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feraliminal · 4 months

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Cross-Faction Diplomacy

Titan TV tries to give Titan Speaker reassurance, but makes things worse. They both use various forms of communication to calm down. Ship-ish, but with plausible deniability.

I’m back from a super busy week and I want to start turning some of my (many) scraps into actual fic! This was inspired by speculation on how the Alliance communicate and think, and an essay on consciousness called “What Is It Like to Be a Bat?” which concludes that you can’t know unless you are one.

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“Why did you call me? Is that it?” The TVmen’s titan gestured across the hill range from where they stood with the speakermen’s titan, towards a very tiny, very new base. It was a few floodlights casting a glow over a few shipping containers, and a few speakermen on night watch, instead sitting on their arses and playing cards. This was exactly what they’d expected to see, no surveillance system had picked up anything more interesting than a few wandering toilets for miles, at least none that they had access to. But they also suspected it was worth keeping up appearances - two things could be happening, either the speakermen had picked up something big on surveillance that wasn’t linked to the Alliance’s general network -

- or their titan had pulled off a sneaky social call

“Strategic importance, and we’ve only got to make sure nothing happens until everything else arrives in a few hours.” Titan Speaker insisted through a speech transmission, using their faction’s habit of transmitting emotion data as well. In this case, it was something like you trust me, right? “And nothing else is happening.”

The emotion thing, Titan TV found hard to know what to do with. TVs didn’t do it, unless they really meant it. Or were trying to convince someone they really meant it. It was difficult to know if and how to respond, and they recalled Polycephaly describe addressing those kind of differences as cross-faction diplomacy - and as a pain in the arse. They switched to transmission too, encrypting it in case anyone at the base was feeling nosey. “Sure. What’s this really about?”

“Seriously?” Titan Speaker made a dismayed buzz. “You aren’t supposed to say that.”

“What was I supposed to say?” It seemed obvious that this was a way to justify an in-person chat without factions having to figure out a playdate protocol. But with the spectre of cross-faction diplomacy hanging over them, Titan TV tried to do the emotion thing. It didn’t work. Sincerity somehow became contempt-fondness. You’re an idiot but I like you hadn’t been the intent, but it was sincere.

The speakers’ titan tilted their head, lights shimmering a little brighter. “I guess you weren’t supposed to do that either,” they teased. “I thought you’d think meeting to talk is a waste of time, but…?”

“If you need to say it in person, I trust it’s important.” A dozen possibilities, and none particularly easy to contemplate. The TVs’ titan noticed they were shifting their balance a little, foot to foot, and stopped it.

Transmitting uncertain-awkward-worried, Titan Speaker looked out towards the little base, then up at the night sky, as if the words they were looking for were floating around. “Not important, I just… I dunno. I want to ask something first. Does it now feel like there’s more than one… uh, you?” They gestured with their finger, as if drawing an air-circle around the other titan’s primary and secondary screens.

“No, not a lot different. My conscious processing is more or less the same, just spread out and harder to kill.” Not a lot different was still different - the first time they’d switched from automated to conscious control of their secondary heads was an experience they still hadn’t entirely come to terms with and didn’t want to revisit just yet. Not while they needed to be in the here and now for whatever was going on in Titan Speaker’s own head. “Are you thinking about upgrades?”

“No. Well, yeah, maybe one day. But I asked because I’m thinking about weird brain stuff.” Wrapping their arms around themself, the speakers’ titan crouched down on their heels. They started to transmit something, a jumbled, ghostly kind of feeling, then paused. “Okay, I called you to talk about…”

But they didn’t. They stayed silent, on comms and audio.

The TVs’ titan noticed where the pools of light cast by the pair’s respective glowing components overlapped. The new outpost sat in its own pool of light downhill, part of a landscape of similar little points of light that made their mental map of the Alliance’s networks mirror the night sky. In the outpost, the guards were swapping tunes. Twenty miles away, a turret was dealing with one of those wandering toilets, the only other thing remotely interesting happening. Titan Speaker’s glow was receding “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

Titan Speaker flopped back off their heels into a slumped seated position, and signed ‘No shit.’ Then, when their companion turned their main screen to watch, ‘Sorry, do you understand this? I’ve never seen a TV do it.’

“We understand it, we don’t tend to use it ourselves.” It was one of (many) indicators of how well the speakermen and cameramen had managed to operate as one, and their people hadn’t. “Use it if you need to, I can try too.”

‘Thanks. You don’t have to, it’s dark and my vision’s low resolution, so if you’re not used to sign…’ The speakermen’s titan shrugged, paused again, and with a might-as-well-go-for-it burst, quickly signed, ‘Being able to remember what I did when I was infected is still freaking me out and I want to know what you make of it. I know it’s not the same, but it’s all weird brain stuff and you’re the weird brain stuff faction.’

It was difficult to reconcile the ridiculousness of being called the weird brain stuff faction with the desperation in the request. Titan TV felt their screens flickering and needed to make an effort to hold back whatever might leak into the transmission. “You need to ask your science team.”

‘I don’t mean that, I don’t mean what happened to me, but what happened to me.’ They emphasised the last sign with a sharper movement, and had stopped transmitting emotion. The TVs’ titan supposed it was for similar reasons that they’d chosen not to - this needed straightforward discussion now and a fuckton of firepower later, save the anger for then. ‘They said it wasn’t me, but I was there, the parasite made me do it and I did it, it’s like, now I know I can do that, I can’t trust me not to do it again.’ They paused. ‘I haven’t asked again. I didn’t want to freak them out as well.’

“That was your body, and your body saved data. The intrusive thoughts are probably just subconscious metacognition systems sorting it all out. Really, ask someone, engineers think about this stuff so we don’t have to.”

Titan Speaker shifted to stare straight at their bigger companion, signing more slowly with a perceptible shake in their hands. ‘Me is also what my body does.’

The Alliance had shared (heavily redacted) schematics for the titans across faction borders, so Titan TV knew that what their companion was perceiving. Audio data and electromagnetic signature first, then visual data was a secondary source. But still, they angled their side-screens to illuminate their body and softened all their lights to reduce glare. Even with simulation or data transference, it would be impossible to know what it was really like to inhabit Titan Speaker’s perceptual space, with all its memories, meanings, metacognition. And even if visual data wasn’t that important, considering it was part of how Titan TV showed respect from their own perceptual space. “It won’t happen again. That was not you in any meaningful sense of what you are.”

‘I’m tired of everyone saying that.’ The speakermen’s titan rocked forward to crouch on their heels again, made an intention movement to stand that didn’t go further than a twitch, and clasped their arms around themself. They switched to comms again, and the transmission came out cracked with static. “I thought you, of all people, would get that. Everyone’s telling me it didn’t happen but… I was forced to kill my friends and I just… I just want to be allowed to feel like shit about it.” They let out a distorted audio “Fuck.”

“Fuck.” Titan TV echoed that statement, in reverse.

Neither of them had much to say right after that. There wasn’t really else that could be said. The TVs’ titan watched their companion looking up at the stars, softly illuminating their own little patch of red light. They uncoiled, slightly, from their gargoyle crouch, still hunched but dropping on to their knees.

No longer bothering to keep their slight swaying motion in check, Titan TV offered, “We need to get out of here. There’s a suspected underground lair, you’ll be able to locate it, and we’ll blow the roof off. I don’t have clearance to investigate yet, but two of us will be more than enough to overcome anyone’s concerns about risk.”

The sag in Titan Speaker’s shoulders was unexpected. “No. I’m not outsourcing my shit, not to my engineers and definitely not to everyone else by sneaking off.” But not nearly as unexpected as what they shared when they were the first to use emotive comms again. No anger, just sadness, confusion, and grief. Uncoiling a little more, they signed ‘Stay here. Sit with me.’

It wouldn’t have felt right to say no to this poor creature who’d sooner arrange an awkward clandestine meeting with someone they, really, barely knew than upset their friends. Titan TV shook their primary head with exasperation, and settled down cross-legged on the hillside. Titan Speaker watched, looked away and signed something to themself, then did an ungainly shuffle-flop to move right beside them.

They both took their time to adjust to the dissonance of this whole thing, pinging little status requests and presence acknowledgments at each other until they realised that they no longer needed to and had been enjoying doing it just for the sake of it. The speakermen’s titan trilled their approval and did a tiny wriggle.

“I like watching you move,” Titan TV commented.

‘I like that you moved your screens so I could see you better. Can I lean on you?’

“Yes.” Titan TV’s side-screen was obscured by the smaller titan moving closer and working out how best to arrange their speaker array, finally settling in and gently nudging their head against the screen casing. Making an adjustment themself, the TV leaned in little too. Staying had been the right decision, providing a few stabilising moments for both of them.

When they leaned back, the TVmen’s titan thought they felt something that could have just been an artefact of their movements, but it was a bit too persistent for that. Suspecting what it was, they inclined their primary head against the top of their companion’s array, and there it was - a barely perceptible vibration that was becoming more noticeable until it somehow managed to travel through their body and into the ground under them. It made their vision blur very slightly at the edges, but otherwise didn’t feel unpleasant. “Purring?” they rumbled, purr-like themself.

“You don’t mind it?” There was a new contentment in the speaker titan’s transmission, and the vibrations became a little wobbly. Signing would be tricky in this position, but they were making the most of that by sharing emotive comms freely. “Kind of. I’m just… feeling everything. Grounding myself. No sense of impending doom?”

“That’s oddly specific. Infrasound?” What Titan TV felt as a vibration was likely composed of echolocation and electrolocation and, being too low frequency to be useful for scanning, the infrasound component was probably just there for communication or self-soothing. They found it fun (if a little tragic) to imagine someone, possibly the cameramen’s titan, getting creeped out by an overenthusiastic purr. Cross-faction diplomacy again. “We use it too. Although admittedly not for purring.”

“For…?” Titan Speaker looked up, blinking their lights at their companion, who went ‘ ≽^•⩊•^≼ ‘ and said “Slaughter.”

“Terrifying.” They’d both aimed for a deadpan delivery - but it was interrupted for the better by the speaker titan’s failed attempt to suppress a squeaky giggle.

“You’re terrifying, you see sound and your idea of grounding is making the earth shake.” The TVmen’s titan wondered if speakermen were able to perceive the world as assemblages of vibrating particles. It was one thing to have the knowledge of that, it must be unsettling to really feel it. There was a lot to learn about the other factions, and their titans. “You’re well worth my time. We’re a sample size of three, and should be sharing data.”

With an affectionate hum, Titan Speaker bumped their head against the bigger titan’s chest and released a silent burst of something that interrupted their train of thought as well as their vision, and really did feel as if it had made the earth shake for a split second. A mischievous confirmation of you bet I’m terrifying.

“I’ll find something really strategically important next time.”

#first fic in five years and it’s bloody skibidi toilet lmao #skibidi toilet #skibidi fanfic #titan tvman #titan speakerman

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princess-josephina · 1 year

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Fruity Four Advent Calendar 1-12: Christmas lights

Thought I'd jump straight (HAHA) onto the first wagon of @unclewaynemunson 's Fruity Four Advent Calendar train. Hope it's ok this one's just Steddie, I couldn't fit in the girls without making it ridiculously long and chaotic.

UPD: now also on AO3.

"Steve? What the hell are you doing?"

Eddie's back from the grocery store with some food and finds Steve back on the roof, taking down the enormously long lights string they'd just spent 2 hours putting up (a little too close to potentially breaking their necks several times). Steve turns to look down at him and wobbles for a second, giving Eddie a mini heart attack before he catches his balance again.

"It's broken!" He shouts, sounding frustrated. "It's not lighting up. Guess it might have died, from like, lack of use? We hadn't used this one in years."

"Oh my god, Steve, are you serious?!" Eddie yells back at him. "Leave that and get back down here."

Eddie grabs the cable, sighs with relief when Steve's safely reached the bottom of the ladder, and then follows the cable's length until he reaches the end, lying on the garage floor by the power socket. He crouches next to it. Steve leans over his shoulder to see what he's doing.

"Did you check that the socket's working?" Eddie inquires, and Steve rolls his eyes.

"Ugh… Yes?" He gestures at a small lamp on the counter nearby. "Tried with a lamp. It worked, so the socket's fine." He crosses his arms on his chest, defensive. "I'm not an idiot, Eddie."

"Never said you were, Stevie," Eddie glances at him and replies in that strange, patient tone Steve's never sure what to do with. "Just making sure." He fiddles with the plug in his hand. "Probably just blown fuses. These things die all the time. You got tools here?"

"Like what?" Steve asks, and feels foolish when he understands, a moment later, what Eddie meant.

"I need something small. Like a tiny flathead? Tweezers would work too."

Miraculously, Steve actually produces a dusty toolbox from somewhere in the back of the garage and hands it over to Eddie, who quickly rummages through it and then works to open up the lights plug, sticking out his tongue in concentration as he always does. Steve doesn't ask questions, figuring he shouldn't distract Eddie, but Eddie motions for him to come closer anyway and starts talking.

"See these two tiny things?" He says, and Steve has to lean over to see, resting his hand on Eddie's shoulder for support. Eddie keeps explaining, simple stuff that sounds obvious, really, but no judgement or condescension in his tone. "Those are electrical fuses. They're like… safety measures, to protect the whole cable from overcurrent, you know, so your house doesn't burn down. And yeah," Eddie holds the tiny thing between the fingers and raises it closer to his face. "See how it's all brown inside? Yeah, this baby's dead, rest in peace." Eddie quickly extracts the other fuse, too, and shoves them both in his jeans pocket. "I'm gonna drive to the hardware store and get the replacements." He grins, holding his arm out to Steve from the floor, and Steve grabs it to pull him up to his feet.

"So that's gonna… fix the lights?"

"Well yeah, if it's just the fuses, if that doesn't work then the problem's somewhere in the cable itself, I'd need to borrow a voltage tester from Wayne and…" Eddie stops talking, because Steve is giving him a strange, open-mouthed, awestruck look. "What?"

Steve looks away, shakes his head and laughs.

"Nothing. That's just… awesome. That you know all that. I thought we'd have to buy new lights."

"Jesus, rich people." Eddie rolls his eyes and then narrows them at Steve, his expression somewhere between exasperated and amused. "Do you really just buy new shit every time the old one breaks?"

"Yes?" Steve shrugs and rubs his chin, at least having the decency to look sheepish. "I mean, unless it's big stuff like a fridge or a TV, then my father gets a handyman to have a look…"

"…Who spends 15 minutes intensely looking at its insides and then tells you some super complicated detail needs replacing and it will cost you 80 bucks, when ninety percent of the time it just needs a new power cable?" Eddie grins. "Wayne worked as a handyman for some time, I know the drill. You know, if the rich people of Hawkins were to willingly let the town's satanic freak into their homes, I might consider a career change. Easiest money in the world, apparently."

It's just a short drive to the hardware store and back, and 30 minutes later Eddie's replacing the fuses while Steve sits right by him on the garage floor and watches his hands work, fascinated. As if Eddie was casting some high level wizarding spell, not doing basic household repairs every kid of Eddie's income level learned when they were 10 years old.

"Okay, fingers crossed, Stevie. Here we go."

Eddie plugs the cable into the socket and they glance at each other briefly before jumping up at the same time and racing outside, Eddie slipping on some ice by the garage entrance and Steve catching him, and they both laugh, arms still around each other, as they look up to see Steve's house all brightly illuminated with multicolor lights in the winter dusk.

"You did it!" Steve shouts, shaking Eddie's shoulders and grinning at him, delighted and overjoyed in a way that makes Eddie's stupid heart melt with fondness. "You saved Christmas, Eddie!"

"Uh. I just fixed some stupid lights. No biggie," Eddie flushes, not knowing what to do with himself when Steve looks at him like that. He glances back up at the lights and twirls Steve's scarf between his fingers because he needs to keep his hands busy with something, so they don't do something stupid. Like grab Steve's cheeks, all bright rosy from the cold.

"That's just it", Steve's voice is quieter now, and he keeps looking at Eddie intently. "You always make everything better and act like it's no big deal."

What the hell is Eddie supposed to say to that? Before his brain can even comprehend the words, suddenly it's Steve's hands bracketing his own head, fingers warm against his freezing ears; shit, Eddie might never get to see the best Christmas he'd probably have had in his entire life, because he'll be dead of a heart attack. "You're fucking amazing, Eds, you gotta know that." And then Steve's staring at his lips, and hey, maybe Eddie doesn't need to die.

Feeling stupidly brave, Eddie tugs on Steve's scarf, and Steve moves easily, no resistance. Two clouds of breath mingle into one in the cold air between them. "Stevie. Sweetheart," he murmurs; Steve bites his lip and ducks his head at the endearment, god yes, please let him be right about this. Eddie leans in, heart thundering in his chest.

Steve's lips are cold, but the inside of his mouth is deliciously warm, tastes like cigarettes and mulled wine they'd shared earlier. Eddie shivers and swallows back an embarrassing moan, and thinks fuck, maybe Jesus doesn't actually hate the gays, because Steve is kissing him back, and if that's not an early Christmas miracle, Eddie doesn't know what is. And goddamn, that boy knows how to kiss. Eddie's blood feels like an electric current, and he's all weak in the knees and wobbly, all that stuff straight out of romance novels he never thought was real.

It's almost dark outside, but the Christmas lights are so bright they are both in plain view here, in Steve's front yard, and yet it seems like Steve doesn't even care, doesn't stop kissing him and doesn't hurry at all when he walks them backwards into the garage, until Eddie's back hits the wall; that makes Eddie jump in surprise, and they finally break apart.

Steve looks at him with the brightest smile Eddie's ever seen, all pure wonder and fondness, and Eddie's glad to have the wall for support. He's literally swooning, dammit.

"Just so you know…" Eddie giggles, knuckles brushing Steve's cheek, no longer cold to the touch. "You're fucking amazing too, Stevie. Just a different... area of expertise, so to speak."

#StrangerThingsFestiveFun #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #stranger things fic #steddie fic #disclaimer: i know absolutely nada of electrical work but thank god for youtube tutorials #this fed so well into my competence kink and obsession with the whole 'you know how to hotwire a car?' scene #but also Eddie being patient and kind with Steve not knowing shit #damn POV is all over the place but can't be bothered to fix it #misha-bawlins fanfic

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littlewalken · 9 months

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Aug 27

I am glad I found the pictures I took of the billboard being constructed, that CD also had some rather nice artistic shots of a few other things, a trip to Knott's Berry Farm, and a few other things I haven't seen in years. Where the photo CD was physically found is related to my Repressitall addiction.

The last couple of days have been staying home and doing busy work because my health won't let me do anything else. And the joys of finding out what the hurricane did to stuff in the back yard. Don't know how but it's at least partially my fault in an eldest daughter of a hoarder way. The thing where if I only had a tiny purse that would still be too much stuff.

My creative thoughts are turning towards pulling at least part of a story out of my writing universe's version of a coffee shop.

I started episode 5 of Good Omens but I'm having some Robert Sheehan to balance out.

Remind me to put the multi region VCR with the DVDs and/or see if VLC can play some of the Robert Shenanigan discs. I've got Bad Samaritan and The Road Within as region 1s.

And I have a bunch of Michael Sheen including Masters of Sox but I don't have the one where he plays a rock star.

Yet.

I never thought I'd find Young Blades but never say never, unless it's something you're allergic to.

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disgruntledspacedad · 3 years

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Aftershocks (1/5)

The Better Love Series

A sequel to The Rules of Engagement

pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader (Ears). Part of the Better Love ‘verse.

summary: That bomb fucked you up a little more than you thought. h/c, fluff.

words: 1.5k

warnings: 18+ - canon typical violence, angst, hospital stuff. This one is mild for me.

a/n: unbeta’d. Gif by @javier-pena, banner by @cassandras-nest, title card by yours truly.Takes place hours after ROE leaves off. This won’t make a lot of sense unless you’ve read Rules first.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

A deep, throbbing ache in your back drags you back to the land of the living.

Ugh.

You rub the crust from your eyes and wiggle your toes with the awkward effort that comes from heavy sleep. It’s late afternoon, the sun sinking low in the sky, falling in gentle patches over the crumpled comforter. Reality comes back to you in slow, muzzy chunks.

You’re lying in Peña’s bed. He’d ridden you hard, then tucked you in afterward, snuggled comfortably beside you while you’d drifted off.

The lazy smile dies on your lips as you remember just why Javier Peña had felt the need to throw you against the wall and fuck you like there was no tomorrow.

Your apartment. A blazing fireball. Smoke and ash and rubble. Emilio’s broken body.

You choke back a sob.

Javi.

Your chest throbs as you remember how he’d looked at you, eyes shining and desperate.

“I thought I’d lost you.”

How he’d held you close, tucking you gently under his chin as if you were the most precious thing in the world. Wild sex in the hallway, gentle sex in his bed. Snuggling up together afterward. His soft confession, “I’m all in, Ears, if that’s okay with you.”

