeling something unfamiliar and god-forbid genuinely *good*(????), he would probably consult Rosie or Carmilla for it first........and Vox would ask Charlie.....oh..........

Aaaand Artist Questions under the cut, TYSM for the ask <33

9. What are your file name conventions?

I have terrible file organization. Many of them are named "a", "aa3", "asgv", "fhgh", or other random keyboard smashes. Recently, I have a bad habit of naming files "sketch1", "sk1", "skht1", or some misspelled way-- it's gotten so bad I'm up to "sketch22".... I find things by icon only.

14. Any favorite motifs?

Straight edges and shapes, maybe? I started drawing with an anime style though I'm mostly into western media-- I think it's very satisfying to have nice shape design/silhouettes though, but I don't draw in a super cartoony or exaggerated style so it's kind of hard to tell that I like and have fun doing it. I'm kind of scattered and like to dip my foot into everything unfortunately.

30. What piece of yours do you think is underrated?

None really, but if I had to pick one for HH, maybe this one.

For my older art, definitely this one. I mean, I don't love it anymore, but I really thought I ATE with the concept at the time.

#ask #flonautilus #you are giving me so much nice words of confidence sobs

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damnation-if · 11 months

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I have no strong opinions about measurements & I’ll keep my freedom temperature opinions to myself (0 is Dying Cold 100 is Dying Hot it’s intuitive!) but your tags about D&D are so true 5 ft is so specific & in a lot of situations it makes no sense (Especially when you consider it started out as wargame with role playing added in). RPG designers just use [Number] Square(s)/Hex(es), I beg of you!

one of my Biggest gripes with d&d measurements comes down to. Size. as in the Size category of creatures and objects. like the Medium size (which refers to the vast majority of humanoids and a whole bunch of regular-sized enemies like wolves and stuff) is said to occupy. essentially a square of space with a 5ft-long side. for the sake of being put on a battle map or whatever. and that... makes sense in a way even though you can obviously. fit more than one person in a square that size or like. a person and a cat or whatever but it's fine it's trying to apply a mathematical rule to a chaotic irl process that doesn't necessarily have much 2d mathematical sense worked into it.

anyway. then you get to the Large size.

any creature of Large size occupies Four Entire 5foot Squares, sides 10 feet long in either direction overall. you can. in a way. justify this for stuff like say. Horses. maybe nobody wants to stand too close to the horse thinking they'll get kicked or whatever. but then we have to consider my Eternal bugbear, Graz'zt.

Graz'zt is a demon lord (the Best one, imo, certainly the best of the big three fitey bois fiteing for the #1 spot) and so his Size category is Large. but his entire schtick is that he's a sexboi and he's basically just a humanoid guy who's pretty tall (9 feet, or a little bit less than 3m). because you know. you need to be able get it in you, if you know what i'm saying, so he can't be so big as to make that a pain for himself. he can Certainly fit within a square where one of the sides is 5 feet long. and yet to slap him on a battle map (as we had to playing fucking Out of the Abyss, god damn that module) he has a Large token and is supposed to take up a square with 10 feet sides.

he could lie down on the ground and not reach all the way along One of those sides, which a lot of human people cannot do in their Medium 5 foot square. so like. he's just standing in the middle of a vast empty 10 foot square cos no one can approach beyond a certain distance because of his Musk or something i guess. the Large token size is excessive even for a horse but it's Ridiculous for a Slightly Tall Man.

although my DM actually brought him down to Medium after we all ranted about this a bit lmfao

#what does the chaos mirror see #anon #anyway this concludes today's showing of No I'm Still Not Over Out Of The Abyss's Mistakes theatre lmfao #it's extremely funny also considering that every other demon lord's size is like. Huge at least #so the big fight at the end is just like. colossal titanic monsters versus Regular Man #and in our game Regular Man won!#although that's probably because we were focus DPsing the others and leaving him alone lmfao #my druid personally sent both orcus the loser and graz'zt himself back to the abyss which i was very pleased about... i took you down orcus #sunbeam my beloved #anyway yeah. graz'zt... Large size token. Silly #i think it's way more interesting that he has nine fingers on each hand than that he's slightly tall lmfao #they also just Waste him as a character he could do so much and be so interesting but. then again it's wizards of the coast so #why would they do a good or interesting thing when they could just. Not instead

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givemeanaccountalready · 7 months

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Mahiru 14, Kotoko 8, Haruka 7

7. Favorite relationship with another character if they weren’t in Milgram, the way you imagine it would like them to be.

Hmmm… probably Haruka and Fuuta would be the most likely to happen and I do like their interactions. It’s been implied in the timeline conversations and in Fuuta’s interrogation questions, that the two of them hung out quite a bit before Kotoko’s attacks (as liberally as I can use that phrase since they are in prison with limited options). Fuuta says that he looks out for Haruka since Trial 1 Haruka is very timid and shy. And I think that if Haruka had been voted guilty during Trial 1, he would have latched onto Fuuta even harder. What with Fuuta’s deteriorating mental health, he probably wouldn’t be the best option for Haruka, but Fuuta does treat him like a peer on equal footing rather than a child and cannot keep his mouth shut, so he would push back on Haruka’s Es/you are my real mom shit. Fuuta probably has his own mommy issues, but he has a better idea on what relationships look like than Haruka so it’s the “I lost my glasses with the coke bottle lenses” leading the blind instead of the blind leading the blind.

But outside Milgram? I think the two would have had a good friendship. Maybe not the healthiest because of their own issues, but I think they could help each other become better people. With Haruka, Fuuta could learn to soften his edges, or at least learn to show more patience and grace to those who make mistakes (which seems to be why he went after Killcheroy? I’m not totally sure on what Killcheroy did to be gifted internet cancellation). With Fuuta, Haruka could learn to be more assertive and sure of himself. I would like for this blue blorbo to have a hobby that doesn’t involve sleeping or killing animals and children. Fuuta defines friendship as two or more people getting hype over the same things, so I can see him introducing Haruka to video games, Twitter, and soccer and seeing what sticks. Haruka needs some positive attention to grow confident, and again, Fuuta cannot shut his mouth, so he would give Haruka some much needed pushback. You know that meme where there’s two people and one goes, “Excuse me? He asked for no pickles?” I can see Fuuta going, “Excuse me? Haruka. What did you ask for?” “It’s okay, I’ll eat around them.” “No, what did you ask for?” *cue more insistence that he’s fine until Haruka finally goes, “… no pickles please.”

Honestly, I’m fine with Haruka meeting any of the other prisoners IRL except for Muu (who feeds into his bullshit) and Kotoko (who will kill him).

8. What is your theory for their crime? If there’s a general consensus within the fandom, do you have any other, not-so-wildly-accepted thoughts on it?

Kotoko’s murder. Based on “Harrow” I think that her killing the serial killer was her first kill, but her earlier acts like bribing the journalist for info and beating up the thief were all escalating behaviors leading up to it. She worries me the most because she’s the one I am most convinced that would kill again if released back into the general population. Haruka is my blorbo but he is also a murderous, little bitch who deserves jail time. But he’s also dumb and will most likely caught and arrested quickly because he boasted to his mother about his kills like a cat bringing dead mice and voles to its owner’s doorstep. Kotoko is clever, and I can see her outfoxing the cops like she’s a chess prodigy playing checkers. Despite John’s bluster about being an uncontrollable monster, I do think that he knew his victims and viewed them as threats to Bokuto’s life and/or current position. Kotoko’s methodical nature and dedication to her role as a tool of violence inflicting ‘righteous’ judgment worries me more than that. I’m all for addressing the flaws of the justice system, especially when it is used to let dangerous people off, but I don’t believe the death penalty should be the decision of one person (even if they were held accountable to the law and a code of ethics), if that makes sense. I can understand and sympathize with her motives, but I don’t agree with her actions and I have enough faith in her to have wracked up quite the body count by the time she is arrested by police. Home girl gets shit done, and has enough distance from her (criminal) victims to elude the police longer than someone who knew them.

I am curious as to how she got into this. I definitely think that the serial killer she killed worked the area where she lived, so I can see her growing frustrated with police for not stopping him and taking matters into her own hands. Kotoko emphasizes in her first trial interrogation questions that she is not a victim. She is someone who sympathized with their plight and wishes to protect them. It’s emphasized enough that I think, “Keep telling yourself that.” The theory that the serial killer abducted and then killed her sister may have some weight because Kotoko wouldn’t be the victim, it would be her younger sister. Semantics. I have thoughts on the glitchy trailer lines, and I think her line is her talking to someone who disapproves of her plan and her snapping back at them to shut it because they’re too weak to do it.

If you’re going to pick your first human kill, a serial killer is always a good pick.

14. Any headcanons on their appearance?

Mahiru is definitely one of the most fashionable Milgram prisoners. Yuno and her battle it out for the number one spot lol. Mikoto trails close behind them. She almost certainly is someone who has been reading fashion magazines since the fourth grade and knows how to best coordinate outfits and accessories in accordance to the weather, preferred colored palette, and the formality of the occasion. The only reason I wouldn’t want to go clothes shopping with her is because it would take too long!

Based on her comments about always being the one confessing versus being confessed to, I’d reckon that she doesn’t have much confidence in her own looks, which is a shame because she is pretty. Naive she may be, but, I think she has good insides to match her outside.

She seems like someone who has an in-depth skin routine. If the fashion magazines comment doesn’t count as a headcanon, I would say she definitely has a whole skin care routine that she does and coming to Milgram wrecked it since she doesn’t have access to her things. She’s probably a little miffed about it, but she’s got bigger problems so it is a back burner issue.

#ask game #haruka sakurai #kotoko yuzuriha #mahiru shiina

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evanvanness · 6 months

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Argentina had some of the absolute worst lockdown policies. Of course, they didn't work, and - of course - the ruling elites didn't follow them.

One good thing came out of Argentina's totalitarian reaction to COVID19: bored from the doldrums of being locked inside 24/7, then-7 year old Faustino Oro started playing chess.

In 3 years, he's already above 2350 according to FIDE

He is the youngest to ever be this good. In 3 years.

They've invited him to be one of about 200 players in the World Rapid Chess Championship, even though his rapid ranking is below his standard ("classical") rating.

What's crazy about chess is that if you just barely finish in the money, your prize maybe covers your travel and lodging expenses.

The top 10 tourney prizewinners in 2022 according to chess.com:

As seen above, there's shockingly little money from chess. You engage in an activity that nerds all over the world love to play and get to be top 10 in the world and you can do ok. You'll make as someone who gets hired at any random big law firm right out of law school.

But, if your kid is the youngest to ever get to where he gets in the entire history of nerds moving pieces around the board, then you move to Europe to pursue the dream

Probably worth mentioning why: his parents are both acontadores publicos (Argentine equivalent of CPA) but the Argentine peso is extremely weak after the Kirchneristas, so you can't really do the travel necessary for Faustino to advance on a salary denominated en argentine pesos.

