hello securitywaiter nation have you thought about ness being abby’s teacher bc I HAVE

below the cut because i can't shut up ever :D

-abby does well enough in school academically but is still needs some work in the socioemotional dept

-when she starts a new school year mike is a bit worried but then she comes back home absolutely ecstatic and mike is like “okay this is good”

-she talks all about how mr. ness lets her color while he teaches and how mr. ness gave them all name tags w silly drawings (hers is a bear) etc etc

-mike is actually really happy bc most teachers have a hard time understanding abby (heck, he has a hard time understanding her) so he’s looking forward to meeting this mr. ness during back to school night

-it goes on like this for awhile, with abby raving about mr. ness and mike is just happy that his little sister seems to be doing better in school. the first time she comes home talking about these kids she hung out with at recess he practically cries

-back to school night is here and the first time mike sees this mr. ness he’s like abby u traitor you didnt tell me this man was exactly my type (he doesn’t actually tell her bc he never brings up his lovelife around her - not that he’s had much of one - but still isn’t this the type of things siblings know intrinsically)

-anyways they’re having the kids show their guardians around the classroom and their seats and everything and then mr. ness is explaining the way his class works and mike is totally paying attention. yup. he’s not distracted by those chocolate brown eyes at ALL

-so they’re waiting to do the one-on-ones with the teacher and mike crouches down next to abby and tries to be all chill “hey, abs. has mr. ness ever mentioned a partner or anything?” acting all nonchalant

-but abby sees right through him and is immediately like “he’s single! do u want me to put in good word for you?” and mikes like “NO i have no idea what ur talking about haha i just wanted to know bc it’s important to know that about ur teachers okay wait why are you smiling like that”

-(abby’s a little menace and already ships it)

-when it’s finally their turn mike is just chanting to himself “be normal. be normal. be normal” lmao

-but now that he’s sitting face to face with the teacher he notices that he has freckles and every chance he had at playing it cool goes out the window

-ness is telling him all about how well abby is doing in class and if there was anything he could do to make it easier for her in the classroom and abby’s just sitting there looking at mike internally screaming with a smile

-so she turns to her teacher and is like “you should get mike’s number just in case something comes up. he’ll probably think of some things later since he’s been taking care of me alone for awhile” (bc u know when kids do that things where they kinda trauma dump at the most random moments lmao)

-and ness at first refuses and is like “im sure email works just fine!” and abby’s like WHYY is he not just taking the bait and then she has like a lightbulb moment

-bc ness probably assumes like everyone else that mike is a single father and abby’s his daughter and abby’s like oh no how do i make this work

-so she goes full anya mode (for my spy x family watchers) and is like “im sure mike would appreciate having your number on hand! he’s a very protective older brother you see. taking care of his little sister must be hard. i’m sure being a big brother like him is hard so it’d be for his peace of mind. did i mention he’s my older brother”

-and ness also has a little bit of a crush already forming so he doesn’t catch the obvious set up and is instead distracted by the fact that the handsome guy in front of him is in fact NOT a single father so maybe he does have a chance wowow

-yup so they exchange numbers andddddd ill come back to this later i really need coffee

And while I'm on the topic of 4e, I MUST talk about how bizarre their approach to the new core setting was. The idea for the Points of Light/Dawn War setting --- basically a fantasy dark age/post apocalypse world with elements borrowed from Planescape, Forgotten Realms, and Greyhawk, is a really good one. I like that 4e tried to capture the zeitgeist of the post-Bush era by making the world one haunted by the bones of a glorious empire whose greatness was not for any still living to enjoy. Like that just fucks. And especially with the new Origins system adding depth and connection to how race and class connected the setting's cosmology you've got a really solid foundation for a Dark Fantasy version of dnd.

BUT the world is fundementally incomplete. It's called Points of Light or Dawn War because the world itself doesn't even have a name --- at least not one that was ever published as part of an official release. Major historical events are left merely implied --- allegedly so that GMs could create their own versions of the world, and even the function of the world is so foggy it's hard to find a footing for your PC to come from. Like, just trying to figure out how long ago the tiefling and dragonborn empires fell is hard to do because the best we get is some vague posturing about how it's been both millennia ago, and also centuries ago --- but also somehow recent enough that knowledge of them is common knowledge?

It's no wonder 4e was the golden age of the backstory-less murder hobo, cause despite the great theming in some places the books really don't give you anywhere to start!

And that's not even touching the resurrection of 1e Basic's understanding of Alignment and how that really muddles the world.

4e is just so full of interesting ideas that go nowhere that it's fascinating onto itself. I understand, principally, why the game was developed this way, but I also can't quite wrap my head around it. Like surely someone, somewhere in the development process flagged that Points of Light was a soulless pile of ideas and vibes that normal people wouldn't be able to make much out of and, even if they did, the hyper localized nature of the lore would mean that it would never be as big of a bit as Forgotten Realms or Dragonlance were. Right?

Dream A Little Dream Of Me: Norman x Reader

-MANGA SPOILERS! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! 

-NOTE: YOU’RE BOTH AGED UP SO DON’T START TELLING ME FBI’S GONNA COME TO MY DOOR 😂😂

-THE TIMELINE IS A BIT MESSED UP SO JUST IGNORE IT COMPLETELY AND DON'T ASK ME LOL

-also, is it just me or do thick eyebrows look really cute??? Norman has pretty thick brows compared everyone else and I think they're cute 

WARNINGS: Kissing lol

Summary: You finally see Norman again.

Life had to be the scariest thing you'd ever faced. It threw the bad, the good, the everything your way until you could barely stand. Until you were left broken and mangled and shattered. Life was scary. It was cruel. Yet somehow, today was different.

You thought it was a dream. After all, how could it be reality when the boy in front of you died a year and some months ago? He had been shipped out, left for dead because it was a part of his stupid escape plan.

So how was it he stood before you? Breathing? Smiling? Living?

The office door closed behind you with a soft click. It bathed the room in silence, as if for a moment, the world decided to give you a second to breathe. A second to take in the wonderous sight before you.

The boy's name stuck in your throat. He had changed, not only in height, but stature and appearance. Norman was older, and he grew up to be more handsome than any runway model could ever be.

"(Y/n)," he gently said. "I'm glad you're well."

That was all it took. One sentence and you tackled him in the tightest hug your trembling arms could muster. "Norman...!" To have his arms around you, to hear the beating of his heart--it was a relief. A miracle sent by the gods. "You’re so stupid!"

No, he was more than stupid. He had to be the dumbest boy alive to think that it was okay to sacrifice himself for the sake of your family. You all were supposed to escape together just like Emma said. No one was supposed to be left behind, yet Norman--bless his heart--acted on his own.

You hugged him as if he would disappear if you let go. "We were all supposed to leave together. But you--I thought you--shipped out--and then--!" You chocked on your words. What more could you say anyway?

You buried your face in the crook of his neck. The muffled sob that ripped through your throat was more than Norman could handle. His knees went weak and you both slowly sunk to the floor in a heap. 

"I'm here." he gently said. "I'm not going anywhere (Y/n)."

Despite the steadiness in Norman's voice, his shoulders hitched, and he sniffled. "I'm here." he repeated. "I-I'm here." It sounded like he were reassuring himself that he wouldn't leave you so soon, as if he were scared too. Not for the way you sobbed and sobbed, but for the ache in his heart that seemed to beat in sync with yours.

Slowly, your sobs turned to quiet sniffles, which then silenced into nothing but tiny hiccups. You basked in Norman's warm embrace. He didn't hold you too tightly, as if he were afraid it would shatter you to pieces. Instead, he pulled you close to his side and leaned on his desk behind.

You rested your head on his chest, taking the time to memorise his scent. Parchment, the woods, and old books. You liked that, it was comforting to know he still smelled the same. On the other hand, his voice wasn’t as smooth or rounded as it once was. It was icy. No one seemed to notice that tiny sharpness that hit the end of each note he spoke. You wondered what could've made his kind heart harden.

Sure, Norman was still the same Norman you remembered, but something about the way he acted seemed off. He was clingy, much more than he ever was. Maybe he just missed you? No, that couldn't be right. Norman acted as if he were running out of time. He held you close and gently, as if these would be the last moments you'd see each other again. As if there wouldn't be a tomorrow.

You slowly pulled away to get a good look at Norman's face. His chin was slightly pointier, his cheeks less chubby and full. His lips twitched upwards into a comforting smile. It didn't quite reach his eyes because he looked so overwhelmingly tired. Your poor boy probably worked day and night to keep the hideout on its feet. It must be hard on him, you thought. Especially since he was revered as a god.

Norman's brows raised. "What's wrong?"

You took his thin hands in your own and gave them a good squeeze. "It's nothing. What about you?"

Ah yes, small talk. The perfect way to avoid any question thrown your way. Norman knew you well, sometimes even more than himself. When you asked simple questions such as these, that meant your mind laid elsewhere in a land he could never reach. Norman took that as a hint to drop the subject.

For now.

He wondered what invisible weight laid on your shoulders. Was it something as heavy as his? Perhaps your weight was worse and it ate away at you. Norman wished he could take that weight away and relieve you of that pain. He'd carry it all if he could, and it didn't matter to him if he'd die trying. This was you he was thinking about. He'd do anything for you.

"I've been okay," Norman vaguely responded. "But I have been busy, so I find it difficult to sleep sometimes.”

Norman liked to be honest, but you knew it was because that helped him figure out what was wrong with you. It was a game of tag. In this case being 'it' meant figuring out each others' worries through a back-and-forth match.

"You haven't been sleeping enough?" Your voice came out rather quiet as you traced invisible circles over the back of his hands. "Is that because you have so much work? Or do you refuse to get help?" Norman sat in a still silence and you sighed.

Of course. 

This was your Norman after all. He always shouldered a burden too big for his shoulders to carry. It was always something so heavy, so terribly hard to balance by himself. If that burden grew any bigger, it would collapse, and that would be his downfall. But you wouldn't let that happen to your Norman. No, no, no. You'd take that burden from him, steal it if you had to, and be his crutch.

"What have you been doing here?" you quickly added. "As 'William Minerva', I mean?"

Norman looked unbearably uncomfortable. That little frown tugging at the edge of his lips was a tell-tale sign. “I’ve been getting a lot done." he carefully said. "In fact, I’ve figured out a way to end this. Once and for all.” 

Norman began by explaining the first phase of his plan. The first phase had long been in motion. It started with the indiscriminate burning of cattle facilities, then the gathering of information, and continued on to pave the way for all the other phases you didn’t care to hear about.

The first few steps weren't too bad, but the final act in Norman's plan made your skin crawl. You half-wished you hadn’t asked him anything to begin with. Maybe it would have spared your appetite. Your grip on his thin hands loosened and loosened until your hands rested on your lap.

Norman wasn't so little anymore. He had grown up just a bit, but not in the way you wished to see. How could he think of something so cold-hearted and cruel? The extermination of all demons in Neverland was an act of genocide. If you re-called correctly, it was also considered a war crime.

Norman was smarter than that. He understood the consequence he'd have to face if that were the path he walked right? He understood that there were still other options right? Maybe you heard him wrong.

No.

You had to have heard him wrong. Norman wasn't ruthless like that. He was a ball of sunshine that made you smile whenever you were together.

"I see..." You tightly smiled. "So that's your plan on freeing everyone?" Norman nodded with a seriousness that took you back to the time he left everything to you and Ray and Emma. 

You weren't mistaken then. Norman truly meant everything he said.

"Yes, that is my plan. It's been taking me a little longer than expected to set it in motion. I've decided to officially start tomorrow."

Tomorrow? 

Your breath hitched. "Don't you think that's a bit hasty? What if...what if something goes wrong?" Norman smiled. It was hollow and wry and everything that he wasn't. "Don't worry. Fortunately, I've always been pretty good at getting what I want." You didn't return the smile, and you didn't want to say why.

Norman was quick to catch on. But of course he would catch on so quickly, this was Norman. Your Norman.

"Do you have a problem with my plan?" he inquired. You shook your head. "No, it's...it's not that." Yes, it was that. Your plan is dangerous even if it is good, you thought. Innocent lives wouldn't be spared, and that would spell an unfair fate for the demons who ate to survive.

You wanted to tell Norman why his plan was wrong, and why he didn't have to be so unforgiving about it. But then what? Why would he listen when you didn't have any better ideas? He seemed to have his mind set anyway, so no half-baked ideas would make a difference. And besides, he was the smartest person you knew. Maybe that was the only way out of the terrible fate all you cattle children faced.

"If you're okay with my plan," Norman said, "then what's bothering you (Y/n)?"

"It's still a lot for me to take in," you admitted with a plastic smile. "I guess I'm just shocked that you're, well, here." Norman smiled, this time with a genuine warmth. "I understand." He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. "I'll see you at dinner."

Your cheeks burned. How bold of him. "Y-yeah, I'll see you at dinner." Norman let out a cute little chuckle that made your heart beat a little louder than it was supposed to. You hauled yourself off the floor and made your way to the door. Norman followed.

You flashed him a nervous smile, one that mixed in with your muddled worry and anxiousness. You glanced at his bright eyes. For a moment, they seemed to dim like the setting sun. It reminded you of Mama. When no one looked at her, she didn’t smile. She always looked so sad when she sat by herself, and maybe that was because she was. 

"(Y/n)?"

Your fingers brushed against the doorknob. “Hm?”

"I want nothing more than to protect you and our family. I know you don't fully agree with me," his expression darkened. "But this is the way--the only way we can save everyone without spilling a single drop of blood."

For a moment, you forgot who you were speaking to. This wasn't the same boy you begged to run away with before he got shipped out. This wasn't the same boy who gently tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and sweetly complimented you. This boy--did you truly still know him? Was he still the Norman you grew up with and fell head-over-heels for?

You blinked and that dark look washed itself off his face. He strode up to you and placed a hand on your cheek--just like the day he was supposed to be harvested. Norman’s eyes were soft, softer than any blanket, and his lips pursed into a gentle frown. With his thumb, he wiped a stray tear away. 

Why were you crying?

"Norman..." You couldn’t find the right words. There were none that could explain the suffering you endured in silence. You worried, not only for Norman, but your family and all those other people in the world you didn’t know about. Norman’s plan--oh how stupid it was--had it changed him? Had it forced him to guard his heart to keep a still mind? 