Your brain spins dizzily in an attempt to process it all. Despite all of the pain, fear, drama, and uncertainty of the past 12 hours, you can’t help feeling a profound sense of relief. Sure, you’ve lost everything you’ve ever owned, but at least you have Javi.

That thought still boggles your mind.

You roll over, kicking your feet to untangle them from the sheets. Javi’s side of the bed is long cold. Sighing, you haul yourself up on your elbow, surprised when you have to catch your breath to do so.

God, you’re more sore than you thought you’d be.

Your heart races as you stand, and you press your hand to your breast bone, feeling a little woozy. Gray spots swim in your vision, and you blink hard, forcing them away. You hadn’t realized you’d stood up so fast.

Slowly, you patter naked into the hallway, following the sound of Javi’s voice. He’s in the kitchen with his back turned to you, speaking lowly into the telephone. He’s still shirtless.

You crack a grin at the memory.

Now that you’re standing up, you’re starting to feel a little more stable. Thoughts are still fuzzy and distant, and your pulse thrums skittish in your ears, but at least you’re not going to pass out. Your chest feels weird, though, like your lungs have been scraped raw, and taking a deep breath sets something throbbing deep in your back. Your head aches like a bitch, too.

Fuck Pablo Escobar and his fucking bombs.

You snatch Javi’s green shirt off the kitchen counter, still lying half-folded where you’d dropped it this morning. Javi raises his brows at you, and you shoot him a wink as you slip into it. He’s still on the phone, talking to Messina, you think, but his eyes follow you darkly as you make your way to his bathroom in search of some pain medicine.

Climbing onto the toilet to peruse through Javi’s bathroom cabinet feels like more effort than it really ought to be. Again, your heart speeds, and you double over, suddenly panting for air.

A minute or so later, Javi finds you sitting on the toilet lid with your head in your hands.

“Hey,” he says, pausing as he notices your position. He drops to his knees in front of you, taking your hands in his. “What’s wrong?” His voice is laced with concern.

You look up at him. He’s all dark eyes and somber expression, watching you warily with a deeply furrowed brow. “Just a little dizzy,” you admit, hating to see him worry over you. “I was looking for a tylenol. My back is killing me.”

Javi blinks, as if the thought of keeping medicine in a medicine cabinet has never occurred to him.

“I can find you something,” he says, and somehow, you just know that means he’ll be sneaking across the landing to borrow from Connie’s stash. “But baby, are you sure I don’t need to take you to the hospital? You look a little pale.”

“I’m sure, Javi,” you answer firmly. The thought of getting dressed and leaving the apartment is absolutely abhorrent right now - you are still bone weary. You decide to offer him a compromise. “If it really bothers you, I’ll see somebody tomorrow after work.”

Javi shakes his head. “You’re not going in tomorrow, babe,” he says slowly. “I already talked to Stechner.” There’s a little bit of hesitation in his tone, like he’s wary of how you’ll react. “Once word got around about the bomb, everybody was looking for you. I didn’t mean to butt in, but I really didn’t want to wake you, either.” He reaches up to rub the back of his neck, almost apologetically.

In a different situation, you think you might be annoyed by his interference. But Javi is staring at you with those solemn, worried eyes, one errant curl falling across his brow, and you find that any frustration you feel is buried deep beneath exhaustion and maybe even a little gratitude. “Guess I’ll let it slide,” you tell him, cracking a small smile. “This time.”

He answers you with a tiny breath of relief and a quirk of his lips. “Good.” One long thumb massages your knuckles absently. “He’s put you on leave for the rest of the week. Says get some rest and maybe some therapy, and he’ll see you on Monday to talk logistics.”

You snort. “Asshole.”

Javi’s expression is a little darker as he agrees. “So,” he says, leaning back on his heels to pin you with an intense stare. “Doctor tomorrow?”

“Doctor tomorrow,” you promise, allowing him to pull you to your feet. “Tylenol now.”

“Bossy,” he complains, reaching up to stroke your cheek like he just can’t help touching you at every opportunity.

“Assertive,” you’re quick to correct, swallowing back a shiver. All of this soft, sweet caressing is very new.

Javi grins, a gentle, fond expression that crinkles his eyes and makes him look years younger. “Have I mentioned how good you look in my shirt?” he murmurs, meeting your lips for a slow, deep kiss that steals your breath. One hand roams up to gently cup your breast.

“You don’t have to,” you answer smugly, catching that wandering hand in a firm grip. Your heart is racing again, but for all of the wrong reasons. “Now, go raid Murphy’s medicine cabinet for me, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he laughs, shaking his head at the fact that you know him so well.

That woozy feeling redoubles just as soon as Javi shuts the door behind him. You bite your lip, counting back the hours since you’ve had anything to drink besides coffee. Even that had been a long time ago. Probably you’re just dehydrated.

You make your way to the kitchen, feeling numb and detached as you shuffle through the cabinets. Javi has a startling lack of normal drink wear, but you manage to find a nice set of crystal tumblers lurking above the sink.

Typical.

Again, climbing requires an alarming amount of effort, and something uncoils painfully in your chest as you reach over your head for a glass. You flinch, and three of the tumblers go flying, shattering on the floor with a horrendous crash.

Startled and off-balanced, you stumble to your hands and knees, heedless of the glass shards that are digging into your bare skin. Your vision is graying at the edges again, and you can’t fucking breathe.

“What the fuck?” Javi’s voice is hard as he slams open the front door. “Babe?”

“Sorry,” you wheeze with the very last of the air that’s left in your lungs. Panic sets in, your body responding to the acute lack of oxygen in the only way it knows how. “I was -”

Speaking sets you coughing, and suddenly, you’re coughing so hard that you can’t stop, great, wrenching spasms that send pain racketing through your entire body.

Javi drops the bottle of pills he’s holding. They rattle against the floor. “Ridiculous woman,” he grits between clenched teeth, reaching down to haul you to his chest. You know he doesn’t mean it. “You are not fine.”

You press your fingers to your lips, one last rasping cough ripping its way out of your throat. When you pull them away, they are covered in tiny spots of blood.

Javi freezes as he sees it. “Jesus Christ.”

Your teeth are chattering, your entire body shaking. “I’m -”

“Goddammit, if you tell me you’re fine one more fucking time, Ears,” Javi growls, allowing the threat to trail off.

You shake your head. “I’m not,” you manage. Everything hurts, and words are difficult right now. Your throat is raw, and you still don’t have enough air. “I’m sorry. I was, but now I’m not.”

“Come on,” Javi’s voice is terse, worried. You have the foresight to grab his sweats from the counter before he sweeps you off your feet. “We’re going to the hospital. Now.”

♠

notes/confessions:

I promise, promise, promise, this is going to turn into fluff. Please don’t kill me!

Originally, Aftershocks was going to be a huge one-shot, but nah. I thought I’d try smaller chapters for once (read: chaotic jay cannot plan shit to save her life).

Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from my tags!

Tags: @jedi-mando, @perropascal, @aerolanya, @pikemoreno, @bitchin-beskar, @mostly-megan, @huliabitch, @starsandmando, @starlight-starwrites, @thirstworldproblemss, @knittingqueen13, @yespolkadotkitty

Javier Peña tags: @magpie-to-the-morning, @tiffdawg, @danniburgh

#javier peña #Javier Peña x reader #Javier Peña x you #narcos #pedro pascal #narcos netflix #pedro fanficiton #pedro pascal fanfiction #narcos fanfiction #Javier Peña fanfiction #javier peña fanfic #better love #aftershocks

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rockthingsbymeg · 3 years

Text

Rockin’ around the Christmas tree

Guns N’ Roses Christmas special - fic no. 6

Pairing: Slash | Saul Hudson x fem!reader

Summary: based of the prompt - “Person A is decorating the tree and refuses to let anyone else help because the tree needs to be perfect.”

Info: Fluff; 2120 words; typical Christmas stuff;

A/N: Last Christmas fic of the day angels. Have a good 2021!

It wasn't unusual for Slash to wake up and find Y/N already awake, either still laying by his side or going around the house doing whatever she needed to do. He was a heavy sleeper, so that had never bothered him, and that day it hadn't either.

Being awake before Slash, however, didn't exactly make Y/N an early bird. Anyone up before midday was up before Slash.

This time, however, it was different. Around half-past eight in the morning, Slash woke up, groggy and grumpy, with Y/N already out of bed. The bedroom door was fully closed, which meant Y/N wasn't coming back to bed and didn't want to wake him up. When they were asleep, the door was always left ajar or fully open, so none of them would accidentally go against it while trying to go to the bathroom or grab a glass of water in the middle of the night.

When he had rolled on the bed to look at the clock, he had groaned so deeply and loudly it had actually hurt his dry throat, but that was the least of his concerns at the moment. After he woke up, he couldn’t fall back asleep unless Y/N was by his side, which he guessed wouldn’t happen that day.

He didn’t understand why on earth she was up so early, but instead of thinking about it, he just rolled on his side, stretched like their little black kitten did while waking up, and then rolled out of bed, bare feet meeting the hard, cold wood floor and sending shivers up his body. Either way, he didn’t throw on a pair of socks or slippers and picked up a fluffy robe that Y/N had gotten him, wrapping it around himself and making his way out of his room.

Every blind in the house had been open, and the bright sunlight shinning against the snow resting on the windowsills burned his eyes, causing a groan to leave his lips and his hand to immediately shoot up to cover his eyes.

He kept walking, slowly becoming more aware of Frank Sinatra's voice mumbling lowly on the lower floor. It was so pleasant, deep, and rich in his early morning grogginess, that it was working as a lullaby, making his eyelids grow heavier and heavier. Slash fought them open with much cost as his bare feet began leading him down the stairs, a small, black cursed kitten greeting him happily as it walked in circles, its paws still too small to get him up the steps.

A smile stretched across Slash's face as he made it to the bottom and picked up the youngest member of his and Y/N's furry family. His calloused hands patted the tiny head and scratched behind his ears, smile widening at the soft, small purring sounds reverberating against his chest, where Slash had made the kitten lean against.

Soon enough, however, instead of having one kitten to pet and cuddle, Slash had that one and four more cats meowing at him, demanding their own share of attention.

Slash sat down on the last step of the staircase and let his cats climb closer to him to give him their good morning, curling themselves against the plush material of the robe or lightly craving their nails into the skin of his hands, trying to get him to pet them.

He had sat there for a bit, doing his best to give them all an equal share of attention, until all the heads turn towards their living room, two of the cats leaving to follow the sound and start meowing again to the other source of cuddles and pets.

Y/N kneeled down to run her hands over the fur on their back and then underneath their little chins, smiling widely at them and giving them each a kiss on the nose before taking a seat by Slash’s side on the staircase and leaning her head on his shoulder. Her head tilted up, looking into his eyes, as his tilted down, smiling widely up at her before pressing their lips together gently, one, two, three small pecks before a long, slow kiss.

“I didn't wake you up, did I?” Y/N asked as they pulled apart, lacing their hands together and stroking his knuckles with her thumb.

“Nah, you're fine. Jus’ woke up all of a sudden and y’know I can't sleep without you there...” A soft blush darkened the color of his cheeks underneath his bed-head and the sight made Y/N's heart flutter in her chest, even if it was probably the thousandth time she had seen it.

“I know, baby.” She laid another kiss on his lips and then one on his nose, pulling back only far enough to be able to speak. “Why don't I fix you some food and you eat while I finish what I was doing, and then we'll crawl back under the covers?”

The idea sounded very much appealing to Slash, who eagerly nodded before moving his mouth to press a sweet, gentle kiss underneath her ear. “What, exactly, are you doin' this fucking early, on a Saturday?”

A small laugh rumbled from the back of her throat as she pressed a final kiss to his lips and got up, gently putting two of her cats down on the floor and making her way to the kitchen, passing by their living room to turn the music just slightly louder. “It's December 1st baby. You know what that means...”

Combining her answer, with Frank Sinatra's soothing voice and the sight of balled up Christmas lights on the corner, that he, somehow, hadn't noticed until now, gave him the answer he needed.

“I forgot what day it was...” He chuckled, putting all the cats on the floor before following her, sneaking a glance into the living room to see their dark green tree stand high and proud in the corner of the room, right by a shelf filled with little dinosaur replicas. Yeah, everything totally matched. “Do you want help with anything sweetheart?” He asked as he entered the kitchen, wrapping his arms around her waist as she faced the stove, the smell of eggs filling his nostrils and making his empty stomach groan loud and angry.

She chuckled at the noise and turned to him briefly to plant a kiss on his cheek, before shaking her head and turning to the stove once more. “You know I like to do it on my own. It needs to be perfect, the way I envisioned it...” She explained, just like every year when Slash asked if she needed help.

He smiled against her neck, nuzzling her skin before giving her a small kiss, pushing back to glance towards the slide-open doors that led to their backyard. “Just like you know I'll always ask this. It’s tradition.” He chuckled, both at his statement and at the sight of their two older dogs and their three pups playing around in the snow. “They're gonna be freezing when they come inside...”

“I told them that, they still barked that they wanted to go outside.” Slash could envision Y/N rolling her eyes while speaking in that fake disapproving tone, shaking her head slightly while still cooking his breakfast, waving a small spatula around as she spoke. “They're dumbasses, much like you.”

“Wha- I'm not a dumbass!” He argued in an equally fake offended tone, letting his arms fall from their previous place around her waist and slapping her ass with one hand, before hopping on the counter so he could see her face.

“Why, yes you are, my love.” Y/N’s eyes shone as she smiled at him, playful words spoken in a teasingly posh manner. “You're my favorite dumbass.”

Slash couldn’t help his own wide grin as he looked at her, leaning in to steal a long kiss, humming briefly against her lips at the taste of eggs on her tongue. “Don't tell Duff that you said that. Y’know he claimed the spot of favorite dumbass a long time ago.” Laughs rolled easily between their still slightly joined lips.

“I won't, don't worry.” She nodded as she pulled back, turning her attention once more to the stove and finishing his food, putting his eggs and bacon on a plate before handing it to him, along with a glass of orange juice. “Now, you eat that, so your stomach stops complaining, and I'll go finish the tree.” She laid a quick peck on his lips before turning away, robe swooshing behind her as she made her way into their living room.

Slash gathered everything on a tray and, rather than eating all alone in the kitchen, he placed all his food inside it and went to join Y/N, sitting on the couch and watching her move around.

Her hands moved gently as she wrapped the Christmas lights around the tree, leaving them turned on so the room shone with a soft golden light, along with the early morning light. It didn't take her long to finish that part, and soon enough she had picked up a box filled with dinosaur garlands. It had been something she had bought last year, doing her best to mix his love for anything remotely reptile with her love for traditional yet not “normal" decoration. Garlands were traditional, but dinosaur garlands... not so much, which was the perfect balance for her.

As soon as the garlands were laid down, came all the other ornaments. A box filled with red balls, each one decorated by an old drawing of Santa Claus, then a box filled with golden little starts, followed by one with white and green bells, and lastly, one of Slash's favorites, a box filled with small, plastic snakes, lizards, dragons, and whatnot, all with a string to their back so they could be hanging in the tree.

While Y/N busied herself around the tree, laying every single ornament with accurate precision to replicate the mental image she had conjured, a small smile on her face growing as the decoration came closer to being finished, humming along with Frank Sinatra under her breath, Slash had finished his breakfast, done the dishes, let their dogs in, started a fire so all of them would stay warm and gotten his guitar, softly strumming with the songs playing, until, like always, he began playing a melody of his own, overpowered by his own feelings and emotions.

He hadn't noticed how Y/N had turned off the background music and sat down on their coffee table. She was facing him, elbows on her knees and face in her hands, a smile so wide it had to hurt her. Her eyes glinted, both with the flames from the fireplace and with the unconditional, unyielding, undying, overwhelming love she felt for him.

It had been the same look since the first time they met.

Duff had brought her along to one of their shows, excited to introduce one of his closes friends to his bandmates. She was this slightly shy yet so lively, amazing girl, and Slash was, as much as he hated to admit it, swept off his feet after not much more than five minutes of conversation.

He was shy himself, never one to be able to hold eye contact for long, but whenever he did, it was the one occasion when he'd stare for longer than he could remember. The first time he looked into her eyes, they were so filled with a burning passion, a bit hazed from a few beers, admittedly, but so captivating. It was like a whole world, a whole galaxy was held inside them.

And what had taken him a while to realize, was how much deeper and lively that galaxy got when she was looking at him.

Once his eyes had lifted from the guitar and seen that exact same look in her eyes, he couldn’t stop his mouth from working faster than his brain. “You still look at me like the first day we met...”

A soft laugh left Y/N's lips. Not a mocking or condescending one at the softness of his words, an honest, love-filled one. She got up from the table and made the short distance to the couch, reaching over to gently take the guitar from his lap and taking its place. “Of course I do.” Her wide smile remained, both her hands coming up to cup his face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones. “I still love you the exact same way. I always will.”

A smile grew on his face too, as he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, pouring as much passion into the gesture as he did when playing guitar. “I’ll always love you too, baby.”

——

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, reblogs, comments and any kind of way you show me you liked this are endlessly appreciated💛

Requests are closed.

Taglist: @curly-hudson; @agroupiewhore; @littlemisscare-all; @metalheartofgold

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sparkkeyper · 3 years

Text

Variations on a Theme

I’ve been working on this one for a while and finally managed to finish it up for the Ace Omens discord prompt - Dancing.

The music I had on repeat while writing the second half was “So Close” from Enchanted. I like to imagine the record they end up with is one of those piano-only arrangements of it.

Also, you can’t tell me that Crowley didn’t jam to every Top 40 since music charts were invented.

(Now on AO3!)

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

"You mean you've only danced the gavotte?"

Crowley's sunglasses were barely hanging on to his nose as it was, what with the both of them being several drinks into their first bottle of the night. It didn't take many to banish the glasses these days, not when the pair of them were nestled comfortably in the back room of the bookshop, the failed Armageddon several weeks behind them. The demon stared incredulously over the tinted lenses as Aziraphale straightened from where he had begun to slouch with his wine.

"And why is that such a surprise? Angels don't usually dance at all."

"Yeah but you're not a 'usually' angel, you're you!" Crowley waved a hand wildly but did his glasses the mercy of setting them on the end table before they could fall. "You like the...the singing and the harmonizing and stuff. Humans have been moving to music since the Beginning and you really never, ever wanted to learn?"

"I did learn," the angel pointed out.

"Never wanted to learn more than the one?" Crowley amended. "Just the one in six thousand years?"

"It just didn't strike me as something I wanted to try," Aziraphale shrugged and refilled his wine glass. "The humans seemed to enjoy it sure enough, but it looked like such a hassle to attempt."

"A hassle!" Crowley threw his head back and grabbed his hair, and goodness did Aziraphale love to watch him wax dramatic when embroiled in a topic he was passionate about. "Dancing a hassle! Dancing a ha- It's not a job, angel, it's for fun!"

"Yes but in order for one to dance well, one must put in a certain amount of work."

"It's not about dancing well, it's about letting loose." Crowley rolled his eyes, stalking over to the angel's record collection next to the gramophone. "Unless you're in a professional stage company, you're not required to dance well."

"Somehow that sentiment isn't the least bit surprising coming from you."

"Oi, I'll have you know I'm an excellent dancer even though I'm not required to be. Come on, there's got to be something in here you can dance to."

"I don't know the proper steps to anything else."

"Bah, steps!" Crowley waved him off. "Don't need steps. Just make it up."

"I most certainly cannot."

"You most certainly can so. Oh for Satan's sake-" Crowley gave up his hunt and snapped, materializing a record in the gramophone and giving the handle a few solid cranks. "There we go!" His shoulders began moving to a heavy clapping beat that had definitely never been released on 78.

He turned back to Aziraphale, a grin on his face as his hips twitched to the music. "No steps, see? Just freestyle it. Come on, off the sofa, let's see it."

"This hit, that ice cold,

Michelle Pfeiffer, that white gold,

This one for them hood girls,

Them good girls, straight masterpieces-"

He made a get-up gesture and Aziraphale rose uncertainly. "I really don't think I know what to do with this-"

"Don't have to, that's the best part. Just move to the beat. "

Aziraphale tried to imitate his friend, he really did, but there was no pattern to follow. One moment the movement was in Crowley's shoulders, the next it was in his hips, and now his feet were acting out a stomp-like rhythm on the carpet. It was a fascinating thing to watch, how dancing seemed to take over his entire corporation. With the gavotte, one's back remained quite straight. There was a level of control and skill to it that Aziraphale had greatly enjoyed: maintaining some parts of yourself in position while moving others. But with Crowley's dancing, the entire line of his body twisted and flowed. A movement that started in his neck might end in an arm, or maybe it would travel up one leg and come back down the other. He made it look effortless, like it took no thought at all.

"I'm too hot! Hot damn!

Call the police and the fireman.

I'm too hot! Hot damn!