Infobae:

“Yo también acompaño toda esta idea” dice con una sonrisa nerviosa mamá Romina, y agrega: “Pero tengo un pie puesto en el freno para que ellos dos no viajen hasta la luna (risas). Es verdad que somos jóvenes, pero hemos renunciado a nuestros trabajos, yo con más de veinte años de antigüedad y Ale, un poco menos. Es una apuesta fuerte la que obviamente gira en torno a Faustino

"I agree with the idea, but I have a foot on the brake so the two of them don't travel to the moon....we've quit our jobs of 20 years. It's a big gamble that turns on Fausti."

Lot of pressure at 10 years old.

But from all evidence (talked to a few Argentine chess players), the kid just enjoys playing chess and doesn't seem all that bothered with the pressure.

Faustino Oro. A name to remember and root for.

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winterstorm032802 · 2 years

Text

Seeing A Strong Witch Cry

Hunter and Willow went on a walk, the Human Realm posed little danger and with Ms. Noceda's help they had Luz's spare clothes on and were told if asked about the ears just say something about a defect. As they walked in a peaceful silence, Willow stopped and Hunter looked back in confusion. "Willow? What's wrong, did something happen?" He looked to where she was staring, a lone swing-set by some trees. Looking at her with some pity, something about this had importance to her, likely from the Boiling Isles.

It wasn't until his ears picked up on the small hiccups passing through her lips that he snapped into action. Putting his gloved hands on her cheeks and pulling her a bit close and raising her glasses up her forehead, he wiped the tears that spilled down her face. "Willow. How about we go back?" She looked back at the swing-set and nodded.

The rest of the way was silent.

"Welcome back you tw-- Willow?!" Luz scrambled over, almost bumping into the sofa as she reached Willow. "¿Cuál es el problema? Are you hurt? Did you trip?" Willow looked at Luz and back down, somewhat cowering back into Hunter. "We were walking and she saw a contraption that had ropes and a plank tied to it" "A swing-set? Why would that make you c-- Oh! Oh Willow, I'm so sorry" Hunter didn't get it, but he understood that contraption was to blame, thus began his plan to possibly destroy that device. What type of vile thing was that device anyways, to make Willow of all Witches cry...

"Here Willow let's go to my room" She didn't say a word as she was sat down and her glasses were pulled back down to her face.

Hunter's foot bounced on the floor as his plan continued, Luz said that magic didn't work here so that is crossed off, brute strength may work, but what would he do with the thing by then? Maybe bury it or strand it somewhere far away? Would this even help Willow stop crying or is this just one of his "problem solving" skills from the Emperor's Coven? He was snapped out of his thoughts once he heard Willow sigh, possibly tired from the tears. "Luz can I get a glass of water?" "Of course, Hunter watch over her I'll be back" With that Luz had hurried off. Leaving Hunter and Willow, Hunter opened his mouth--

"I'm sorry for crying like that out of nowhere"

"What?"

"I just got homesick after seeing that swing-set. My Dads would sometimes play with me there and we had lots of fun... I had realized that I never really even thought of how they were both doing. They had Sigils too... are they okay or safe? What happened to them now and when will I be able to get back to them?"

Hunter's heart tightened at that, she was strong and capable at anything. He hadn't realized the fact that she was missing her family.

"You don't have to apologize, it's okay to feel upset and sad you know"

Willow gave out a small laugh "Am I hearing you right? Hunter, the closed off boy of feelings talking about opening up?" Hunter gave a small grunt and pouted "Hey I'm trying to be nice" Willow smiled which made Hunter's act at being insulted fade more. As she laid her head on his shoulder "Thank you Hunter... for being there for me"

"Y-You're welcome" His face turned red and he noticed Luz... at the doorway... watching with a weird smile...

So he'll destroy that swing-set and then Luz. Perfect plan.

#toh hunter #willow park #hunter x willow #huntlow brain rot #huntlow #please save me oh mighty ship #luz noceda #haha roles are reversed #you thought hunter would cry #but it was willow

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wherethewordsare · 3 years

Note

a. I have accidentally unfollowed you because Tumblr puts buttons too close together.

b. I have A PROMPT. Specifically from your list of 50. 8 and/or 21. I just want something soft from you.

a: I love you <3

b: thank you @softnerdypeter for beta reading this for me <3

21. Blind date set up by friends

Oh, It’s You

Eskel had cornered Geralt in the firehouse kitchen. Again. This time with that look that used to trick Geralt into the worst trouble when they were kids.

“Don’t automatically say no,” Eskel said with a laugh.

“No.” Geralt turned to hide his smile.

“Geralt, she’s really pretty though. And she has this friend that apparently has been moping and she said she’d feel better if he also had a date.” Eskel walked around the table and took Geralt’s plate, holding it away. “Besides, you’ve been moping too and you refuse to ask that musician out even though you know damn well-”

“Fine, I’ll go, but you don’t get to berate me after this. One date. That’s it. Then you leave me be,” he growled, snatching his plate back, sending his cherry tomatoes rolling onto the floor. He only glared at his brother when he laughed.

“Alright, Wolf. Just bring your most sunny personality to the fair Friday.” Eskel chuckled as he bent down, scooping up the tomatoes and tossing them into the sink. He strolled away, looking all too much like the cat that caught the canary.

“You’re taking my shift on the dunk tank!” Geralt shouted after him with a shake of his head. “Bastard.”

He hated how fast his phone was in his hand to text Jaskier.

Es finally trapped me into a blind date. Fucker.

Within a second, a message that didn’t feel like a response popped up on his screen.

I have a date on Friday? my friend set it up. I kinda don’t wanna go.

Geralt tried to ignore the way his gut twisted at the idea of Jaskier going out with someone else. He wasn’t sure what to say back. It wasn’t like he didn’t also have a date that night. His phone buzzed again in his hand, showing an incoming call.

“She said his name is Gary!” Jaskier whined. There was a clattering in the background and Geralt leaned against the counter. He could close his eyes and see Jaskier making his lunch. “Who names their kid Gary? I bet he’s hideous!” There was a huff.

“I guess this means we’ll have to cancel movie night?” Geralt hummed as he bit into a fork full of salad, sans tomatoes. “But who knows,” Geralt winced only because he knew Jaskier couldn’t see, “the guy might surprise you?”

There was a gasp on the other end of the line. “You wanna stand up our dates and just meet up for a movie anyways?” Jaskier laughed but the sound died quickly. “Unless you’re looking forward to the date.” There was something like disappointment in his voice that could have only been chalked up to missing out on the movie and shitty take-out.

“I would, but Eskel would kill me,” Geralt reasoned with a hum.

“You’re gonna get a play-by-play of how terrible this guy is,” Jaskier promised with a laugh. There was a bang and a curse. “Ah shit, my frittata! I gotta go.” The line was dead before Geralt could say anything else.

He tried to ignore the way his chest tightened as he shoved another bite into his mouth. He was almost glad when the firehouse alarm went off.

Friday came quickly. He rode to the fair with Eskel, who was chatting more than usual, clearly nervous about his date with the nurse he couldn’t seem to get over since the last time he ended up in the ER with a burn.

Geralt couldn’t blame him, really. Anything that made his brothers happy was fine by him, but he wished that he didn’t have to hear the same story about Eskel finally asking her out again. It was just a constant reminder that he still hadn’t swallowed his pride enough when it came to Jaskier.

“Where am I supposed to be?” Geralt managed to ask, his arms crossed over his chest as they pulled into the dirt lot.

“There’s a ticket booth towards the center. I think she told him to meet you there,” Eskel was checking his hair in the mirror again and only stopped when he caught Geralt rolling his eyes. “Listen, we can’t all be as pretty as you,” he shot across the bench.

“Finally, something you’ve said that makes sense,” he snorted. He climbed out of the truck and shut the door on Eskel before he could make a comeback.

It was still early, so the fairgrounds weren’t crowded just yet. He was thankful for that at least. The place would be packed before too long. He was already coming up with reasons to cut the night short as he leaned against the back of the booth, his phone in hand. He was making an attempt not to text Jaskier. He didn’t want to interrupt his date, even if he wasn’t looking forward to it.

Geralt pulled up their conversation anyways, scrolling through as he realized that he wasn’t even sure where Jaskier was going tonight.

“Geralt?” There was a pair of dusty converse in front of him.

He looked up and his heart sank for a moment. Jaskier was standing there, his bright eyes catching the lights from the ferris wheel. Geralt wasn’t looking forward to having to actually watch him on his date. There had been too many nights at too many bars where he watched Jaskier flirt with everyone. Almost everyone.

“What are you doing here, Jask?” He half flinched as he realized how gruff he had sounded. Geralt looked around, expecting to see someone coming to collect Jaskier but there was no one else there.

“Oh,” Jaskier whispered softly. A series of emotions flew across his face all at once before he simply beamed at Geralt. “Oh!” He was laughing then, leaning into Geralt’s personal space. “Gary,” he cackled.

He scowled at Jaskier, but then it also dawned on him and he huffed. “Oh. It’s you,” he hummed, looking around. He wondered remotely if Eskel had done this on purpose. His date was Jaskier. Or it was supposed to be.

Maybe, he shuffled from foot to foot for a moment, maybe it still could be.

“Well, I know I’m not nearly as good looking as this Gary was supposed to be,” Geralt mused, “but maybe we could still…” He gestured around them vaguely.

Jaskier looked up at him again, those same emotions Geralt couldn’t read from before flitting across his face before his eyes softened. He stepped forward, sliding his arm into Geralt’s with a smile. “Far more handsome than anyone I could have imagined, dear heart.” He gave Geralt’s arm a little squeeze. “Buy me a caramel apple and tell me you like my shirt?” Jaskier teased.

Geralt snorted as he moved them forward. “You mean my shirt you stole?” He didn’t miss the way Jaskier fell in step beside him, their arms still linked.

“Next time don’t leave your laundry in my dryer,” Jaskier chuckled. Then he was looking down as he pulled them both to a stop for a moment in the middle of the fairway. “Geralt, just so I’m clear-”

“This is a date,” Geralt blurted before he could stop himself. “I… if you want it to be.” Part of him wanted to pull away. He’d done it now and there was no going back. He had known Jaskier for three years and for a moment he thought it crash down around him. Jaskier only smiled back at him, looking relieved.

“Yeah, yeah I do. But only if-” he started.

“Caramel apple.” Geralt raised an eyebrow, smirking.

“Date it is then.” Jaskier let himself be led around the fair, always touching Geralt as they went.

It felt nice, having the weight and warmth beside him as the early autumn air started to set in.

They found themselves in front of the dunk tank where Eskel was sitting up on the platform, that smirk of his still firmly in place.

He had known! Geralt huffed and glared at his brother. He was leaning out of the tank slightly to high-five a slender woman with dark hair. She looked over and waved to Jaskier with a smile.

“Hey, do you want the horse or the alien stuffie?” He asked as he marched up to the booth. He watched with a grin as Eskel’s own smile dropped. “You know what, I’ll win you both.”