You wondered what he endured while you went on your crazy adventures. At least you had your family, and Yuugo, Lucas, and all your friends. But Norman? He didn’t have anyone but himself. He carried the whole world. Alone. Had he been scared? Worried? Angry that no one came for him? Your heart clenched at the thought. 

"Smile,” Norman said. “It’s okay, I promise. I'm here." He gathered you in his arms and you didn’t have the heart to protest. “How?” you whispered. “How were you able to do all this on your own?” Norman helplessly shrugged. “You could say I have connections, either that or I’m just lucky.”

“What will you do after this is all over?”

Norman went still again, as if he couldn’t answer your question. You heaved in a shaky breath. If Norman wasn’t going to give you a straight answer, then you’d squeeze it out of him. “Did anything else happen to you? I’m sure there’s a catch, isn’t there?” 

It was like someone flipped a switch. One moment, you were a mess of tears, sorrow, and anguish. Now, something menacing laid in your voice. It was almost threatening, as if you were indirectly telling Norman to dare avoid the question. “I don’t want you dying trying to be everything at once,” you said. “Here you’re revered as a god, and if I know you, then it’s plain that you set yourself up like that. Don’t tell me you plan to die on us again.”

He stiffened.

“I know you Norman, don’t forget that. And because I love you, I don’t want to see you destroy yourself. I admit, I don’t know why you act like you’re going to leave again, but I’ll do everything in my power to stop you.” You pulled away and took his hands in yours. A small smile of reassurance made its way up your lips, but Norman didn’t return it. 

No, he couldn’t. And despite all he did, he couldn’t lie straight to your face. Not like this.

Dinner cheered you up. The smiles and laughter that your family shared with Norman made you feel just a little bit better. But how long would it last? And how long would those smiles stay present? All the questions swarming in your mind made you feel sick to your stomach. There was too much to think about, and too little time to answer them.

You forced down the last of your food with a sigh and brought the plate to its respectful place. Everyone was too busy chatting and catching up to notice, but that was fine. It was better that way. 

You made your way to a secluded walkway. It was in one of the calmer areas of the hideout that overlooked the lower levels. It was quiet, save for the distant chatter of Hayato and his friends. He let out a bright laugh that echoed through the vacant walkways. What a shame it would be to hear that disappear.

“So this is where you went.” 

“I told you she’d be here.”

You whipped around in alarm. “Ray, Emma!” 

Ray sharply looked you up and down. He raised a brow and you squirmed under his gaze. He gently bumped shoulders with you. “What’s wrong with you?” 

You absentmindedly shrugged. “Nothing.” 

“That’s what someone who’s not okay would say.” Emma noted. She settled by your side on the railing and flashed a bright smile. “You were so quiet at dinner today.” 

You shook your head. Que another absentminded shrug and plastic smile. “I guess I just wanted to make sure everyone was okay.” 

Ray sighed. “Everyone but you?” He leaned against the railing next to you. “Did you and Norman talk at all?”

You froze. ‘Yes’, was what you wanted to say, but no sound came out. The image of Norman’s matured face, the way his his soft lips hit your own, and his stupidly tall build crossed your mind. 

Emma let out a gasp and slapped a hand over her mouth. “Ah!” she cried. “You’re all red!” You covered your hands with your face, ignoring Ray’s curious stare.

“What did you two talk about in his office anyway? Or should I say, do?” The glint in Ray’s eyes had subtext you didn’t want to recite out loud. “Rayyyyy,” you grumbled, “shut up.” He sent you a teasing grin as Emma frowned in confusion. “I don’t get it.” 

“You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“Yeah, it’s grown up stuff.”

You ignored the warmth spreading to your cheeks and elbowed Ray. “Don’t say it like ‘that’! Now you make it sound like something else!” 

He daringly raised a brow. “Like what?” You ran a hand over your scorching face. It was a miracle you weren’t on fire. “No, no, I’m not answering you!” 

You shared a good laugh and a comfortable silence began to settle, blanketing your shoulders in a lightness that you hadn’t felt in a while. 

Emma softly smiled. “I’m glad we found you.” she admitted. “You looked really sad all by yourself out here.” Ray nodded with a small snort. “Yeah, talk about depressing. But seriously though, did something..?”

Of course these two would see through your façade. Of course they’d understand something was wrong. They were your family, and they didn’t deserve your silence. Your smile shattered. “I don’t know if Norman told you about his plan yet, but it’s...it’s bad. Sure, the demons have done some terrible things to us, but that doesn’t mean all of them are guilty. I want to stop him, but I don’t know how.” 

Emma nodded in agreement. “He told us earlier and I don’t like it either.” she firmly said. “Ray and I talked it over and we have a plan, but it’s risky. Like, really risky. It has to do with the Seven Walls and...” 

You held on to every word Emma and Ray spoke. Risky was your middle name. Well, not actually, but it was something that became your friend. You and your family looked death in the face too many times to count. What would be another?

By the end of it, you were sure this new plan would change Norman’s mind, or at least convince him to give up the whole ‘genocide’ thing. It was decided by Ray that tomorrow, you’d all talk to Norman. Things seemed to be looking up. No, they had to be.

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

The halls were empty and you were alone. How was it you got lost in the first place? You made sure to have every twist and turn memorised, so why did you end up in the wrong corridor twice? Ray would surely tease you for getting lost. What an absolute--

You slammed into someone’s chest. A yelp escaped your throat as the person in question lost his footing. He sucked in a sharp breath and went tumbling straight into you. Your back hit the ground as the boy threw out his arms on either side of your head to brace himself. You didn’t need a name to know who you had tumbled into. Light hair, soft eyes, fancy waistcoat and suit. 

“Norman?”

He hovered over you with wide eyes. His lips were inches from yours and he was just so, so close. 

Thump, thump, thump.

Your heartbeat was so gosh dang loud. Could he hear it? Could he see the way your face burned red? 

“Uhm--I--I--uh--” 

Why wasn’t he moving? Why weren’t you moving? Why was it so hard to look him in the eyes? A nervous smile broke out across Norman’s lips. He pushed himself off of you and offered out a hand. You gingerly took it.

“Sorry.” Norman said, helping you to your feet. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?” Your gaze darted from his lips to his dazzling eyes and then to his cheeks dusted in red. Your heart wouldn’t stop slamming against your chest. It kept going, and going until you felt like you were about to burst. 

“Sh-shouldn’t I be asking you that?” you retorted. “I’m not the one who--you know...gets sick all the time.” You weren’t sure why you said it like that, or why that made Norman smile so cutely, but he was smiling. That made your heart flutter. You glanced around the corridor a few times, and somehow, you kept finding focus on his lips. 

What was wrong with you?

Norman caught on fast--like he always did. “Oh I see,” he said with a low chuckle. You swallowed. His voice really did deepen (but you kind of liked it). For a moment, you thought he caught onto your staring, but instead of commenting on it, he intertwined his hand with yours and led you through the winding halls. 

“Don’t tell Ray I got lost.” you muttered. Norman laughed and it was like the sound of happiness itself. “I won’t.” 

The halls all looked the exact same: cream coloured paint, nature-like decorations, and numbered wooden doors. You forgot what number your room was, so that was probably why you got lost. Norman took a sharp left where you recalled should be a right instead. “Wait isn’t it that way?”

“I have something to give you, so we’re going to make a quick detour.” Norman’s cheeks dusted pink and he looked the slightest bit nervous. “What is it you want to show me?” He flashed you a contagious smile. “It’s a surprise.” 

“What kind of surprise?”

“I can’t tell you,” he said with a chuckle, “that’s why it’s called a surprise.”

When you got to his office, you were nervous. Surprises were fun, yes, but in a world where nearly getting eaten by wild demons fell into the category of ‘surprise’, you learned not to like them very much.

Norman closed the door behind you and it softly clicked shut. Okay, you thought. So he was locking the door and making his way over to his desk. Okay, that’s fine. Norman shuffled through a cabinet, that nervous look still on his face. Okay, okay, nothing wrong here. He gently shut the drawer, and as he walked out from behind his desk, you took note of the small little box he fiddled with. 

Okay. Okay. Box. Nervous. Locked door. Did he not want anyone to interrupt whatever he was about to do? 

Norman heaved in a deep breath. A really, really, really deep breath. “(Y/n), I have never met anyone else like you. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, and you’re beautiful and kind.” He sunk to one knee and opened the little box. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes!”

---------

You jolted awake with a start. 

“Sorry,” Norman said. He scribbled a few words down in his notebook. “Did I wake you?” 

Ah, that’s right. After you talked with Emma and Ray, you all met up with Norman and hung out for a bit. But when had you gotten to his office? Much less, fallen asleep? You rubbed your eyes with a shake of your head. Judging by the tired look on Norman’s face, it was way past bedtime.

The heavy cloak around your shoulders offered a welcoming warmth. It smelled like books. It smelled like parchment and ink. It smelled like Norman and it was comforting. 

He glanced up from his notebook and curiously met your gaze. “What are you smiling at?” The dream popped up in your mind and your smile grew. “I had a good dream.” 

“What was it about?” he inquired without looking up.

“You.” 

The scratch of the pencil froze and he met your gaze. “You had a dream about me?” Your cheeks flushed. “Yeah, and you proposed.” Norman’s back went rigid and he turned as red as an apple. “I-I pro--proposed to you?” he stammered. You snickered, a smug smile tugging on your lips. “It was really sweet. And if you’re wondering, I said yes. I was going to kiss you, but then I woke up.” You stood up with a sigh. “It was disappointing, but that’s okay.” 

You let out a small laugh and neatly folded Norman’s cloak. You left it on the couch and made your way across the room. “That’s a nice notebook.” you said. “What’re you writing about?”

Norman stilled and closed the book with a smile. “It’s nothing special.” He put the pencil down ever so quietly and stood. “Do you seek my affections?” he inquired. You settled on the wall. “Don’t you have work to do?” Norman looked down at you. His fringe brushed across his eyelashes, and he loosened his tie. Slowly.

Your heart steadily drummed against your chest. “What are you doing?” The false innocence in your voice caused Norman to chuckle lowly. He caressed your cheek with a feather-light touch. “Well, you did say you were disappointed right? Why don’t I make it up to you?” 

He rested an arm on the wall with a sly smirk. Your lips connected and it made your stomach flip-flop. The kiss was slow, it was sweet. You found yourself pulling him closer, running your hands through his hair and yanking him over. "Norman?" He met your gaze with half-lidded eyes. "Yes (N/n)?"

"Where did you learn how to do that?"

He smirked and it was hot. The fact that he kept his arm braced against the wall didn’t help either. "Why?" he lowly inquired. "Do you like it?" Your breath caught in your throat and you found yourself wanting more. 

Knock, knock!

Norman didn't look too happy about that. He ran a hand over your cheek and gently tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, that half-lidded look of his melting into warmth and love. He made his way to the door, tightening his tie and smoothing out his hair with a quick touch.

"Hello--?" Norman fell short mid-sentence. As soon as your gaze locked with the person on the other side, you understood why. Ray stood in the threshold, just as red-faced as you and Norman, with a sheepish look on his face. “I’ll come back later.” he muttered. 

Oh great. Had he been eavesdropping? You glanced at Norman and he glanced at you, then Ray, and back to you. Ray sucked his teeth and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Don’t have too much fun.” he said, a smirk twitching onto his lips.

You made your way to the threshold with a groan. “Rayyyy!” 

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry.” he coolly replied. “Do whatever, I didn’t see anything.”

PART 2 <--- READ PART 2

NOTE: I spent a WHOLE WEEK writing this. Please reblog so I know you guys like it :)

TIP JAR

Petty Pair (Raymond/F!Reader)

Summary: Reader wants to fuck Raymond to spite his father. Raymond thinks that’s really hot, actually.

A/N: This idea came into my head and literally never left. It lives rent free in my head, and I hope you feel it now, too. Couple: Raymond/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW) Content Warning: Fingering, penetrative sex, protected sex, mild exhibitionism, getting caught Word Count: 5k

MASTERLIST

——————

There was a grand total of one functioning bar in this town at this hour of night. This drastic and unforgivable shortage of places for me to buy alcohol was also the only reason I found myself frequenting said bar.

After about an hour of swatting off a group of men that were objectively disgusting, I resigned myself to fate and the realization that the night would turn out no better than it would have if I hadn’t tried to get drunk on cheap liquor. I was ready to pack up, close out, and fuck off back home when it happened.

A familiar face walked through the door. Familiar, I suppose, was a stretch. I’d only seen his face in one picture ­– a picture I’m pretty sure was meant to be thrown away. It stuck out to me because it was the first indication that I got that Donald Wadsworth had a son. And a cute son, much less.

My brain scanned through buried memories to try and find the one where his recently divorced mother had told me his name. I knew the memory existed somewhere, surrounded under a mountain of bullshit, but it was so hard to focus when I was watching the poor kid shuffle over to the bar and plop himself down against the counter.

It had taken me that long to realize that he was wearing pajamas. Cute.

His fashion choices and bedhead paired nicely with the pout he wore when he shyly scanned the room. Altogether, everything about him assured me that he literally couldn’t have been less intimidating if he tried. That theory was further solidified by the way he shrunk against the counter when he saw me approach. By the time I sat down next to him, he’d all but disappeared under his jacket.

“Hey, you’re... Raymond, right?” The name came to me at the same time his eyes locked with mine. The dark hazel color shone almost gold in the orange hue of the bar.

“You’re Donald’s son?” I asked as warmly as possible while using his father’s name. Which is to say, not warm at all.  

“Unfortunately,” Raymond droned with a similar disdain.

“I’ll say,” I chuckled as I leaned forward to match his slouch over the bar. “I work with your dad.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

That alone seemed to cause a shift in his entire demeanor. It didn’t surprise me. Most of the women in this town were brainwashed into thinking that if a guy didn’t outright assault you at first glance, he was probably a solid dude.

And Donald Wadsworth was not a solid dude.

“He’s like, a giant fucking asshole,” I said.

Raymond’s eyes lit up.