Make a dragon wanna retire, man-"

The demon's eyes flicked over his stilted attempts to copy the motions and Aziraphale watched him bite back a smirk. "No, angel?"

"Perhaps it's this century's music - goodness, there's not much melody, is there? - but I really don't understand this sort of dancing."

"Not much to understand, really, but here. We'll step it back a few decades." He snapped again and a new record appeared in his hand, which was quickly swapped out for the one on the gramophone.

Crowley snapped his fingers to the beat, hips moving in time. "Oh, don't give me that look. You can't possibly dislike Bill Haley and His Comets."

"One, two, three o'clock, four o'clock, rock.

Five, six, seven o'clock, eight o'clock, rock.

Nine, ten, eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock, rock.

We're gonna rock! Around! The clock tonight!

Put your glad rags on and join me, hon',

We'll have some fun when the clock strikes one-"

"It's not that I dislike it..." Aziraphale did his best to imitate the hip thing, and the demon's stifled snort told him exactly how unsuccessful he was at it. "I just don't...connect with this style of dance, I suppose. That's the only way I know how to put it."

"So try your own style. It's not a right and wrong, it's just whatever motion speaks to you." Crowley threw his torso into a shimmy and goodness, what were his knees even doing? Aziraphale gave up trying to copy any of it.

"That's just it! Motions don't 'speak to me'. Dancing isn't...isn't...aimlessly gyrating! It's about form and style - about using form and style to bring the music to life. There's a language to it the same way there's a language to literature. Every kick and dip and bow means something and it's all spoken into being through movement! But there needs to be a form in order for that to happen."

"No no, that's the problem! That's so limiting! So much of the universe is already made up of forms and rules!" Crowley threw his hands up to encompass the heavens. "Laws and etiquette and physics, everywhere! Inescapable! Dancing is freedom! Music is emotion distilled down into pure audio form precisely so you can do what you want with it! How does it make you feel? What does it make you want? You take it and you process it and you feel it and move however it moves you! It's speaking, yes, but in a way no one else has control over! The thing about dancing is you get to be purely you, no matter what anybody else wants."

"I already am me," Aziraphale insisted. "And I like knowing what movement comes next. I like having straightforward expectations to fulfill. That's what's satisfying - completing the steps and knowing you've gotten them right!"

The moment stretched out between them as they both let this soak in. Somewhere along the way, the gramophone had made the executive decision to go silent.

"Certainly can't fault you for that," Crowley said slowly. "Preferring a solid plan. Expectations outlined and all. It's very you."

"Nor, I suppose, could I fault you for preferring more freedom in your movement. You've always had a penchant for finding new ways to express yourself. What with the clothes and the hair and all." Aziraphale fidgeted with the corner of his waistcoat absently. "It suits you, it really does. But not me. If that were my only option, I'd rather not dance at all." He shook himself with a tiny smile and sat back in his armchair. "Ah well. I had a good run with the gavotte, anyway. Got a few good decades out of it."

Crowley pursed his lips for a few moments, then switched the record again to fill the room with a smooth piano. "Can't have that, though, can we? One dance goes out of style and you're done? I don't think so. Come on, angel, get back up." He made a come-here motion until Aziraphale stood again.

"Look, I'm really not-"

"You want defined steps? I'll give you defined steps."

Aziraphale paused, considering. "What sort is it?"

"Easy one. Simple, can use it for a lot of dances. Waltz, foxtrot, all kinds of things."

Aziraphale chewed on his lip. He wasn't anxious to make a fool of himself stumbling over a completely unfamiliar style. But goodness, he missed dancing.

Crowley held out a hand to him. It was a hesitant thing, far enough out to be an offering but close enough in to be passed off as a casual gesture if it went unaccepted.

Aziraphale braced himself and accepted it. "Right. So how does this work?"

"Easy. Here, I'll lead. So you just - hand here... Other hand here..." Crowley positioned Aziraphale's right hand on his shoulder and loosely grasped his left. They stood like that together for a moment, a good distance apart so the angel could look down at his shoes. "And I step like this..." Crowley moved one foot forward. "So you step backwards to match me. Go on, then."

Aziraphale stepped as instructed.

"Right. And then I move here -" His other foot came forward and to the side - "And yours comes back and over along the same route. Yep. Now feet together, like they were at the start. Good?"

Aziraphale made certain he had his balance and nodded.

"Good. Now I step back, like you did, and you come forward this time... No no, leave your other foot there. Right. Now bring your other foot forward as mine comes back and over. Just stepping in a big square, that's all we're doing. And feet back at the start. Make sense?"

Aziraphale pulled in a deep breath. "Simple enough in theory."

"Here, we'll try it again. Back-two. Side-two. Forward-two. Side-two...that's right. Now we just add a bit of a turn to it and that's all it is. Like this... Back-two, side-two-"

Aziraphale clutched at him as they worked their way around the room to the music. (The furniture wisely backed itself up to give them space, twisting physics occasionally to avoid being tripped over.) The problem wasn't the steps, exactly. It was combining the steps with everything else: holding tight to Crowley to keep his balance while still trying to keep enough distance to give his legs room to work, figuring out which foot to have his weight on and when, incorporating the dratted turn into the rest of it, moving precisely in time with Crowley so that they didn't step on each other.

Humans had so many pieces to keep track of. So many parts moving a specific distance at the same time. He'd been in this corporation for thousands of years and usually had an excellent handle on how it operated, but that only made new movement patterns more difficult to master. It took so much work for him to commit such things to muscle memory. Each misstep threw his rhythm off and dammit, there, he was so close to overbalancing them both -

But Crowley kept him in place.

Crowley's palm rested just under his right shoulder blade, guiding the motion of his body through space. Holding him so steady even when he felt himself floundering. Wasn't that always the way? he thought distantly, eyes trained on his feet. Even after stepping repeatedly on the demon's toes (and heels, and instep, and in one spectacular fumble the back of his left knee) Crowley was a solid anchor keeping him upright.

Dancing of any variety did not come naturally to Aziraphale. Angels were built to be sturdy, immovable. It had taken him ages to make any headway at all with the gavotte. But Crowley didn't seem to mind. He chuckled a bit when Aziraphale stepped too early. He murmured advice, a smile on his lips. And his eyes sparkled. Goodness, how they sparkled.

Letting the music wash over him, Aziraphale put his trust in Crowley. Let the demon guide him here in their own little circle. Slowly, slowly, he was getting the hang of the steps - treading on toes less at any rate. It was nice, dancing like this, it really was...

And then Crowley spun him.

He didn't realize what was happening until it was practically over. The motion of Crowley's arm coming up and turning guided his whole body smoothly around and he clicked back into place against the demon like he was never meant to be anywhere else.

Aziraphale's feet faltered to a stop, eyes wide and all steps forgotten.

Crowley froze with him. "Too much?" he asked quietly.

"I - I..." Aziraphale felt like he was still spinning, heart beating entirely too fast. "I don't..."

"Too much," Crowley answered himself, releasing his hold and taking a step back. "Thought I might try mixing it up, but I misjudged. Won't do it again."

"Mixing it...oh. Of course." Aziraphale looked down at the space between them. It was barely two feet but it suddenly seemed so much farther. "This is holding you back, isn't it? This repetitive step. You'd much rather be improvising."

"I...well I didn't say that..."

"Like you said before. You'd prefer to let the music move you rather than be limited to a predetermined pattern. I can understand that even if I can't relate. You shouldn't be beholden to this."

"It's good," Crowley blurted out, making the angel pause. "For music like this. The down-tempo, largo stuff. This is a good way to dance to it. I like it." He swallowed hard and tried for a nonchalant shrug. "I mean, don't ask me to dance like this to Uptown Funk but for this style it's...y'know. It's good."

"Right. Good." Aziraphale fidgeted, hands feeling incredibly empty. "I admit, I'm very much out of my depth here. Angels don't... I don't know what I'm doing.”

"We can stop. No sense pushing it."

"I didn't say... I'll get used to it."

"You don't have to get used to anything you don't want to." Crowley made to step back but Aziraphale, in an instant of panic, stepped forward after him.

"I want to!"

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft piano. Crowley stood frozen, as though his next movement required the most careful consideration of his life.

Aziraphale steeled himself and raised his hands back to their dancing positions. "Please."

The demon looked over the two of them and very hesitantly replaced his hands, as though doing so might scare the angel off.

They stood there for a long time. Not moving, just holding on to each other with the breathless tension of men on the gallows, waiting for the trap door to open beneath them.

Aziraphale pulled in a deep, steadying breath. "I'm afraid it's going to take a long time for me to get this right. All of this. I'm not very good at this sort of thing when I don't know the steps."

"Take all the time you need," Crowley replied softly. "I'm just sort of making it up as I go, honestly."

"It might be very long. I can't improvise as easily as you can."

"I wouldn't expect you to." The demon tightened his grip ever so slightly and Aziraphale suddenly couldn't conceive of pulling away. "No spinning, promise."

"I - I didn't say that." Fingers itched to trace a familiar nervous pattern - straighten bowtie, adjust waistcoat. They tightened in Crowley's hands instead. "Just...warn me before you do. Let me prepare."

"I can do that, yeah." The demon held him so carefully, as though giving him every chance to break away, and started them off into their pattern once more.

The hesitant grip grew more sure with each rotation around the room, and it was impossible to tell if it was one or both of them. Each successful round of the sequence made Aziraphale feel a little bolder. It was the reassurance of a task set and completed: the very ancient satisfaction of expectations met. That desire had been ingrained in his bones since bones were invented and in a way it calmed him. There was so much he suddenly felt unprepared for but at least he could do this.

He wasn’t successful every time, of course. He still fumbled, still trod on snakeskin shoes. But the guiding hand was back under his shoulder blade and God, did it make a world of difference. It stayed with him through each failed attempt and carried him through to try again. Any wrong positioning of his legs seemed less important when he was sure Crowley would keep him where he needed to be.

He could see the tension draining from the demon as well. The sense that he was holding something fragile and afraid to break it was melting slowly back into the confident strides Aziraphale had seen from the start. The lines of motion flowed through him the way they had earlier, though more predictably at present. He was still amazing to watch, all moving lines and sharp joints. Aziraphale blamed more than one stagger on it.

"All right if I spin you?"

The angel braced himself. "All right."

"'Kay. Three, two-" Crowley twirled him again and for a single, dazzling moment it felt like flying. It felt free and easy and the most natural thing in the world -

And then he stumbled over his own feet coming back in and nearly collapsed against the demon's chest and drat, now he'd lost all the steps-

"Forward-two, right-two, back-two, you've got it, come on, forward-two -"

Aziraphale clung to the instructions and managed to get back on track within an eight-count, concentrating fiercely on the movements of their feet together.

"That's what I'm talking about. Look at you. Angel dancing something other than the gavotte. Who would have thought, eh?"

"Who indeed." There was a warm fluttering in his chest. So much to keep track of with these human bodies.

He was still going to need a lot of time and a lot of practice. He had a feeling there was a lot of unknown territory ahead regarding the two of them.

But he had Crowley to keep him steady. So they’d be all right.

#good omens #good omens fic #my writing #my fic #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #dancing #discord prompts #in which aziraphale's attitude towards dancing is my attitude #how does one improvise I do not know #obsessed with these two figuring out how to be soft with each other

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paperbodiesamongthestars · 3 years

Text

A beautiful day for a neighbor

The first time Billy met his new neighbor, he was leaving his apartment to go to work. It was early morning, before seven, and he was enjoying the quiet of the building. Billy opened the door, keys in one hand and travel mug in the other, and looked down to find the right key when suddenly there was a hand on his chest. It pushed him backwards, firmly enough to guide him back into his apartment. He heard the door to the apartment close.

Billy dropped his keys, bracing himself, prepared to throw a punch before he registered that the hand still on his chest was gentle, and the two fingers over his lips were tentative. He glanced up into a pair of big, dark eyes and promptly forgot how to breathe. After what felt like ages, but was probably closer to a few seconds, Billy registered that those eyes were wide and pleading, and the guy attached to them was beautiful. He had a full head of wild dark hair and pale skin dotted with moles. He was lean but well-muscled. Billy relaxed a little bit. He was a lot less upset about this situation than he had been just moments ago.

The guy winced when a male voice said "Steve?" outside the door. Billy cocked an eyebrow in a silent question and the guy--Steve, apparently--nodded. He had the grace to look embarrassed. Whoever it was in the hallway knocked on the door across the hall, and Steve let out a tiny sigh of relief.

"Steve, I saw you on the stairs. I know you're in there," said the voice. There was a long silence followed by more knocking, and then an exasperated sigh. "Fine, I'll just leave these here. But please call me back. I want to fix this. I miss you, baby." Billy saw a flash of anger on Steve's face before he caught Billy's eye and looked embarrassed again. There was a sound of footsteps receding down the hallway and then the stairs, but Steve stayed where he was for another thirty seconds after the steps were gone. Then he dropped his hands to his sides, straightened up against Billy's door, and shot him a bright, beautiful smile.

"Hi! I'm so sorry, and thank you." He paused and then held out his hand. "I'm Steve Harrington. I'm your new neighbor." Billy took a step back to give him some room and held out his own hand.

"Billy Hargrove," he said. Steve seemed to take in his suit and travel mug. "Oh no," he said, face falling. "I hope I didn't make you late for work." Billy waved him off. He worked all the time--it wasn't like they cared what time he came in.

"Not at all," he said. Steve smiled, smaller this time. He was twisting his fingers together.

"I promise I don't make a habit of assaulting my neighbors. I just have this ex who is, um..." He didn't seem to know how to continue.

"Not taking the breakup well?" Billy offered.

"Yeah," Steve said. There was a pause. "Well, I should let you get to work." He opened the door behind him and turned to go with a dorky little wave. "Thanks again," he said as he crossed the landing, staring at the huge bouquet of flowers next to his welcome mat. "And hey, come by sometime. I'll make you dinner. I kind of owe you, and I'm a good cook." He shot one more brilliant smile Billy's way and then disappeared into his own apartment. Billy stared after him for several long beats before he shook his head to clear it, gathered up his stuff, and left for work.

The second time Billy saw Steve was a couple of weeks later. That wasn't unusual--Billy didn't spend a lot of time at home. He worked a lot. Too much, if you asked Max (which he never had, thanks, but she was happy to share anyway). According to her, Billy was avoiding his crippling loneliness by only ever being at the office. According to Billy, she should shut the fuck up about it and stop trying to psychoanalyze him. But fine, maybe she wasn't entirely off-base. Being alone in his nice but empty apartment wasn't exactly his idea of a good time. So he stayed at the office. A lot.

At the moment, he was on his way home from work. It was a Friday night and he was very much looking forward to flopping onto his couch and drinking one of the nice bottles of wine he had picked up from the wine store on his way home. He rounded the corner and saw his new neighbor standing in front of the building, arms crossed in front of him, looking deeply uncomfortable. A guy was facing him, his back to Billy, gesturing wildly as he talked to Steve. Well, yelled at Steve. The guy took a step forward and Steve gave a barely perceptible flinch, but stood his ground. Billy made a decision as he got closer.

"We can figure this out, baby. You just have to stop being so fucking stubborn," the guy was saying as Billy got close enough to hear. Steve looked murderous at that.

"Oh, we definitely can't," he said, and then stopped as he finally registered Billy's approach. He snapped his mouth shut. Billy grinned at him and shifted his bag from the wine store to his other hand. He threw an arm around Steve's shoulders, ignoring the guy across from him, who was staring.

"I believe you promised me dinner, pretty boy." He held up the bag in his other hand. "I brought wine." Steve stared at him for a long beat and then a small smile broke out on his face. He looked at the man across from him.

"We'll have to finish this another time, Todd. Or preferably, never." He turned and walked into the building, Billy on his heels. Billy glanced back once to see Todd staring after them, brows furrowed. He couldn't help himself--Billy winked at him as the door closed, and then followed Steve up the stairs.

He fully expected Steve to thank him and then disappear, so he was surprised when Steve beckoned him into his apartment.

"Oh hey, you don't actually have to make me dinner," Billy said as Steve dropped his stuff in the entryway and headed for the kitchen.

"Nonsense," Steve said. "Now I owe you for two things. One dinner is the least I can do. Let's see what you have for wine and we can go from there." He paused and flushed a little. "Unless you have other plans. You probably do! What am I thinking, it's Friday night. You probably--" Billy cut him off.

"I don't have plans," he said simply. Steve smiled a little.

"Ok," he said. He held out his hand and Billy handed over the bag from the wine store. Steve pulled out bottles and hummed thoughtfully.

"I mean, I did have plans, but they consisted of sitting on my couch and drinking wine by myself, so. This is better," Billy said. What the fuck was he saying? Steve was going to think he was pathetic. But Steve didn't really seem to be paying attention. He was leaning into the fridge, pulling out garlic and a block of parmesan.

"How do you feel about mushrooms?" Steve asked, frowning a little.

"I feel good about mushrooms," Billy replied, a little tentatively. He felt off-balance, which was irritating. Sure, Steve was hot as hell, but Billy was usually good at this. He wasn't sure why he was so fucking awkward at the moment. Fortunately, Steve still didn't seem to have noticed. He took one more look at the bottles of wine in front of him and then nodded once, decisively, and slid a bottle of Chardonnay across the counter toward Billy. He moved around the kitchen, finding a wine opener and two glasses.

"This one. And pasta with mushroom cream sauce." Billy's eyebrows went up. Apparently Steve had not lied about being able to cook.

"Sounds great, pretty boy," he said, and then he opened the wine and poured two glasses. He relaxed quickly once the wine started flowing; it turned out that talking to Steve was surprisingly easy. Billy didn't stumble back across the landing to his own apartment until well after midnight. He was full of delicious pasta and good wine, and he hadn't laughed that much in a long time. He fell asleep with a smile on his face.

The third time Billy saw Steve, he was at the gym. He had been avoiding it for a while after things went sideways with Curtis, but he couldn't stay away forever. He went straight there from work, and the first thing he saw when he stepped out of the locker room was Steve doing a weight circuit. He smiled a little to himself at the sight. Steve apparently worked out in an old t-shirt and a truly tiny pair of shorts that Billy loved immediately. The smile dropped right off his face, though, when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"I was wondering when you'd be back." He turned to find Curtis behind him, hands on his hips, glaring.

"I'm just here to work out," Billy said. He slipped his headphones on and walked away before Curtis could start talking again. Sure, Billy had never been the best at ending things gently, but it wasn't like they'd been dating. They had just hooked up a few times. Billy hadn't felt like he owed the guy a long explanation, or any explanation at all, really, but apparently Curtis had expected one. Billy tried not to think about it as he set up the weights, preferring to sneak glances at Steve instead. By the time he was done with his workout, he was drenched in sweat and feeling calmer. That feeling lasted right up until he was walking out of the gym. Curtis was waiting at the front counter, and stopped him before he could make it to the door.

"Can we at least talk about it?" Curtis asked, clearly irritated.

"What is there to talk about?" Billy asked, shifting his gym bag on his shoulder. He just wanted to go home and take a shower. He did not want to have this conversation.

"You can't just ghost me and then act surprised when I want to talk about it," Curtis said. Billy wasn't surprised. He was tired. And this conversation was stupid. He sighed.

"I don't know what you want me to say. We were hooking up and now we're not."

"Well, we could have talked before you just decided to bail," Curtis said sarcastically.

"Hey man," a voice said from behind Billy. Billy turned and found Steve, all sweaty, still in his tiny gym shorts, looking at him with a question in his eyes. He must have seen some kind of answer on Billy's face because he looked at his watch and then back at Billy. "If we're still planning to pick up beers before the game starts, we should get a move on, right?" Billy just stared for a moment before he caught on. He felt a surge of gratitude.

"Definitely," he said, smile going wide. He turned back to Curtis, who was glaring at Steve. "Sorry man, gotta go. I'll see you around." Curtis looked at him and sneered.

"You're such a fucking coward," he said. Billy's smile went a little sharp. He suppressed the urge to take a swing at Curtis and took a deep breath instead, just like his therapist had taught him.

"Then I guess it's a good thing we're not hanging out anymore, huh?" he said, and then he followed Steve out the door. Steve smiled at Billy as he fell into step beside him on the sidewalk outside.

"I don't even know what game we're supposedly watching," Steve admitted. Billy laughed.

"There's definitely football on tonight. But what if there hadn't been?" he asked. Steve rolled his eyes.

"If you're a committed enough sports fan, there's always some kind of game on. Besides, I took a chance that your friend either wouldn't know or wouldn't call me on it." Billy grimaced.

"Not a friend. Ex, I guess? Kind of?" Steve glanced over, but didn't say anything. Billy continued, a little surprised at himself. "We weren't actually dating. We just hooked up a few times." He sighed. "I don't know why he's making such a big deal about it." Steve bumped his shoulder into Billy's.

"He probably wanted to be dating you," Steve said casually, and then he grinned. "Hey, maybe we should introduce our exes to each other," he said, eyes sparkling. "He and Todd could probably make a real go of it." Billy's eyes went wide.