Jaskier only looked at him with confusion then glanced across. “Oh. Were we played?” He sounded smug as he handed Geralt his own tickets.

Geralt landed not only the first shot, but the next three after, sending Eskel plunging down into the water below. When he handed Jaskier both of the rewards he was passed a caramel apple already missing a bite.

Three years suddenly seemed to hinge on the moment as he took the apple and leaned forward, past the oversized head of the alien in Jaskier’s arm. He pressed a kiss to the corner of Jaskier’s mouth, slow enough that he could have pulled away.

Jaskier didn’t pull away. Instead, he turned his face and let their mouths slot together more firmly, smiling all the while.

“Took you long enough,” he pulled away just enough to murmur before pressing in again.

“Movie night tomorrow?” Geralt asked when they finally broke apart. He felt like he was vibrating in his boots.

“It’s a date.”

It certainly was going to be, Geralt decided. He’d make sure it would be a good one too.

#geraskier #modern au #blind date #prompt fill #jay writes #for my darling love #kuri i hope you like this

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thesolotomyhan · 3 years

Text

a/n: ive been rewatching narcos mexico to get back in the mood and here we are mis amores! so this turned into i guess what you would call dating them would include hc? but yah-anyways here we go i hope you enjoy :(

taglist: @fandomnerd16 @visintaes @sheeshgivemeabreak @artemiseamoon @all-tings-diego @umvirgo @redhairedace

let me know if you want to be added!

Warnings: a touch of NSFW!

OK BUT CAN I JUST SAY THE OLD MIGUEL GIVES ME SUCH INNOCENT FUCKING VIB ES

LIKE?? THE PERFECT HUSBAND WHO CHERISHES YOU WITH LITTLE DETAILS AND KISSE S- im SObbing

because i just know its obvious pre narco miguel is such a different vibe than the miguel angel we all know- literally 2 different persons you feel??

and like i get the feeling it would be this amor sincero where he would bring you a ramo de flores every time he possibly can because he knows stuff like that makes you happy and just-

nothing beats the feeling of taking the little money he has left over to make you smile the best way he knows how,, by trying to give you the world with little presents and such-

just trying to be as detallista as much as he can,, needing a way to show you how much he loves you :(

and i dont know why i get hardcore aesthetics of him coming home every day,, whistling a little tune and walking into your home with him to the smell of your cooking-

him coming up behind you,, holding your back into his chest, his arms wrapping around you as he kisses your shoulder and neck like- “ya te llegue, mi amor”

WOw,, all while hes rocking both of your bodies side to side,, your small laugh filling up the room and his heart :( its so fucking domestic i CRY

or get this,, maybe on some days him drowning you in besitos,, picking you up and twirling you around like perhaps that time aviles allowed him to go to guadalajara or the time rafas weed grew in the backyard-

:(( just him being all excited,, that hes finally getting his foot in the door to give you a better life hes always dreamed of giving you :( i cant

since we’re on this subject i just feel like hes always promising you that he’s going to give you the world one day,, take you to places you deserve to go and just treat you like a reina

im soft at the thought of him praying for diosito so that day can come sooner

especially when he comes home late at night, when you already fell asleep or him not being able to sleep during some nights and seeing the way youre curled into him,,

like him saying hes already bendecido with you,, but he wants you to have everything in life for sticking with him and being his number one supporter :(( i need to go cry

now hear me out ok- because the old miguel would be into slow and sensual sex because i feel like he would be so passionate and i dont know why-

its always him taking all the time in the world to feel your body-

caressing his hands everywhere just to see the way you let out soft little gasps

just getting to know every inch,, kissin g down your body while your hands would be softly tangling in his hair-

im so sorry in advance but him kissing in between your thighs ?? looking up at you-

just loving the way you start to tremble before he even gets to your core,, his soft laugh whispering how fucking beautiful you look for him-

Wow i cant- him eating you out would be so soft but intense,, all of his focus would be on your clit like sucking on it gently as he moves his hands to hold your hips down - pleas e no one look at me right now

like i can feel it in my bones that he would love working his fingers inside of you too-

just this slow rhythm of his fingers pumping in and out of you as he moves up to kiss you- drowning out your moans-

needing to make you cum at least once before hes inside of you-

just softly praising you when he watches your hips rise, your head falling back as you hold onto his shoulders,, his teeth sinking into your neck- wow i cant

but back to what i was saying because i just know he would always do these slow and deep thrusts when he has you under him-

his diosa,, bringing your legs to cling onto him holding one of your thighs,, your hands desperately scratching down his back as he thrusts into you steadily-

his groans mixing in with your whimpers when he watches your body rock with his-

im sorry but him softly chuckling down at you when he watches your eyes roll back,, your hands gripping the bedsheets when he reaches his thumb down to play with your clit- this is going to turn into smut yall im sorrY-

ok but back to where we were- the old school love?? please -

like im talking about him always taking you out during the weekends, maybe even after he comes home from work,, but just

you and him walking through the park,, holding handssss :((

sharing antojitos all the time with each other,

the two of you always having the biggest heart eyes for one another,, it never fails :(

i cant- the idea of him reminiscing a whole bunch of things with you when youre both walking around

like, “mira over there by that tree,,, we shared our first kiss there when we were plebes enamorados, te recuerdas, mi amor?” :(( and just the fucking SMILE on his face when he looks over at you :((

:( him bringing your hand up to kiss it,, his other hand holding the side of your head,, his soft lovesick fucking eyes like “nunca olvides que eres mi mundo,, desde chiquillo me traes asi mija” my :((( im getting emotional

like you two would be the couple goals and the talk of the pueblo,, los pajaritos enamorados :(

listen becasue he definitely has this picture of you always with him,, taking it with him wherever he goes,,

my heart- like him talking to it before he does something,, reminding himself that everything he does is all for you,, probably kisses it like a good luck charm :((( i-

but you know what?? also being close :) to rafa:)) as well tho:)

like that scene where rafa was so excited telling miguel angel that their sinsemilla weed grew,,

and him excitedly running into your house,, his cunada :), yelling your name that your backyard is the best thing that had happened for his weed garden :))

oh my god,, if you and miguel had kids,, rafa is going to be the favorite padrino all the time with them :(( ugh

but being best friends with him makes my heart hurt,, because youre probably always telling him before he leaves with miguel angel all the time like “cuidamelo, por favor” and rafa giving you that dumbass smile he does but reassuring you-

i can definitely see you being the person behind pushing miguel angel to tell aviles about expanding into guadalajara-

not so much because you care about the lujos he wants to give you if this works out but

more so because you can see he has a bigger passion for it instead of being a cop

so youre just always reassuring him when he asks you if youre sure about this

just telling him that he should do whatever makes him happier and that youre always going to be right there with him- :((

wow but im also so emo at the thought of him giving you little updates when he starts forming all the plazas together-

just - excitement in his voice when hes talking to you because lo esta logrando,, so close to giving you the life you deserve by his side,, playing with your picture he has in his hands i :((

i just,, old miguel is just so domestic with you i go soft everytime i see him

#narcos mexico imagine #narcos mexico imagines #miguel angel felix gallardo x reader #miguel angel felix gallardo #narcos mexico #narcos: mexico

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omgrachwrites · 3 years

Text

The Princess and The Duke - Chapter Two

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: As the Princess of Spain, you were always supposed to marry King James of England to make an alliance between Spain and England. When he marries a woman at his court for love, you are married off to his best friend, Sirius Black the Duke of Bedford to keep the alliance. However, the court is riddled with secrets and a rebel in the North starts to rise against the Throne. Royal AU.

Warnings: fluff, teeny bit of angst, Spanish translated by using Google Translate :(

Words: 2431

Disclaimer(s): This gif does not belong to me and I’m so sorry if this Spanish is wrong.

Translation(s): Su Alteza, espero que su estadía haya sido placentera - Your Highness, I hope your stay has been pleasant

Si, gracias. Tu hermano es un hombre muy amable, me impresiona tu español - Yes, thank you. Your brother is a kind man, your Spanish impresses me

A/N: Again, I’m so so sorry if this Spanish is wrong! Thank you so much for all the love on this fic already! Hope you guys enjoy this part and please let me know what you think and let me know if you would like to be tagged! I love you all! xxx

Chapter Two - Flowers in Your Hair

For the first month and a half that the Spanish Princess had been at the grand chateau in the countryside outside Paris, she had brought so much warmth and light to it. Sirius used to close the heavy curtains just after the sun had set but Y/N preferred to keep them open for much longer, only closing them just before she retired to bed. All the servants seemed to be delighted, now the chateau was always full of light whether it was warm yellow sunlight or the silver shine of the moon. Sirius had never seen the moon shine quite so beautifully.

Y/N was kind to the servants and they seemed to glow from her affectionate attention, though she hardly bestowed any warmth on Sirius – she wasn’t rude or anything - but he expected that. It was why he wanted to wait a little while before they were married, Sirius hoped that they would grow to care for each other.

Sirius found her in the glass sun house, her pretty eyes fixed on a thick tome about myths and legends. He was contented with watching her for a few moments, her eyes moved across the page and she had a small smile on her face, “Your Highness,” he cleared his throat and she raised her graceful head to smile wanly at him, “I thought we might visit the village on the morrow so you can meet the townspeople.”

Y/N nodded as she played with the tresses of her hair, “I would like that, I would be happy to meet them. As long as I’m back for my siesta, I like having it beneath the apple tree.”

Sirius frowned a little as the new word rolled off her tongue; he knew that he should have learnt some Spanish in anticipation of her arrival. “I’m sorry, siesta? I’m not sure what that is,” he rubbed the back of his neck nervously and he saw the disappointment in her eyes.

“It’s a sleep in the day my dear brother,” a voice full of laughter called out. Sirius momentarily closed his eyes, fighting back a sigh as he turned to see his handsome younger brother at his side. Regulus really should have been properly announced, Sirius hated it when he just turned up like this, “and this must be the beautiful Princess Y/N,” he bowed and Y/N smiled at him graciously, “Su Alteza, espero que su estadía haya sido placentera,” he spoke in such perfect fluent Spanish that Sirius wanted to strangle him.

Y/N’s soft lips parted in surprise before she smiled and spoke back, “Si, gracias. Tu hermano es un hombre muy amable, me impresiona tu español “Yes,” Regulus grinned, reverting back to English and he clapped Sirius on the shoulder, “my dear brother is only fluent in French and English,” he laughed and Sirius felt his nostrils flare with anger but before he could remark, Y/N beat him to it.

She gave Regulus a sharp look, “I think that it’s rather impressive, I cannot speak any French,” she looked back over at Sirius and her face softened as she smiled at him.

Sirius beamed back at her, feeling his face flush with delight, Regulus held up his hands in mock defence before he backed away with a smirk on his face. Sirius smiled at Y/N as he walked towards her, “thank you, Your Highness.”

Y/N shrugged nonchalantly, “nobody – especially those in your family – can take your skills and accomplishments away from you, remember that,” she paused as she smiled prettily at him, “I think that in view of the circumstances you’d better call me Y/N,” she giggled before she glided out of the sun house, leaving behind the sweet smell of roses.