“Right?!” he shouted back, practically falling from his seat in his enthusiasm as he continued to yell, “I know!”

There was no keeping it together with this caricature of a man, but I didn’t really want to, either. In the few seconds I’d interacted with him, everything about him changed from defensive to relaxed. Like all he needed was someone to tell him that it wasn’t all in his head.

Unfortunately, I was going to need to ask something of him. But I figured he wouldn’t mind what I was going to request.

“But hey, that’s actually why I wanted to talk to you. I have a favor to ask you.” I kept my tone even and nonchalant, trying to avoid coming off as parental.

He eyed me as warily as I expected, tugging his drink a little bit closer as he started to shrink in on himself again.

“I’m gonna be honest,” he mumbled, “there’s not really anything I can do to hurt him that I haven’t already tried.”

There was no need for self-degradation. Raymond might have thought he tried everything, but from his body language around a woman, it was safe to assume he’d never tried my plan.

“Wanna bet?”

Raymond sighed in surrender before he shrugged, “Sure. What’s the favor?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

It wasn’t my intention to wait until the drink was in his mouth before I spoke, but it was how it ended up happening. And almost instantaneously, he spat the drink out over the bar before calmly squeaking, “I’m sorry, what?”

“I want to have sex with you,” I repeated like it was the most normal thing in the world. Then I sought confirmation that was only a little important in the grand scheme of things. “You’re staying at his place, right?”

“Just for tonight, yeah—" he started, but all I heard was the ding of a checkmark on my mental list that meant we were cleared for the next step.

“Great. We should do it there, then. Tonight.”

Raymond’s tongue stuck out from between his teeth, the visual of restraint matching his narrowed, shifty eyes and fidgety legs.

“I feel like I’m missing something...” he muttered.

I heard him, but I didn’t really care. The clock was running, and I was ready to get something good out of this night. Possibly even two good things, if he ended up being as helpful as his cute, submissive demeanor implied.

“I’ll drive. You want to go now?”

“I— I mean, sure, yeah,” he stumbled over the words and his own feet as he left the bar. “We can… go have sex.”

I laughed at how cool he tried to sound because he definitely failed. I reached past him to drop cash on the bar and grabbed his hand on the way back. The amount of warmth stormed it in was shocking, considering all the blood seemed to be in his face, ears, and the tent in his pants. But the comfort of his fingers interlocking with mine on instinct did more for me than he knew.

“Great. Let’s go.”

Raymond was silent on the way out and into the car, which was about what I expected from him. Every glance his way would show the gears slowly turning in his head, like he was still trying to grasp whether my proposition was serious. Like I was trying to murder him or something.

When the car started, so did some sliver of confidence in him, although he still cleared his throat before he asked, “Do you need directions, or…?”

“No, I’ve been to his place before.”

That caution and suspicion returned and multiplied, and before I even pulled out of the parking lot he had shrugged down in the seat and buried his face in his hands.

“Please tell me you didn’t fuck my dad,” he whined in the most dramatic manner possible.

I couldn’t blame him for the theatrics, although the implication was not at all appreciated.

“Absolutely the fuck not,” I spat, my face curling into a pure expression of disgust. At least we both felt similarly on that note.

“Thank god.” The relief flowed through him, allowing him to sit back up to his previously half-straight position. I decided that it was probably best to cut him some slack for assuming I would ever fuck that devil of a man, because I got the sinking suspicion that he might have known a couple girls his age that had done exactly that.

That thought led me back to the very reason I was there at all, and a chill ran down my spine as I muttered without thinking, “Wasn’t for a lack of his trying, though.”

The whole tone in the car shifted in seconds. One glance over at Raymond confirmed the repressed rage and sadness rolling off of him in waves that were more accurately described as a tsunami.

It was just unsettling enough that I snapped my eyes back to the road, giving a nervous chuckle to tell him that it wasn’t that serious. I didn’t need him to defend my honor, or anything. It did enough to quell most of the rage, but that self-pitying sadness was still there when he let out a shy, quiet plea.

“I don’t want to pry but… Will you tell me what this is about?”

“You really want to know?”

It was one thing to know the vague generalities of how much his father sucked, but another thing entirely to paint him a vivid depiction of what he was willing to do.

“Yeah,” he said with fiddling hands, “I think.”

I think he was trying to do me a favor. I think listening to my story was meant to be a sign to me that there were people who would care — people who would believe me. He clearly didn’t actually want to hear the story, but I appreciated his willingness to experience some discomfort to make up just a small part of his father’s misdeeds.

“So, I’m new at the school, right? It’s awkward. It’s a small town and everyone knows everyone,” I started, trying to look over at Raymond whenever I could to show him that I was doing alright. The poor thing looked like he needed the reassurance more than I did.

“Your dad very quickly tried to take me under his wing, despite my very obvious discomfort.”

“Sounds like him,” he interrupted with a pissed-off murmur.

“Yeah. I just kind of accepted his help because I was too scared to say no, but then one day he…” My voice trailed off, the words getting clogged in my throat and muddled on my tongue. It wasn’t that bad of a story; it should have been easier to explain. But something about Raymond being there, him listening to me so intently and with such a strong desire to make it better, that made it hard to speak. Eventually, I managed to start again. “He cornered me in the damn teacher’s lounge and—“

“Please don’t give me a reason to kill him. I’ve been toeing that line my whole life, and I will definitely do it.”

That time when Raymond cut me off, it was very clear to me that he was not kidding. He enunciated the words so clearly, venom dripping from his tongue and his chest heaving with a determination coming through clear, despite his best efforts to hide it.

He was a sweet kid.

“He didn’t try to touch me or anything. It wasn’t like that,” I said with an awkward smile, reaching over to pat his thigh. The action alone seemed to calm him, almost like a dog that was being told to stand down.

He was a really cute kid.

But I had to finish this stupid story. I had to give him all the information so that he would know exactly why I’d invited myself into his bed. Sex is sort of a big deal, you know? I mean, not always, but the other party in spite sex should probably know who exactly the target is.

“He just made it very clear that he felt I owed him something, and I kindly told him to fuck off,” I concluded just as we pulled up the dirt drive. The bumps in the road seemed to shake some other memories in Raymond, and he just shook his head to rid himself of those, along with the story he’d just heard.

He looked over at me with a new understanding and something else.

“So that’s what this is about?”

“Yep,” I said with a pop of my lips to match the sound of my car door opening. He clambered out of the car much less gracefully, which was funny considering he’d had significantly less to drink.

But I figured I would have the decency not to laugh, instead just joining him on the passenger side of the car to finish our conversation before we went inside. I wanted to give him the chance to change his mind. I wouldn’t have blamed him. Although I was the one who would have to deal with the brunt of the downfall, Donald wasn’t my family. Like, I wouldn’t be at his holiday dinners. Then again, I’m not sure Raymond would be, either.

When I looked up from the thought, Raymond was staring at me. It wasn’t like before, though. There was nothing suspicious or any sign of concern in his eyes. No, they were filled with a very different feeling.

“You want to fuck me just to spite my dad?” he asked with a deadly seriousness.

I thought about it for exactly one second before I shrugged at the extremely accurate summary.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“God,” Raymond practically groaned, throwing himself on me and pinning me against the car with his hips before he growled, “that’s so fucking hot.”

Those same lips that produced the words quickly covered mine with the same force he’d used to pin me against the metal. I didn’t fight him at first because, well, I didn’t want to. It was the first clear sign he’d given that he really wanted to do this, and who was I to argue with how he expressed his consent?

Also, he was like, a really, really good kisser. The desperation he felt came through in his tongue as it tangled with mine, drawing a quiet, muffled moan from me that alerted me to how quickly this would escalate if I didn’t shove the boy off me.

Which, I did.

“Raymond— inside,” I ordered with the little breath I had left.

He was confused for a second, almost like he’d blacked out in the meantime. But then his tongue swept over his lips, his hands digging through his pockets for his keys before he hastily answered, “Right. Let’s go.”

It made sense to be quiet then, as the two of us tip-toed through the much too large house. Our occasional giggles were louder than our feet, and the whole experience was seriously reminiscent of sneaking into your boyfriend’s house as a teenager. And when we walked through his bedroom door, the sight stirred up even older memories. From the UFO poster and alien sheets to the boxes filled with dinosaur toys and action figures, I felt like I’d walked straight through a time machine into Raymond’s childhood.

“Sorry about… all of this,” he said with an overly apologetic tone, like this scene didn’t perfectly suit what I was planning. Like it wouldn’t be salt in the wound for Donald to see me fucking his son in the most juvenile room I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Ugh, it’s perfect. You are literally a man-child.”

I didn’t mean it as an insult, but his nervous shifting told me he took it that way. But when I kicked off my shoes and started to disrobe my outer layers, it was becoming obvious to him again just how serious I was about this whole thing.

“Sorry, but—“

“Stop saying sorry, Raymond.”

“Sorry,” he squeaked back, doing the exact thing I’d just told him not to do. I shot him a warning glance and watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in return. Then, still worrying the hem of his pajama shirt between his fingers, he looked away as he asked, “Are you sure you actually want to have sex with me?”

I was a little too busy at first to answer him. I was already rustling through the bedside table to find a condom that I was absolutely positive would be there. When I finally found it, I turned my attention back to the blushing boy.

“Why are you asking? Do you want to have sex with me?”

“Yes!” he answered with a clear excitement, only to lose it immediately. “But I would have wanted to have sex with you even if my dad wasn’t a pervert.”

“Awww, thanks,” I cooed with feigned sincerity. Raymond was still just pouting, though. I was learning more each second just how starved of affirmation this boy had been. But it wasn’t like I could just start praising him; the poor thing would have whiplash if I wasn’t careful. There was no worse mood-killer than crying, either, so I settled for a joke.

“I’d probably have sex with you, too.”

“Probably?” he responded with a smile and a seat next to me.

“It’s pretty likely, depending on how much we talked first,” I explained as I helped him out of his coat. I even managed to start undoing his pajama top buttons before he realized it was happening.

He didn’t stop me when he did.

“I don’t know if that’s an insult or not,” he said, instead.

With a coquettish grin, I leaned in to whisper against his lips, “And you never will.”

There was absolutely no resistance from Raymond when I grabbed hold of his collar, tugging him on top of me as I laid down on the tiny twin bed. Despite all of his insecurity, he didn’t hesitate to kiss me again, either. This time it was somehow even more heated, like he was trying to pour all of his heart into it.

I almost warned him that he had better cool it if he didn’t want to risk getting me hooked, but I was too late. He was already busy undoing the buttons on my own top and gently kneading my chest through the fabric of my bra, and I was quickly losing track of which of us was more into what was happening.

It didn’t really matter, but just in case he was still worried that I might not want to be there, I snuck my hand down and under the waistband of his pajamas.

“Fuck!” he cursed in a hushed whisper, his body buckling forward far enough that he almost dropped all his weight on me. It was so damn cute that I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Don’t be too loud or we’ll never get to the fun part,” I warned, my voice barely a whisper in his ear.

His very eloquent response was a breathless, “Shit.” I couldn’t blame him, though. It was honestly more than I expected him to be able to enunciate when I grabbed hold of his dick and began making soft strokes.

It was obvious that he was trying very hard to stay quiet, but the whimpers and whines were falling from his mouth so quickly that I was forced to kiss him just to muffle the noise. Thankfully, Raymond took the hint that he needed to be quiet and decided to redirect the attention from himself back to me. He accomplished that task by pulling away from me just far enough that he could grab hold of my pants and underwear and roughly pull them down my thighs. The speed and force lit a fire deep in my gut, my whole body breaking out in goosebumps as I allowed myself to enjoy just how badly he wanted me. I’m sure the spite thing had a lot to do with it, too, but it had been a long time since a man was so clearly into me. It was an unavoidable conclusion in every touch from him.

A much-too-loud moan caught in my throat when he returned, slipping his fingers into my heat as he laid another feverish kiss against my lips. But it broke almost immediately with his own choked moan, followed by a low, breathy observation.

“You weren’t kidding about wanting this.”

“Nope,” I replied quickly, trying to control the noises coming out of my mouth by replacing them with words. It only sort of worked when I keened, “Fuck, you’re better at this than I thought.”

Raymond didn’t even stop, continuing to curl his fingers inside of me with each thrust. He did smile, though. A cheeky, borderline annoying smile that told me he knew what a bastard he was being.

“Again, I can’t tell if that is a compliment,” he said with an overwhelming amount of sarcasm as he watched me squirm under him.

I chose to ignore the taunt, opting to grab the condom from the bedside table and throw it directly at his face instead. “Put the fucking condom on, Raymond.”

There was less commentary from the peanut gallery from that point on. I did enjoy the show, though. As I removed my bra, I watched with rapt fascination as he stripped himself of his clothes. My desire grew at an exponential rate at the sight of him slipping the condom on. I’d gotten some idea of the size of him with my hand, but to see something so lewd in such an innocent room and on his shy little figure was something else.

Raymond shrunk a little under my gaze, only regaining his confidence when he saw the way my teeth dragged over my bottom lip. I ran my hands over my body that was still on display for him, thoroughly enjoying the way I could make his eyes go wherever I wanted with such a simple motion.

“Fuck me, Raymond.”

I heard his breath catch and watched the shiver flow through him at the order. Sure enough, he started to follow my instructions and lined himself up at my entrance with adorably shaky hands. But then, right before I got what I came for, he paused.

“Are you su—“

I was tired of waiting. Hooking my leg around his waist, I forced Raymond to thrust forward. My assistance didn’t take any of the pleasure out of it when he was finally, fully inside of me. I couldn’t stop the way my back arched, pressing my chest against his with a wanton cry.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mumbled into my hair, burying his face in the crook of my neck as he adjusted to the new set of sensations.

I only gave him a few seconds to get used to it, fully ready to get the release that already felt so close.

“Fuck me,” I whined, already starting to roll my hips against the boy blubbering curses into my skin.

“O-Okay,” he muttered in the most adorable fashion.

That shyness was contrasted strongly by what followed. For all his whimpers and trembling, Raymond didn’t seem to mind the way the bed would creak under us. In fact, it seemed that he was playing his own game, trying to elicit as many noises from me as he could get from the bed.