"Oh, that's genius," he said, laughing. They stopped at the liquor store and picked up some beers, for the sake of verisimilitude and because Steve was out. Steve paused outside his apartment door when they finally made it back.

"Do you...actually want to come over? We don't have to watch football, but I could throw something together for dinner." He wouldn't quite meet Billy's eyes, like he was nervous. Billy felt something light bubbling up in his chest.

"Yeah, sounds good. Let me get cleaned up. I'll come by in about twenty minutes?" Steve nodded.

"I'll leave it unlocked," he said. Billy headed for his own door and then turned back around.

"Hey, thanks for the rescue," he said. "I'd offer to cook you dinner, but I am much better at calling for takeout than I am at cooking." Steve grinned at him. "You can call for takeout next time," he said, and then disappeared into his apartment. Next time. Billy liked the sound of that.

Over the next several weeks, Billy stopped counting the number of times he saw Steve. Or, more accurately, he lost count somewhere between the time they ran into each other at the grocery store a couple of days after the gym and ended up going back to Billy's apartment for beers and takeout, and the time Steve woke him up at seven on a Saturday morning to go get the best produce at the farmer's market. Billy found himself coming home from work earlier and bringing less work home on the weekends. Steve invited him over for dinner a few times a week, claiming that cooking for one was impossible and Billy was actually doing Steve a favor. They went to the gym together more often than not now, and while Curtis still glared at both of them when he saw them, he left Billy alone.

Todd was harder to get rid of. He continued to hang around, showing up at Steve's door at random intervals, dropping off gifts and alternating between begging Steve to take him back and yelling at him. One Saturday night, Billy and Steve were out at a bar with some of Steve's friends when Billy spotted Todd across the room. He was closing in on Steve. Billy rolled his eyes. He was so fucking sick of this, and he chose not to spend any time at all thinking about why he was taking Todd's actions so personally. Billy slid out of the booth where Heather and Robin and Nancy and Jonathan were chatting and made his way over to the bar where Steve was ordering another round.

Todd had just reached out for Steve's arm when Billy arrived. Billy slid an arm around Steve's waist from behind and hooked his chin over Steve's shoulder. Steve stiffened up initially, but Billy was pleased to note that he relaxed as soon as he saw whose hands were on him. He seemed to pick up on what Billy was doing immediately and relaxed back into him, his hand coming to cover Billy's where it was pressed to his stomach.

"What's up, B?" Steve murmured over his shoulder. Billy grinned, sharp, eyes on Todd. Todd was staring at their interlaced fingers, seemingly unable to look away.

"I got tired of waiting for you to come back, baby," Billy murmured into Steve's neck. He pressed a kiss to the side of Steve's throat for good measure and was delighted when his ears went a little pink.

"Aw, sweetheart," Steve said, tilting his head over to give Billy more access. Hearing a pet name directed at him in Steve Harrington's voice was doing things to Billy. With an effort, he kept his eyes on Todd instead of licking up Steve's throat and nipping at his jaw the way he suddenly wanted to. Todd had gone a concerning shade of red, and his jaw was tight.

"You could have just said that you had moved on," he snapped at Steve, and then he looked at Billy. "I hope you know you're just a rebound," he hissed before he turned and stalked away, shoving his way through the crowd.

"Bye, Todd," Billy called after him as Steve huffed a laugh next to his ear. Reluctantly, Billy stepped back from Steve. He was probably imagining the way Steve held onto his hand for a second before letting go. Steve turned to look at him, smile wide.

"That was probably mean," he said. Billy scoffed.

"You've told him to fuck off a bunch of times, Steve. The fact that he refuses to hear it when you say the word no is on him." Steve stared at him for a long moment, expression unreadable. He started to say something, but their drinks arrived and they made their way back to the table. No one seemed to have noticed that anything had happened, except that Billy kept catching Robin watching him thoughtfully. Every time his eyes met hers, she grinned at him, like she knew something he didn't. Billy tried to ignore her. He and Steve didn't talk about it on the walk back home, and Billy tried to ignore the surge of disappointment he felt when Steve just smiled and said goodnight and closed his door.

He didn't see Steve again for a couple of weeks. Work got busy and he found himself back in a pattern of leaving for work early and coming home late. A few times he came home to a small stack of tupperware containers outside his door. He smiled, feeling something warm in his chest at Steve's continued insistence that he eat something other than takeout. He washed the containers and left them outside Steve's door, but he didn't see the man himself until late on a Friday night.

Billy had spent most of the day in court, where his preparation had paid off. The rest of the team took him out for drinks after work to celebrate his win, so he was exhausted and a little tipsy as he fumbled for his keys. Someone reached past him with their own keys to unlock the door to the building. He turned to find Steve smiling at him.

"Thanks," Billy said, and he knew he was staring but he couldn't stop. Steve looked fucking edible, all flushed and sweaty with messy hair and his stupid tiny running shorts on. His shirt was tucked into the back of his shorts. All of it felt like a personal attack on Billy's composure. He suppressed the urge to push Steve up against the wall and run his hands over every inch of that pale skin right then and there, but it took some effort.

"Late night run?" Billy asked, when he belatedly realized that he should probably stop staring and say something. Steve smiled ruefully.

"Yep. For some reason I continue to believe that if I run enough, I will eventually be able to go to sleep," Steve said. "Are you just getting home from work?"

"Yeah," Billy admitted. "Well, yes and no. I won in court today, so we went out for drinks." Steve looked impressed.

"Congrats," he said. "If you're in the mood for one more, I'd be happy to drink to your success." He smiled at Billy. "Hey, are you hungry?" Billy was, actually. There had maybe been appetizers at the bar, but he hadn't eaten any of them.

"Yeah, but I was just going to..." Billy trailed off and Steve smirked at him.

"You certainly don't have to come over," he said. "It's late and you're probably tired, but I am willing to bet you a hundred dollars that you have six things in your fridge, five of them are condiments, and one of them is beer." Billy thought about it for a minute. Steve was probably right, but Billy also hadn't seen him for too long. He wasn't going to turn down a chance to hang out.

"Well damn," he said. "I guess we've got a hundred bucks riding on whether or not pickles are a condiment." Steve narrowed his eyes.

"Spears or slices?"

"Slices," Billy admitted.

"Mm, those are made for burgers, so I'm going to have to rule them a condiment. Just give me a minute to rinse off and then come over. I have leftover soup. And good bread," Steve added as Billy got his mail and they headed for the stairs. Billy smiled. A late dinner with Steve sounded amazing right now. Better than sleep, even.

"I can bring wine," he offered. He was pretty sure he still had a few nice bottles of red left.

"Perfect," Steve said over his shoulder as he disappeared into his apartment. Billy tried to suppress his big dumb smile while he changed into sweats and grabbed a bottle of wine. He also checked his hair and reapplied deodorant. After some thought, he slapped on a tiny bit of cologne.

Steve had left the door cracked, so Billy let himself in, closing the door behind him. There was music on in the background and the apartment smelled amazing, like spices and fresh bread. Steve appeared from the hallway in sweats and a t-shirt, toweling off his hair.

"Hey," he said. "You made it." He sounded pleased, like there was actually a chance Billy wasn't going to show up. Steve crossed the apartment and Billy followed him into the kitchen, setting down the bottle of wine on the counter. Steve dropped his towel over the back of a chair and tried to tame his hair with his hands. He was flushed from the shower and his hair was damp and messy and he was so beautiful Billy could hardly stand it.

"I hope you like--" Steve started to say, and before he had a chance to think too hard about it Billy was moving into his space, backing him up against the counter. Steve's eyes were wide on Billy's face. Billy moved slowly as he leaned in, giving Steve time to pull back if he wanted to. Instead, Steve met him halfway, leaning in and pressing his lips to Billy's. Steve was warm and he tasted good and he somehow smelled like home. Billy slid one hand to Steve's low back, pulling him closer, and buried the other in Steve's still-damp hair. Steve made a noise in the back of his throat, and his hands came up to frame Billy's face as he deepened the kiss. Billy would have stayed there forever, but they did eventually have to come up for air. There was a moment of silence.

"You hope I like what?" Billy finally asked with a smile, his forehead pressed against Steve's, breathing in his air.

"You know," Steve said, a little breathless, thumbs moving over Billy's cheekbones, "I forgot what I was going to say? Something about dinner."

"I'm afraid that right this second, I really don't give a fuck about dinner," Billy said, leaning back in to kiss Steve again. Steve kissed him back, hard, and then pulled away for a moment.

"Fortunately," he said, "I am also excellent at making breakfast."

And he really was.

#harringroveweekoflove #my writing #hello it has been a long-ass time since I actually wrote anything #but here we are!#yay!#steve harrington #billy hargrove

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engineer-in-space · 3 years

Text

a simple call of the wild review that is totally professional and not way too detailed by me (February)

It's gonna be a bit of comparing to previous powerwolf albums/songs and remember everything is my own opinion. If you disagree/agree we may talk about it in a civilized way, I actually love talking to others about this shit!

But otherwise (hate, insults, etc.) you can keep your opinion somewhere where I can't see it :) Also, the album has barely been out for a day and things change with time and I may grow to like certain things more. (but there's not too much that I don't like tbh) But I hope you enjoy this metalhead-gremlin's ramblings!

Faster than the flame

I had to listen to it quite a few times before I could say anything about it. It's a powerful start into the new album, however, it is (as previously stated) powerful but didn't blow me away like the first songs on the previous albums. (Fire &forgive, Blessed &possessed, amen & attack - wait am I just now noticing a pattern here? oh my god. Anyway.) Maybe I got that personal feeling that I want it to be Fire & Forgive, which is, of course, not possible and would be boring. So i think I'm not even critizing the song but rather the order of the songs.

It feels like a typical powerwolf song; both lyrics and instrumental. Fast, heavy, something about flames and burning - awesome. The two Latin parts (I think it's called the pre-chorus? man, I have no idea and will just throw around these words because my internet connection is too bad to look this up. But if you listen, you'll know which parts I mean.) already give me goosebumps. I also really, really liked the bridge (again?? idk??) aka the "flame, flame, burning wild in heavens name" part. This was the most memorable part for me after the first time listening. Of course, the guitar arrangement throughout the whole song is just... god bless. I must say that using the word "pastor" is dangerous because my stupid brain keeps thinking Attila is singing about "pasta" again... Oh well, moving on!

Beast of Gevaudan

Man, I've been listening almost non-stop since it was released as a single! At first, my head was comparing it somewhat to army of the night but after a few times this feeling was gone and it became an awesome new idea/song. The choir and orchestra part are so well placed and support the rest of the instrumental and Attila's voice perfectly. Again, much fast, very powermetal. I've grown very fond of the guitar solo. The lyrics tell us a little about the story of the beast and I. Love. Storytelling. In. Songs. Glad matthew finally came around to put his idea out there!

This song also has a video, which left me speechless at first. I love Attila's acting so much??? And making this sort of their own story of Jesus was such a cool idea. Production is high quality as well (didn't expect anything less after The Sacrament of Sin MVs) and there were really nice shots in there. I doubt that I will get tired of this song and this video anytime soon!

Dancing with the dead

That choir stuff in the beginning, following by that awesome guitar riff already had me. I couldn't stop listening to this one either. This might be, in my opinion, the most catchy song on the whole album. The intruments are in perfect harmony with Attila's heavenly voice. The transition into the guitar solo is so damn smooth and well done. I'm having a whole crisis about how good this song is.

The lyrics are interesting too! Again, there's a story to be told. As far as I can interpret it, being introduced to some darker powers and growing to enjoy them, despite previously having lots of faith, is what's going on here. It has this slight feeling of... corruption (in a good way of course). This makes me want to go dancing (with the dead)

This one also has a video! Once again, very high quality. Every band member had their "special moments/shots" and just looked stunning. But Attila left them all behind this time. Slow dancing, in a suit, with that smirk on his lips??? Well done, my dude.

Varcolac

This one's dark and heavy. It brings me back to the good ol' times of Lupus Dei and Bible of the Beast. Just with more orchestra, choir and overall harmony. It makes me so happy that Powerwolf is using so many real life legends and figures on this album! And they did such a good job with them as well. If this song was alive, it would be a scary beast.

The typical metal elements and orchestra/choir parts are very well balanced. And the organ throughout the whole song is fitting. It supports the dark and sinister feeling of the whole thing. My favourite part may be the "And as army we bing fire..." parts! Man, I just love werewolves. Also, I think Attila's famous gibberish singing made a return in this one!

Alive or undead

Oh boy,here we go. The piano in this one is incredible. "Here we STAAAAAAND!" Goosebumps and shivers. Everything about this is so emotional andreading the lyrics while listening just makes me want to cry, ok?! T_T Powerwolf has become so flexible, exploring different ways to make music. This could have been some kind of typical powermetal song but it's not and I'm glad about it.

Even if it's a little different, they never stray to far from what makes them special. The few parts, reminding one of typical church music would not have been necessary but are appreciated! They know when to leave out the guitars and go slowly. What bothers me a little, is that it somehow feels like Attila's voice had a tiny bit more potential up to the chorus. It could've been a little bit softer? if i can put it that way. But honestly this song is raw emotion and everything still fits together. If you thought their first ballad was emotional, buckle up, this one kicked me right in the feels.

Blood for blood (Faoladh)

Powerwolf ventures again into the folk metal territory and successfully conquers it! Could be a headline of something. Anyway, this song is a very worthy successor of Incense & Iron! It just makes me happy, its melody is so light - combined with your typical Powerwolf lyrics. Perfect song to start jumping up and down! It radiates motivational energy. Just like Dancing with the dead, this song has a very smooth transition to the guitar parts.

The melody is strong but still easy enough to quickly get into it! I can barely sit still and write this aaaa. Seriously, I am just happy with this song and will go jump and headbang a while to it!

Glaubenskraft

I have returned from jumping and oh no. It's a German song. Bold of them to go all out on that Latin beginning... it works really well though! It might be because I'm German but this song hits hard. Very hard. It's not easy to make this language sound good and ( if you don't happen to know much about German) the lyrics consist of a bunch of old words and grammar you wouldn't normally use anymore. But they made it fucking work!!! The quiet verses only make the pre-chorus and chorus itself heavier and blow me away. And SOMEHOW this super epic song with (made up, at least I'm pretty sure they don't exist like that) Latin words is about.. you know what Powerwolf writes about a lot. And I LOVE that. It's so subtle and only if you read into it, you're like "wait a minute".

This song has a feeling of corruption too. But not in a good way this time. It feels evil and intimidating and - honestly, I can't get enough of it. Everyone of my neighbours will think I'm some kind of weird Christian fanatic because I WILL yell "Glaubenskraft" just as much as I yelled "Stossgebet". Worth it, tho.

Call of the wild

The song with the same title as the album! (or the other way around, whatever.) This song is just catchy from the beginning to the end. Like many other songs its fast and hard. Just how I like it. Don't take that out of context.

The lyrics and instruments go wild (haha get it), with a really neat Latin pre-chorus. It's very fun to listen to. Personally, it makes me feel like I belong to the pack. That we're strong together, that we can say fuck it once in a while and just go crazy. The chanted part near the end of the song reminds me strongly of Sanctified with dynamite (ya know "die, die dynamite" and "call, call, call of the wild") and it's really cool they pick up on old things once again. Be it intentional or not. It's a reminder that they still are who they were back then - and their music is still fucking incredible.

Simply an epic song, strong vocals, strong guitars. I really, really like the intro. Attila has to sing so many words in such little time, does he even need to breathe now and then?

Now I'm wondering what came first; the album title or the track title? Chicken or the egg?

Sermon of swords

First of all: WHAT IS THAT OMINOUS VOICE IN THE BEGINNING. Mark me down as horny and scared. Ahem.

I really like how the verse and the chorus have their own theme and melody going on and yet they're connected. The chorus is super catchy too! And just say it yourself "Sermon of swords", how cool does it sound??? The choir in the beginning is a really neat introduction into the whole song. The lyrics match the whole album, very much a soundtrack to go on a crusade to, like Raise your fist, Evangelist or Christ & Combat. Just... "AAMEEN!" Ok, I'm actually going insane here, calm down, Feb. These might be my favourite lyrics of the whole album I think?? (unless I said that somewhere else already, then i have more than one favourite.)

The whole song has a more "classical" feeling to it, not only in the Powerwolf sense but also in the Heavy Metal sense in general. BUT. Orchestra and choir are prefectly mixed, especially supporting Attila in the chorus. The guitar solo is really cool and sounds very Greywolf-y, if you know what I mean. It's just Matthew's style.

Undress to confess

The name of this song says it all. This is your friendly reminder that no matter how much they preach about Jesus or the Devil, Powerwolf should not be taken too seriously. When I first saw the title I couldn't help but chuckle a little.

The melody is pretty catchy and easy to remember, the organ and general approach reminds me of Demons are a girl's best friend. I absolutely love how the lyrics are on that thin line of somewhat poetic and ridiculous. Let me provide two examples here: "all the world we posess for desire and sin we carress" - man, this sounds pretty.

And there's also "dressed to hide the dark, and obsessed to ride him hard on the.... crucifix." Yeah, I... I don't know what I expected here. Anyway, this is how you describe church sex without actually using explicit words. (why are you booing me, i'm right)

Still really nice to listen to and have a good time!

Reverent of rats

We arrived at the last song of the album! And here we picked up on the speed and power again! The way the organ is played during the verses makes it so... sinister. Again, this piece reminds me of Lupus Dei. The verses keep the sinister feeling while the chorus picks up more... drama? An epic melody mixed with epic words make my soul ascend to heaven.

This guitar solo is also the absolute good shit. It might be my favourite from all the songs of this album?! Additionally, the drums? I don't know why but they really stand out here. Love how fast paced they are.

Aaaaand that's it! If you've read all the way through holy shit, you are actually a badass. Thank you for staying with me, my werewolf friend. Maybe we'll meet where the wild wolves have gone. But always remember: Metal is religion.

#powerwolf #call of the wild #album review #well sort of #come talk to me about it i love the whole thing!!!!

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write-orflight · 4 years

Text

Trouble: Chapter 1

*Gif not mine*

Pairings: HotchxReader

Prologue

Rating: M

Words: 2K

Warnings: Basic witch stuff. Sex talk

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: After Haley’s passing, Aaron Hotchner has lost the light in his eyes. He seems to find it it the most unlikely of places, an occult themed coffee shop ran by a witch.

A.N: Tarot and Crystal information is very secondhand if you see any inaccuracies, no you don’t

Chapter one: Got so much to prove.

Virginia wasn’t necessarily in your top five places to open your shop.

In fact, you wouldn’t even say it was your top ten.

But you knew better than to question the process, life never led you anywhere you didn’t need to go. Quantico wasn’t that bad either, at least it was in a good school district.

You wake up to tiny fingers tapping on your forehead, you smile slightly opening your eyes to see your daughter's almond colored eyes staring back at you.

“Artie…” You say, trying to be the scolding mother you were supposed to be. You were never like that though, your daughter was too cute to be mad at sometimes. “What’s the rule?”

“Not to wake you unless it’s an emergency because you might be projecting.” She says, stumbling over the words the way six year olds seem to do “But it is an emergency, mama.”

“And what emergency is it this time?”

“I want pancakes before school.” She smiles, you can’t help but grin back at her.

“That’s not an emergency, Bean.” You say, flicking her nose lightly, she giggles at the action. “However, pancakes do sound good right now. Chocolate chip?” You ask standing, she nods excitedly, arms stretched fully for you to pick her up which you happily obliged. You knew the days where she wouldn’t want to be picked up were fast approaching so you held on tight as long as you could.

After a batch of messily made pancakes, you strap your daughter into her booster seat and make your way to her school. Most days, you were opening up at the shop so you didn’t get to take her to school which was why you were very appreciative of the times you could. You drive in silence for a second until your daughter pipes from the back.

“Hey, mama?”

“What’s up, bean.” you ask.

“Why don’t you have any friends?”

Wow, cutting deep this morning, Artie. You think. “What do you mean? I have friends, Auntie Silly, Auntie Lola. And I have you! My very best friend!”

“But you don’t have a Boyfriend.” She says, emphasizing the boy in boyfriend.

“First of all, who taught you what that means?” You say, looking in the rearview mirror at your daughter

“I don’t know what it means.” She shrugs. “Auntie Silly just said it’s been a while since you’ve had a boyfriend and gotten any. What does that mean, mama?”

“Means we need to have a conversation with Auntie Silly about what’s appropriate to say in front of you.” You say, rolling your eyes. Silena never did have a filter. You go to park in the drop off lane. Turning to your child. “And while I appreciate your concern, I’ve got everything I need right here.” You say, reaching back pinching her cheek. “Now, left palm please.” She opens her hand automatically, knowing the drill at this point as you slip the Sodalite crystal into her hand. She closes her palm around it. “What do you say when accepting?”