They left early the next morning and rode beneath the perfect blue sky, Sirius had decided to take her the scenic route, he was sure that she’d like it. Y/N looked exceptionally beautiful and ethereal in a dress of green silk and a garland of spring flowers in her hair. The pair of them mostly rode in silence as YN marvelled at the beautiful French countryside, her face aglow with pleasure and joy.

“France is so beautiful,” she hesitated, “from what I’ve seen of it anyway, I think that I prefer this landscape to the one in England,” she smiled at him from where she was riding on her chestnut horse.

Sirius smiled and nodded, he loved the French countryside too, it had a beauty that the English countryside couldn’t achieve, “I agree but England is beautiful in its way. I’ll show you,” Y/N smiled as her cheeks flushed with delight and she rode a little bit faster.

When they were on the outskirts of the quaint little village, Y/N dismounted and walked in on foot, leading her horse. Sirius grinned down at her before he exchanged a look with his small troupe of guards who inclined their heads at him. The Duke followed suit and walked alongside his future bride as they entered the village together. Y/N radiated warmth as the townspeople called her name; the women blew kisses while the men shouted bawdy remarks.

Sirius admired Y/N as she talked to the townspeople, any other woman would have been cold to people who were beneath her, but not Y/N. She hugged the ladies and kissed the men on the cheeks and Sirius couldn’t help but feel proud. There was a little girl who was hiding shyly behind her mother so Y/N beamed beautifully at the girl as she crouched down so she was at the child’s level.

“Hello sweetheart, what’s your name?”

“Amelia,” the girl whispered, still hiding her face.

“Amelia, it’s a pleasure to meet you, my name is Y/N.”

Amelia nodded, smiling unsurely before thrusting a bunch of daises at Y/N, “these are for you.”

Y/N gasped in delight as she took the flowers, “thank you! They’re beautiful,” she smiled as she plucked a flower before placing it amongst Amelia’s auburn curls, “there, now you have flowers in your hair.”

“Just like you!” Amelia beamed before hugging Y/N.

Y/N giggled as she hugged the little girl tight. Sirius smiled as he watched the interaction between them, she would have made an amazing Queen. Y/N seemed to charm almost everyone – some of the villagers remained stony faced – and she didn’t seem too unaffected by the villagers who didn’t seem to be impressed.

Sirius and Y/N left the village when the sun was high in the sky and the air was balmy and stifling. Sirius helped Y/N onto her horse and they rode out of town, waving goodbye to the villagers. Sirius smiled over at Y/N in pride as they rode side by side on the forest path, it had been a successful day and Y/N had done incredibly well.

“You have the knack for this kind of thing Y/N.”

The Princess smiled at him as the springtime wind blew through her hair, “for as long as I can remember I’ve always been taught to be just and fair. You can’t rule with fear, the common people will never love you if they fear you and it’s much better to be loved than feared,” she sighed wistfully and all Sirius could do was gape at her. How was she even real?

It was a pleasant ride, Y/N seemed to enjoy the sight of the dappled sunlight as it filtered through the thicket of trees and she smiled at the noise of a nearby stream. When they rode beneath the cherry blossom trees Y/N made a small sound of delight as she looked up at the pink petals.

“This is beautiful; we have nothing like this in Spain.”

“They’re cherry blossom trees; soon this whole path will be pink from the fallen petals.”

Y/N sighed happily as she glanced back up at the pretty tree, “that would be a marvel to see.”

Sirius suddenly had the burning need to see cherry blossom petals carelessly caught in her tresses. The young man flushed and willed the yearning to go away. His bride was beautiful for certain but he didn’t want to rush anything.

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

You smiled in bliss as you walked down the bright sweet smelling corridor of the beautiful French chateau, you glanced through the huge windows at the world outside and you grinned as you saw the rolling hills washed with dazzling sunlight. You could find beauty in everything when you were happy – and you were – you wouldn’t have thought it was possible for you to be happy anywhere apart from Spain. You found it easy to be happy in France, Sirius was handsome and kind and his lands were beautiful. It was like a midsummers dream in the height of springtime.

However, you couldn’t help but almost resent Sirius though you knew that it wasn’t his fault. It felt like he had stolen your birth right away from you, even though he had no say in the matter and you had never wanted to be Queen. Perhaps you felt this way was because as soon as you got married to Sirius you wouldn’t be a Princess, for the first time in your life you wouldn’t be titled as a Princess. Maybe you resented him because there was a rumour that he had bastards all over England but that was none of your business, as long as he didn’t father any when you became his wife. You understood that men had needs that women were destroyed for.

Whatever the reason, you were trying to get over it because you didn’t want a marriage that was built on resentment. You wouldn’t have a marriage like your parents. It was warm and sweet smelling when you walked into your expansive chambers and saw Sofia standing by the steaming hot bath that was full of dried rose petals and dried herbs. Sofia smiled at you, her gorgeous blue eyes sparkling and you smiled back. Sofia was your very best friend, you were going to make sure that she married well but you also wanted her to marry for love.

You got undressed and thanked her as she helped you into the boiling hot bath, it felt like heaven and you sighed in contentment as her fingers gently combed through your hair as you lay back, closing your eyes.

“Did you have a pleasant time visiting the townspeople yesterday?” Sofia asked as she washed your hair.

You smiled and nodded, remembering how handsome Sirius had looked upon his white horse. He was a complete cliché, “I did, we left for the village so early that I didn’t want to wake you,” you apologised, “I wish you could have seen it Sofia, it was so beautiful and they were so nice,” you remembered the little girl, Amelia fondly.

“You were always so good at talking and connecting with the people as I recall, I always admired that about you.”

Sofia’s words were sweet but you sighed and fiddled with a rose petal, “my father taught me when I was a little girl.”

Sofia squeezed your shoulder, “I remember, you even managed to charm my Aunt and we all know what a battle-axe she is,” she giggled, making you smile, “but you can’t blame Sirius for the fact that you’re not the Queen, you never wanted it. You need to warm to him, he’s handsome and kind, and I’m certain that he’s got no bodies in his cellar. He’s only ever welcomed us; you’re lucky Y/N.

“I know,” you muttered, bringing your legs up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them before you turned around to look at your dear friend, “I promise that I’ll find you a good man who you will love and in return he will love you.”

Sofia’s eyes teared up as her olive skin deepened with a flush, “thank you, Your Highness.”

You and Sofia both peeked round the doorframe of the study to see Remus looking at Sirius with a worried look on his face while Sirius dragged a hand through his tangled hair and pressed his fingers against his temples. Sirius had asked you if you would meet him in his study after dinner, he had some news for you and you hoped that it wasn’t anything bad. You and Sofia exchanged worried glances as you swallowed and knocked against the doorframe.

“Sirius?” you called softly, not wanting to startle him.

Sirius rubbed a hand down his face as he looked up and smiled weakly at you worry was etched into his handsome face, “Y/N,” he looked at Remus, biting his lip, “Remus can you and Lady Sofia give us a moment?” at Sirius’ request you looked at Sofia who nodded with a flush on her face.

“Of course,” Remus smiled kindly as he offered Sofia his arm and he escorted her down the corridor, you hoped that Remus would show her around the gardens. The Earl of Warwick was a nice man.

You turned to look at Sirius who looked like he was about to cry and your heart melted just a little bit as you went to him and sat opposite him, placing a gentle hand on his arm, “what happened? What’s wrong?”

Sirius smiled at you but you could see how tired he was, “King James wrote to me, there’s news of trouble brewing in the North of England, it could just be rumours,” he sighed, “or something a lot worse. James wants Remus, Peter and I to meet secretly and discuss it before he goes to his council. He trusts us more than anyone on that damned council; this will be so much easier when we’re all at court.”

“Okay,” you wondered why he was telling you this and you were struck with hope, he respected you enough to tell you his troubles and that was certainly a start.

“I want you to meet with us; we all agree that a Princess of the Castile, a daughter of a Warrior King and Queen would be very beneficial. We will make your voice heard, we’ll have to meet as soon as possible,” he smiled and you felt a floaty feeling in your chest.

He would talk to the King’s council on your behalf because you both knew that they wouldn’t listen to you. He wanted your input, he cared about what you had to say and in that moment, that was everything to you, “thank you Sirius, you don’t know how much that means to me,” you beamed and in that moment you knew that Sofia was right. You were lucky, despite your circumstances.

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

@smiithys @elayneblack @amelie-black @siriuslyjanhvi @pregnant-piggy @lindatreb @mabelle-cherie @hxrgreeves @britishspidey @mads-bri @classicrocketqueen @sxtansqueen @hufflepuffzutara @missmulti @bruxa0007

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chaoticevilbean · 3 years

Text

Voltron Humans are Weird 4/?

"What the heck, Coran?" Lance's shout echoed through the hallways. When more, less coherent shouts continued from the Blue Paladin, probably directed at Coran, the other Paladins followed the noise curiously.

In the middle of the medbay, laying on the floor, Lance was struggling to get Coran's hands off of his leg. The Altean seemed to be trying to drag the boy into a healing pod, only stopped by the death grip the human had on a nearby table. It was definitely a good thing all the tables were magnetized to the floor to avoid movement.

"Coran, I told you, I'm fine!" Lance screamed at the alien. "I don't need a healing pod!"

"You shouted gibberish and didn't react to something shocking!" Coran countered. "For you, that's all that is needed to warrant at least a scan!"

"That was one time! We were in the middle of a battle!"

"You didn't come in afterwards!"

"REFUGEES NEED IT MORE THAN ME!"

"YOU ARE A PALADIN! YOU ARE DEFINITELY IMPORTANT ENOUGH AND YOU WERE DEFINITELY INJURED ENOUGH TO WARRANT PRIORITY!"

"GUYS!" Shiro hollered over the two of them. The duo froze, staring at the Black Paladin. Both seemed extremely hopeful that he would support their side of the argument. "What is going on? Lance first, mostly because this might be another 'humans can do weird things'."

"Coran and I were just cleaning the healing pods, and you're not supposed to keep using one of the rags if it gets to a certain level of dirty. So, I'm over here," Lance pointed to the left-most side, "Coran's over there," he pointed to the right, "and he's got the bucket we're supposed to put the rags in when they're done. And I just finished my rag, and I don't want to walk all the way over there, then all the way back, just to put it in the bucket. So I ball it up, toss it into the bucket from where I'm sitting, and shout, 'Kobe!' Coran turns right as this happens, and his eyes went all wide, then the next thing I know, he's tackling me and demanding I go into the healing pod."

"Coran, what's your side of the story?"

"Why aren't you questioning his side?" Coran asked instead.

"What d'you mean?"

"He claims to have thrown something from there to there and hit his target," the Altean gestured as he spoke, "and says he shouted some form of gibberish as he did, and you aren't challenging it."

"Well, sure, it's a bit hard to believe someone made that shot, but Lance has good aim. And 'Kobe' is what some people shout when they throw and make the shot. It isn't that strange."