On instinct, my hands rose to try to still the headboard. But to my surprise, they never made it. The man above me had grabbed hold of one wrist, pinning it against the pillow to stop me. That simple, thoughtful act was enough to almost send me over the edge right then, but I held on for what I knew would come.

My moans were another story. They seemed so inevitable, with Raymond slamming into me with a progressively rougher force until I rode that line between pain and pleasure. I could see it on his face, too, that we were barreling full speed to the inevitable.

So, it was as good a time as any for me to set the next step in motion. With full volume and a pitch nearly an octave higher than usual, I screamed, “Yes, Raymond!”

That cheeky little bastard laughed. That noise was such music to my ears, that I couldn’t just stop there.

“God, yes! Fuck me harder!” I cried dramatically while drawing out the words. In a way, I was over exaggerating for effect, but I was also actually having a great time. In fact, it was the best sex I’d had in a long time.  

Raymond, catching on to the plan that I’d never explicitly explained, joined in with his own chant of my name, mixed with deep moans rumbling in his chest. I ran my nails down his back, seeking to elicit the higher pitched sounds I knew he was capable of when I realized just how much fun I was having with him.

It was also, of course, super fucking hot. But how often do you get to have this much fun with a random one night stand you found at the bar? Not often enough, I decided.

“Please, Raymond! Harder!” I begged, both in accordance with my previous moans and also because it was what I needed.

I couldn’t decide on a word to describe that wild look on his face, but Raymond had no problem following through with my request. Releasing my wrist, he sat up on his knees, grabbing hold of my hips and lifting them so that he could come down between them at a new angle.

That angle, it seemed, left him bottoming out inside of me with each brutal thrust. My legs were actually shaking around him, my back barely touching the bed as I threw my head back on that damn alien pillowcase.

The clacking of the headboard against the plaster shook the hung UFO picture, which ended up clattering behind it with about as much grace and subtlety as Raymond and I shared in that moment.

But that crashing also masked the sound of the door slamming open, just as I’d been waiting for. And for a long moment, neither of us even looked over to the light filtering in from the hallway. Instead, we locked eyes with each other as the two of us simultaneously reached our peak.

I was so, so glad that I didn’t look away. I kept my eyes firmly on Raymond as he threw his head back, forcing himself as deep in me as he could and holding me against him as I nursed him through his orgasm with my own. His mouth, though dropped open, was curved in a satisfied smile, one last moan tearing through the two of us before he promptly collapsed on top of me.

Then, it finally came. Donald’s voice bellowing, “What the fuck is going on in here?!”

 —

 As Raymond and I sat in my car that night, there was a much more relaxed atmosphere. Whether the catharsis was from the sex or the big fuck you to his father, the two of us were just basking in the afterglow of the overall experience.  

Of course, he was also laughing at the fact I was currently wrapped up in his alien bedsheet.

“We could’ve gotten your clothes, you know.”

“There was no way in hell I was going to drop this sheet in front of that man,” I said through my laughter, my mind replaying the chaos of the last few minutes over again in my head.

“Probably a good call,” Raymond answered.  

But then another thought occurred to me, which caused my face to contort into a disgusted grimace.

“You’d better go get my underwear and bra later, though. He cannot keep those.”

“Will do. Promise,” he said with a little nod that ended with him staring at me with an absolutely smitten look plastered on his face.

“You can keep them, though,” I offered, reaching over and pretending like I could actually fix the birds nest on his head.

“Thanks. I’m flattered,” he said while chasing after my hand that eventually settled on his cheek. His face was still flushed, his eyes still only half opened as he nearly fell asleep against my palm. I wondered if it was from the orgasm, or if it was just the first time in a while he’d felt safe enough to do it. He must’ve seen the worry in my eyes, because he interrupted the thought with another question.

“Did you accomplish your goal?”

I thought about it for a second, dragging my fingers down his face before I pulled back with a sigh. “I feel satisfied,” I decided. “What about you?”

Raymond also took the chance to think about it before he nodded with more enthusiasm than before.

“I feel pretty good,” he said proudly.

“That’s all? Just pretty good?” I replied with an annoyed click of my tongue. I mean, I was wrapped in his bedsheets after just helping him achieve one of the most satisfying catharses of his life, and all he had to say was ‘pretty good?’

But then I saw it, that little sparkle in his eyes that showed me he just wanted to rile me up before he gave his real answer.  

“It was fucking glorious.”

It wasn’t even the words that filled my heart with pride, but the way his whole expression softened as he said it. He obviously meant it with every fiber of his being, and I couldn’t help but fall in love a little bit at the sight.

“Sorry I got you kicked out,” I said to distract myself from that dangerous line of thought.

“Not the first time. Hopefully the last,” he nonchalantly shrugged as I turned the key in the ignition. We hadn’t actually planned on what to do from this point, but I certainly had some ideas.  

“You can stay at my place,” I slurred through my exhaustion, “I have a guest bedroom if you feel weird staying in mine.”

But Raymond didn’t answer. He just laughed, shaking his head and rubbing a heavy hand over his tired eyes.

“What?” I asked, a little worried I’d made a mistake.

“Nothing,” he reassured with that stupid fucking grin that was soon aimed straight at me, “it’s just… You’re asking me if I want to sleep with you. Again.”

“Yeah, what about it?” I laughed, turning to pull out of the driveway. The bumps didn’t bother Raymond that time.

“I’d love to,” he said as we turned onto the main road, his hand finding mine on the gear shift.

“Great.” Allowing the relief to flow through his hand and into me, I realized that the reason I’d had so much fun with this random one night stand was because a large part of me knew it was never going to be just that.

“You know, my bed’s not a twin, and it doesn’t creak, so…” I trailed off, hoping that he would be clever enough to put it together.

“So what?”

He was not. But that was okay, because I realized that was exactly what I loved about him.

“Never mind,” I sighed, “I’ll show you in the morning.”

——————————————————

(Tell me what you thought of this piece here!)

Office Surprise [Maxwell Lord x Reader] SMUT

Authors note: Credit goes to one of my besties for coming up with this idea— I hope I executed it alright. Also I wrote this all in one sitting so apologies if it’s a bit muddled, I think it should be okay though. Maxwell and the reader have a pre-existing relationship and it’s inferred that they’ve dated for quite a long while. 

Rating: 18+ only.

Warnings: SMUT | oral (f receiving), use of toys, unprotected p in v, slight praise k!nk/degradation, a little rough, slight dom/sub dynamic if you squint, choking.

Word count: 5k

Permanent taglist - let me know if you want to be added: @supernaturalgirl​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @ah-callie​ @luvzoria​ @stardust-galaxies​ @wickedfrsgrl​ @goth-topic​ @nerdypinupcrystal​ @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first​ @pedroepascal​

Masterlist

Being the girlfriend of Maxwell Lord certainly wasn’t always sunshine and rainbows, but as you swiped his platinum black Amex card at the Victoria Secret cashier, you recognised it had its privileges. What did he expect you to do? Sit at home all day reading interior design magazines and baking desserts? No. You were bored. Maxwell had come home every night and complained about his long hard week at work but you knew it couldn’t be as boring as sitting alone in his enormous DC house. It got so incredibly lonely.

You planned on travelling to the city anyways today; to get some final Christmas presents for your friends. And Maxwell’s office just so happened to be located in the city centre and so you figured it would only be polite to pay him a little visit. After all, he surely couldn’t be too busy to see you. You had his driver drop you off and pick you up from the different shops. You had been dating Maxwell long enough to understand the way his mind worked. If you wanted to visit him during one of his busiest work weeks, you’d have to give him a reason to make you want to stay.

You had visited his office plenty of times before. He’d greet you with the same surprised smile and elation in his eyes, but it wouldn’t be long until he put his head back down and ignored you for his work, humming whenever you tried speaking to him and only ever vaguely listening. As Maxwell’s driver took you to your next store of choice, you let your mind ponder ways you could really grab his full attention.

You wanted to have fun. The more your mind raced, the more you wanted to make your visit unforgettable. And that’s when your idea to visit Victoria Secret came to you. You hadn’t been to the store in a while, smiling pleasantly when you were greeted with a happy employee wearing a santa hat. Pulling down your sunglasses in hope she didn’t recognise you, you offered her a smile. “We have our new Christmas range in stock.” she grinned cheerily.

“Take me to it, please,” you replied and the employee nodded excitedly, guiding you through the aisles.

“A lot of red lingerie sets this year.” She held her arms out, showing you the variety. One pieces, two pieces, full blown costumes. One set in particular caught your eye… a lacy number with a small silk ribbon. It was like nothing you owned before and you knew how much Maxwell liked the colour red on you. You took it from the rack. “An excellent choice!” the store assistant beamed. You were ready to pay and leave but then she opened her mouth again. “We have a new range of toys too!” 

Toys? That could be interesting.

Before you knew it, you were in the back of the black limousine, frantically changing out of your clothes and into your newly purchased lingerie. It only took a few minutes for the driver to pull up outside Black Gold Cooperative. You fastened your heels and tied the belt around your knee length crimson coloured coat before stepping out of the car. 

You practically yelped as the cold winter air stung your skin. You weren’t sure how great of an idea it was, to visit Maxwell wearing nothing but lingerie and his favourite coat, but it was too late to have any regrets now. With a confident smile, you pulled off your sunglasses and entered the building through the rotating glass doors.

Maxwell’s assistant and receptionist, both intern age blonde girls, greeted you with a snarl. “You- you aren’t supposed to be here!” His assistant pointed an accusing finger at you. “Mr Lord is fully booked up today and you haven’t made an appointment!” 

“Give me a break,” you rolled your eyes, storming over to the elevator, your heels clicking against the marble floor. You knew they envied you for being the girlfriend of the richest man in America but you didn’t care enough to give them the time of day.

You entered the elevator and let it take you to the very top floor; where Maxwell’s office was.

"Oh hey, look who it is." Bradley Huntington, acting sales manager of Black Gold Cooperative smiled as you stepped out the elevator. Two men who were standing alongside him turned to face you, their jaw dropping slightly as they drunk in your appearance. You refrained from shooting them an eye roll— the men here had absolutely no shame. They wanted you to know that they were watching you.

"Hi boys." you replied with a faux politeness, your ruby red lips curling into a returning smile. "What are you doing out here, chatting by the coffee machine?" you raised a curious eyebrow. "Maxwell going easy on your workload?" You didn't care, you didn't snoop your nose in your boyfriend's business, but you did enjoy pretending like you had some kind of authority as his partner. It was fun to see these slimy grown men panic at your words.

"On a break," Bradley replied plainly, his smirk only growing as he took a step closer to you, breaking any distance. "I don't see you around here much anyway. Was beginning to wonder if you had gotten sick of that old grump and made a run for it." he chuckled, dropping a hand to his hip and pointing his finger at the double doors behind him that lead into Maxwell Lord's office.

You shot him a sweet little giggle, as if to trick him into thinking his flirtations were working. "Leave Maxie?" you laughed. "That cutie wouldn't have a clue what to do without me!" you exclaimed, the wicked smile not leaving your lips for one second. "Now if you excuse me…" you went to enter Maxwell's office but a comment made by Bradley made you pause in your tracks.

"Sweetheart," he laughed. "You belong on MTV, not in an office building or cooped up in Maxwell's bedroom."

"Isn't he Mr Lord to you?" you shot back with a snarl, the smile slipping from his face only momentarily. You grinned when you saw the panic wash over him, his face turning pale with nerves.

"Uh actually- me and Mr Lord- me and Maxwell, are good friends. We're on first name basis." Bradley fumbled out. You wanted to laugh at his lame attempt of a smooth recovery. You knew that wasn't true at all.

"Good friends huh?" you folded your arms across your chest.

"Mm," Bradley mumbled, stepping closer to you and placing his hand over your coat. "Take your coat off, you must be hot." You felt your heart jump and a sickness bubble up in your stomach. Bradley really was slimy.

"I'm good." you shot back. Bradley shrugged and reached down to the belt that was holding your coat together. He slowly leaned into you and you quickly pushed him off you. Bradley stumbled back into an abundance of chairs, knocking a few over in the process.

"Darling?" You felt your heart rate increase speed when you heard your boyfriend's voice. Your head turned to face Maxwell who was standing by his office door, scowling. You looked back at Bradley who's colour had completely drained out of his face and you beamed.

"Maxie!" you smiled, walking over to your boyfriend and protectively placing a hand under his suit jacket and setting place on his chest. His scowl didn't move from Bradley as he slid an arm around your waist, holding you tight.

"Thought I could hear your voice," Maxwell whispered in your ear causing a frenzy of butterflies to erupt in your stomach. "What are you doing here?"

"Just came to catch up with your friends." you teased. Maxwell lifted a curious eyebrow.

"Is that so?" he quizzed, beginning to feel irritated by the presence of his employees, and even more annoyed by the lilt in your voice that suggested you wanted to play with him.  "I hope Bradley wasn't causing any fuss." Maxwell raised his voice and Bradley shook his head furiously.

"N-no sir, not at all." Bradley said quickly, offering the CEO a nervous smile. You bit your lip and gently tugged on Maxwell's tie.

"Baby," you whined out, looking up at him through your fluttering eyelashes. "Can we go into your office?" you asked sweetly. Maxwell finally tore his eyes from an anxious Bradley and smiled down at you.

"Of course darling." he replied, ushering you through the door.

"Bye boys! Behave!" you called, shooting them one last smirk.

"Alright come on now." Maxwell sighed, placing his hand into the small of your back and pushing you into his office.

You padded into his huge office, placing your purse and shopping bags down on one of the chairs. Before Maxwell entered, he made sure to shoot Bradley one final death glare. Maxwell locked the double doors and turned around. He grabbed you by the collar of your red coat and pinned you to the door, pressing his lips against yours passionately. In fact, so passionately, you wondered if his harshness would leave a bruise. He bit down on your lower lip, his hand snapping ahold of your neck causing a small gasp escape your lips. Maxwell pulled away, his breathing heavy against your skin. "What happened?" he gritted out, looking up at you with lust-blown eyes.

You placed your hands on his shoulders and pushed him off you, walking away from where he had pinned you against the door. "Nothing, just your sleazy coworkers not knowing when to give up." you rolled your eyes, checking your appearance in the mirror and fixing your lipstick as it had smudged from the kiss.