“My mind is open to new information!” She says, excitedly. She slips the stone into her pocket and hops out of the car.

“Learn something, Artemis!” You yell after her. She turns briefly to wave as you drive off.

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

You walk into Hallowed Grounds a little later stopping at your apartment to change. Your green hair in a sleek ponytail, wearing a simple black v-neck and olive green pants. As you walk in. you’re greeted by a mostly empty shop which you expected as the morning rush is typically gone by this time. Your best friend Silena, leaning against the counter bored, perks up when you walk in. Salem, the black cat who lives in the cafe, is surprisingly lively and rubs against your leg when you enter. You reward him with a pet as you walk behind the counter.

“Hey, how was your morning off?” Silly asks.

“Pretty good, until my daughter told me that Auntie Silly said I needed a boyfriend and I hadn’t gotten any in a while.” You turn to see Silena’s extremely guilty face. “Know anything about that?”

“I may have been talking on the phone to Lo while I was babysitting last week. In my defense, I didn’t think she could hear me.”

“We’ve talked about this, Sil. Artie’s smart, she soaks things up like a sponge. You’ve gotta watch what you say and secondly, Why are you and Lola discussing my love life in the first place?”

“Uh, maybe because there’s nothing to discuss.” You roll your eyes, starting to clean out the pots, Silena helps alongside you, rinsing out the grinders. “Think about it, Y/N, when’s the last time you’ve been on a date?”

“I don’t have time to date, I’ve got Artie and the shop…” You trail off. “I don’t know if a boyfriend’s in the cards right now.”

Silena looks excitedly at you. “Let’s find out if he’s in the cards right now.” She says scurrying to the corner of your store, grabbing a tarot deck of one of the shelves before settling on one of the bar chairs you had set along the bar counter of the shop. “Tarot reading, right now.” She says, already shuffling. You push back.

“Silena come on, not now.”

“No, you come on.” She counters. “I haven’t done a good reading in a while, and if it’s truly not in the cards for you I’ll stop bothering you about it. Scout’s honor.” She says in mock salute.

You roll your eyes. “You’ll really let it go?” You ask, she nods enthusiastically. “Fine.” You say as she shuffles the cards. She giggles, child-like. You guys were slow anyway, what’s a small tarot reading to you.

“Now you have to be serious and ask like you actually care and want to know the answers. The cards don’t like mockery” she says, handing you the deck to cut it.

“I know, Sil.” You finish cutting the deck into 3 piles. “Is new love in my future?” You ask, seriously before letting go. Silena grabs the deck and starts pulling.

The first card is Two of Cups.

The second card is the Ace of Cups.

Silena practically squeals, you don’t know why.

The third card she pulls is The Devil. Which only makes her squeal more.

“Sil…” you say hesitantly.

“Relax, big baby. The devil isn’t inherently a bad card. It depends on what the rest of your reading is. Plus, he’s balanced so that’s good.This is a really good pull, extremely good actually.” She smiles. “So I’m sure you know this is past, present, future. The Two of Cups means that you’ve actually already met someone you have a potential strong connection to. And the Ace of Cups means should you choose to pursue it, it can become a long lasting love, I’m talking Marriage long.” Silena says, before picking up the devil card. “And this bad boy right here means the sex is going to be wild.” She emphasizes. You can’t help the flush that spreads across your cheeks. “I mean, crazy, sensual, amazing sex. Don’t look at me like that, we were roommates in college. I know exactly what you’re into. Unfortunately” She adds, smiling wildly at you. “Claim it! Claim it now.”

You clear your throat, still flushing. “I am grateful and claim this reading for me. Thank you.” You say to the cards, knowing that it’s best to thank your cards no matter the reading. Silena puts the card away before grabbing her bag.

“I’ve got to go, Mike’s taking me to Donnatello’s tonight.” She says. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll get wild sex too tonight.” She says winking at you. You wave after her before resuming what you were doing before.

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

You’ve been in the shop for hours now, you had a pretty decent rush but for the most part you were slow today. Around 7 PM you notice a familiar face come in.

“Hey Doc!” You say as the lanky doctor saunters in. “I thought I told you I’m not selling you coffee this late anymore, you’ll never get to sleep.”

“Right now that’s a good thing.” He says, sighing. “We’ve got a rough case right now and it’s looking like we’re all pulling an all-nighter so I offered to run for coffee.” He says handing you a list of coffee orders.

“Aw, can I ask what’s got you working so late?” You ask, looking over the list, getting to work. A white mocha for Derek, Caramel macchiato for Emily, Earl Grey for JJ, Americano extra sugar for Spencer, Iced Caramel mocha for Penelope. Simple enough.

“Missing kids, time’s winding down on us.” He says, you pout, you had a soft spot for kids after having your own.

“I’m sorry.” You say. “Can I offer you some chalcopyrite? Helps find lost items.” You add.

Spencer shakes his head. “I don’t think a stone will be necessary.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “I know you don’t believe but the extra help couldn’t hurt. I’ll bless it for you though, just in case.”

You and Spencer make idle chat while you make the drinks. “I met your boss the other day.”

“Hotch?” he asks, you nod.

“Is he…” You didn’t know how to ask this without seeming like a weirdo. “Is he...ok? I didn’t have much of an interaction with him but his Aura is very dark, like he’s suffered loss or something, I don’t know.”

“That actually does make sense.” He says. “He lost his ex wife a couple months back and his son lost his mom. Killed in her house, incredibly sad. I think he still blames himself.” Spencer tells you.

You look sadly, you knew there was a reason something was telling you to protect this man. You had only just met him and you gave him a powerful protective stone for internal battles. You had felt he was fighting grief but not grief that big.

“Will you bring him a coffee, if I make it?” You say, Spencer nods letting you get back to work.

——————————————-

Spencer walks back into the office, coffee in tow. Immediately, everyone greets him with grateful looks.

“Thanks! Was y/n working?” Emily says, grabbing her cup.

“Yea, so you know it’s good.” Spencer says. “She said to tell you to come visit.”

“I know, I never have the time to get over there.” She adds. Spencer nods before grabbing the cup y/n had indicated was for Hotch. He steadily made the walk up the stairs to his office, rapping lightly on the open door. Hotch signaled for him to come in and wait while he finished up a phone call. Once done, he looked at Spencer and the cup.

“I didn’t order coffee.” He says, bluntly.

“I know, sir. Y/N insisted on making one for you.” He said sitting the cup down on his desk. Hotch examined it. On it was a drawing of the dwarf, Grumpy from Snow White and the Seven Dwarves and Agent GG in her script. Hotch smelled the cup, he knew it wasn’t regular black coffee. It smelled too sweet and nutty for that. He took a sip, tentatively. Fuck that was good and he definitely needed to ask her what it was for next time.

“Why?” He asked. “Did she tell you?”

Spencer shook his head. “Honestly, I stopped asking why Y/N does anything a while ago. But she did tell me to tell you to come back and see her, she wants to see if the crystal is working for you.” Spencer’s eyes immediately zeroed in on the clear quartz that had now taken permanent residence on his desk. He didn’t know why he kept it. He didn’t believe in that stuff but for some reason it made the work less stressful and less energy draining but most importantly, it made him think of you. You’d never know it but you had taken permanent residence in his head as well. “You took a crystal from her?”

Hotch cleared his throat, awkwardly. “Yea, why?”

Spencer shrugged. “It just doesn’t seem like something you’d do.” He said before walking out.

He was right. This wasn’t something Hotch would do. But It seemed like you were becoming his personal contradiction.

Taglist: @megatrexus @roses-and-grasses

#criminal minds #hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader smut #hotchner x reader smut #bau x reader #hotch x reader smut

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lovelivingmydreams · 3 years

Text

A story by heroes and villains

Roman Castile: Passion and duty

Roman finds that his different passions seem to get in each other's way for now. But one day, he will find a balance.

“Ugh! I am done!” Roman exclaimed relieved, barely hearing the hissed warning from the librarian. Homework had been draining. Sure they’d had fun. Especially when it came to teasing Virgil about his pronunciation when they worked on Spanish.

Still Roman was ready to do literally anything else.

“Give me a sec, I have to finish this thing for English,” Virgil muttered absentmindedly. Roman knew that Virgil had rewritten that particular assignment two times already.

“Want me to read it trough for you?” Roman offered. Maybe hearing someone say that it was good would be enough to stop him from second guessing himself again.

“You don’t…” Virgil started, somehow looking guilty.

“We’re here to help each other Virgil. If I didn’t want to help you I wouldn’t offer. I thrive on being of help to my friends. It’s no trouble,” he assured him. Virgil offered him a small smile and a nod in response. “Alright. You can read it when I’m done,” he allowed.

Roman took peace with that and opened his notebook to start doodling.

He had a few ideas for some more shirt designs. He’d enjoyed making his ‘coming out’ shirt. Then there was the Halloween party and every other social event this year has to offer where he had to slay. Junior year was a year to be noticed. Nothing wrong with putting down some ideas in advance. He just might come across the perfect outfit.

“Seems I’m not the only one who can draw up some clothes,” Virgil noted and Roman nearly fell of his chair when he jumped at his sudden proximity.

“Will you stop that!?” A thing about Virgil Roman had learned over the last week. He always seemed to pop up out of nowhere. One minute he’s gushing over the latest Disney trailer with André and suddenly Virgil stands next to him giving his two cents. It was terrifying.

“Not a chance,” Virgil chuckled as he picked up Roman’s sketches.

“This looks good though… You ever thought of becoming a fashion designer?”

Roman’s eyes widened. Making amazing outfits for a living? He could make a whole ‘wear your pride’ line and… Oh… Oh…!

“You are a genius!” Roman exclaimed. He’d had no idea what he wanted to do with his future, aside from hero work, but now the idea was brought up he wanted nothing else. Fashion designer, superhero, actor, maybe also Mr. Castile-Anker. That was a future he could look forward to!

Virgil chuckled. “It’s the least I can do. I sent in the designs like you said… I’m kind of excited.”

Roman beamed at him. “I’m sure next time you see DreamPrince on the news he’ll be wearing your design.” He was. He’d been shown some alternative designs by Manifestor and found Virgil’s drawing among them and immediately declared that that was the one.

As he’d told Roman, he’d changed a few things. He’d shown him on Wednesday to get his stamp of approval. Roman had gushed unapologetically, because he knew he’d have to tone it back a bit in front of the team.

Which had been hard.

Tonight he’d be taking it for a test run and he’d make sure to be seen by people and cameras.

“We’ll see,” Virgil smiled as he pushed his laptop with his assignment towards Roman.

Roman read it, dropping the subject without problem.

Virgil was easy to be friends with and he’d quickly learned to read his moods.

During lunch Virgil usually sat himself a little bit away from the group when he felt the need to just focus on his music and sketch a little before heading back to class. He was sarcastic, witty and could dish it out about as well as he could take it.

He was also very guarded emotionally, which Roman could understand, but whenever they were just the two of them, Virgil opened up some more. He’d learned about Virgil’s soon to be stepdad and the admittedly adorable meet cute he’d been a part of.

He knew that Virgil’s dad had found them a new home and they’d moved in just that week.

He learned that Virgil was mature and his dad’s only wingman which they both agreed was super awkward but also hilarious.

Roman had joked that Virgil might end up being his father’s best man. But apparently there was a family friend ‘uncle Thomas’ who might get that position.

Virgil had gone out with another girl that week. Anna, who’d had English with him last year or something. Virgil had listened patiently, but relatively unaffected to her asking him out and arranged another semi-date at the music store for the next evening. Luckily nothing came from it again. Roman asked him why he kept saying yes to people he barely knew. Virgil explained that he had missed out on enough chances to befriend others. So the way he saw it he’d at the very least get a friend out of it. Roman kind of took comfort in that. It didn’t sound like Virgil was trying to get a girlfriend or a boyfriend right now. Just trying to socialize. Roman had reminded Virgil to watch his boundaries though. He wouldn’t want him to push himself out of fear he’d be missing out.

One more thing he learned about Virgil: he was overly critical of himself.

“Well, I think you can hand this in with confidence Virge,” Roman concluded as he returned Virgil’s laptop to him.

“So… I recall something about pizza? I’m starving!” he grinned.

Virgil chuckled and lead the way. Soon they were sat at a table with their orders and they were talking about everything and nothing. It was great. And Roman was so close to asking Virgil out but…

“So… Um… There’s this… Shoot wait a minute,” Roman got up and picked up his phone.

“Si mama…?” he asked curiously after seeing the caller ID.

“Darling. I know you are out with your friend. But I wanted you to know we’re headed to the university now,” his mother informed him. The university… Wait. “Que?” Roman looked at his watch incredulously. He was going to be late. Unless he left right now that is.

“Perdona! I’ll be there soon.” He hung up and dug through his wallet for some money.

“So sorry Virge! Time got away from us I’m afraid. I swear I intended to give you that ride… Can you call your dad… You know what? Just use the change to take the bus or something alright? My treat! I’ll call you later!” he promised as he tossed down a few bills that should more than cover the tab and the tip before rushing away.

How was it so late already?

He sprinted around a few corners and found a spot to get changed. BS had explained about the sciency stuff behind his costume change, but all Roman really cared about was that he basically had a magical boy transformation. Sure he could sit there and let the tech do its thing, but it was much more fun to make up a cool transformation sequence.

First, hair. He retrieved a lip balm like object and applied the substance to his hairline. He tucked the balm away and with one smooth movement of his hand he styled and recolored his hair. Instead of parted in the middle with regal waves it was flicked to the back, save for a single rebellious strand dangling down his forehead. Instead of a deep ash brown it was warm chestnut in color.

Then he took a tini metallic bead from a ring on his finger and tapped it against his temple, before he swiped his hand in front of his eyes as his mask placed itself securely on his face, changing his eye color in the process. He tapped his wrists together in front of his chest and brought them down with force, feeling his blazer and shirt get replaced by the skintight suit. He tapped his right heal against his left before taking another power position and finishing his costume change.

How cool was his life?!

He created a platform to lift himself to the roof and sprinted towards the university. The GTH was in it’s basement. As he made his way there he started to think over asking Virgil out again.

Maybe, now wasn’t the time. Virgil was clearly still upset about the whole Janus thing. He didn’t say it but Roman could tell. And he didn’t want Virgil to think for even a second that Roman’s crush was anything less than genuine, he had noticed that Virgil still had trouble believing their friendship was real at times. Not to mention that starting a relationship with someone while he was still figuring out how to balance out superhero and civilian life was clearly a bad idea. He couldn’t even ask him out without being interrupted by his other life.

So, he'd wait until he had his life in order and he was sure Virgil was ready. There was definitely some kind of connection between them. And Roman was willing to wait until the time was right…

He knew he was being a coward, but his friendship with Virgil was so fragile.

He entered the basement campus with little hassle and dropped of his bag in his personal locker, making sure to lock it. If anyone with ill intent got in here they could easily find out his identity with it's contents and Roman didn’t want his name out like that. Not yet at least.

He hurried to the training hall, threw open the doors and slid inside.

“Your prince has returned!” he exclaimed, doing a pretty good job at pretending he hadn't just sprinted the whole way there.

“Has he now?” BS asked, apparently in a bad mood today.

“Oh come now big S, the boy is just excited for his present! I would be too if I got a new costume made for me by a secret admirer,” Sweets offered with a calming hand on BS' shoulder. Sweets was an empath. He could share his emotions and those of others, perfect match for someone who wants or needs to keep his calm.

But what sweets said made Roman rather flustered. “I don't think DreamPrince has had enough appearances to already gain such attentions. Whoever did this just couldn't stand to look at this any longer.” Roman gestured to his current costume.

“Speaking of which…” he held out his hand bouncing on his feet in excitement. He was supposed to meet the chief of police today and he wanted to look presentable.

Manifestor chuckled from his spot on the desk. “Give the boy his stuff. He's been looking forward to this day for the past four years.”

BS sighed and handed Roman a small box, which the young hero snatched up before rushing to the dressing room.

He turned his suit off and took off the containment units. He opened the box and switched the old units for the new ones. The bracelets were more comfortable and adjusted to his skin tone, the metal bead was replaced with two skin colored stickers he applied to his temples.

“Let’s do this,” Roman smirked excitedly.

“To adventure!” he called out as he crossed his arms and tapped at his temples while simultaneously clicking his wrists together. At the same time he tapped his right toe behind his left heel and brought his ankles together. He struck a power pose, facing the full length mirror and grinned excitedly. Virgil had added an insignia on his cape and golden trimming in the final design. There'd been a few options for his emblem and Roman had chosen the shield with a castle by the sea with the sun shining down on him. He looked quite dashing.

He left the dressing room and handed the box back to BS with an elegant gesture.

BS wasn't amused. Sweets and Manifestor on the other found it hilarious.

“So? What do you think?” Roman asked as he turned around to show off the end result.

A loud ‘bing' announced a message from his family watching from the observation room.

“Gaaaaaaay!” Roman rolled his eyes good naturedly. Remus was a fan.

“Stay away from Planes!” the next one read. Roman chuckled. He had asked Virgil about the cape, considering he’d expected someone as cautious as him to heed Edna Mode's advice.

Apparently Virgil had intended the Cape to be an addition for official events. So ‘Prince’ would look good on camera. He'd also pointed out that it would look badass for the prince to un-claps his Cape before a fight. He'd had a point and Roman actually loved it.

“You look very handsome darling.”

“Thanks mom!” Roman called out.

Then two beeps came from a device on BS wrist. He looked down and relaxed, tapping away at a holographic screen, turning up the intensity of his shadow. “The chief is here,” he announced.

Roman raised an eyebrow, that was not what BS had been so tense about. Something in his private life maybe? If that was the case he'd never find out.

Roman had no time to worry about that though. The door opened and in walked the police chief. A small but commanding African American woman. It was something in the way she walked that made Roman want to stand at attention. And so he did. He wasn't the only one.

“DreamPrince, at your service ma’am,” Roman introduced himself respectfully.

“So you are what all the fuss is about?” she asked as she looked Roman up and down.

Chief Davies pursed her lips before nodding to herself. “I’ve read your file, you’re quite the prodigy aren’t you?” she asked.

Roman chuckled a little awkwardly. “I’ve just been training from a young age, that’s all.” Most gifted didn’t realize their talent until they were well in their teens.

“Good answer. I have no time to stroke an adolescent ego. We’ve got work to do.”

Chief Davies turned to Manifestor. “You got the files I sent?”

Manifestor nodded hurriedly. “Yes. I had no time to review them though.”

“I’ll walk you through it,” she announced dismissively. The leader of Roman’s training team nodded and tapped at something on his wrist. The screen that had shown the messages from Roman’s family earlier was now filled with mugshots.

The men looked dangerous. Roman shifted nervously. “You… you want my help apprehending these men?” he asked, trying not to show how frightening it seemed.

“God No!” Roman hid his relieve. “These men are all in jail already, with iron clad cases keeping them there for a long time. You think I’m going to send some rookie after hardcore criminals? No offense, but you are still a baby,” Roman blushed at that and focused back on the pictures.

Wait a minute. “I know that guy! Remember at the end of my first week? I spotted some tugs bothering that kid and tossed a rock at them?”

“And by some miracle you weren’t found when said tugs came looking for you,” BS added through gritted teeth. Still upset at Roman's initial recklessness.

“I wasn’t the only one they were looking for,” Roman insisted. He’d been so sure he hadn’t been alone that night. But BS claimed the would have known if anyone else had been there.

He never went after the tugs after they left the alley. BS insisting he was done with back alleys for the night.

And now those guys were apparently behind bars?

“Next slide please!” Davies called out.

A picture of a ziplock bag with pictures, a USB stick and a note of cut out letters that said ‘your turn’.

“For almost a year now we’ve been getting mysterious packages like this. Pictures, audio and video recordings. Every last one had one of these men incriminating themselves. It’s like whoever delivers these stands right next to them, but never gets caught taking pictures or carrying a wire. I have a small task force on the case who have dubbed them ‘The Phantom’. We are keeping this as in house as we can. Once the public hears about the Phantom, we’ll lose the most valuable asset we’ve ever had. Plus until now we weren’t sure if they were a sensible vigilante or a mobster who was taking out competition in a very clever way. Given what you just said I’d be inclined towards the former. They might have some sort of gift that hides them well enough to get away with spying. But right now, they are putting themselves in danger.” Davies turned towards Roman.

“Keep an eye out, see if you can spot him during your patrol this evening. And if you do, get him on board with the program.”

“Prince did not go through all that training to be your recruitment poster boy!” BS snapped to Roman's surprise. That was the most emotional response he's seen from BS ever. Aside from when he scolded Roman on his reckless behavior.

Davies glared at BS, looking quite intimidating, despite barely reaching to his chest.

“Now don't go all noble on me BrainStorm. What? Did your heart grow three sizes while I wasn't looking? Is there suddenly room for more than one other person there?”