"So Lance has been trained in throwing?"

"... I'm beginning to think this is something that has to do with us being humans and you being Altean."

"What is this about throwing?" Allura walked into the room, pausing to give both Coran and Lance an appraising look.

"OF COURSE!" Pidge yelled suddenly. The entire group turned to stare at her, confused. Seeing this, she launched into an explanation.

"We've already learned that humans are a lot different than most aliens, maybe all. We have high tolerances to things that are considered deadly, we adapt to new environments and temperatures with ease, we literally consider living with other predators that aren't sentient to be completely normal. It would make sense that Alteans..." Pidge paused for the drama, "...are like primates." Lance, Hunk, and Keith all let out noises of understanding, though Shiro, Allura, and Coran remained confused. Lance clicked his tongue, ignoring the weird looks he got from his alien peers, and instead started his own explanation.

"In the Garrison, we had an entire biology unit dedicated to the fact that humans are extremely unique compared to Earth animals. One of the biggest discussion topics was the one about how primates, our closest biological counterparts, can't throw things very well. But humans..." Lance stopped, jerking his leg from Coran's grasp, and stood. He grabbed a small roll of bandages, then turned sharply.

"Catch!" Hunk caught the roll, tossing it to Shiro quickly. The leader snatched it from the air on reflex, chucking it at Keith's head, who then lobbed it at Pidge. The motions quickly escalated into a game of hot potato, though there was no timer. Lance almost dropped the bandages when Hunk faked throwing it at Shiro again, before instead flinging it towards his buddy. The Cuban caught it with his foot, bouncing it up into his hands and launching it back at his bro.

The Alteans watched on, frozen in abject shock. They had been so sure that most of the Paladins had never completed their training, but here they saw that the humans could throw with extreme speed and precision. If it was something they all could do, then it was no wonder Shiro didn't question Lance's accuracy.

"When did you all learn to throw?"

"Two! Booyah!" Lance cheered as he flung the roll into the bin where it was meant to be.

"You are very skilled for having learned two decaphoebs ago. Or rather, less than two, given your strange times," Coran praised. The humans shared weird looks with each other, preparing themselves for what was about to happen.

"Um, Coran," the Blue Paladin began. "I didn't learn two decaphoebs or two years ago."

"Then what did you mean by two?" Allura inquired, curiosity piqued.

"I learned when I was two years old."

"You learned... how to throw... with speed and accuracy... at less than two decaphoebs old?"

"Yep. It's a little early, but my brothers wanted me to start practicing so I could join some sports when I grew up. Probably why I'm the sharpshooter now."

"How do you say that so casually?" Allura demanded. "It takes decaphoebs of experience to learn to throw with even a little accuracy. Alteans and Galrans can throw with some speed because of our strength, but even then, we cannot throw much more than a few meters. Coran can throw due to practicing since he began his training, but he misses a quarter of the time."

"Well, humans have the natural ability to throw with a bit of speed and accuracy, and we have a lot of activities that are based on that fact. Sports like basketball, baseball, football, ultimate frisbee, all of them require being able to throw. I learned to throw better at a younger age, but things like a simple game of catch is pretty simple. What we just did was easy because we aren't that far from each other and there are only so many directions that we'll aim for." Hunk shrugged as he finished his answer. He had been the most involved in that unit of the Garrison.

"You all can throw because of biology? Not training?"

"I mean, if we want to throw better, we still have to practice, but yeah, that's the basics of it all. Watch. Lance, go long!" Hunk tugged off his shoe, waited for his bro to reach a certain spot, then hurled it through the air. With a small jump, the Cuban caught the shoe and threw it at the ground.

"WOOHOO! I LOVE THIS DAY!"

"Lance enjoys catching and throwing things more than a lot of activities. Do it enough and he's basically a dog. I once literally played a game of fetch with him because he was having a depressed day. Perked right up and I could barely keep up for the rest of the day."

"Perhaps we should include throwing in our training, then," Coran suggested. The next moment, the Altean was receiving a hug from behind as Lance laughed ecstatically.

"¡Gracias, gracias, gracias!"

"What?"

"He's saying thank you. Lance, let go and I'll find a stick for you."

"Puedo ser humano, pero mi alma es un perro."

"Si hermano. Now let go of Coran." Lance did so, racing out of the room with Hunk trailing afterwards. Pidge and Keith followed, wanting to see if their comrade would actually play fetch with a stick, and Shiro hesitated before tagging along, not keen on an actual injury happening.

"Coran, I believe it is yet again time to update the guide."

"Indeed."

Humans have the ability to throw with amazing speed and accuracy, developed from a young age. They are born with a larger natural aptitude for throwing, and improve upon it as they mature. If the word 'Kobe' is heard, assume that a Terran has thrown an object and most likely hit their target. Some humans enjoy throwing and catching objects more than is considered usual. These humans are likely to be more proficient at throwing, and should be given many opportunities to practice their skills.

Terrans also sometimes participate in competitive games called 'sports' or simple recreational games called 'catch'. These are based off their throwing abilities, and often including passing a specific item between players via throwing. Do not get directly between two or more players, as, while humans will often change their targets, they may be attempting a pass at that moment and the speed at which they throw could cause physical harm. Do not distract a player for this same reason.

Both Alteans and Galrans would need to train for over twenty decaphoebs to be at the same skill level as many mature humans are naturally. For an example of this, a clip is included of the Paladins of Voltron, who are all Terran, playing a game of 'catch'.

#voltron #vld #voltron oneshots #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #humans are weird oneshots #earth is space australia #oneshots

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bumbleberrysky · 4 years

Text

alexa, play candyshop (bass boosted) | 04

pairing: gabriel x reader genre: soulmate au, canon divergent around s13, hurt/comfort, humour, future smut (probs) wc: 3k rating: sfw warnings: none really

You knew there was a reason some divine power brought you to the Winchesters all those years ago, but to this day you still have no idea what that reason is. It’s something you’re destined to find out soon though, especially when you return to the bunker after months away and find not only a new face, but one that belongs to someone who up until that point you’d thought was dead. What does his return have to do with the changes you’re suddenly experiencing in yourself? Will you finally find out the reason you’d been brought here in the first place? Maybe… Chuck works in mysterious ways after all.

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“Alright, Jack, I’m going to show you something really important, something you can’t tell anyone about. Not even Dean. Alright?”

The blonde before you hastily nods, eyes wide as he gives you his whole attention. It’s almost childlike, the way he puts everything he has into every activity he does—even nodding to show you he’s listening to what you’re saying.

You know that he is being truthful, and that if you ask him he won’t tell a soul, but for effect you keep your eyes trapping his own, just for a few moments longer. When you’ve ‘deemed’ him trustworthy enough, you let your expression drop into a smile and you smack your hand affectionately against his bicep.

“Great! I knew I could trust you. To be honest, you can maybe tell the others, but definitely not Dean. If Dean finds out…” you make a solemn face. “This whole operation will go down in flames. Got it?”

“Yes, I understand.” Jack says, fidgeting on the spot—he’s curious about what you’re going to show him, you can tell from the way every so often his eyes will flit about, searching the room behind you for something that might give away what you’re talking about. He gives you a bright grin, as though to show that he is ready.

“Excellent,” you say, clasping your hands together. “Follow me.”

You turn and begin moving over to the corner of the room, knowing without even having to check that Jack is following you—like a little duckling, if memory serves you right. You’ve only known him a few days but you know for sure that if anything happened to him you would be killing everyone in this bunker and then yourself. Rosa Diaz has it right.

“Alright, pass me that chair.” As soon as you come to a stop in the corner of the room, you instruct the young Nephilim following you. Without question, he does as you say and retrieves the chair sitting against the wall by a shelf loaded with obscure occult ‘weapons’. The armory is always something that amazes and confuses you with its contents.

The chair drags with a light squeak across concrete floor as you position it where you need it, wasting no time in hiking a leg up and climbing onto the seat. You know what you’re doing, but Jack doesn’t and your sudden movement must startle him a little because you feel him grip your legs by your knees and exclaim loudly.

“Ah, y/n! Be careful!”

You look down at him, unable to help the trickle of fondness that curls into your smile.

“Thanks for spotting me, Jack—don’t worry though, I’m a professional. I do this often.” You lean down to pat his hand and after giving you a slightly concerned look, he slowly releases his supporting grip.

“It’s up here,” you continue, before he gets too distracted. Your hands reach for the grate of the vent that sits high on the wall, almost touching the corner and the ceiling. It’s only around medium size, big enough for you to fit most body parts in but definitely not your body as a whole. It’s only really tacked in, the screws barely securing the metal to the wall. It takes almost no effort to remove it and pass it down to Jack to hold.

“Behold, sweet boy,” you say with a certain air of grandeur and flair, “My personal stash of sweets and goodies.”

Whatever was left of Jack’s concerned look from earlier is quickly wiped clean off his face to make room for the excitement that rises at your words. His brows unfurrow, shooting high as he attempts to peer into the vent.

“You have a stash of sweets?” He asks, almost in awe. “How did you build it so quickly? Haven’t you only been here a little over a week?”

“I’ve had this here for years,” you say, pretending that your words don’t make you cringe a little. Some of the stuff in there… might be a little out-of-date. “Say, you ever tried a kinder surprise? Or a Bueno bar? Or Tim Tams?”

Jack shakes his head, still clutching the grate in his hands. “Are they very good?”

“Very good?!” you echo, letting out a noise that even to your ears sounds a little crazy. “Dude, they’re amazing. Delicious. Fantastic. They’ll change your life.”

With each word that escapes your mouth, you sell Jack a little more on the idea. He’s almost vibrating on the spot by the time you’re done, hands fidgeting as he bounces on the balls of his feet every few seconds. “Do you have some, y/n? May… may I try some?”

“Of course, Jack— mi casa es su casa. Except, this is more of a top-secret stash than a house. Gimme a sec, I’ll fish some out for you.”

You turn then, careful not to wobble the chair, and go on your tippy-toes to reach your arm into the vent, the other bracing you against the wall. A part of you was worried after hearing Sam’s account of what happened to his own stash of sweets, but to your complete and utter relief there is still a hefty pile sitting half a foot back from the opening of the vent. You dig around a bit, searching for an egg shape or even a bar. The chocolates you mentioned to him should be safe, since you’d only added them somewhat recently. No risk of poisoning the half-angel today!

“Damn it, where are those stupid eggs,” you mutter to yourself as you search the pile, almost grasping something you think might be what you’re looking for only for it to slip away from your fingertips. You let out a huff, but freeze a moment later in delight as you grab a handful of something familiar. Your arm retracts before you can lose it again in your pile.

“Alright, here we a—woAH JESUS! Oh my god!”

As you’d turned around, expecting to see Jack standing in anticipation by the side of the chair, your eyes caught on something that most definitely wasn’t there before. In the split-second it takes for you to recognise the figure leaning against the shelf of weapons, you get so badly startled that before you know it your balance is compromised and you’re teetering on the verge of falling off the chair.