"Bradley," Maxwell exhaled, his eye contact not breaking from you once. "Did he touch you?"

"Enough to make me uncomfortable? Yes. But I got him off me. I can handle myself, Maxie." you sighed, fixing your hair and turning back to your boyfriend.

"I know you can," Maxwell said lowly, slowly approaching you. You recognised that primal glint lighting up in his eyes and you smiled. "What did he say to you?"

"Said I shouldn't spend all day cooped up at home, or here, in your office. He said I was pretty enough to be on MTV." you beamed proudly and Maxwell grunted, nodding slowly. He placed a hand, cupping your face and rubbed his thumb along the high of your cheekbones.

"He must've been feeling bold, hitting on you like that." Maxwell tutted. You nuzzled your face into his hand, the coolness of his gold rings making you wince only slightly.

"What do you think Maxie?" you asked, your voice as sweet as honey. "Am I pretty enough to be on television?" you let your hands pull off his suit jacket and roam over his white button down shirt, tugging teasingly at his suspenders as you waited for a response.

But Maxwell didn't stay a word. He looked down at you with his lust-blown eyes and ran his thumb over the plumpless of your lower lip. You parted your mouth, taking his finger and sucking on the digit. Maxwell mewled as he watched you intently, admiring the work of your mouth. You pulled your lips away from his finger with a pop and beamed proudly when you saw the slight blush that crossed his face.

"I think you show up at my work uninvited, dressed like that, flirting with my employees…" he scowled, his gaze not lifting from you once. You wanted to fight him for accusing you of flirting with other men, but you knew him. And he knew you. He knew you would always be faithful; he was just playing a game. Another one of Maxwell Lord's twisted games that you had grown accustomed too. He had that look in his eye— the one you were all too familiar with. It was almost predatory. He tsked, shaking his head and letting out a small chuckle. "Look at you, here, in my office, thinking you can call the shots. I'm busy darling, go home."

"Oh," you hummed, biting your lip and twiddling with your hair. "Because if you're too busy... Bradley offered me-" Your lilt was teasing and you could tell it was making him feel defensive. You knew how protective he got over you.

"What?" Maxwell sneered, his hand dropping to the belt that held your coat together.

You gulped, knowing that if he just tugged a little harder on the belt, your little surprise for him would be revealed. "He- uhm, he-"

"C'mon honey, spit it out." Maxwell smirked, loving the jumbled reaction he was getting out of you, although he was unsure why you were suddenly so nervous when you had walked into his office so confidently. His hands didn't leave your belt and you took a deep breath, looking up at him and into his eyes.

"Said that if I ever get bored of you, I know where to find him." You pursed your lips together and shot him a devilish smile.

"Tell me darling," Maxwell hummed, his hand once again reaching up to your face, his finger brushing over your lips. "What urged you to come to my office in the middle of the day when you know I'm swarmed with work?" he narrowed his eyes.

"I got bored." you admitted sheepishly, swaying your hips from side to side.

"So you come to my work… act like a brat and…" Maxwell paused when he saw you pout. "What?"

"I didn't do anything wrong Maxie." you whined. "Was all them. Was all Bradley." 

"You have everything at home. Everything you need to keep you occupied." Maxwell glanced over at your shopping bags that were on his chair. "Spending my money?" Maxwell asked and you nodded shyly.

"But I think you'll like it." you told him, biting your lip.

"Show me."

You placed his hands back on the belt of your coat. "See for yourself." you whispered with a smirk.

Taking the hint, Maxwell slowly tugged on your belt that was tying your coat together. Coming loose, your coat opened up, revealing the lace red lingerie set you were doting, and nothing else. Maxwell's gaze fell from your face to your body as he revelled in the gorgeous sight that stood before him. You stood there in silence for a few seconds, as he drunk in every inch of your body.

"You've been wearing that this whole time?" Maxwell swallowed, staring at your tits. Finally he brought himself to look up at your face, taking a deep breath and straightening his posture. "While you were talking to Brad-"

"Max please," you rolled your eyes, shuffling out of the coat and letting it drop to the floor.

"I've never seen it before." Maxwell admitted.

"It's new," you told him, taking a step closer and pulling off his suit jacket, letting it pool on the floor alongside your winter coat. "Got it for you. You like it?" you smiled, twirling around and giving him a little dance. Your heels clicked against the marble floor as you spun around for him. Maxwell didn't say anything, but if the bulge in his tailored pants was anything to go off… you giggled. "Oh Maxie, you do like it."

Maxwell cleared his throat. "Whilst you do look ravishing, I am busy so-" 

"But I wasn't finished showing you what I bought." you poured, blinking your doe-like eyes and folding your arms over your chest, the lace grazing your skin.

Maxwell shook his head and walked back over to his desk, sinking into his office chair. He cursed under his breath as he began to palm himself under his desk knowing you wouldn't be able to see. He looked down at the abundance of papers, trying to concentrate, but it wasn't working. Giving in, he looked back over to you.

You were bent over, rummaging through one of your shopping bags in search of something. Your legs were spaced apart so perfectly, Maxwell knew you must've been doing it on purpose— to tease him. His eyes felt heavy as he watched you, his fingers grazing over his throbbing length. He felt so restricted, so confined… but he didn't want to give you the liberty of knowing what you had done to him. When he saw you straighten yourself back up, he looked back down at the stack of papers on his desk. 

You picked out a long black box with no markings, and placed it before Maxwell on his desk. Maxwell looked up at you, waiting for an explanation. "What is it?" he asked and you shrugged nonchalantly.

"Open it." you urged with a smile. Maxwell hesitated, his gaze wandering to the locked door, back to you, and then down at the matte box. He carefully undone the ribbon that wrapped it and opened the lid. Rummaging amongst the tissue, his eyes glinted with desire and wicked delight upon finding what you had bought. He couldn't help but smirk. "Well?" you cooed, perching yourself on the corner of your desk.

Maxwell nodded, not saying a word. He took the purple vibrator out of the box and put it down on the desk next to his stationary. "This couldn't have waited until I got home?" he quizzed, his voice breaking slightly. You grinned and shook your head. "I see."

"Am I in trouble?" you pouted and Maxwell's smirk grew. He pushed the papers and the stationary from his desk, clearing it of room.

"Lie down." he demanded and you squealed excitedly. You reached down to your feet to unclip your heels when Maxwell brought his hand to your neck. "No. Keep them on." he ordered sternly. You bit your lip and nodded, obeying his request. His large hand still wrapped around your neck, he carefully pushed you into the table.

The coolness of the expensive oak made you squirm. Maxwell walked around his desk, grabbing your legs and dragging your body further down closer to him. He spread them apart and began to kiss along your thighs. "I do love this colour on you." he mumbled into your skin, his fingers gracing your soaked core through the red lace. You shivered under his touch and you swore you could feel his smirk press into your skin.

"I know." you admitted with a shaky exhale. He wasted no time teasing. He thought it was only fair he got a little payback. The curve of his nose nudged against your clit as he pressed soft kisses into your cunt.

You brought your hands down to your panties in attempt to wriggle them off and free yourself but Maxwell's large ring clad hands stopped you. "Patience." he muttered and you let out a whine as he licked you through the material.

"Please," you begged, your toes curling with pleasure as he kisses around your entrance. 

"I thought you bought this lingerie for me, baby," Maxwell chuckled, his warm breath going straight through your core.

"I did." you muttered, your eyes fluttering shut as he continued to kiss and lick.

"So let me enjoy it," he growled, lifting his head up from between your legs and fumbling with the little red bow at the top of your panties. "It's cute." Maxwell smiled and you felt your cheeks heat up. He pulled your legs further down and you wrapped them around his waist as he leaned over your body.

Hovering over you, he pressed a soft kiss into your neck and began to palm at your breast, running his thumb over your hardening nipple as he slid his tongue into your mouth. You brought your hands up to his hair and laced your fingers in his dark blonde locks, tugging on it just the way you knew he liked. You wondered if he was going to even take your bra off; heck— you wondered if he was going to take his own clothes off. He was standing over you in his suit pants and white work shirt, although the tie and the suspenders had been ditched.

You were breathless when Maxwell pulled away from your lips and his hand wrapped around your throat again, squeezing gently. The pressure made you gasp out a soft moan as he brought his kisses down your neck and along your collarbones, down the valley of your breasts and your stomach until his head was positioned back in between your legs.

"You're exquisite." Maxwell sighed, raking in his view.  He pressed his middle finger and index finger into your core, feeling how damp your panties already were. "All for me?" he cooed, his brown eyes sparkling with delight. He switched over to his thumb where he began to rub your clit. "Such a good girl." he praised, beginning to tear away your new underwear from your body.

Pretty soon, your red panties were thrown aimlessly on the floor along with Maxwell's suit jacket and your winter coat and Maxwell wasted no time into latching his mouth onto your pussy. You practically screamed at the way his tongue worked within you, lapping up all your arousal like he hadn't had a decent meal in his life. "Hungry?" you joked breathlessly. Not in the mood, Maxwell didn't unattach his lips from you but he did insert two of his fingers without warning. You found yourself arching your back, moaning wantonly as he worked through your core. His groans as he sucked on your clit left vibrations rifle through your body as his fingers pounded inside of you. Obscene wet sounds echoed through his office as a result from his actions.

You dug your heels into his back and felt your legs start to shake uncontrollably as his movements became faster and more intense. His hands grabbed your thighs as he tried to steady you but it was barely any use. Seeing that you were close, he kept up his stamina until your climax ripped through your body, soaking his lips dripping down his chin. When he pulled away, you felt yourself blush at the state he was in. His hair had fallen out of place and his face was glistening with a mixture of his sweat and your juices.

Maxwell unclipped his gold cufflinks, tossing them on the floor and rolling up his sleeves to his elbows. Just as you were about to thank him, his hand reached over to the vibrator. "M-Max," you tried to protest as he flicked the switch. It began to buzz erratically and he spent a few moments accustoming himself to the different speeds and pressures. "Max." you wriggled, trying to sit up, but he pushed you back down, hushing you. The least he could do was wait until you had recovered from your first orgasm, but no. He pressed the vibrator to your clit casually and another gasp tore through you. "Max!" you yelled and he chuckled.

"I like this one." he grinned, adjusting the speed and watching you toss and turn on his desk.

"Fuck, Max," you yelped, your fingers curling into a fist as you began to feel that familiar warmth in your stomach signifying that you were close.

"Aw, you going to cum again?" Maxwell chuckled, turning up the speed to the highest setting. "Look at you, all spread out on my desk screaming my name."

Your vision became hazy and your eyes snapped shut as your orgasm hit you leaving you dizzy and panting. Maxwell shut off the vibrator and tossed it to one side. You groaned, holding your face in your hands as you came down your high. Maxwell stared at you, all messed up on his desk, and he couldn't rid himself of his smile.

You looked down to see his damage. "Oh Maxie," you whimpered, reaching your hands out when you saw the bulge stretching out his tailored pants. You sat upright and Maxwell gave you a small kiss on the head. "Let me help you." you whispered, moving your hands to his zipper but he swatted them away. You looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows as he tsked you. "Maxwell Lord denying head?" you scoffed, reaching back out to his pants. Your fingers only slightly brushed over his length but it was enough to make him shudder. He pushed you back into the oak desk for a third time.

"Stay." he commanded, his voice gruff as he ran his fingers through his hair and pushed his locks out of his face. His eyes were practically black as he examined you, pushing apart your legs and running his fingers along your dripping folds.

"Stop- teasing-" you growled, tossing your head back. "You- you've already got two orgasms out of me."

"And I know I can get one more." Maxwell snarled, unzipping his pants and pulling out his rock hard length. He collected the beads of his precum and rubbed it over his throbbing cock, just the gentlest of strokes almost pushing him over the edge.

You were too busy staring at the pretty gold pattern in the ceiling, a feeling of pure blissed out euphoria washed over your spent body, when you felt your boyfriend's cock push between your entrance. "How's this?" Maxwell grunted as he snapped his hips deep inside of you. "Could Bradley do this?"

You curled your hands into a fist as he thrust deep inside of you, repeating his movements hard and fast with no mercy. "Sh- shut upppp." you whined, grabbing onto his biceps as he pushed his body over yours to hit at a deeper angle. He laughed and pressed his hand into your throat once more.

"Ngh- so pretty," he cursed under his breath. You closed your eyes. "Look at me," he hissed, and you obliged as he proceeded to fuck the life out of you. "So good to me." he praised.

"Max," you wailed as his cock pressed into your sweet spot.

"Is that good for you?" he bit his lip, his fingers digging into your skin so hard you were sure it would leave marks.

"Mhmmm," You agreed. "Maxxxxx."

"Yeah baby?"  the use of his little names for you only riled you on more and eventually he felt your walls squeeze around his cock as you came undone.

"I want you to cum in me," you begged, your eyes glossy and pleading as your final orgasm washed over you.

"Will you promise to me a good girl?" he asked you and you squirmed under his praise.

"I'm always a good girl," you breathed out. "Always good for you Maxie."

"Yeah," Maxwell moaned, and you felt his cock twitch inside of you. He pressed a sloppy kiss into your neck and pushed deep into you, biting his teeth into the skin of your jaw. With one final hard thrust he was spilling inside of you.

Maxwell steadied himself, his cock softening inside of you until eventually it slipped out. You moaned at the loss of the fullness and he shuddered, quickly tucking himself back into his pants and zipping himself up. It only took a few seconds for him to notice his cum leaking from your pussy. With shaky legs, he padded to the drawer under his desk, unlocking it and taking out some silk handkerchiefs. He opened your legs gently and began to clean you up with the utmost care and affection.

"How do you feel?" he whispered into the shell of your ear, discarding the handkerchief when he was finished. He helped you sit upright and pulled you onto his lap, smoothing out your hair.

"Tired," you whispered, nuzzling your face into his chest. He kissed your forehead and wrapped his arms around your practically naked body, his strong arms holding you still and steady.

"I get off in three hours, why don't you take a nap on my sofa and then we can go home together?" Maxwell suggested.