Roman knew that this was a threat. Davies knew BS’ true identity, where he worked, who he cared for. She could ruin whatever he had built in an instant.

Roman often wondered what kind of life BS had outside the facility. Did he have a partner? A family? Did they know about his past at all.

A few seconds ticked by with no one daring to do so much as breathe.

Then Davies relaxed and stepped back. “I'm no monster BrainStorm. I wouldn't ask some rookie to deal with this if I hadn’t tried everything else already. I send in my agents and even called in other gifted. All we got out of that was this,” she gestured and Manifestor showed the next image. A note in the same style as the previous one that said ‘no babysit!’

“Our profiler thinks they are young. So maybe your prince won't seem as threatening. They might've had his back once before already. If this Phantom were someone you cared for, would you rather we left them be, or would you drag their noble behind here yourself to give them proper gear and back up?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, BS had nothing to counter with. Roman imagined Phantom being one of his friends, or even Janus and the answer remained the same.

“I will do what I can,” he vowed before lifting his chin and facing the fierce chief head on. “But ma'am, I don't appreciate you threatening my mentor like that.”

BS had stood up for him, it was only right for him to return the favor.

Davies chuckled. “Just when I started to worry you were only brawn and a pretty face. You can be smart too huh? And you’ve got guts. You just might have what it takes kid. Now. I have places to be. Keep me updated, and don't lose this.” Roman accepted the watch he was handed with a confused frown.

“My people will call if we need you. Please use that brain and return the favor?”

With that she left. Well… that was intense.

Roman put on the watch and saw that it had a frequency displayed on it instead of time. He also spotted two buttons. One blue and one red. It didn't take much to realize that one was a panic button and the other was to make it so the cops could hear him. He wondered if it would connect to the nearest patrol car or to Davies directly.

He hoped he’d never have to find out.

“Well… time to show the city their hero is ready for action.”

It had been a pleasant evening so far. He'd stopped a few shoplifters, broke up a fight or two and dodged a few reporters, though he let them snap a good picture of his new outfit.

Now the sun was down however and he was making his way to the back alleys.

“Looking for a fight is foolish Prince!” BS growled through his earpiece.

But Roman wasn't looking for a fight. He was looking for someone who'd gotten him out of at least one pickle.

He ignored BS as he landed on a roof, overlooking the city using his sight. He didn’t know what he was looking for exactly, but it was his only plan.

Suddenly he spotted something strange and unusual. There was an energy, a few blocks ahead. But it was impossible for him to really see it. Like he was looking at it trough glasses with strong prescriptions.

He rushed towards it and found a gang of criminals with violently swirling auras. He knew what this meant. They were going to hurt someone.

“Send back up to my location,” he instructed before turning the receiver off. He needed to focus.

“I say we attack now! They are week! We can take them down easily.” A shorter guy with energy like glass shards insisted.

“Boss says we have a truce until the rat is found,” a giant of a man stated calmly, though his energy betrayed how much he wanted to go with the first guy's plan.

Were they talking about Phantom?

“What rat!? Those idiots just bragged to the wrong crowd.” The first voice shot back. Phantom was becoming a bit of a ghost story it seemed. Some who believed, judging by the shudder that went through the other men's auras at the mere mention of them. But clearly not everyone was convinced.

“Oh and they gave out pictures as well? Did a little livestream? We're not safe until this rat is lynched,” the tall man pointed out tensely. He was a believer. And he wanted Phantom dead. Not good.

Roman studied the tugs and to his relief he spotted they were all armed. Weird thing to be happy about. But it meant he had probable cause to interfere.

He jumped down, slowing his descent just so that he didn't hurt himself on the landing without sacrificing the cool factor.

“Do you gentlemen have permits for those weapons?” he asked as he rose up to his full length facing them fearlessly.

“what the…?”

“It's that Prince clown!” Rude.

The tall guy, the leader probably, silenced the group with a gesture and smiled, his anxious energy almost completely disappearing. He'd found something to vent on. “Sure kid. Got mine right here.”

Roman flung his cape in front of him and manifested a gelatinous shield around himself as the leader pulled out his gun and fired several rounds at him. The tugs wouldn't see it. But it was there, and it caught the bullets slowing them down until they were harmless, making them fall to the ground when they met with the fabric.

“Well now you just pissed me off. This is brand new!” he complained as he dropped both cape and shield.

“I suppose you won't surrender peacefully?” he deduced. The criminals all readied their weapons. Seriously? Did they not get that he was essentially bulletproof?

He sighed as he took off his cape and hung it on a water pipe that ran down the side of the building.

“Fine,” he sighed and then he amped up his speed a bit while shielding himself from the rain of bullets heading his way. He used the gelatin shield because he didn't want to risk the bullets ricocheting and injuring someone. Especially the gifted he was sure was still watching the whole thing.

It wasn't hard to disarm the criminals. He even managed to knock a few to the ground. But there were at least two who'd gone down without him even touching them. And he would’ve sworn he saw a figure move between him and a tug once or twice to block a blow. He couldn't really see the other hero. It was an odd sensation. But he could feel his presence better and better and soon he was adapting his moves to those of the Phantom. Together they took out the whole group. Though to the villains it would seem like he'd done it by himself. He stood victorious over the leader, a pile of disassembled guns behind him and sirens lighting up the alley.

He twisted his foot to show off his white boot with gold accents. “So… how does it feel to get your butt kicked by a guy in heels?” he wondered playfully before looking up towards the presence and winking in acknowledgment.

“Good job Dream Prince. We've got it from here.” Roman turned to the cops and bowed to them

“It's my pleasure to be of assistance to the police of this fine city.” Then, while turning around, he made a gesture that could be taken as a ‘goodbye’, or as a ‘follow me’.

He was glad to notice that the presence seemed to follow him. He found a fire escape and floated himself to the roof it led to.

He turned to face his hopefully soon to be partner in crime fighting.

He could hear the clanging of someone climbing the metal fire escape. And while he still couldn't quite make out the figure that reached the roof he saw his reflection in a pool of water left behind by the rain earlier that day.

An unfortunate weakness, but so long as no one knew, no one would be looking for it. In order to be a hero, no one could know Phantom really existed. Was that why the authorities were kept at a distance? Why Phantom never made introductions despite having crossed paths at least once before?

He stepped forward with a bow. “Greetings Phantom. I must thank you for the assistance. Both just now and three months ago. I am Dream Prince, he/him if you please. A pleasure to officially meet you.”

A distorted chuckle made him look up. He could see Phantom much better now. He was dressed in Male coded clothes, though that was no guarantee. The hero outfit was simple. A black t-shirt, boots and denims, paired with a black coat that reached down to his calves and had the collar popped up. He looked really cool… but Roman couldn't make sense of his head. He was looking right at him he could see it, but his brain couldn't identify a thing.

It was so weird.

“Phantom huh?” His voice was a strange deep echoing sound. The distortion was pretty spooky if he was honest, but he wasn't afraid. Phantom was on his side.

“Sure you can call me that. He/him… mind telling me what that was about? I thought you officials weren't let of your leash unless you could be responsible enough to not get yourself killed?”

Roman cocked his brow. “Says the guy who has half the criminal underworld out for his blood,” he reminded him. Phantom looked away. Clearly he knew Roman had a point.

“Do you have something against the program?” His tone had been oddly bitter.

“No I…” Phantom took in a deep breath. “Sorry, I’m just pissed at the cops for sending you, I guess.” He sure sounded upset. And Roman could understand that. Here Phantom was, doing his part and all the cops could do in return was bother him At least as far as the young vigilante could tell. But then why…?

“Yet you chose to follow me up here?” Roman pressed. That didn’t make any sense. Phantom had shaken off his ‘babysits’ before. What made Roman special?

“Um… Well… I just…” Phantom stammered. Roman wondered why. Was he bad with confrontation? Social interaction in general? Or had Roman said something that hit a nerve somehow?

“You interrupted my stake out!” Phantom blurted out all of a sudden.

“Do you know how long it takes to work my way up the ranks? First I have to find a low level runner, then I follow him to his boss, that guy to his and so up the ladder I go. I was getting real close to the big guy of this group. And now…” Oh… Well Roman could understand how that would be frustrating.

“I apologize,” he said sincerely with a small bow. “I merely intended to help. They were talking about killing you.” Surely he could understand that he could not stand by after hearing that.

“And now there is a price on your head! The leader of that little club is like two steps away from the big boss. They won’t be happy with you taking him in.”

Well… He had a point. But Roman had back up. It would be rather stupid of the mob to come after a hero with government sanctioning. And these guys would go behind bars for a long time right? “You got dirt on them?” he asked. If the guns weren’t enough then surely whatever Phantom had gleaned from his stakeouts would be sufficient. Right?

“Yes… But that’s not the point. They have no clue about me. Not really. But you are out in the open. This is not your kind of mission Royal pain.” Oh, he had nicknames huh? It was an insult, but Roman didn’t mind witty banter. Especially if it came from a place of care. And Roman was starting to think it did.

“And now that you are out, you can’t expect me to hold your hand any longer…”

Roman crossed his arms and smirked catching the implications of what Phantom just said.

“You’ve been looking out for me all summer huh?” he guessed.

Phantom scoffed and probably rolled his eyes. While Roman still couldn’t quite see it, he would bet his entire Disney collection on it.

“It’s not like I came looking for you.” Phantom snapped. And Roman believed him.

“Still… Thank you…” he was going to say more but then he heard a beep in his ear followed by a loud voice. “Prince! Answer this instant!”

“Ow!” Roman exclaimed annoyed, reflexively reaching for his ear though it wouldn’t help much. He pressed the button to talk to BS. “One. Loud. Two. Rude! I am in the middle of something! And did you seriously remotely reactivate my com?”

He would demand a new com that couldn’t do that or he’d refuse to wear one period. What if he needed to concentrate right now? What if he was in the middle of tense negotiations or being told delicate information. As a matter of fact. This situation right here was delicate. One wrong move and Phantom might bolt. And he might not come along next time he found him. And even if he couldn’t get him to join the program, he wanted Phantom to know he had an ally in him. Someone to talk to, confide in, count on if he didn’t have anyone else.

“You do not turn off your com while going into a gunfight! It’s moronic to go in alone!”

Roman rolled his eyes. “I am fine, not a scratch on me.” He wasn’t going to mention that he wasn’t alone exactly. Phantom had never consented to BS and the rest of his team knowing.

“I’ll call you when I’m done here.” And this time he took the com out of his ear. BS could yell at him later.

“Sorry,” he sighed. “My mentor is… intense at times.” In a cold and distant way.

“Mentor?” Phantom asked.

“One of the people helping me practice my powers, test my limits. Comes with the program. It’s not just a babysit and a nice suit,” he joked casually.

“Oh…” Phantom’s tone was odd. It made Roman want to come closer and offer comfort. He didn’t though. They weren’t at that point yet. Not by a long shot.

“Listen, I admit I was sent by the chief. But I didn’t come here to recruit you. I wanted to thank you and tell you… If you ever need someone to talk to, to help you figure something out… I’d be more than happy to oblige. No need to tell me your name or anything about yourself,” he vowed as he reached out his hand. Phantom hesitated for a few moments before bridging the distance and offering his own.

Roman grinned and grabbed it for a firm shake. “I’ll see you next time,” he assured his fellow hero before letting go and turning around to finish his patrol.

Progress was made. Not much, but still.

He just might’ve made a new friend.

@cirishere @hestianerd1 @moonlightshow00 @naturallyunstablegamer @alias290 @meowthefluffy @frida0043 @angelic-cali @selenechris @theblackveilinreverse

End of this part meet Virgil and read his story.

Masterlist

#ts sides #sanders sides #Roman Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Prinxiety #Patton Sanders #Logan Sanders #Remus Sanders #Hero Au #Janus Sanders #fic

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runolllo-fanboygirl · 3 years

Photo

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I'm going to start by clarifying that these are messages I got in response to my post here /// LINK /// After this, I'm not replying to messages about this kinda thing in a long time. Talking about sexualization and such other topics is important but I'm not in a state to be made the center of it. Please, don't come to my inbox asking for discourse, go and create your own posts if you want to raise awareness or vent.

And now to answer to these new asks:

FIRST OF ALL: while I love the way Murata draws men, robotic stuff, monsters... I actually HATE the way he draws ladies! I prefer their proportions in the OPM anime and games. Murata is literally SO BAD at drawing women compared to the level of expertise he has drawing men, and it's all ‘cos he keeps drawing ladies "the h0rny way". We all know this, let's move on.

"He's drawing all the monster girls sexualized" Did the fact that Manako's genre reveal deconstructs the trope "the default is male" totally go over your head? That Psykos's reveal as a woman running the whole MA was a big deal for this same reason as well? There are a bunch of female monsters… you just assume they're all male unless you see big b00bs and then complain about that very fact. They literally made a whole point about this specifically!

"He changed Mizuki's shorts to p4nties to please fanboys" I liked the shorts better too (just because I find her whole character design a bit more balanced that way) so that change bothered me as well, but the "p4nties" are actually standard athletic wear for competition. Shorts are not. Technically, she’s drawn more accurately now.

"Sports Bras don't work that way he just wants to draw b00bs" neither do the shirts and bodysuits the guys are wearing. You can see all their muscles and manb00bs and cr0tch lines, just as much as with Fubuki and Tatsu's hero outfits and Mizuki's top.

"But when the boys are drawn that way, it's not to please the ladies, it's male power fantasy" THERE IS NO HETEROSEXUAL MALE POWER FANTASY BULLSHIT THAT CAN POSSIBLY EXPLAIN THE WAY MURATA DRAWS GAROU, FLASH, SONIC, STINGER AND SOME OF THE OTHER GUYS. The fact is that the way he draws eye candy of them appeals to other collectives other than the cis het men and he knows exactly what he's doing. Period.

"He constantly draws sexualized art of Mizuki to please the fanboys" Why exaggerate so much? This is simply not true. She's a woman in athlete wear, most of the time she's either standing up talking or fighting, no weird angles or anything. There is like 1 sexy cover of her, the back cover with all the girls in bikinis and then that infamous watermelon sequence. That's all the sexualization you are talking about.

"Mizuki only gets so much screen time because of how much p0rn of her there is" oh yeah Mizuki got a grand total of, like, *drum roll* 1 chapter and a half dedicated to her! Wow! Which is NOTHING taking into consideration how dense Garou's arc is and the fact that they will need at least 2 seasons of the anime to finish it.

But think about this: OPM desperately needed more female presence, in special with the prospect of finishing Garou's arc in the anime. Making anime is hard and COSTLY. Most of the people who is going to watch the anime haven't read the manga and they'll be like "what the heck there are no female characters in this anime for like 3 seasons?" and there is no team that's going to risk it working with such prospects. We know why.

Of all the expansion that Garou's arc got in the manga adaptation (and later in the anime), one of the most sensible and balanced decisions was to add more ladies. They put all those monster ladies for season 2, and then for season 3 we get Manako and Mizuki having some strong presence, Shadow and Kamaitachi there a bit in the back too. It benefits the pace and balance of both the manga and the future season 3 so immensely because Fubuki, Tatsumaki and Psykos take a LOOONG while to be relevant during Garou's Arc… in special with all the filler the manga put in between (but all that filler is of the S-Class boys getting development and a reality check which is kinda important too lol).

Point is: the screentime Mizuki got was VERY necessary to balance things in between of all the relentless Garou fights and the boys being boys. Sure Mizuki is beautiful and sexy and all, but really EVERYONE was waiting for a new female character that was relevant, likeable, fun… and on top of everything, it's so rare to see a strong 2m tall girl in fiction in general, not even just anime. Everyone got instantly excited about her because she's exactly what we needed AND MORE. And sure, people draw p0rn of her like they do with most other popular characters, what did you expect.

"The ladies are always more sexualized-" YES, in the OPM manga, the ladies are a little more sexualized than the men –but not by much AND not during plot stuff. By that I mean that most of the so called "sexualizing the girls" happens in the covers, back covers and promotional art very exclusively, and not during the story itself. HOWEVER, a lot of the sexy men bits do happen during the story, curiously.

In the anime though, there is almost zero ladies fanservice (which makes sense since there is almost no female presence in the first 2 seasons anyway). Yet it's full of naked dudes, sometimes for a good reason, but mostly just so we can look at them being sexy and silly.

I personally don't care if the man candy and ladies fanservice is not perfectly even in Murata's manga adaptation, because there is enough of both in his work, as well as other official OPM stuff like the anime and games to bring a very nice balance in the s3xy department.

"The way the women are dressed-" Most of the background ladies are wearing skirt uniforms and shit, but all the relevant ladies primarily dress in nothing you can call "sexualized" except for maybe Tatsumaki with her strong leg game. To recall:

Lilly wears the same as the men of the Blizzard Group; Twin Tail just dresses like a jester; Mizuki is the first to show so much skin, but she's still wearing real standard competition wear for athletes. All the other sportwomen (Hornet and Swim) and martial artists (Shadow, Suiko, Lin Lin) wear standard clothes for their respective professions too. Sure we've seen Shadow wearing some, uh, ninja bikini thing under her ACTUAL work clothes, but for actual fights she's fully dressed and surprisingly not stuffed in a tiny nylon bodysuit that rips like stocking, like all the ninja men in the series do lmao.

Fubuki and Tatsumaki are, like, the only ones wearing dresses and they can because they use psychic powers anyway. Fubuki doesn't even show ANY skin, ever! She just happens to have big b00bs! Kamaitachi is the other one wearing a "skirt" but it's similar to what Japanese martial artists would wear, too.

So, again… all this sexualization we are talking about is not even happening anywhere except in Murata's covers and some promotional art. ONE is famous for treating ladies very fairly, even if Murata tries very hard to exploit the sexy out of every single of the ladies ONE creates. All these ladies have their own agenda and personality that have nothing to do with being pretty or f*ckable. In fact, in-universe, no one ever mentions if the heroines are beautiful or sexy and no one ever talks about liking them for those reasons (except for Lilly and Erika who are gay for Fubuki and Tatsumaki respectively, amazingly enough no hetero characters mention it). I think the first time we've ever seen a relevant character talking about dating another relevant character is when Suiryu told Saitama and Suiko to date (but Suiryu is the resident h0rny fuckboy of the series, if someone was going to say something so stupid for all the wrong reasons, it was going to be him).

For being an adult series, a seinen that parodies shonen tropes and all, OPM is seriously very tame in the sexy ladies department. For this series, the sexy is just a luxurious accessory, just one more little thing. It's always pretty weird when people get so angry and disappointed about a new sexy girl cover or a couple of compromising panels, like they don't know what to expect.

"He only draws that way to please the h0rny fanboys" Murata IS a h0rny fanboy himself and draws shit that appeals to him as much as he feels he’s allowed to insert in the series. Please remember he's the insane fanboy that reached up to ONE to beg him to continue One Punch Man and offered to make a manga adaptation to promote OPM.

From the moment Murata started drawing OPM, the tone of the manga was set and never changed: lots of blood and guts, comical and non-comical nudity, irreverence, sexy angles, Genos ripping his shirts off, ninjas in body suits that rip like they are nylons… people in shirts, tanktops and dresses so tight you can see all their muscles, boobs and even belly buttons whether they are men or women or otherwise… h0rny chapter covers, stupidly h0rny monsters…

Just reading the manga to the point where Genos and Mosquito Girl first appear, you know what you are in for with OPM. I don't know what some fans are expecting to see in OPM next, but I'm going to take a wild guess here and say: you should expect more of the same.

At the end of the day, the manga is Murata's work with ONE, and if he likes drawing h0rny ladies more than boys, that's how things are! This is just 2 guys with their passion project. I don't expect of them the same as if there was a bigger team with a big budget behind the series, like it happens with many games and shows. In this last case, I would be a lot stricter about all this, because with more resources you're expected to do better things.

#one punch man #captain mizuki #tornado of terror #blizzard of hell #psykos #manako opm #fubuki #tatsumaki #opm #manako #lunamaria on the phone

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angst-fairygodmother · 3 years

Text

Idiot (Affectionate) ~ A Bad Samaritan Fic

CHAPTER TWO: FRIENDSHIP

Pairing: Derek Sandoval x Reader Word Count: 2839 Rating: T - racism, references to the plot of Bad Samaritan, mild language A/N: I’m trying to balance covering a lot of time so that this doesn’t end up 20 chapters of the same thing and I never get to canon events and also getting some good, specific moments in, so hopefully this works...

Previous Chapter | Masterlist

Time passed. You found yourself settling into a surprisingly easy friendship with Derek, though not one without it’s frustrations, and certainly not one that looked like friendship at all from the outside looking in. On more than one occasion, Sean had poked fun at each of you, though never in front of the other so they were aware, calling you out for flirting and playing hard to get.

You hated him for being right and refused to admit that it was what you were doing. Your stupid schoolgirl crush on your cousin’s best friend wasn’t something you wanted to acknowledge.