“y/n!” Jack exclaims in worry, lurching forward to grab your legs and stabilise you again. “Are you okay?”

“G-Gabriel,” you manage to choke out around the heart that leapt into your throat from the fright of nearly falling, looking over the nephilim’s shoulder. “Hello, didn’t—didn’t see you there. Holy shit.”

His face is somewhat blank, but if you look closer you swear you can see a hint of amusement cross his features. He is still in the rags and still somewhat dirty, since he won’t let anyone come near him and he still hasn’t got enough juice to clean himself. It makes something in your chest twinge but you refuse to give it the mental screentime it demands.

“Oh, Uncle Gabriel,” Jack turns and greets, pleasantly surprised to see his uncle out and about. Nowhere near as surprised as you, however, who honestly didn’t think Gabriel would be leaving his room for a few weeks at least. “I am glad to see you are well enough to walk about. What brings you here?”

As expected, Gabriel says nothing—his eyes do, however, betray him when they flit in a squirrely manner from Jack to the overflowing handful of chocolates you have in your hand.

“You came for the sweets?” you query, brows drawing together in confusion. “But how did you—”

You stop yourself mid-sentence, realisation washing over you. “Ah… the vents. You probably heard us.”

Not a word, but the archangel does shrug slightly, gaze flitting away, and you know you must be correct. Jack turns his head back to you, expression confused but mixed in with something else—does he want you to do something? You catch on quickly to the imploring glint in his eyes.

“Here, there’s more than enough—Jack, take one of each and then pass the rest to Gabriel. And if either of you hear Dean, tell me or else this hiding spot will be compromised. If Dean finds out I have a stash of chocolate, it’s game over.”

Jack, as he had done before, nods seriously and carefully takes the handful of chocolates from you. He picks out one of each and places it on the chair by your feet, before tentatively passing the rest to Gabriel.

You hadn’t been sure whether he was actually going to take the sweets or not, but to your surprise he does. With hands that shake ever so slightly, he moves the wrapped goodies from his nephew’s hands to his own, offering the briefest smile to the two of you. And then he is bringing his hands to his chest and turning, making his exit from the room at a pace that is somewhere between hasty and cautious. By the time of your next blink, he is gone and you’re left reeling at the experience.

“I’m not going crazy, right?” you turn your gaze down to Jack, continuing when he meets your eyes. “Gabriel was just here?”

“He was,” Jack confirms, simultaneously relieving and confusing you. “He wanted some sweets, I think.”

“Huh,” you say, because you can’t think of anything else. After a moment, you blink yourself out of your thoughts and return to the original reason you’d brought the young man here.

“Anyway, go ahead and try those! Tell me which one you like most, and I’ll get more out for you.”

Jack doesn’t need to be told twice; he’s diving for the sweets he’d stored on the chair and tearing into the first one he can get his hands on before you’re even finished talking. Within split-seconds he has it in his mouth and he’s giving you a wide-eyed look.

“y/n, this is so good!”

He is definitely not wrong. Smiling, you reach up and attempt to retrieve more of the one in his hand to restock him.

“I know right?! Just wait until you try the other ones.”

x x

You’d thought it earlier, but it becomes more apparent now that just as you’d figured, something had changed in Gabriel the other day.

Now, don’t get it wrong—he is still quiet and refuses to speak most of the time, and most of his day is spent within the confines of his room, but lately… he’s begun to sneak out a bit more.

Well, sneak maybe has a little bit of a negative connotation. He’s allowed to be out of his room, of course. It’s just that he’s so quiet and quick that sneaking is the only fitting term you can think of for the way he slinks silently through the bunker.

The idle thought crossed your mind at some point that maybe he just wants to be a part of it all, even for a brief moment, and even if it just means he hovers on the outskirts of the room instead of actually joining in.

Sometimes you’ll come out in the morning and find him curled on one of the plush chairs in the library, hidden behind one of the bookshelves. Other times he might wander into a room when the occupants are in the middle of something, whether that be researching, playing a game, watching something, or even arguing. Actually, he probably shows up most often for the latter. Stirring the pot was his specialty back when, and it seems a pot ready to bubble over is something he is naturally drawn back to as he starts to feel a little more like himself.

Most of the times you've spotted him at the periphery of the room, it's been bickering that has, admittedly, more often than not started at your hands. It’s not your fault! For two brother’s who have literally survived several almost-apocalypses, the Winchesters are awfully easy to tease. Sometimes you give Jack or Mary a few proverbial pokes, but you don’t really have the heart to follow through for very long. The guilt you feel when you rile up Sam and Dean is minimal, but when you start to stir up anyone else in the bunker you feel guilty after about five seconds of it.

Today’s victim is, as often happens to be the case, Dean. Sometimes you seek him out if you’re in a particularly bastardous mood, but today he happened to walk in front of your crosshairs of his own accord. Wrong place, wrong time.

“I’m just saying,” you struggle to keep a straight face as you speak. You can see the red beginning to colour the tips of Dean’s ears and know that you’re getting to him, as much as he is trying not to let it show. “The bacon that you used for that burger… I think it was the one that was out of date.”

“No way,” Dean denies immediately. “I checked the dates, this was from the good packet.”

“Where was it?” you ask him, raising a brow and crossing your arms. He stills for a moment as he attempts to recall which portion of the fridge the bacon was residing in.

“Left side, towards the front.” He finally informs you, looking proud of himself. You lean back in your chair, wincing at him.

“Dude… that was the out-of-date one.” You shake your head, giving him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry to tell you, but you’re gonna be super sick later.”

Now, the thing about this argument is that there was no out-of-date bacon that he could have used. You threw it out the other day. But, he doesn’t know that. And if you can convince him that the burger he is more than halfway through was made with funky meat, then you bet his reaction is gonna be really funny.

Dean throws an accusing finger in your direction, scowling. His ears tinge a little more red. “Stop gaslighting me, twinkletoes! I know which bacon I used!”

“Yeah,” you say, gesturing vaguely. “The out-of-date one.”

Dean doesn’t believe you, of course, but you do catch him giving the burger in his hold a cursory glance. He huffs a breath out of his nose.

“If it’s out of date, then why does it still taste so good?” Dean says, with all the gusto of someone who’d just said something worthy of a mic drop. His free hand even moves to his hip, and one of his brows raises at you while his lips purse.

You shrug, resting your legs on the corner of the table and crossing one over the other. The corner stabs into you when you slip slightly and prompts a readjustment. “I don’t know, man. You eat a lot of shit so it could just be that you’re accustomed to funky-tasting food.”

For a moment he appears like he wants to refute what you said, but he seems to think better of it as he, presumably, recalls the meals he’d had as of late. His lips are still pursed as he stares at you for a second with narrowed eyes, the cogs visibly turning in his head.

“You know what,” he begins, sounding a little testy. You pause for a moment, though, as you detect something else in his tone. “Why don’t we bet on it if you’re so sure? Loser has to do the other’s chores for a week.”

“Deal,” you say immediately, without even entertaining the possibility of losing. You presume that he’s just going to judge this on whether or not he gets food poisoning later (which you can easily interfere with; there are a number of things in the bunker that are good for upsetting a stomach), and aren’t too worried. That changes in the next second when you see him turn and make his way to the bin where the bacon packaging no doubt resides. You scramble into a sitting position, dread already creeping into your bones as you realise you’re about to be found out. Damn it, you already hate the chores you have when you’re here, you don’t want to do Dean’s as well!

You make a face as he finally reaches the bin, reaching in to procure the packaging from the top.

“HAH, see! Best by—”

You blink as he halts suddenly in his reading, the red fading from his ears and making way for a green hue to wash over his face.

“Oh. Oh god.” He says, much softer than his earlier proclamation. He drops the packaging back in the bin, and the remains of his burger follow suit in the next heartbeat. He straightens, but doesn’t meet your eyes.

One of his hands comes to place over his stomach, his features twisting. “I’ll… be right back.”

And then he is using his long legs to his advantage and striding out of the room faster than you can comment. You’re left there reeling, alone in the kitchen.

“What the fuck,” you whisper to yourself, confused beyond belief. By all means, he should have read a date that was still safe. Unless you threw out the wrong bacon. But you’d been sure to check which you were throwing out when you did it, so there’s no way—

Your frantic inner monologue is cut off by the soft sound of shuffling on the outskirts of the room. You turn to investigate, and to your surprise catch sight of Gabriel quietly slinking to the door from the corner of the kitchen. He pauses like he feels the weight of your gaze on him, and turns to face you just slightly.

You’re too surprised to even say anything in greeting, and that proves to be the case especially in the next moment when the archangel offers you a brief wink and then turns back the way he is facing, disappearing from the kitchen and leaving you truly alone this time.

It takes a second for the dots to connect in your head, but when they do you can’t help the surprised laugh that leaps from you.

Gabriel had just saved your ass from doing extra chores for a week.

You’d have to slip him some of your stash as a thanks.

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javier-djarin · 3 years

Note

XIV and XIII with Javi !

Too Far Gone

A Javier Peña One Shot

Ship: Javi x Reader

Rating: M

Word Count: 2,226 words

Warnings: Language, Violence, Soft!Javi

Masterlist

Summary: Javi begins to spiral after a series of bad events. You come to his rescue, hoping you aren’t too late and you can bring back your Javi.

A/N: This one is a little more serious, but it was so much fun to explore Javi this way! I hope you enjoy it, Anon!! Thank you for the support and love!!! Spanish translations are at the bottom, and please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

Prompt 13: “Can you blame me?”

Prompt 14: “Stop trying to save me!”

Javier Peña was never one to fall for just one woman. He loved women too much to deprive them all of everything that was him. However, when she showed up in Colombia as his and Steve Murphy’s new partner, his world was completely turned upside down. She was everything: beautiful, funny, intelligent. Perfect. And for months she wanted nothing to do with him. She could smell the trouble on him from over a mile away. But that only made him want her even more. Now he knew there was only one girl for him, and that girl was you.

Despite how you honestly felt about him, you had made it a strict rule to not date your co-workers; especially your partners. However, after working a long night, and several glasses of whiskey and wine between the two of you, one thing led to another. You remembered it well and could definitively say it was the best sex you’d ever had. After about a week of unbearable sexual tension, Steve forced the two of you to sit down and figure it out. Of course, that led to more sex, and an eventual relationship that evolved into more. You both lived in pure bliss to the point that Steve gagged at the thought of going on stakeouts with you. That was until Carrillo was murdered.

His death changed everything. Javier became more distant. He stopped talking to you about a lot of things, blocked Steve out, and started going off on his own. You knew that he was hurting, blaming himself for what happened, but it was taking a toll on you. You had confronted him about his behavior, and it was almost like he didn’t care anymore. Things with Escobar weren’t getting any easier, and you couldn’t keep putting yourself through this with Javi anymore. After he had gone missing for days, you told him it was over. It was the hardest thing you’d ever done, but you just couldn’t do it anymore. That’s when Javi spiraled. He had nothing left to lose and could go “all in” to stop Escobar.