"Mmm," you smiled, closing your eyes. "Or I could just stay here. Like this? But oh- you have that meeting…" you sighed. You went to stand up but Maxwell's grip around you tightened.

"Darling, stay here," you cooed. "I can cancel the meeting. It is my company after all. Besides, I'd rather be here with you."

You felt yourself blush. "You know Maxie, I do love you. So much." 

"I know," Maxwell answered, his voice unrecognisably soft. "I love you too." He didn't say those three words often, but you knew that deep down he meant it. He loved you. "Oh, and thanks for the surprise."

I did a four part series of trivia posts when ATOM Volume 1: Tyrantis Walks Among Us! came out, and that was pretty fun!  You can see that set of trivia posts here if you’d like.  I thought it’d be fun to do another now that ATOM Volume 2: Tyrantis Roams the Earth! is out - just one this time, because a lot of the trivia I talked about with Volume 1 still applies.

I’m gonna divide this into two sections: non-spoiler trivia, for things that really don’t give a lot of plot points away, and spoiler trivia, for things that DO give away major plot points.  I recommend not reading the spoiler trivia until after you’ve read Tyrantis Roams the Earth!, for obvious reasons, and will put the spoiler trivia under a cut.

Ok, let’s go!

- So if you read ATOM Volume 1, you probably noticed that the book is split not only into chapters, but “episodes,” which consist of four chapters a piece.  It’s kind of a nod to how the series owes a great deal of its DNA to various monster of the week shows, with Godzilla: the Series and The Godzilla Power Hour being obvious influences.  It also allowed me to pepper in some illustrations and cheesy b-movie style titles into each volume.

- The first “episode” of Volume 2, Tyrantis in Tokyo, pays explicit homage to the giant monster movies of Japan, perhaps even moreso than the chapters that came before it.  Given how much Japanese media influenced ATOM - from tokusatsu like the Godzilla, Gamera, and Ultraman franchises to anime like Digimon and Evangelion (hell, the title of this episode itself is a tip of the hat to Tenchi Muyo by way of one of its spinoffs) - it kind of felt obligatory that Tyrantis visit Japan and pay his respects.

- Tyrantis in Tokyo also fits in a tribute to another staple of Atomic Age pop culture: Rock and Roll.

- Kutulusca, the giant cephalopod that appears in Tyrantis in Tokyo, is one of the oldest kaiju in this series, dating back to the first iteration of Tyrantis’s story that I put to paper back in 2001 or so.  It’s changed a lot since then, but its fight with Tyrantis goes more or less the way it originally did.

- Old Meg, the giant placoderm/shark, and Nastadyne, the bipedal beetle, both owe their existence directly to Deviantart’s Godzilla fandom.  Old Meg originated as a dunkleosteus monster I submitted to a “create a Godzilla kaiju” contest held by Matt Frank, while Nastadyne is based on a Megalon redesign I made during the “redesign all the Godzilla kaiju” phase of DA’s kaiju fandom.

- The second episode, Tyrantis vs. the Red Menace, gets dark as we visit the USSR, which had enough REAL horror with atomic power in its history to make creature features seem a bit defanged by comparison.  It’s probably the episode with the strongest horror elements - ATOM’s always been influenced by Resident Evil, and this is probably where that influence shows the most strongly.

- It also features the first fully robotic mecha in the series, the mighty Herakoschei!  Its name is a combination of “Heracles” and “Koschei the Deathless,” with the former part being added by its Russian creators to make it seem a bit more international as they offer it to the U.N. in hopes of gaining aid for a very extreme kaiju problem they’ve developed.

- Most of Tyrantis vs. the Red Menace takes place in the Siberian Monster Zone.  Its name is a reference to the Lawless Monster Zone in Ultraman, which is such a cool fucking name I wish that I wish I could go back in time and steal it.

- The next episode, Tyrantis’s Revenge, is... full of spoilers, so we’ll move on for now.

- The penultimate episode, Tyrantis vs. the Martian Monsters, is a love letter to MANY different sci-fi stories that involve life on Mars, though the most prominent of them is of course The War of The Worlds (one of my top 3 favorite books) and its various adaptations.  From its tentacles sapient martians, the tripodal leader of the titular monsters whose name includes the word “ulla” which is uttered by said sapient martians, the plant monster made of red vines, the cylinder-shaped spacecraft the Martian monsters are sent to earth on, the copper-skinned stingray-esque flying martian who shoots lasers from its tail, and the fact that every chapter title in this episode is a quote from the book, the H.G. Wells influence is STRONG.

- The final episode, Invasion from Beyond!, is shamelessly inspired by Destroy All Monsters, although there’s a dash of “To Serve Men,” Godzilla vs. Monster Zero, and The Day the Earth Stood Still mixed in as well.  It’s also sort of a tribute to my first “published” bit of a kaiju fiction - a rewrite of Destroy All Monsters that included EVERY Godzilla monster that had appeared at the time, which my middle school self wrote back in 2002 or so for Kaiju Headquarters, a kaiju fansite I’m not sure exists anymore.  Invasion from Beyond! is just as ambitious (but hopefully better executed) as my DAM Remake, with dozens upon dozens of different kaiju duking it out, earthlings vs. aliens.

- There were three different documents I made to outline the final battle of Invasion from Beyond!  It’s the largest episode of the series so far and more than half of it is that fucking fight.  My inner child is pleased, though, so hopefully you will be too.

Ok, that’s all I can share without spoilers.  READER BEWARE WHAT FOLLOWS BELOW THE CUT!

JUST MAKING SURE you know that SPOILERS will follow from here on out.  Read at your own peril!  YOU WERE WARNED!

(I’m gonna start with lighter ones just in case you scrolled too far and want to turn back)

- There’s a number of explicit Spielberg homages in ATOM Volume 2, from a “we need a bigger boat” joke during a chase with a giant shark to the fact that Invasion from Beyond! opens with a group of people flying to an island of monsters to review whether or not it should get more funding.

- When Tyrantis appears in the first chapter, I snuck in modified lyrics of The Godzilla Power Hour’s theme song.  “Up from the depths”... “several stories high”... “breathing fire”... “its head in the sky”... Tyrantis!  Tyrantis!  Tyrantis!

- The two rock bands in Tyrantis in Tokyo have real life inspirations ala Gwen Valentine, albeit a bit more muddled than hers.  The Cashews are inspired by The Peanuts (see what I did there), while The Thunder Lizards are a mix of The Rolling Stones, the Beatles, Buddy Holly, and the Big Bopper.  I wanted The Thunder Lizards to be more akin to the myth of a famous rock and roll band than the reality - less the real Beatles and more the Yellow Submarine cartoon version of them.

- The song The Thunder Lizards write for Tyrantis was written to fit the tune of “The Godzilla March” from Godzilla vs. Gigan, though ideally if someone made an actual song of it it would be its own song.  I got the idea from Over the Garden Wall, which used the Christmas song “O Holy Night” as a a starting point for “Come Wayward Souls.”

- Perry Martin, UNNO reporter and peer of Henry Robertson, is a nod to Raymond Burr, with his name being a combination of two of Burr’s most famous roles: Perry Mason, and Steve Martin from Godzilla King of the Monsters (1956).

- Dr. Rinko Tsuburaya is a few homages in one.  Her name comes from Rinko Kikuchi (who played Mako Mori in Pacific Rim), while her last name is obviously in homage of Eiji Tsuburaya.  Her being the daughter of an esteemed scientist is inspired by Emiko Yamane from the original Gojira.

- Nastadyne’s Burning Justice mode is named after a similar super mode from various Transformers cartoons, though it’s more directly inspired by the Shining/Burning Finger super move from G Gundam.

- Martians sending kaiju to different planets via shooting them out of cannons (with or without cylinder spaceships around them) is another War of the Worlds shoutout.  So is martians living on Venus after their homeworld was made uninhabitable, actually.

- Kurokame’s vocalizations are described as wails in explicit homage to Gamera.  His name can be translated as either “black tortoise” (a reference to the mythical guardian beast Genbu, which can also be construed as a Gamera reference thanks to Gamera: Advent of Irys implying Gamera and Genbu are one and the same) or a portmanteau of the Japanese words for crocodile and turtle - “crocturtle.”

- Burodon’s name is just a mangling of “burrow down.”  It also sounds vaguely like Baragon, who Burodon is loosely inspired by.  AND, since Burodon is sort of a knockoff/modified Baragon, that kinda makes him a reference to various monsters in Ultraman!

- The final battle of Tyrantis in Tokyo is sort of a hybrid of the finales of Ghidorah the 3 Headed Monster and Destroy All Monsters.  

- The Japanese kaiju teaching Tyrantis the art of throwing rocks at your enemies is both a joke on the prominence of rock throwing in Japanese kaiju fights AND the tired trope of an American hero learning secret martial arts from a Japanese mentor ala Batman, Iron Fist, etc.  In this case, the secret martial art is throwing rocks at people.

- When introduced to Herakoschei and its pilot, we are told that the strain of piloting this early mecha is so intense that many pilots have died in the process, with the current one passing out on more than few occasions.  This is of course a Pacific Rim homage - sadly, no one invents drifting.

- Herakoschei’s design is a loose homage to Robby the Robot and Cherno Alpha, because big boxy robots are cool.

- The Writhing Flesh and ESPECIALLY Pathogen are both hugely influenced by Resident Evil and The Thing.  Giant body horror piles of raw flesh, tendrils, mismatched mouths and limbs may be a bit outside the main era of monster design ATOM homages, but they fit the themes and bring a nice contrast.

- I came up with Pathogen long before Corona but MAN it definitely feels different in 2021 to have a giant monster whose name is a synonym for disease driving other creatures crazy in a quarantine zone than it did when I plotted out the story in 2016.

- The chapter title “Hello, Old Foes” is a riff on “Goodbye, Old Friend”

- Minerva, the kaiju-fied clone of Dr. Lerna, is meant to be an homage to Attack of the 50 Foot Woman, which is a genuinely good giant monster flick.  I am sure many of you will also believe I included her because I’m a pervert whose into tall women, but you’d be wrong!  I included the seven foot tall Russian mecha pilot Ludmilla Portnova because I’m a pervert whose into tall women.  Minerva’s inclusion was just coincidental, I swear!

- Since Promythigor is a play on the archetypal ape kaiju to contrast Tyrantis as a play on the archetypal fire-breathing reptile kaiju, their fight has a lot of nods to King Kong movies.  Promythigor attempts the famous jaw-snap maneuver of Kong (with less success), J.C. Clark paraphrases the “brute force vs. a thinking animal” line from the King Kong vs. Godzilla American cut, and Tyrantis slides down a mountain to knock Promythigor off his feet in a reversal of Kong doing the same in King Kong vs. Godzilla.

- Tyrantis sliding down a mountain on his tail doubles as a Godzilla vs. Megalon homage.

- Though Promythigor is the archetypal Ape and Tyrantis the archetypal Fire-Breathing Reptile, I think it’s fun to note that in some ways, Promythigor is the Godzilla equivalent in their matchup, and Tyrantis the Kong.  Promythigor has a slight size advantage, was scarred by humans performing unethical weapons technology, and is associated with violent explosions.  Tyrantis is a good-at-heart prehistoric beast who humanized in part by his unlikely friendship with a human woman.

- Of course, in the context of the famous quote from the American cut of King Kong vs. Godzilla, they remain in their archetypal lanes.  Promythigor is the more intelligent of the two (though not necessarily wiser), and Tyrantis is in many ways a brute reptile.  Their battle is a rebuttal of sorts to the assertion that Kong is the “better” animal because he is closer to human.  Promythigor’s near human creativity and emotions don’t make him the kinder/more benevolent monster, but instead fuel a very self-centered and destructive attitude that makes him the far more dangerous threat.  On the other hand, Tyrantis, who is less intelligent, limited in communication with others by his reptilian mindset and instincts, and simple in his thoughts and desires, is nonetheless a sweet creature that is easily dealt with when others consider his animal needs and mindset.  There’s a quote from Hellboy I love that probably sums up all of my writing thus far: “To be other than human does not mean the same as being less,” and that’s what the matchup between these two in particular tries to illustrate: the “less” human Tyrantis is nonetheless more benign than the “more” human Promythigor.

- Kraydi the psychic lizard began life as a soft sculpture I made of the Canyon Krayt Dragon from The Wildlife of Star Wars.  The sculpture didn’t look much like the illustration, but I liked how it came out, and so I made it an original monster named Kraydi (see what I did there).  Figuring out an explanation for that name in ATOM’s world was possibly the most difficult kaiju naming task in the series, but it worked out in the end.

- Kraydi and Promythigor having psychic powers is a result of my time on Godzilla fan forums in my middle school years.  Most of the forums had OC kaiju battle tournaments, and SO many of those kaiju had a wide array of beam weapons and psychic powers just to win the tournaments by beam-spamming and mind controlling their foes into oblivion.  There’s a special kind of rage you get when your original creation is beaten by “Fire Godzilla” because he has a genius level intellect and the power of unstoppable telekinesis.  Kraydi began as (and still is I suppose) my attempt to do a psychic kaiju well, while Promythigor’s villainy being tied to psychic powers being forced on him is sort of my passive aggressive commentary on people foisting powers on a monster without any real thematic reason for them.

- Henry Robertson and Dr. Praetorius chewing out the laziness of people giving kaiju completely unaltered names of mythic beasts will probably be seen as a jab at the Monsterverse and/or the numerous writers in the kaiju OC scene who do the same, but it’s ACTUALLY a jab at my past self, who had DOZENS of kaiju whose names were just Greek mythological figures verbatim.  There are dozens of kaiju named Hydra, Scylla, Charybdis, Chimera, etc., past me, try to make the names stand out!  Oh wait you did.  I mean, don’t pat yourself on the back too much, you still went with “Mothmanud” as a canon name and never came up with something better, but, like, good on ya for trying I guess.

- Dr. Praetorius takes his name from the evil mad scientis in Bride of Frankenstein, who basically has all the wicked traits that Universal’s Frankenstein downplayed in their take on Dr. Frankenstein.  Ironically, ATOM’s Dr. Praetorius is a bit less evil than his fellow mad scientists in ATOM.  I really like how his character turned out, he surprised me.