Nino’s had been abuzz for weeks with the news that the restaurant had been booked out for a re-election campaign event for the mayor of Portland, and now that the night had arrived, excitement had turned to panic. Nino had fretted constantly about every detail, from the amount of food and wine available to their arrangements on the plates. He had forgone setting up a buffet table for the cocktail and hor d'oeuvres hour in favor of what he thought was the much more high-end system of servers circulating with trays. And now two of the servers had, at the last minute, called in sick.

“There are not enough people!” Nino was exclaiming. “But I cannot set out a table now! We would have to rearrange the whole room!”

You had only just arrived, stepping into the chaos from the street like passing through an invisible barrier. One that at least part of you wanted to turn around and cross back over again.

“You need servers more than valets tonight, why not ask those two boys to help?” one of the kitchen staff suggested.

“That’s really not how their contract works,” you muttered, even though you knew it didn’t really matter in the end.

Nino looked thoughtful and turned to you. “Do you think they’d do it?”

Sean and Derek weren’t even there yet, and wouldn’t be until almost opening, so it would be a gamble, unless Nino could get them to pick up the phone. Plus they didn’t have appropriate service uniforms to your knowledge. Which meant that Nino had to either change everyone’s outfits or hope he had spares somewhere in the restaurant. Not to mention, there was no guarantee they’d even be willing, and since they were hired as valets (technically Nino’s had an account with their business, but since it was the only one so far and they didn’t really seem to be actively searching for more, he may as well have hired them directly), they weren’t obligated to do anything other than park and retrieve cars.

You sighed. The only problem with working with family was that you were expected to be able to know Sean’s thoughts on things, as if you were some kind of mind reader or expert.

“I don’t know,” you said with a shrug. “But they both have a lot of respect for you, so it can’t hurt to ask.”

That was a lie. It could hurt. Saying no would make things awkward, saying yes would cost them a night of tips and...extracurriculars which you chose to actively not acknowledge. But the latter was probably best, since pulling their usual tricks on the mayor, his donors, and his powerful friends would be asking to get caught and spend the rest of their lives in prison.

“Great!” Nino hurried off to the phone as if you had said they would help without a doubt.

“Where is your tie?” Nino asked, gesturing, appalled, at Derek’s bare collar. “I told them to find you a tie. You’re not dressed properly. I can’t let you be seen like that!”

The whole staff was gathered around in the lobby for some sort of pep-talk/debrief and assignments before the doors opened for the big event. Nino was checking every detail like a hawk, jittery with nerves. The kitchen guys were anxious, not sure why they’d been dragged from their stations to the front of house, acting like a crowd of kids that got called to the principal’s office. Everyone else was casual, mostly gossiping over who they thought would be there, hoping for a political scandal to break before their eyes.

Derek held up a length of black silk. “You got any of them clip-on kind? I’ve never worn one before, so I don’t know what I’m doin.”

Nino sputtered. You rolled your eyes, stepping up beside him.

“I’ll take care of this, Nino,” you offered, gesturing at Derek’s entire self, and he had the nerve to look offended.

He nodded, turning away in a hurry, radiating nervous energy, looking for the next crisis. Finding none, he started in on his speech about how tonight was the most important night in the restaurant’s history, how he was proud to have such a dedicated staff. Then he dismissed everyone, listing off assignments as they scattered. You half listened, turning to deal with the problem of Derek’s tie.

“Hey, thanks,” Derek said quietly, offering you a half smile.

“I’m not doing it for you,” you answered. “Nino’s a better boss than most are ever lucky enough to have. It’d be a damn shame for him to drop of an aneurysm because you don’t know how to dress yourself.”

“Sure,” he chuckled. “Well I guess that means I’m in your hands.”

You smirked at the idea, ignoring Sean’s waggled eyebrow out of your peripheral. Derek noticed, his cheeks coloring slightly.

“You’ve seriously never worn a tie before?” you asked, taking the garment from him.

“No. Why would I? I don’t exactly get invited to the kind of places you need one.”

“Right…” you sighed, stepping closer, throwing the material over your shoulder to free your hands. “Step one is fully close your dress shirt.”

Your fingers darted nimbly, closing the tiny white buttons, ghosting over his throat and making him swallow nervously.

You continued to describe each step as you took it, looping the tie around his neck, trying to teach him what to do. But he couldn’t focus on your words, not with you standing so close that he could feel the heat radiating between your bodies.

“And voila. Tie tied. And if someone really wanted to, you have an easy way of killing you around your neck for fashion,” you joked, brushing the fabric smooth. Your hand lingered against his chest for a moment, for reasons you couldn’t explain, before you stepped back.

Silence hung in the air.

“So I’m all set then?” he asked finally, blinking as if coming out of a daze.

“You’ve got to button your vest too, but I assume you can figure that one out for yourself.”

“I don’t know,” he chuckled, beaming at you. “I’ll give it a try.”

You laughed along with him, trying not to think about how handsome he looked, dressed up like this. Not that he wasn’t handsome all the time, even in baggy jeans and a hoodie, but the formal black and white uniform suited him. You frowned, annoyed with yourself for letting your thoughts stray down that path.

He finished buttoning the garment and spread his arms, gesturing to himself. “How do I look? Pretty good right?”

“Not bad,” you said with a smirk and an effort to keep your voice casual. “Someone nicer might even say you clean up good.”

Suddenly his arm was around your shoulders and he leaned in to your side with a charming smirk of his own.

“Maybe they would, but you know I’ll take a ‘not bad’ from you over that any day,” he said with a laugh.

Before you could respond, he sauntered off, leaving you to glare and gape at his retreating back.

Derek couldn’t help himself. He was supposed to be walking around the room with this tray of shrimp puffs - or whatever rich people food Nino had assigned him, he was pretty sure it was shrimp puffs - and offering them to the guests. Instead, he was just standing in one spot, tray held out absently and teetering every time someone brushed past him, watching Y/N. She wove effortlessly through the clusters of men in pressed suits and women in silk dresses that rustled when they moved, smiling easily at them as she offered them champagne or wine. Even from a distance he could see the sparkle in her eye that made each person she spoke to feel like they were special, and as a result scored her numerous ones and fives left behind on her tray when they picked up a glass. His fingers itched to brush aside the piece of her hair that escaped its updo and danced across her temple, tucking it back into place behind her ear.

He felt a quick flash of guilt as he traced the shape of her body in her uniform, the black vest hugging every line and curve. He shouldn’t be staring, he thought. After all, she was Sean’s cousin and Sean was his best friend. And she was a friend, these days; you don't ogle your friends. But damn if she wasn’t hot, if he didn’t want her. His mind wandered, and he was just starting to imagine what her lips on his might feel like, what she might taste like - she had smelled like apple pie earlier when she was standing so close to him, when he’d been too chicken to make a move while he had the chance, and part of him hoped kissing her would taste like it too - when fingers, covered in too many rings and jingling from the stack of bracelets on the attached wrist, snapped in front of his face, startling him and dragging him back to reality.

“Are you even listening to me?” the woman demanded before raising her voice and slowing her words, over-enunciating each syllable. “I said I want your vegetarian option.”

“Uh. All I got are these shrimp things,” said lamely. “But my buddy Sean is around here with some mushrooms, I think. With like spinach stuff inside?”

She huffed, glaring and waiting and not saying anything.

“I'm sorry. I'm not—”

“Very intelligent. I can tell. I want you to bring me a plate with vegetarian appetizers. That means no meat. Nothing that was alive. And I want a selection, not just dumping all the same thing in a pile.”

As her voice got louder and her words even slower, it started drawing stares from the rest of the guests. He bristled at her tone, feeling his neck get hot as embarrassment and anger mingled. He knew why she was speaking to him like that. She wasn't the first.

He took a slow, deep breath. Getting angry would just play into her hand and make things worse. Before he could say anything, like maybe some remark about how plants used to be alive too, they just never had faces, Y/N appeared at his elbow.

“Derek! There you are, I've been looking everywhere,” she exclaimed.

He raised an eyebrow, silently asking what she was up to, and tried to ignore the fluttery feeling in his stomach at the idea she’d been looking for him.

“Nino said there was a problem, with the...thing and unless we want the guests to just be eating tiny hors d'oeuvres all night, you have to go talk the chef down from quitting over it.”

“What?” his face scrunched in confusion as he turned to Y/N.

She rolled her eyes (he kind of loved how often she did that) and plucked the tray out of his hand smoothly, fingers brushing briefly against his, sparking under his skin like a hotwiring a car.

“The thing. In the kitchen,” she said pointedly, like it meant anything. Then she turned to the woman, the largest, fakest smile he had ever seen on her face.

“Right...I’ll uh...get right on that…” he said helplessly.

“Sorry about that ma’am,” she lied to the woman, voice sickly sweet as she led the woman off. “He’s a culinary genius, but Nino likes to shake things up and keep the staff on their toes.”

“Oh,” the woman said, seeming surprised by the shift. “I just assumed...because he was one of them.”

“One of who?” Y/N asked, feigning confusion now though he could see that her eyes were hard and ice cold. Her smile took on a knife-sharp edge and he found himself grateful that it wasn’t being turned on him.

“Well. You know…”

“I’m sure I don’t. Because I can only think of one thing you might be trying to say. And I know you wouldn’t be so blatantly racist,” her voice got just a little louder, pitched toward the people around them, not the woman she was talking to, “at an important event like this. Would you?”

Derek chuckled and tucked his hands in the pockets of his pants, making his way to the kitchen. It might have been a fake reason, but he figured he may as well take the few minutes break it gave him anyway.

“Hey,” you said, dropping into a chair next to Derek, finally catching a short rest while the guests transitioned from one part of the evening to the next and found their seats for speeches and dinner. “Are you okay?”

“Hm? Yeah,” he said quickly, pretending that he had just been zoned out in order to cover for the fact that he was staring, again. “Just exhausted. Is this what it’s like for you every day?”

You chuckled. “It’s not usually quite this intense when we just have a few tables each to focus on. I think serving tables in a bit will be a better idea of that. But I meant about...you know...earlier.”

He made a face of confusion.

“The hag with the cheap perfume and the stupid attitude?” you offered.

“Oh that,” he shrugged. “I’m used to it. She was pretty tame, compared to some.”

“You know that’s the opposite of reassuring right? And not really an answer to the question.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” you agreed reluctantly. “Probably for the best. She’s probably a senator or their wife or something, and something tells me bitchslapping a public figure is a negative on the Character and Fitness review.”

You scratched the back of your head in a(n adorably) sheepish gesture.

“The what?”

“The thing where I spend all this time on a degree, and in the end it all comes down to one insane bullshit test and a review of my personal history. And a bunch of stuffy old men, and women these days, decide if I’m an acceptable fit for the esteemed legal profession.”

“Legal...I didn’t know you were trying to be a lawyer?!”

“Duh,” you rolled your eyes and dropped your voice. “Why do you think I keep telling you and Sean not to get caught yet. I’m useless to you for another year, at least.”

“You didn’t have to step in like that,” he said after a long pause. “I could have handled it.”

“I didn’t think you couldn’t.”

“Then why’d you get involved?”

“Just because you can handle it, doesn’t mean you should have to,” you shrugged. “I could tell you were uncomfortable. I thought I could help.”

You let your thoughts race. Had you done something wrong in trying to divert the conversation and give him an out? Did you accidentally make things worse? Was there something else you should have done instead?

“I’m not mad,” he said reassuringly, noticing the nearly panicked expression that danced across your face. “I just don’t usually get people doing that for me.”

“Well, what else are friends for?”

There was the at word again, he thought. The thing he didn’t want to destroy, but that stood unnavigable between you. He didn’t know what he was doing. This was new territory for him. It didn’t help that the line was blurry. What was real flirting and what was joking? Sometimes you made him feel more confident than ever, and then seconds later you left him drowning, insecure and flustered. Maybe this was the moment to ask, you had left the door cracked open just enough for an opportunity.

Sean caught his attention, waving him over. He realized with a start that they hadn’t talked all night, for the first time in a long time. The door clicked shut, another chance lost.

He turned to say something, and you waved him off.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said with a wink and a smile that made his heart flip. “I’m not interested in monopolizing your time. Besides, if I start now, I can probably pop in a quick 10 minute nap before we have to start running the first course.”

He watched you settle further, crossing your arms over your chest and close your eyes, either to continue the joke or to actually do what you said and shook his head fondly, before sauntering off to join Sean on the other side of the room.

#is this self-indulgence/projection? absolutely #but you know what #in reality all that is just window dressing #it's about the yearning #because this fic is going to be a slllllooooooow burn #Derek Sandoval x Reader #Bad Samaritan fic #Idiot (Affectionate)#overuse of italics probably #also possibly the worst title I've come up with to date

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thedeviltohisangel · 3 years

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The Only Good I’ve Ever Done

During the five years he was blipped away, he thought about the snippets of his life that he would miss the most. The moments that he never appreciated enough. The moments that were so fleeting that he never got to expound upon. Plenty of them involved his family. Times on the fishing boat that he didn’t realize would keep him alive in his adult years. Holding his nephews for the first time and learning there was so much more to life and legacy. But so many also involved her.

masterlist is my url/writing

accepting requests for this pairing

There were a few things about Louisiana that Sam knew would never change. They would always have the best seafood. His sister and nephews would always be there. And he would always hold his breath waiting to run into Leila.

They kept in contact while he was deployed. Spotty phone calls and fuzzy video calls sustained them but Sam cherished the letters she sent him more than anything. It was as if each stroke of her pen captured a bit of her heart that she sent away to be with him. Everyone teased him about how he was whipped for this girl. Asked him why he came out to this hellscape if he had such a beautiful woman at home waiting for him. He never answered because he didn’t think they would get it. He was here because he had a lot to prove. Prove to his parents that he could be responsible and mature. Prove to Leila and her family that he could keep her safe and provide for her. Prove to himself he deserved her.

When he was selected for the Falcon program, their communication slowed and slowed until it stopped altogether. He was pulling long hours and participating in highly classified missions and he didn’t know how to balance it. Leila still sent him letters even though he stopped writing back. He read them and felt numb. After so long, she stopped writing too. Every stroke of her pen broke her heart. She didn’t have anything left to give. She stopped visiting his sister and parents. Stopped looking at the houses for sale in the paper. Stopped looking at the bridal magazines in the waiting area of the doctor’s office. Her mom told her that sometimes people grow apart. Tried to help her rationalize Sam’s sudden disinterest. Her father told her that he had been right all along. That Sam was just some boy, not ready to be a man. That she deserved better. Leila held onto the hope that when he came back, she could look him in the eyes and talk to him and everything would be better. That they just needed to see each other again and it would all be okay. He would be hers again.

But his end date came and went. She heard nothing from him. Didn’t see him around town. When she found the courage to ask Sarah, she broke the news Sam wasn’t moving back to Louisiana. And she felt the nail in the coffin go right through her chest.

Sam thought about her when he watched Riley fall from the sky. Thought about her when he jumped out of the building in DC. Thought about her when he was locked in a cell on the Raft. He thought of her when he was snapped away and when he was snapped back and he had never known just how temporary life was than he did in those five years.

And now he stood on a dock in Louisiana and there were seagulls and old friends and she was there. She was smiling and laughing and he didn’t even know how to say hello to her.

She had heard Sam was back in town. She had been actively avoiding anywhere she thought he might be but there he was. A part of her could have guessed this was where they would ultimately cross paths. His family had so much history here. If there was anywhere for him to feel grounded, it would be at this dock.

It was also very clear that he was not going to come up and talk to her. At least not anytime soon. And if she wanted to have a conversation with him, after the years without one, she would have to be the one to initiate it.

“Hi, Sam Wilson.” There was no use in being nervous about it. No use in beating around the bush or pretending that they didn’t have the history that they did. She no longer held any resentment towards him. There had been too many years since then and too many astronomical events for him to hold her hostage. Since the last time she heard from him, she had loved others and lost others and learned how to grieve and how to cope and why her mother always told her the most important thing to be is resilient.

“Hey. I saw you over there and I was gonna-”

“You weren’t. That’s why I did,” she said with a smile. He was different. She could tell in just the handful of words they had exchanged. But he was still Sam. Maybe just a little rougher around the edges.

“If I didn’t know how to be with you Leila, I certainly don’t know how to be around you now.” He figured she deserved honesty after all these years. Besides, he had lost his chance with her long ago. There was no use in trying to save face or act suaver than he was.

“Well, if you’re here long enough we can try to figure it out. Try to find our inner second graders and go back to the simpler times,” she teased. Sam smiled and felt warm at the thought. Sometimes, people were meant to be in your life. You don’t always know how or why but you know you can’t live fully without them. She was one of those people to him. He was one of those people to her. It’d be worth the awkwardness to find some sense of rhythm and belonging again.

“Okay then let’s start simple. I’m here to work on the boat and brought some stuff for dinner if you have the time.” It sounded easy enough. Harmless enough. Two people catching up. There was a lot of that going around since they all had been snapped back. “Unless there’s someone in your life and doing that would be weird cause all the ladies here would certainly spread that around town.” She looked down at her shoes with a sad smile.

“There is but there isn’t. It’s a long story,” she replied.

“I have a lot of long stories too,” he shared. Without thinking, he reached for her hand and she met him halfway. Just the simple act made her feel safe and secure. Made her feel more protected than she had in years. Like she didn’t need to look over her shoulder in fear because he would be behind her. “Come on.”

She followed him to the old Wilson family boat and stood still for a moment once her feet landed on deck. It had been so long since she had stepped foot on the vessel, years of memories rushing back at her. She found her way down into the galley and smiled as she thought about the times with Sam where they had taken full advantage of the privacy being below deck brought them. As kids they had pretended it was pirate ship. As teenagers it was place to steal kisses and exploring touches. As young adults it had been sharing beers and learning about physical intimacy. “During those five years, Sarah let displaced persons live here. The marina felt like a real community again. Like it did back when we were little.” Leila paused at the corkboard with pictures and let her fingers brush the polaroid of her that was pinned there.

“She hasn’t mentioned that to me,” Sam replied as he emptied the paper bag of food onto the tiny table tucked into the corner.

“I’m sure you’ve both had more than enough to catch up on.” She slid into the chair he pulled out for her and took a nervous sip of a water bottle. “Thanks for the food,” she said with a smile as she popped a piece of shrimp into her mouth.

“It’s your favorite place. It’d be sacrilege to eat it without you.”

“It’s weird. The things you still remember about someone after time apart. The things you didn’t know you remembered until you saw them again.” She avoided his gaze when she looked up and saw how soft his eyes were as they landed on her. He had caused her nothing but pain and heartbreak since she had seen him last. He didn’t deserve her forgiveness. Didn’t deserve a second chance with her heart. Didn’t deserve to look at her like he loved her.

“You said there was someone,” Sam asked, clearing his throat. He couldn’t spend another second with her, falling in love all over again, if there was someone waiting for her at home.

“I was engaged. Pre-blip. He...dusted while we were on vacation. Everyone else came back…” she paused and wiped a tear from her cheek. “I assume he’s happier wherever he is and doesn’t want to come back to me.” In her eyes, it was exactly what Sam had done. Gotten a taste of life without her and decided it was the one he preferred to live. Sam reached for her hand across the table but she pulled it out of his reach.

“I’m sorry.” For what he did or her fiance did, he wasn’t sure.

“Don’t be. I’m tired of everyone feeling sorry for me. I should be used to being alone by now.” She dropped her head into her hands with a sad chuckle. “I didn’t take you up on your offer to be snarky or rehash the past. I’m sorry.”

Now it was his turn. “Don’t be. What I did all those years ago. Not writing you back. Not calling when I got to DC-”

“I can’t relive it, Sam.” It was still too raw. Too real. Too ever present in the back of her mind that she barely survived it the first time, let alone talking it out with him a second time.

“I was scared. Scared of the fact that we had a real future together and real plans and a real chance of making it in this world. I was scared back then and I can’t be scared now. Not anymore.” If he didn’t say what he needed to, wanted to, he would never be able to live with himself. Not with all the loss he had suffered. “And when I watched my partner fall from the sky I was even more scared of not having those things. Of depriving you of your chance to have them. I knew I was committed to a life of service and that there’d be times when I had to put you second and I didn’t want to make that choice.”

“It wasn’t your choice to make. You took that choice away from me,” she responded with a new fire residing inside of her. She had never got the chance to have this fight with Sam. Her spirit had been waiting long enough.

“You’re right. I made the choice to give us a clean break-”

“Clean? Were you high on gunpowder over there?” She slid off the chair angrily and grabbed her purse from where she had tossed it. Her appetite was gone. Her elation at sharing a meal with Sam Wilson was gone.

“Don’t walk away from this. We owe it to ourselves to have this out. End things for good!” he called after her as he followed her onto the deck of the boat.

“I hate you, Sam! I hated you everyday for years and even when others came along I hated you for making it impossible to move on! I hate you for being you and I hate myself even more for still loving you!” she jabbed her finger in his direction then promptly deflated.