Javi had been gone for several hours when you walked over to his desk. Steve looked at you with dead eyes as you thumbed through his things. “What are you doing?” he asked, even though it was obvious he didn’t care.

“He’s been gone for six hours. I’m going to look through his shit for a clue,” you said as you flipped through some notes he’d left.

Steve sighed and put down the file he was reading. “Trujillo!” he exclaimed.

The officer reluctantly left his desk and walked over to them. “What?”

“Peña tell you where he was going?” Steve asked.

Trujillo let out a deep breath and looked at you. He could see the worry on your face. Despite the fact that you had ended things with Javi, you still worried about him; you still cared. “He didn’t want me to tell you,” he said.

“Where is he Trujillo?” you snapped.

“He had a meeting with some new contact. They had information for him about the location of La Quica.”

Your head quickly turned to look at Steve, who was already standing. “And he was just going to do this on his own?”

Trujillo shrugged and turned back to his desk, but you walked over and stopped him. “Where?” you growled.

“A café. I don’t know where.”

“I know where,” Steve said, grabbing his jacket and keys.

You followed after him, almost running to his Jeep. “He’s going to get himself killed,” you said to him.

Steve nodded and started the Jeep. “I know, but I’m afraid that’s what he wants.”

You cursed under your breath, counting the seconds until you pulled up to a seedy cafe about twenty minutes from the station. Javi was sitting at a booth with a large man in deep conversation. Frowning, you walked right up to him, ignoring Steve’s plea to wait. “What the fuck, Javi!” You exclaimed, standing in front of him.

The man sitting across from him grinned and gazed at you. “¿Quién es esta belleza?”

Javi glared at him and sneered. “Puedes olvidarlo, Berna.”

“¿Ella es tuya?” He chuckled and took a bite of his dinner while looking at you.

Javi glanced up at you with sad, dark eyes. It was obvious he hadn’t slept in a long time. You reached out and touched his cheek, running your thumb across it. “Javi,” you whispered, “come home.”

He took your hand off his face and turned back to Berna. “No,” he replied.

His answer stung you, but he wasn’t wrong. You were over, but it didn’t hurt any less. You looked back at Steve, who was waiting patiently by the door. He shrugged at you and maintained his post. Javi gave Berna his full attention as he got the location of one of Escobar’s men that could lead to La Quica. They shook hands and Javi stood to leave. You followed closely behind him until you were outside, when he spun around on both you and Steve. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he growled.

“What the fuck are you doing with Berna?” you asked. “Don’t tell me you’re with Los Pepes.”

He frowned and glared at you and then at Steve. “Get her out of here,” he said.

“Can’t do that, Jav. We’re here to take you back to the station before you do something stupid,” he replied, crossing his arms.

He shook his head and turned to leave, but you reached out and grabbed his hand to stop him. He froze in place but didn’t turn to look at you. “Please, Javi,” you begged, “let’s go back and plan our next move together.”

“I can’t do that, Hermosa,” he whispered.

You felt the anger burning in your chest at his stubbornness. “You’re going to get yourself killed if you keep this up!”

He spun around, his brows pushed together. “Yeah? Well, if it happens, it happens. That’s the price I pay for following these leads.”

You knew he felt guilty about what happened to Carrillo, but now you knew why he was out here doing things alone. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake again, but you knew how to play his game. “Fine,” you said, “then, if this is how we’re going to do things, I’ll go out and find my own leads too. Start working on my own.”

You moved to walk away, but he stopped you. “Are you out of your mind?”

“What? If it’s good for you, then it’s good for me too!” You inched forward and stood toe to toe with him.

“Dammit,” he breathed, “the only way I can keep everyone safe is if I do it my way.”

You shook your head. “Javi, no. It is not your job to keep us safe. We signed up for this. This is our job!”

He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair. “Carrillo didn’t sign up for what happened to him.”

“Jav, come on…” Steve trailed off, clueless on what to say.

“No, Steve,” he said, “now, get her out of here.” You stamped your foot, like a child, which got Javier’s attention. “Seriously?”

“I’m not leaving here without you. I’m not about to watch you throw your life away because of one mistake!”

He frowned even more at you. “Why do you care so much? It’s my decision. It’s my life to throw away. I don’t have anything left to lose, so stop trying to save me!”

“I wouldn’t have to if you got your head out of your ass, Javier!” You exclaimed. “Maybe if you woke up and realized the whole reason I’m here is because I still love you and can’t bear the thought of you going on suicide missions.”

He shook his head in disbelief and turned to leave. “Get her out of here, Steve,” he called over his shoulder.

You followed after him. “No, you don’t get to walk off this time,” you continued, “despite what you want to believe, I do love you. It killed me leaving you, but I had to. I couldn’t stay with someone on a self destructive path, but I realize you’re hurting. You’re grieving with the loss, with the mistake. Don’t block us out, Javi. We are your partners and want to be there for you.”

He stopped at his Jeep, looking at your reflection in the glass. He didn’t want to admit that he still loved you too, and that’s why he had to do this. But, your admission made it harder to continue telling you no. “Why?” he muttered.

“Why what?”

He took a deep breath and turned to look at you. “Why do you still love me?”

You were taken aback by his question, almost like you expected him to know the answer. “Because,” you started, “you’re selfless.”

He huffed and shook his head.

“You are, and you’re generous, protective.”

“So are dogs,” he replied, “so replace me with one of those while I’m off on my ‘suicide missions.’” He grabbed a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one.

“I’m not done!” you continued, frowning at him. “You can make me laugh like no one else. You trust me and the decisions I make, even if you don’t agree with them. You discovered a part of me that I never knew existed. I love you simply because you love me, Javier, and if you go don’t come back, I won’t know how to cope with it.”

The corners of his mouth twitched a little at you. “You’re too stubborn for your own good.”

“I’m being serious,” you said, getting angrier at him, “I’m tired of watching you run off, not knowing if you’re going to come back. So, please, I am begging you to stop this and come back to the office with us! Come back before you really do lose everything.”

“Hermosa,” he whispered, reaching out for you, but then retracting.

“No, Javi,” you continued, “reach out and touch me. Talk to me.”

He shook his head. “Everyone around me ends up dead,” he softly added, “it’s better to keep you at arm’s length.”

You growled and stormed away from him. He watched you walk away, heart broken yet again. He knew this pain was his own doing. He turned and unlocked his Jeep, but felt a strong hand on his shoulder. “You really are an idiot,” Steve said.

“Can you blame me?” he mumbled. “Driving her away will keep her safe.”

Steve rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I take that back; you’re an asshole. You’re only going to drive her insane, that’s what you’re going to do. She’s going to follow after you every time you do this now, putting her in even more danger.”

He sighed and flicked his cigarette butt into the street. He glanced between his best friend and the one woman he loved who was leaning against their Jeep wiping tears from her eyes. His heart wrenched as he saw her’s breaking before him. His feet were moving before he noticed it as he slowly walked over to you. You used the palm of your hand to wipe away the tear rolling down your cheek. He grabbed your arm and pulled you towards him, enveloping you in his body. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered into your hair.

“You won’t if you just let me in,” you softly replied.

He held you tighter. “I’m so sorry.” His hand rested under your chin as he pulled your face up to his.

“Don’t be,” you muttered. “You’re hurting.”

He pulled your face closer and kissed you softly. “Thank you for loving me, even when I drive you insane.”

You grinned and kissed him again. He wrapped his arms around you, lifting you off the ground a little. Your hands ran through his hair, playing with the curls at the base of his neck. Steve walked up from behind and gagged, breaking you apart. “Can you at least do this at your Jeep, Jav, so I can leave?” He chided.

You smiled and leaned against his chest. “We’ll see you back at the station,” you chuckled.

Javier turned to look at him. “Call Martinez. Tell him he’s going to want to hear this,” he grinned.

Steve curled his lip and looked between the two of you. “I don’t think he will.”

“The lead, asshole,” Javi stressed, “what Berna told me. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

He chuckled and moved past both of you to get into the car. “Glad to have you back, Jav,” he added, “I’ll see you later.”

He pulled away and you leaned into Javi’s side, walking to his Jeep with his arm around you. You slid into the passenger seat and waited for him to join you in the car. You watched as he glanced back at the café. Berna was just leaving, and he smiled, waving at him. Javi nodded and hopped into the driver’s seat. He leaned over to kiss you again before resting his hand on your thigh and driving off towards the station. He wasn’t completely back to being your Javi. He’d traveled far down this path of self destruction, but at least you knew he wasn’t too far gone.

Translations

¿Quién es esta belleza? - Who is this beauty?

Puedes olvidarlo, Berna. - You can forget it, Berna.

¿Ella es tuya? - Is she yours?

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dcbicki · 3 years

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holding my breath for you (crowd my grave)

A Rick/Harley fix-it fic • Chapter 1/?

To say he’s surprised to see Harley Quinn standing in the doorway of his shabby, middle-of-nowhere motel, in shredded jean shorts and heart-rimmed sunglasses, would be a serious fucking understatement. And it’s not because it’s one o’clock in the morning and the sun went down hours ago.

“How the hell did you find me?”

She shrugs, picking at a long thread on her jacket, “I know people.”

Rating: T/M • Characters: Harley Quinn, Rick Flag, and mentions of others • Read on AO3 or below the cut

“I think I just walked in on someone screwin’ a goat.”

To say he’s surprised to see Harley Quinn standing in the doorway of his shabby, middle-of-nowhere motel, in shredded jean shorts and heart-rimmed sunglasses, would be a serious fucking understatement. And it’s definitely not because it’s one o’clock in the goddamn morning and the sun went down hours ago.

“How the hell did you find me?”

The blonde shrugs, picking at a long thread on her jacket. “I know people.”

“Better people than mine, apparently,” Rick rasps, and he runs a hand through damp hair. Thankfully he’d managed to trade in the towel for sweatpants before she’d started pounding on the door. “So much for flying under Waller’s radar.”

“Nah, you’re good,” Harley says, and the sunglasses slide down the bridge of her nose when she dips her head to shoot him a devilish look, single brow raising, “I promise she don’t know I’m here.” Suddenly there’s a hand in his face and she’s wiggling her right pinkie finger as if that'll prove anything.

She taps one foot against the carpeted floor then, toe of her boot crossing the threshold, and Rick has decided she reminds him of a vampire; one covered in sparkles and tattoos with a pink, fluffy duffle-bag dangling from her fingertips, but a bloodsucker all the same. “Ya gonna invite a girl in or what?”

“You plan on telling me what you’re doin’ here first?” he asks, but then he’s moving out of the way so she can duck under his arm and enter. Harley breezes past him, tossing her bag somewhere across the room, and she plops herself down into the old, worn leather seat by the television. There’s some Spanish soap opera playing to itself on the screen.