- Isaac Rossum, the pilot of the USA mecha Atomoton, is named for Isaac Aasimov, whose robot stories are to robot fiction what Lord of the Rings is to high fantasy.  His last name is a reference to Rossum’s Universal Robots, which is where the word “robot” came from.

- The unfortunate pilots of MechaTyrantis in ATOM Volumes 1 and 2 are all nods to Jurassic Park.  John Ludlow = John Hammond and Peter Ludlow, Ian Grant = Ian Malcolm and Alan Grant, Dennis Dodgson = Dennis Nedry and Lewis Dodgson.

- A good way to pitch Invasion from Beyond! would be “what if the staff and monsters were able to fight back when the Kilaaks tried to take over Monsterland?”

- Ok, here’s a fun joke that no one will get but me because it requires a very specific chain of logic based on some obscure and loosely connected nerd bullshit.  There’s a rocker in ATOM’s universe named Sebastian Haff, right?  One of his songs, “Darling Let’s Shimmy,” is referenced right before a mothmanud larva emerges from the ground in both ATOM Vol. 1 and 2.  Ok, so, in the Bubba Hotep, an aging Elvis impersonator named Sebastian Haff claims he is actually the real Elvis Presley, having changed places with the real Sebastian Haff as a sort of Prince and the Pauper deal that went wrong.  Got that?  Ok, so, in UFO folklore, a common joke is the theory that Elvis didn’t die, but was rather abducted by aliens (or he actually WAS an alien the whole time - the whole “Elvis didn’t die, he just went home” joke in Men in Black is a good example of this).  Ok?  Ok.  So, in ATOM’s universe, we can surmise that their equivalent of Elvis, whose name is Sebastian Haff, WAS abducted by aliens, and that his song “Darling Let’s Shimmy” is subconsciously influenced by his repressed memories from his time aboard the Beyonder spaceships, which is why it accidentally awoke a Mothmanud larva in Volume 1.  There’s a lot of bullshit jokes I put into ATOM, but this is perhaps the bullshittiest of them all.

- One of the most common bits of feedback on ATOM Volume 1 I got was “I kept waiting for something to eat Brick Rockwell, he’s such an asshole.”  And I had to smile and go, “Oh, yeah, guess he never got his, huh?” the whole time without letting on that he was going to die here all along!

- Dr. Lerna and Brick Rockwell’s nature as foils to each other is probably most apparent in Invasion from Beyond!, where both are given fairly similar situations - a nonhuman approaches them with a solution to a global crisis - and react to it very differently.  I worry that some people may think they both made the same choice and got different results, and that that’s hypocrisy on my part, but I hope I wrote it so you can see how their choices and situations actually differ in key ways, and why their decisions, while similar on the surface, are ultimately very different, and thus result in almost opposite outcomes.

- So, when I planned out this book in 2016, I swear I didn’t know about the Orca from 2019′s Godzilla King of the Monsters.  Having the plot hang around Dr. Lerna deciding whether or not to use a sonic device to rouse all the kaiju to save the earth was not INTENDED to be a Monsterverse reference - it came about from me looking at Pathfinder’s take on kaiju, who are all explicitly influenceable by music, and thinking, “Oh, wow, music and songs DO have a major connection with kaiju in a lot of media, I should do something with that.”  Whem KOTM came out a few days after Volume 1 came out I realized I was kinda fucked here, because the comparison was definitely going to be made, but I’d also set this all up already and you can’t just change suddenly to avoid looking like a copy cat and make a good story, so... I dunno, I leaned into it a bit, but it is what it is.

- While most people will probably think they’re a reference to the Reptoids of UFO folklore, the Reptodites are more inspired by the Dinosapien of speculative evolution fame and, even morso, by the Reptites from Chrono Trigger.  Me wanting to avoid the “lizard people control the government” conspiracy theory trope is one of the main reasons why Reptodites have this non-interference clause with humanity.

- Lieutenant Gray is a bunch of different humanoid aliens rolled into one - a little Hopskinville goblin, a little classic gray, a little this one weird alien with five-fingered zygodactyl hands, etc.

- There’s some Beyonder Mecha in this volume that are basically kaiju-fied versions of the Flatwoods Monster.  The species that built them ALSO engineered the Mothmanuds, because connecting Mothman and the Flatwoods Monster is fun!

- Pleprah is, obviously, a one-eyed one-horned flying purple people eater.

- Tyrantis’s brush with death, in addition to being so very anime, was inspired by my dad outlining how mythic heroes often have to travel to the underworld/land of the dead before they can finish their journey.  It’s one of the plot points that I’ve had planned for this series since middle school.

- I’m sure some will view it as hackneyed and corny, but as a person who’s battled with depression for decades, having Tyrantis’s choice to live be the big heroic turn of the finale was very important to me.  Tyrantis incorporates elements of a lot of imaginary friends I made as a kid, and in many ways he’s kind of the face of my more positive side in my head.  He’s been telling me to choose to live for a while, and while maybe to an outsider it may seem hackneyed, it’s just... very Tyrantis.  He chooses life and kindness in the face of pain and struggle.  That’s Tyrantis.

- Tyrantis’s powered up form is called “Hyper Mode,” which is another Gundam reference.  Originally it was a lot gaudier and involved him turning gold like a fuckin’ Super Saiyan.  I opted for something a little more toned down here.  

- Also, speaking of KOTM references, I decided to make Hyper Mode Tyrantis’s final duel with Pathogen be a sort of foil to Burning Godzilla’s final bout with Ghidorah in KOTM.  Instead of ravaging the city, Hyper Tyrantis’s pulse of energy rejuvenates his fallen allies, and as a result he is “crowned” not out of fear for his supremacy in the wake of killing a powerful enemy, but in gratitude for his kindness.  See?  Leaning into it!

- And now I can finally reveal that Yamaneon is ATOM’s equivalent of The Monolith Monsters - that is, a kaiju that is also a mineral.  I took the “strange continuously growing rock” thing in a very different direction, though, as unlike The Monolith Monsters, Yamaneon is actually alive.

- At various points in the pre-writing process, either Promythigor, MechaTyrantis, or both were going to die fighting Pathogen.  I ultimately decided to let them both live, with MechaTyrantis even getting his flesh and blood body back, because I think it’s more interesting and thematically consistent that way.  They get a chance to heal their wounds by changing their ways.

- The Great Beyonder and Dorazor both almost didn’t make the cut, as I felt they didn’t have the same pull as villains that Pathogen, Promythigor, and MechaTyrantis did.  But then I thought that could actually be the gag - build them up as the final boss, only to have Pathogen take their crown.  I want to explore post-face turn Dorazor a bit more, though.  We’ll have to see about that in a later volume.

- Volumes 1 and 2 make up what I call “The Ballad of Tyrantis Arc” for ATOM.  I call it that because Tyrantis’s storyline in these two volumes was patterend after Chivalric ballads like Yvain the Knight of the Lion.  Tyrantis, a heroic warrior who is kind but dumb of ass, learns of strange goings on outside his home and investigates.  During his journey into the unknown he falls in love with a powerful woman, whose favor he tries to win.  Through happenstance he is separated from his love and, distraught, wanders around fighting various foes to prove his worth, before finally returning to his love a better hero.  Invasion from Beyond! could even be seen as a sort of Morte d’Artur, with Tyrantis and a bunch of other kaiju heroes (including Nastadyne and Kemlasulla, who are built up as Hero Kaiju of Another Story) take part in a huge battle that threatens their idealic kingdom (of monsters).

- Volume 2 isn’t the end of ATOM, but it’s designed to work as an ending if you want to tap out here.  As a reader I feel a definitive ending is important, but as a writer I’m always tempted to revisit my beloved characters, so I feel giving closure while leaving a few doors open for possible future adventures is a good compromise between these positions.  There will be more ATOM stories, some (but not all!) following Tyrantis and Dr. Lerna, but if you want to know that Tyrantis and Dr. Lerna get an ending and the resolution to their arcs such a thing promises, here you go.  An ending, if not THE END.

The Revived - Chapter 13: An Interview

This is chapter 13 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @rainbowbutterfrosting​ and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur, Tubbo

Word count: 3436

Cw: stress, crying, discussions of limbo, lying, tension between characters

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

The walk to the portal seemed longer than normal, perhaps due to the wails in the back of his mind. Every now and then they would quiet down, only for them to get worse again. He sighed quietly, “‘m going to Pogtopia.” 

Ghostbur tried to compose himself with little luck. Still, through his cries, he said, “Going where?” The words shook like a leaf in the wind but remained understandable. 

“Tubbo.” Although the words weren’t sharp, the meaning of them felt like it. He would’ve apologized, but he frankly didn’t have the energy to care.

Ghostbur sniffled, “Anything bad gonna happen?”

Wilbur shook his head before realizing Ghostbur couldn’t hear him, “Nope.” He barely thought of the response as he stepped onto the path made out of oak slabs.

The walk was quiet. Ghostbur seemed calmer with the promise of Tubbo, and Wilbur wasn’t in a chatty mood. The sound of footsteps filled his walk there.

The road to Pogtopia was ingrained in Wilbur’s muscle memory. While memories were muddled, the times he hid underground planning to take back L’Manberg seemed to remain stuck there. The buttons, calmly lining the walls more and more each day. The way they had appeared to taunt him, every single time he had a look.

It didn’t take long for Wilbur to make it there. The entrance to the ruins wasn’t too obvious to find, but Wilbur vaguely remembered that most people knew about it by now. As he entered and looked at the walls, he felt as if he’d wandered into an old movie that scared you as a child. Something from a past life. The ceiling that went up high, but still wasn’t enough. The remains of glory, and the times he’d wanted to shout at nothing until he finally told himself that it was fine. Wilbur was a genius and a powerful commander, and he wasn’t going to let everything get whisked away. He would get it all back, or no one else would have it.

His L’Manberg waiting for Wilbur to decide its final fate, despite the protests of its remaining people.

Now, Wilbur looked at the dusty paths that looked almost unused now, safe for a few visible footsteps, as if the place was used as nothing but a place to merely pass through once a month. The buttons that every inch of Wilbur’s fingers were tempted to touch, just to feel the way they clicked under his command. He breathed the old air into his lungs, and while it had been ages, it still reached his heart and trapped it in a familiar cage momentarily. It all appeared much smaller now or perhaps haunted by the words, the promises, and the betrayals. Haunted by the time, all of Wilbur’s suspicions had been confirmed, because loyalty was thin, and everyone was only looking out for their own self-interest. He was reminded of Tommy’s anger as they confronted Techno after the festival. Exactly as he predicted, and now everyone had to see it as well. His own laughter from long ago rang through his mind. 

“Hey there, big man!” Tubbo’s voice cut Wilbur out of the undesired nostalgic trance.

Ghostbur gasped, “Tubbo! Is Michael with him?” Wilbur turned and saw the boy standing there, looking at Wilbur expectantly. “Oh, there you are. I’m guessing Michael’s at home with Ranboo.” Wilbur said. Ghostbur’s passive acknowledgment echoed through his mind. He chuckled, “This place has really let itself go, huh?”

“Ah, a bit.” Tubbo said with a shrug, his tone remaining friendly as ever, “People don’t use it for much anymore, but some people stop by or keep some things here I think.”

Wilbur hummed, “You know, I almost didn’t expect it to still be standing at all.”

Tubbo laughed, “Yeah, that’s pretty impressive.”

Wilbur took another look at the path ahead of them and then turned to Tubbo again. “What did you want me for again?”

“Oh, right!” Tubbo said with a quick nod. He gestured towards the paths, “Follow me.” he said, and started walking.

Wilbur resisted the urge to laugh, though the cage only allowed a huff, “That’s a little suspicious, Tubster.” he added the next words in an overexaggerated tone, “Just follow me into this abandoned place! Come alone!”

Tubbo laughed, “To be fair, I didn’t necessarily ask you to come alone.” He bit his lip, and looked as if he pondered something, “I just… Uhm, I wanted to show you something I’ve been working on.”

Curiosity filled Wilbur’s mind. Had Tubbo really been planning to fix up Pogtopia? To make a new nation now that his leader was back? The thought put a smile on his face, “Ooo, do tell.”

Tubbo seemed slightly tense after Wilbur’s intrigue, “I mean, it’s not really anything too great. More like a side project.

“You really have to stop being so humble!” Wilbur put an arm around Tubbo’s shoulders, ignoring the way Tubbo jumped at the action, moving him slightly closer. “You’ve always been doing great things since the day I met you.”

Tubbo slightly untensed at the praise, but his words still seemed stiff, “No no, it’s really nothing. I don’t want you to get hyped then be disappointed.” They made a turn to the right, going to where Tubbo’s previous bunker was. They crossed over the brief patch of dark oak wood on the floor as they both walked into the room.

“You’ve got too high expectations of yourself, I’m sure it’s great.” Tubbo narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips slightly, but didn’t make any other comment. They walked up the stairs and while the room was mostly the same, there were certainly new renovations. Two chairs, a table, and a large bookshelf that seemed half-full. “What are the books about?”

Confusion came across Tubbo’s face before he realized what Wilbur was talking about, “Oh! So the thing is, I’ve been writing some history books. Figured they would be helpful to anyone new coming here.”

Wilbur exclaimed, “That’s great! People will get to know how great L’Manberg was and the valiant wars we fought. Tubbo, this whole thing is a great idea.”

Apprehension clouded Tubbo’s eyes, causing Wilbur’s grin to drop slightly. Neither of them said anything about it though. Instead, Tubbo spoke hesitantly, “Okay, so the main thing I wanted your help with is… See, I need some recounts to write some books about history, and what we know about things. The whole revival stuff is pretty new to most of us so… I was just wondering if I could ask you a few questions about it?”

Wilbur swallowed something in his throat, and let out a breath. “Oh.” he said, hesitating, “Of course. Sure! Why not.”

“Great!” Tubbo said, almost looking a little surprised at the answer, “You can sit there.” He pointed to one of the chairs Wilbur noticed earlier. He sat down as Tubbo riffled through a barrel. Moments passed before Tubbo came back with a book and quill. 

“Alright, let’s start at the beginning. What do you remember from being revived?” Tubbo sat down in the other chair, opening the book to the first page.