“I never hated you, Leila. I never stopped being in love with you.” He wanted to kiss her. Crush her against him and never let her go. Promise her that he was ready to settle down and give her the life they had dreamt about together all those years ago. He took a step and she held up a hand to stop him.

“If you take another step, you have to understand what it means.” Sam grabbed her hand and pressed his lips to her palm. Kissed the tip of every finger and held it to his chest.

“It means I will never break another promise to you. Means you’re my forever and you have my heart for the rest of time. It means I will never put you second ever again and will spend the rest of my days earning your trust and forgiveness.” She stepped forward but kept her hand right where it was.

“Kiss me,” she whispered. And he did. It was softer than the reunion kisses of his dreams. His fingers were threaded in her hair, her eyelashes brushing against the top of his cheekbones as she leaned against him to try and get closer, closer, closer. Her hands were softer against his cheeks than he thinks he deserves. They held him with care. A delicate nature that had been removed from his life since the last time he held her like this. Leila’s toes stretched her upwards until Sam read her cue and gripped her thighs so she could jump and be his height. “Keep your hands above my waist.”

“What?” he asked dizzily as he pulled away but nipped at her jaw.

“You still have a lot of trust and forgiveness to earn,” she teased as she unhooked her legs from his waist and landed on her own two feet.

“Damn do you know how to wrap a man around your finger.” He pulled her in for a searing kiss. But he couldn’t help his mind wandering to her fiance. The man who abandoned her in some far corner of the world. Sam wanted to find him and...and maybe his anger at himself now had a different target after all these years. “Do you have a ride home?” he asked tenderly as he swayed with her in his arms.

“Are you offering to fly me back?” she asked jokingly but also seriously. She’d say yes if he offered.

“No. I wish I could but the men in camo don’t trust me outside the base.” She pouted and it punched him in the gut. “Soon. I’ll make it work, figure something out.” The following moment of peaceful silence and companionship was interrupted by his phone ringing in his pocket.

“Real work or superhero work?” she asked as he looked at it with a furrowed brow.

“Both. Just need a minute and then...then…” It kept ringing and ringing, he couldn’t get a thought out.

“I’ll go clean downstairs. Don’t take too long.” She kissed his cheek, dragging her hand down his arm before twining their fingers briefly, Sam not letting her escape his grasp until she got too far away to hold onto. He knew he kept putting this on his plate. His normal missions as Falcon. The Flag Smashers. The house and the boat. All of them felt like a weight on his soul but Leila...Leila felt like she lifted it. When she was around, he felt like he could breathe again. He was doing his best to juggle everything and he hoped, and prayed, none of them fell from his grasp. Not again. Not this time.

#sam wilson #anthony mackie #falcon #the falcon #sam wilson fanfiction #falcon fanfiction #the falcon fanfiction #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #falcon and winter soldier #avengers #captain america #marvel fanfiction #marvel #avengers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #sam wilson x reader

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numptypylon · 4 years

Text

Some child ruler mild angst, but also Aanya friendship today! The last two days will be super fluffy, I swear! The absolute fluffiest AU fanart you can imagine! There will be balance!

This is a rewritten to be a oneshot section from my season 4 fanfic, Down to Earth chapter 4.6: Swiftly Past, so takes place 18 months after season 3 ends.

------

Ezran looked out over the courtyard, the whole world down there that he… wasn’t quite part of. At least the snow didn’t care he was king, and fell on him all the same.

“The New Year’s Gala went pretty well, right?” Ezran asked, turning to look at Aanya instead from his perch on the railing of his balcony.

It had gone well, but for some reason, the first day of the new year came with some annoying lingering grumpiness. He hated being grumpy. And Aanya was here, and his brother was here. And the weather was even nice, big scattered snowflakes drifting down. Bait was not even grumpy. At least relatively speaking. Bait was always a little grumpy. But he was enjoying catching the snowflakes, and the grumbling was almost happy glowtoad noises. It was good! So why didn’t it feel good?

The awful things people had said last night was nothing they didn’t expect. It was how the world was.

Callum could ignore it, but he had to listen.

“Very well. The delegates liked your brother’s fireworks very much.” Aanya smirked at him, like she knew something he didn’t. She usually did, to be fair. “He did have the more fun task.”

“It won’t be fun for him once the other rulers get here. Or for us. But it’s worse for Callum, he hates that mingling-and-greeting-strangers stuff. It made him really upset sometimes, when we were younger.”

“No.” She still had that knowing look. “But he gets to fly off, afterwards. Frolic in Xadian meadows. That was what you were thinking. Right?”

“Yes.” Ezran admitted. Sometimes Big Feelings were ugly, but it usually helped to say them out loud. “I’m jealous of my brother sometimes. That he gets to see the world. And how he gets to see the world. It’s beautiful and I want it. I know I probably shouldn’t. The world isn’t like it is in Callum’s head, and I should be… more adult. Not thinking about adopting adoraburrs.”

“Cynicism is not a virtue for a ruler, Ezran. Merely a common trait of one. It makes it easier, but not everything should be.”

“Uh, sorry Aanya. You’re gonna have to rephrase that for me in dumb-dumb.” He laughed. He had learned a lot of new words since he became king, but Aanya was still way ahead.

She smiled, kind like she was beneath the fancy words. “I mean that the way your brother thinks about the world… It might sound out of touch with the world you have to deal with, but it is a gift. He will help you keep your dream alive when it is hard for you to hold on to it. It is a good dream. It may not exist yet, but it never can unless we believe in it.”

It was hard to believe, when you hardly ever got to see the good things. When you were stuck up here, way above the really good things, like the smell of the jellytarts just finished baking barely reaching them, wafting up from the courtyard. Like the grass and trees and adoraburrs.

There were occasional upwinds today, gusts from below ruffling his hair and carrying snowflakes back up. And then movement, so fast it was barely a flicker in the air. Ezran smiled, despite his mood. There were good things up here too. And he had scolded Callum for pining for what he couldn’t have right now, just yesterday. This just wouldn’t do. A change of subject to something lighter was in order. And winter swifts were barely over an ounce.

“Look!” Ezran said, pointing. The swift swooped up along the wall, rising vertically, lightning fast and graceful in the air. “If you hold out your hand, I can make it come. But swifts don’t want to land on the ground, so you have the hold your hand out like a wall.” He demonstrated, holding his hand out vertically. Aanya followed suit, and the little bird landed, clinging to the tips of her fingers with tiny claws, tiny weak feet. “They have really small feet, see? And they’re not strong at all. They’re meant for flying. Only flying. They’re not sad they can’t walk. But I am, sometimes. Because it’s how I feel, too.”

“Yes. It does feel like that, sometimes. That we are but one thing. Rulers. I would like to be more, sometimes, too. Or something else.”

“Me too. I’d like to be a baker. Or a farmer. Or a farmer-baker. And I’d like to explore. Walk on the earth.”

Like the swift though, he couldn’t.

A total waste of nice legs.

#the dragon prince #tdp #numpty fic tag #ezran #ezran appreciation week #fanfiction #down to earth

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actuallylorelaigilmore · 3 years

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TATMILB, CHAPTER 6

Penelope spent her life writing love letters, which didn’t seem like a terrible idea until the letters were mailed out and Schneider received one of them. Hoping to fool their exes, they agree to fake a relationship. But are they lying to everyone around them, or to themselves? aka my To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before-inspired AU.

Penelope x Schneider, ODAAT. available on ao3 with extra author’s notes.

Chapter 6: Penelope and Schneider reveal their new relationship to Lydia and Alex, but Penelope decides not to tell Elena. When Schneider arrives to take Penelope out, he interrupts their videochat.

“Okay you two,” Lydia said before Penelope had even shut the door behind them all. She threw both arms out, a human barrier to any member of the family moving past her spot in the living room. “Tell me what is going on right now.”

“Abuelita? What’s going on?”

Alex’d had a good game, so while the silence on the way home was been tense, it didn’t prepare him for whatever was currently happening.

“That is what we are going to find out, Papito. Your Mami and Schneider, they are...I do not know what they are, but they are something. They have been keeping it a secret from us!”

“Keeping...what a secret?”

“They kissed! While you were at the bat.”

“Aw, man! I got a great hit off that last pitch. You missed it?” He looked at their guilty faces before catching up.

“Wait. You kissed?!? Like, the two of you?” He pointed to his mom. “You and Schneider?”

“Yes. Okay. Yes, we did.”

“We didn’t want the family to find out this way,” Schneider interjected, trying to take some of the pressure off her. She shot him a grateful look. Plus, what he was saying was true. Technically.

“Yeah. I know this might be a surprise, but Schneider and I are...dating.” She reached over and held his hand. “And I’m sure that you will both have lots of opinions about that, but we’re all free until dinner so you know what? Go for it. Let’s get it all out there.”

Schneider took the cushion next to her, their hands still clasped, and Lydia watched them for another moment before she shook her head.

“Eh.”

Penelope gaped at her mom as Lydia waved her hands dismissively and went into the kitchen to fix Alex a snack.

Even more alarmingly, her son looked ready to follow her. “Alex!” Penelope gestured at him, then at the floor near the couch, calling him back. “You don’t have anything you want to ask, or say?”

“Not really.”

“Oh. Okay.” She stared at Schneider, eyes wide and helpless.

“You’re not, I don’t know, surprised?” he ventured.

“No. Should I be?”

Alex, with the usual level of cool radiating off of him, shifted in his baseball cleats and rolled his eyes. “You’re always hugging and stuff, and you’re already in the family. It kind of felt inevitable.”

Lydia was vocalizing in the kitchen to mambo music, but she waved a wooden spoon in agreement with Alex’s words before returning to the stove.

As soon as Alex headed to his room to change and her Mami’s back was turned, Penelope snatched her hand away. What the hell was wrong with her family? What was she supposed to do with that reaction?

Schneider looked as baffled as she felt, and sat silently beside her, scrolling on his phone until dinner.

Lydia waited until the food was ready before she returned to the subject.

“So, mija. Does Elena know?”

“About--oh.” Nice job, Penelope. If you’re going to have a fake boyfriend, maybe try to make it seem like you remember that. “No, Mami, I haven’t told her yet. I didn’t want to tell her such big news in a text. It can wait 'til the next time we videochat.”

It could wait forever, she thought, shrinking from the very idea of that conversation. Alex was perpetually in his own world--as long as the people he loved were okay, he was content to leave them alone and do his own thing. But Elena had opinions. She was affected by the lives and the choices of everyone around her, and this involved two of the most stable adult presences in her world.

It had seemed like a much better idea before Penelope really thought about how it could rock Elena’s foundations. Telling her that her mom and Schneider were dating? Lying to her, to tell her that?

It was horrible.

Unless...what if Penelope said nothing at all?

Elena didn’t have to be baffled and shocked, or upset over being kept out of the loop like her Abuelita, if she never knew it was happening. The contract could be over before she came home from her semester away; she would hear about it secondhand and Penelope could explain it then.

The only other kind way to handle it would be to tell Elena the truth, Penelope knew, to make her the one person who knew it was all a sham.

Hi baby, how’s London? Have you seen the big clock yet? Is it really that big? Oh yeah, by the way, I’m dating Schneider now, in case your brother or your Abuelita happen to mention that in one of your texts or conversations.

Yeah, I know that sounds crazy. You probably feel really confused, but I have good news for you, it’s all fake!!

That’s right. It’s an elaborate conspiracy that Schneider and I came up with over ice cream and baseball because I wanted to avoid Max and he needed to make Nikki jealous.

She sighed and shook her head, tucking that conundrum away until Sunday, when she and Elena had already planned to talk. Maybe when they got on the call, she would know what to do.

****

By the time her phone buzzed on Sunday evening, Penelope had begun to worry Elena wasn't going to call.

“Hey, Mom,” her daughter said, beaming through the tiny screen. “Sorry, I know I’m late. I just realized I got the time zones off--still working on that.”

“Baby, it’s fine. I'm just happy to see you. Tell me everything about your week. How are your classes? What have you gotten to see? What do you think of the food?”

Elena laughed. “Slow down! I can only answer one question at a time. Let’s see, my classes are good. Really interesting, a totally different style than I’m used to--but in a fun way. I’m still having to catch myself when I start to panic, about being so out of my element. I think I’m doing okay though.”

“That’s good. You’re supposed to have fun, not just try to ace your classes,” Penelope agreed. “Not that you should be aiming for less than acing your classes!”

Striking that balance between encouragement and adding to her daughter’s anxious tendencies was still a work-in-progress, Penelope thought to herself, smiling at Elena. “I miss you, mija.”

“I miss you too--all of you. We went on a tour this week,” she added, with no attempt at a segue.

It was refreshing to see Elena overflowing with excitement, unable to hold it all in--a welcome change from her glum mood since her breakup. Penelope nodded along.

“A tour of what?”

“Oh, well, it was with my Religious History class, so it was a lot of old religious buildings, mostly. Landmarks and functioning spaces. Alex would have hated it, there wasn’t a single good selfie backdrop. But I had a blast. We saw Southwark Cathedral!”

“Ah. Cool,” she said, trying to remember if she should know what that was.

“It’s from Doctor Who, Mom.” Elena’s quirked lips were patronizing, but only a little. “The Tenth Doctor was there in an episode, and I couldn’t believe how big it seemed even in person. You expect movie magic, you know? But it was just...really cool.”

The quiet awe in her tone carried through the videochat. Apparently her daughter was in fact picking up culture and independent experiences overseas, just like she was supposed to. Penelope ignored the pang of separation in response and focused on the pride underneath it.

“So you went to a Doctor Who church, where else?”

“It’s not a Doctor Who church, Mom, there’s no such thing. Though if there were, I’d seriously consider joining. Sadly, none of the other spots on the tour were show locations, at least not today. I’m pretty sure the exchange student group events will do more of the classic tourist stuff while we’re here. Which should cover some Who basics. Buckingham Palace, Tower of London, London Eye...”

She trailed off, looking away from the screen.

“Is somebody there? Do you need to go?”

“No.” Elena shook her head. “No, I’m fine. How are you, by the way? You aimed so many questions at me, I want to know what I’ve been missing.”

Penelope had already decided to keep the conversation focused on Elena, to avoid any slip-ups about her new arrangement with Schneider. But with the way Elena was focused slightly past her, eyes a little glassy, she had a good reason to now.

“You’re not missing anything, everything’s boring and the same here. Your Abuelita may be planning to turn your bedroom into a shoe closet, but I’ll hold her off until you get back. Don’t try to change the subject though--I can see you, Elena. What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, Mom. I just had a second where, well...the London Eye is one of Syd’s bucket list items. They--we--talked about it a lot. Before. I think seeing it on the tour with the other exchange kids is going to be hard.”

She held back a sympathetic sigh, remembering how much it hurt to lose someone at Elena’s age. Even her last adult breakup was so hard that it was still haunting her.

“Oh, honey, I understand. Breakups come with moments like that, I promise. It’s normal.”

“I really would rather talk about anything else. Please.”

”Okay.” It had been so easy for her Mami to make Penelope’s relationship woes worse without even meaning to, when she was a teenager. Now that she was the mom, treading lightly was the best she could do. “Why don’t you tell me about the food, then?”

Elena was in the middle of describing a dinner she’d had at a pub called The Ivy House when Schneider opened Penelope’s bedroom door.

”Hello, privacy!” she snapped at him, tugging a throw blanket over her toes as though he’d caught her in a compromised position. Really, she was just startled. Schneider never knocked on the front door but he still knocked on her door, most of the time. He wasn’t completely oblivious to boundaries.

”Hello, person who didn’t respond to my texts,” he replied, unfazed. “Hello, Elena.”

”Hey Schneider.” She waved across the continents, matching his grin.

”In case it escaped your attention,” Penelope pointed out, “I haven’t replied to--or read yet--your texts, because we were busy catching up.”

”Well, it’s not like you told me,” he said. “Six messages, Pen. I thought maybe you were standing me up.”

She froze, aiming her coldest look his way but keeping it below a glare that Elena could catch long-distance and wonder about.

“Ha, very funny. Of course I’m not standing you up,” she said, hoping Elena would interpret that to mean if I were, it could mean we’d planned a date, which is a funny and impossible idea while Schneider would know she meant something else entirely.

”Hey, gimme the phone,” he said, ignoring Penelope’s careful parsing of words and taking her pocket-sized daughter right out of her hands.

”How’s life in jolly old England?” Schneider asked Elena, his gaze flicking to Penelope, who started gesturing wildly as soon as Elena was out of sight.

Do. Not. Tell. Her. She mouthed, punctuating the words with a mimed zipping of her lips. He watched her and then went back to chatting with Elena with no reaction at all, leaving Penelope panicking. Leave it to Schneider to let the secret out. It would be even worse if Elena found out from him when Penelope had completely avoided the subject, wouldn’t it? Maybe she should come clean now, while he was there. Safety in numbers.

”Yeah, your mom and I are gonna go grab dinner,” she heard him say, and she squeezed her hands into fists, calming down on purpose. “There’s this place on Sunset I wanna try.”

”It’s a vegan hipster place, isn’t it?” Elena fake-groaned through the phone, like he was still the most embarrassing adult she had ever met. “Schneider, organic local food is fantastic, but you have got to start looking outside the box for places that aren’t trendy. You know where I had dinner last night?”

Penelope took advantage of that moment to snatch her phone back. “And as I’ve heard this story already, I think now might be a good time to say goodnight, honey. You can talk Schneider’s ear off about the superiority of legacy recipes and family-owned bars another time. Preferably while I am very far away.”

”I’ll have you know, though,” Schneider interjected, leaning over so his face was partly in the frame next to Penelope’s, “that we’re getting Italian tonight. Your mom has very kindly agreed to give me her opinion cuz I’m still trying to find a new Italian fave ever since La Vite Blu had that little rat problem.”

”Ew, your old favorite place used to have rats?” Elena shuddered.

”No, not rats like the animal. It had ties to the mob, apparently--somebody told the authorities, and bing bang boom, no more La Vite Blu.”

”You are so weird.” Elena swallowed hard, offering them a slightly trembling smile. “You guys have fun at dinner though, okay? If you like it, maybe I can come with next time, when I’m back. I miss you.”

”We miss you too.” Schneider put his arm around Penelope and she leaned back against it a little, comforted. Her baby was so far away, and not all the way grown yet after all.

”Call or text if you need anything, okay? And keep checking in. I love you, Elena.”

”Love you too, Mom. Bye, Schneider.”

The screen went dark, before lighting back up to tell Penelope that she had six text messages.

”Jeez, you weren’t kidding. You know where I live, Schneider...obviously,” she added, gesturing around her bedroom. “There was no need to freak out because it took me a minute to get back to you.”

”I wasn’t freaking out.” He walked away, his voice carrying back to her as he headed for the living room. “I was just trying to make sure we were still on the same page.”

She followed him, still annoyed but unable to articulate why. Was it the barging into her room? Because that was rare, but not unprecedented. Was it the way he told Elena about dinner? Because Elena’s comment about joining them made it seem like she’d missed any possible date implications. And when Penelope thought back, all Schneider said was that they’d be eating dinner together. They did that all the time.

”Well, I have to get ready,” she said, emerging from the hallway to find him standing next to the dining room table.

There were flowers sitting on it. Once he realized she was there, Schneider picked the bouquet up off the table and held it out. “For you.”

“Uh. Thanks.” She glanced around them, then stared back down at the flowers. “You know, nobody can see your romantic gesture, right? Kinda ruins the public effect.”

“Well, it would be a little weird if we walked into the restaurant together and then I handed them to you. But it’s our first date. It seemed appropriate.”

Now he was watching her, she could feel it. Trying to tell if she was about to get upset over his attempt at a nice gesture, Penelope guessed. Her temper tended to hit him harder than the members of her family who shared her quick moods.

She gave in to the desire to lift them to her nose, breathing in for a long moment. They smelled like springtime, if it were springtime in a Disney movie. Sweet, but also earthy.

“I love them,” she said honestly. “Thank you.”

Schneider beamed, bouncing on his heels a little. “You’re welcome.”

“Okay,” she decided, “now I have to get ready and I have to put these in a vase. Give me a few minutes, okay?”

“No problem.”

Schneider sat on her couch in her empty apartment, perfectly at home while Penelope arranged the flowers in the family’s only vase. She was already trying to decide what to wear, now that his flowery touch had her feeling a competitive need to up her own standards. Her mind was so focused on the contents of her closet that she didn’t stop to read the card tucked into the bright bouquet.

Whatever nerves she was now feeling about their first fake date night, it didn’t seem like Schneider shared them. Penelope was pretty sure that as she went back to her room, she heard him pulling up a video on his phone about London’s best lesser-known pubs.

#alvareider #one day at a time #odaat #penelope x schneider #to all the men i've loved before #penelope alvarez #schneider #lydia riera #elena alvarez #alex alvarez #odaat fic #alvareider fic #my fic

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