“Mi casa es su casa… and all that.” Flag grumbles, pulling the door to a close behind her—but not before shooting a quick look out over her shoulder towards the parking lot. He locks it, then turns and presses his back up against it, hands on his hips.

“You can stop looking so constipated, Flag, I told ‘ya. I’m off the grid myself these days.” She taps the side of her neck twice. “The old dragon lady ain’t coming for either of us.”

“Right.” A nod, then, “Dubois told me about that.” The deal. The squad forcing Waller to meet them halfway and offer freedom in exchange for silence.

(He hadn’t exactly been shocked to find out Dubois was still in possession of the drive. It was a smart move; not the best one, or the right one, and it was a far cry from the one Rick had fucking died trying to pull, but not everybody lived by a code of honor. He couldn’t blame the rest of the team for following suit.)

“Milton knew?! He knew where you were this whole time and didn’t tell me? That mother fucka!” She grits her teeth, nails strumming atop the television cabinet.

(He doesn’t ask about Milton. It’d probably be a long, convoluted story and he’s not exactly in the mood for one of Harley Quinn and her gift of gab. Not that he has much of a choice right now...)

“Now you wanna tell me what you’re doin’ here?”

Ignoring him, Harley takes in her surroundings, chewed-end of her plastic sunglasses between her teeth as she eyes the dingy room. It’s cramped for sure, dull magnolia paint is chipping off the walls, and there’s a queen-sized bed with crumpled up grey sheets and three flat pillows, a sign of recent use. Odd number, Harley notes. Would four kill them?

The little washroom is beside the dresser, and there’s a towel hanging from the bathroom doorknob, wet footprints still clear on the tiled floor. It’s only then that she looks up and realizes he’s shirtless. Oh.

“This place got food? I could so do with a burrito right about now.”

(A place this rundown probably doesn’t even have a cleaning crew, much less any other kind of service. Although, there was half a pack of mints beside the sink when Rick first rented the room so does that count?)

(He’s not ashamed to say he finished them off.)

“I got whiskey and half an eggroll, that do ‘ya?” Rick quips, and there’s a smirk starting on his lips.

He’s still waiting for an explanation as to why the hell she’s here, how the hell she’s here, and what the fuck she thinks she’s doing by checking up on him in the first place. He’s supposed to be laying low—supposed to be dead—and she’s supposed to be free. Or at least as free as someone like her can get, which probably isn’t very free at all.

But there’s something off about her whole demeanor, something decidedly un-Harley, and the man can’t help but feel like he’s just waiting for something. Whether it’s one of Waller’s goons bursting through the door, or Harley herself finishing the job or, hell, Harley breaking down (and God, he hopes it’s not that), he’s not sure. He’s not great with emotions. And she’s without a doubt the most expressive person he’s ever had the (dis)pleasure of knowing.

“Hi, Harley. You know, I’m doing pretty good after havin’ my heart practically ripped apart by a fuckin’ toilet seat. How ‘bout you?” She lowers her voice as if to match the bass in his own and goddamnit he finds it charming.

(He doesn’t have the heart to correct her.)

“You know, a little heads-up that you weren’t DOA might’ve been nice, Colonel.”

“Wasn’t exactly high on my priority list,” he informs her, voice dipping as he nods, slow. “Staying alive kinda won that round. You know, ‘cause of the shit jammed in my chest.”

“They said it came out the other side, ‘ya know. My guys. Wanted to see for myself.” She stands up then and walks to him until she’s about four inches away from his face, taking in the long gash above when his heart lies. “I’m thinkin’ they lied though because that don’t look too deep to me.”

“Yep. Not much to see.” He shrugs, heavy as though there’s weight on his shoulders, casting a glance down at his chest when she raises a hand. She doesn’t touch him; just lets her fingers dance in the air above the skin. “Sorry to disappoint, Doc.”

The scar runs right down the middle of his chest. From left collarbone to navel; a rushed surgery in a (probably, totally) sketchy makeshift hospital. It’s not a good look. But she’s seen worse. “It’s healin’ just fine. I’m getting plenty of fluids and I’m takin’ my meds. Think you can be on your way now you’ve done your check-up.”

“I thought you died.”

“False alarm.”

“You died,” Harley repeats, and there’s an edge to her voice Rick doesn’t recognize. She moves from one foot onto the other, swaying back and forth on her heels, eyes unmoving from off of his chest. “And I didn’t even get a goodbye out of it.”

“Was I…” he pauses, considers the look on her face for a moment. “Apologies.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“The fuck you want me to do? Go back in time and tell him to wait so you can make it about you first?”

“Just think it’s kinda rude for one of my friends to go off and die and leave me alone like that.”

“Tad dramatic, don’t you think?” Rick asks before remembering who he’s dealing with. Harley Quinn is theatrical and melodramatic and showy. Of course, she’d turn this into a whole fucking thing. “You’re a grown ass woman with a criminal record and probably a couple dozen bounties on your head, I think you can handle getting on a plane without a handler.”

She stops swaying. But the look on her face is ice cold and calculating and if he didn’t know her any better, he might be slightly terrified. So this is the infamous killer queen, huh? She wouldn’t hurt him. Maybe once upon a time, a few years back, but not now. Not after… “You’re supposed to be the leader.”

“You had Dubois.”

“But not you. And I know Milton’s a fine leader an’ all, but he’s not exactly a great conversationalist. Or much of a hugger.”

“I ain’t either.”

“But you humour me. ‘Ya put the effort in, Flag.” The blonde pokes his chest, manicured and pale fingernail against his sternum, skin hot to the touch. “And no one else is gonna do that for me, so yeah, I’m kinda mad that you went and got your heart broken into little tiny pieces and didn’t think to let me know you weren’t buried under a fuckload of concrete. Not very friendly of you.”

“And since when are we friends?”

There’s a silence then, and now he’s reconsidering not showing any signs of fear. He’s in no position to fight her. Harley is… Well, one kick and it’d be lights out for Flag.

(Since Waller forced her to take swimming lessons with a mean, ‘It’s a basic life skill, Ms. Quinn. No one else is going to have your back out there' and he made sure he was her assigned instructor. Even brought her a cute two-tone bathing suit that wasn’t Belle Reve-approved and all. Since everyone in Gotham decided they wanted Harley Quinn six feet under and he let her crash on his couch that one time—those three times—and he made her bacon and eggs in the morning. And he didn’t even get mad when she got ketchup all over his carpet. Since she got drunk that second time and kissed him out of loneliness and he never held it against her.)

“Whatever,” she backs away from him with a huff, but her eyes are still dark; a sure sign that she’s not happy. “I’m starving.”

“There’s a place around the corner.”

“Aces,” she grins, then picks up a discarded shirt from the foot of the bed and tosses it to him.

There’s no mention of her getting her own room. It goes unspoken: she’ll be staying here with him.

“Not sayin’ this is better than sex, but it’s definitely better than a lot of the sex I’ve had lately.”

“Good for you,” Rick retorts, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He glances around the restaurant. There’s only one other patron in there aside from them, and the chef is off somewhere in the back. He glances down at his watch, then fists the napkin in his other hand.

“Am I keeping you up?” Harley jests, curling her legs up beneath her on the stool. It squeaks under her weight, one of the metal legs unevenly balanced on the patterned tiles. “Got plans I’m disruptin’?” She clicks her tongue, a devilish grin in full swing.

“Nope. Just rest ‘n recuperation, right, Doc? That your diagnosis?”

“Prognosis,” she corrects him, then drops the rest of her tinfoil-wrapped burrito onto the little round table, a thin layer of grime coating the surface. “And yes,” Harley says with a light nod, putting on her best matter-of-factly voice. She feigns pushing glasses up her nose, head tipping back to look down at him for a change. He’s leaning against the table with his forearms crossed, tanned skin pressing against the greasy tabletop as his sharp chin rests on a curved wrist. “Sleep and that bottle of bourbon my little eye spied hiding under ‘ya bed will do the trick just fine, Colonel,” she says cheerily.

He nods, only half-listening. “Can’t wait.”

“You could smile every once in a while, ‘ya know. I came all the way to Ti-fuckin’-juana to make sure you weren’t rotting away and letting yourself go in some ol’ shitshack. Would a little appreciation for the thought go amiss?”

“I didn’t ask you to,” the man tells her, leaning back in his chair. He clasps both hands in his lap. “Matter of fact, I’m still wondering why you did. What’s the deal, you get bored running from the feds for a change? Didn’t think you tired so easily.”

“What if I just missed you, huh? ‘Ya consider that possibility, soldier?” She pushes her hands out, her chair scraping back against the floor again. Harley picks up the rest of her food, casting him a dark look. “You’re no fun.”

“Never have been, Harley, that shouldn’t be news.” He follows after her, rushing to keep the door from swinging back in his face when she exits the restaurant in what he can only assume is anger. Or maybe she’s just messing with him; truthfully, it’s hard to tell sometimes. “You’re not exactly a ray of sunshine yourself, you know.”

“I am a delight,” she says, whipping around to face him, palm flat against her chest. The many rings on her fingers tap against her necklaces, and she stares up at him with furrowed brows. “Everybody loves me.”

“Pretty sure that’s not true, either.”

“OK, well not everybody hates me, how’s about that?” The scowl on her face turns into a smile then, teeth-baring and wicked. Her eyes are blown wide like saucers, and the crimson lipstick on her mouth suddenly becomes the only thing Rick can focus on that isn’t… Doesn’t... Deranged, he thinks.

Harley Quinn is an absolute basket case and he must be out of his fucking mind for finding her so damn… what? Fascinating? It’s as close as he can get to thinking of a word to describe her that isn’t derogatory. She’s a character and a half, a whole clown car full of crazy jam-packed into one tatted and made-up doll of a woman, but God help him if he doesn’t kind of want to--

“That’s more like it.” She’s probably hard to love, but she’s not easy to hate.

Rick smiles back, finally, then reaches out a hand—tentatively. She’s still her and he’s never a hundred percent certain she won’t slit his throat with a Hello Kitty keyring or something—and wiggles long fingers. “Wanna get drunk and watch god awful late-night television?” He leans down; not too close, not close enough for her to grab, and adds, “Friend?”

Whatever that thing was he’d been waiting for, that unidentifiable something he’d felt looming over them since she showed up in his doorway an hour ago, looking somehow both tired and elated, finally revealed itself; in the form of tears in Harley’s eyes and a shaky hand accepting his.

She nodded and excitedly said ‘yes!’ and then he realized all she’d been after was a friend; the comfort of knowing that there was someone in the world who wasn’t out to get her, who had nothing to gain by being good to her.

And she’d almost lost that. Lost him.

(So when she hogs two of the three pillows on his bed and helps herself to one of his shirts—his favorite, actually. An old wife-beater with torn sleeves and a faded wildcat on the front—Rick doesn’t say a thing. Just lets her curl up in a ball beside him, red tips brushing against his bare shoulder, and rest.)

#the suicide squad #harley quinn #rick flag #harley x flag #quinnflag #rickquinn #tss fanfic #notifications #ship: harley x rick #film: the suicide squad

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