“Wow. That’s a big question.” Wilbur thought for a moment, “I was in limbo and I saw this train coming.”

Tubbo stopped him, “What does limbo look like?”

Wilbur thought it was obvious what limbo looked like, but he spent thirteen and a half years in that place, and the boy in front of him probably never thought about that horrible place. “Well, to me, it’s this train platform. Hm- it was somewhat of a subway station, but trains pulled in, not subways.” Tubbo nodded as he wrote the information down.

“No matter where I looked, no matter where I went. Just concrete walls all around. And a tube with a track running straight along. But- it didn’t matter what I did. I could claw at the walls, bash on the doors, scream for help.” Wilbur let out a melancholic chuckle as his eyes watered, “I screamed ‘till my lungs were sore and my voice was hoarse.”

Wilbur momentarily wiped the tears out of his eyes, glad Tubbo was looking at his book and not him. “Nothing ever changes, nothing ever comes, nothing ever helps you, Tubbo.” Wilbur took a shaky breath as he ran a hand through his hair.

Tubbo nodded, his voice remaining neutral and focused, “You said trains pull in? Did you ever try to get on them?”

Wilbur nodded vaguely, “Only three trains came in. The first pulled away before I even realized it was there, but Tommy was on it! And it was great! But then- he got on a train and left. I couldn’t even move when I saw it, I felt paralyzed. Somehow I knew the train was Tommy’s even though I deserved to get on there.” Bitterness took the end of Wilbur’s voice, but Tubbo didn’t say anything about it. 

Instead, he hummed in acknowledgment, “What did the train look like? Was there anything unusual about it?”

Wilbur tilted the chair back slightly, looking at the ceiling, “I don’t think so? I couldn’t see it very well, I got too euphoric about the idea that I didn’t pay attention. The inside of the train was made out of dark oak. The seats were a dark green- sort of like a forest green.”

“And you got on the third train or a different one?”

“The third one, it’s the only one I could get on. When I saw the train pulling in, I was so thrilled. I could barely even feel my legs as I ran there. There was this weird guy though. When the train stopped, he was thrown on the ground. I saw two people including the weird one on that train. The weird one was a desaturated me. Just rolling into my town! Just browsing in by my limbo.”

Wilbur exhaled, the feeling of being alive coursing through him once again, “It’s weird, his face was steaming with tears. T-They looked like they were burning him?” 

Although he didn’t mean to ask the question, Ghostbur responded with quietness in his voice, “Yeah. I don’t like them very much.”

Wilbur sniffled, “But you know who else was on that train? The one conducting the train, the one who let me out, Tubbo.”

Tubbo momentarily looked up from his book, “Who?”

“Dream.” Although everyone said the masked man was horrible and deserved to rot in an obsidian prison for the rest of his life, a grin slipped on his face when he said his name. “It was Dream. My hero, my fucking hero Dream, saved me!” Ghostbur’s breath hitched and Tubbo tensed. While Wilbur felt like he won the lottery of life. His chest heaved as he continued, “Oh my that decade of waiting, I thought I wanted to die. I thought I wanted to die all those years ago, but now I’ve seen what hell is! Now I’ve seen the other side. I’ve been given a new lease on life! There’s so many things I’m going to do, there’s so many great things, I can’t even begin to describe them.” While Wilbur’s face was beaming with happiness, Tubbo’s showed a worry that gently shook in the silence between them. 

Words were escaping Wilbur almost on instinct, and perhaps he shouldn’t have said as much as he said, but if Tubbo wanted knowledge, knowledge should be shared. And in a sense, saying it all out loud served as a reminder. That perhaps Wilbur’s fragile connections didn’t matter much in the end, because the euphoria of being alive still lingered in his chest.

Tubbo looked back down at his book, scribbling some things for a few moments, flipping the page. “Are there- alright- sorry, one second.” Tubbo took a shaky breath, putting down the quill for a moment. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands over his eyes. After a few seconds passed, Tubbo sat normally. Wilbur slightly wilted at the beginnings of tears in Tubbo’s eyes, but he didn’t bother to say anything about it. Especially when he only momentarily met Wilbur’s gaze, focusing right back onto the book. 

Tubbo inhaled slowly as he fiddled with the page, “Are there any side effects to you coming back? Like- does anything feel different?” He looked towards the book with unsure eyes, but Wilbur shrugged it off. 

“Hm.” There was a fucking ghost in his head, that was a start. Not that he was going to say that. Perhaps an implication, but he wasn’t going to explain it fully. “I’m not really sure. I mean sometimes I think that Ghostbur, the desaturated me… is there with me in spirit if that makes sense?”

Tubbo furrowed his brow, but he remained focused on the book, “Elaborate please.”

“Well, I feel like he’s in my head a little bit. Like as if we’re sharing the same experiences, and he knows what I’m going through.”

Tubbo nodded bluntly stating, “So you’re experiencing a divide in identity. As if your body isn’t your own?”

Wilbur frantically shook his head, “No no, I still control my body. I still have my thoughts to myself. I just feel like Ghostbur’s still here in a way.” His shoulders untensed as he let out a breath. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to say or explain. The words had likely been far too risky in the first place. He’d gotten carried away. “It’s probably just because people talk about him sometimes, you know?”

Tubbo looked up from his book, skepticism filling his eyes, “Oh I gotcha.” He wrote something else down, but Wilbur felt like the boy didn’t understand what he was saying at all.

There was a confused sound in Wilbur’s mind. “But… I’m with you! Aren’t I?” the words came out with a strained melancholy, but Wilbur didn’t respond. 

“On the subject of Ghostbur, do you have any of his memories?” Tubbo asked, “He had some of yours after all.”

Wilbur inhaled through his nose. “Some,” he said shortly, thinking of the vague sensations, and the memories that felt as if he was trapped inside someone else. Trapped inside a cage, unable to do what he wanted. Yet, he didn’t have many. The most detailed ones weren't memories at all, but rather Ghostbur’s own words, provoking images that might’ve been real. “It’s all a bit vague still, but I do remember it. Almost like watching in the third person, or watching as your body moves without you.” As he said the words, he felt quick images flash by in his mind. Anger he couldn’t feel, and words that seemed far off. Watching the people he knew suffer, though he wasn’t sure who or why, and perhaps it didn’t matter. 

“Any specific events?” Tubbo asked.

While the memories were right at the tip of his tongue, there was very little he could recall directly. Though Ghostbur had filled him in at least a little bit, so he should account for that. “They’re not that specific but I feel as if some of them are coming back.” Wilbur said, “I remember the sheep thing. Who was it, Friend?” he let out a quick laugh.

Tubbo nodded and wrote something down again. “I see.” 

There was silence for a bit before Wilbur broke in. “Have you asked Tommy about this whole revival business? He went through it as well after all, and didn’t spend quite as long as I did in limbo.”

Tubbo tensed up. “Ah, a bit.” his professional tone wavered, “He uh… He’s not too fond of talking about it as of now. So, he prefers it when people don’t ask.” he smiled hesitantly, though the boy clearly looked troubled.

“Oh,” Wilbur said quietly. For a brief moment, he recalled the fearful anger in Tommy’s eyes from earlier, but he quickly let the thought dissolve.

“How long did you spend in limbo, again?” Tubbo asked.

“Thirteen and a half years.” Wilbur answered without any hesitation, “I counted the days,”

“How exactly did you do that? Could you see the sun?”

“There was a clock.” Wilbur responded briefly, “I couldn’t see what day it was but I could see the hours. I could feel it. And there was a faint light somewhere in the distance I could never quite reach.” He remembered it clearly, as he watched hours pass. Days upon days, months upon months.

“Okay.” Tubbo said with a nod, “Tommy said two months in limbo were two days here. I’m not sure if it’s still accurate for yours since I can’t really do the math right now, but it could vaguely be a limbo month equals a real day here.”

Wilbur almost pointed out that limbo was real and it was realer than anything Tubbo had ever experienced, but he only squinted as he tried to think. “I think that’s true.” he said, “Tommy mentioned his limbo was just a black void, but I did let him know much time had passed.”

It would be beneficial for Wilbur to know exactly how time passed differently. Perhaps it would help him when he communicated with Ghostbur, or when he tried to find a way to separate them. Then again, the thought of the passage of time, and the lengthy silence Ghostbur experienced, made Wilbur yearn to think of something else, whenever the thought passed his mind. “If you somehow learn anything else I…” he paused, “Tell me. I’m curious,” he said, his mouth curving up. Information. He needed more information, to fix all of it.

Tubbo looked at Wilbur for a little while, before nodding. “Of course.” he said, “Anything else you want to add?”

“Nope, I think that covers all of it,” Wilbur said, unsure what else there was to say.

“I’m here! We can talk and everything. That might be relevant!”

Tubbo wrote a few more lines in the book, “Great! Thanks, big man.” He closed it, putting it in a chest nearby. Wilbur got up and skimmed the bookshelf sleeves. There were quite a decent amount of books. They seemed to be chronological as well. Well- as chronological as they could be. Some of the books on the bottom shelf all seemed to be about science rather than history with titles like, “Hybrids” and “The End”. Wilbur heard ages ago it was some sort of other dimension that was similar to the Nether but had a dragon and creatures that made you float if they hit you. It was probably less scientific than the other books, filled with legended fables and short stories since as far as he knew, the End was only a fairytale world Phil told him about as a kid to help him sleep. 

The shelf above had the names of all the wars they’d been through, with some of them being long enough for two books. Now that he looked at it, all the books seemed to be around four hundred pages. Wilbur let out a surprised noise, causing Tubbo to look over.

He walked to where Wilbur was standing, “Everything alright?”

Wilbur nodded, “I was just looking at all the books you’ve got. Are all of them full?”

Tubbo looked bashfully, despite the proud look in his eyes, “I mean, some more than others, but in general, I just write any information I can find. A lot of the originals were destroyed a while back, so they’re a bit incomplete. Interviews fill up most of it.”

Wilbur’s eyes focused on a book that stood at the end of the middle shelf, titled, ‘The Destruction of L’Manberg’. Wilbur pointed to the book that grabbed most of his attention. He caught a smile across his own face  “Can I read a bit?” He asked, glancing at Tubbo, “I know it’s a bit macabre but… You know that morbid fascination with what people would say about you after you’re dead? I just wanna know what people thought after everything I did.”

Tubbo seemed hesitant but nodded anyway. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.” He walked downstairs, and as soon as Wilbur couldn’t see him anymore, he felt an odd sense of relief. Information was an old comfort to him. The side that won the war always had more information. Knowing what the other side had for breakfast was almost just as important as finalizing your battle plans. And in truth, the idea of obituaries or requiems from his enemies was something that made him want to laugh.

And now, with so much knowledge in front of him, he grabbed the book that lingered in his mind.

A not-so-brief overview of my Skyrim Dova OCs bc i need to scream to the digital void about my ideas

Freyora Lind, more commonly known by her strange alias “Bjorne Icepick”

A Nord-eventually-turned-werewolf who orphaned during the Great War and taken in by a Dunmeri mercenary whose residence was in Windhelm’s Gray Quarter. Grew up in a cramped boarding house setting among desperate mercenaries of varying backgrounds. Many of them would all come and go, but there was always some sort of a familial bond between them all.

From a young age she got in a lot of fights against people who insulted her for living in the Gray Quarter among the dark elves. Eventually she took a fight too far and was jailed for murder around 14, but was broken out shortly after by a band of masked vampires. Turns out some of her mercenary comrades unwittingly caught vampirism during a contract to clear out a vampire den and had to skip town, but not before ensuring one of their own wasn’t left to rot.

Lived in Cyrodil for about 15 years, but returned to Skyrim pursuing rumors surrounding a cure to vampirism, as her adoptive father would be nearing the end of his elven lifespan and had wished to die a normal death.

Seeing as she was literally a fugitive, and her long-belated parents were somewhat renowned for their battlefield prowess, she took on a false identity. AND an act to match it.

She’ll eat raw meat, chase prey with swords instead of using a bow like a normal person, harp about irrational conspiracy theories, and more. Everyone’s foul reactions to her outlandish act are plainly hilarious to her and only encourage her to act even stranger.

The alias “Bjorne Icepick” was simply the most ridiculous name she could think of.

Not the most morally outstanding. Besides drunken brawling, she’ll steal from anyone who angers her, even if it’s things she literally won’t ever need such as all the goblets in a household. It’s the pettiness that counts. “Try drinking your damn high-end wine now, jackass.”

Calls Dwarven Automatons “Gundams.” Including she herself, no one knows what that means.

Joins the Companions out of homesickness and a desire to fill in a gap that leaving home left.

Hasn’t bothered curing herself of lycanthropy because her whole schtick is being incredibly resourceful, and that includes using any means of power necessary. Still doesn’t fancy Hircine’s Hunting Grounds as her desired afterlife, though.

As her journey goes on, however, her lightheartedly eccentric face starts to fall off as a number of events push her to begin to question the legitimacy of her actions up until that point.

Some of which include the eventual death of her adoptive father (and how she was indirectly responsible for it even if it was what he wanted), Delphine’s ultimatum, the civil war as a collective, learning the tragic history behind the Falmer and the original Companions’ role in it, and killing of Vyrthur (no matter how much he genuinely deserved it).

She grows disgusted by herself down to the core. She takes to skooma to cope, and starts to be plagued by serious skooma-induced side effects. She ends up shutting herself away from all her responsibilities and distancing herself from her friends.

Does she get better? Maybe. I haven’t thought up anything past this point lol

Moureneris Alta

A very, VERY ancient vampiric snow elf, (though it’s notable she was born a considerable amount of time after the razing of Sarthaal)

Survived many atrocities. Stayed in isolation with a band of vampires for countless years out of sheer disgust for the nature of the sapient races. (I’ll explain her full story some other time. It’s pretty complicated)

She was abducted from her isolated lifestyle by a certain person i’ll talk about later. She managed to free herself south of Skyrim, and uh, walks right into that Imperial ambush. The rest is history.

Super ignorant to modern society as a result of centuries of isolation. Exploited for comedic relief. (“What in the name of Oblivion is a Cyrodilic Empire? Are you messing with me? And please, how does levitation magic simply get outlawed by this hypothetical Empire? What are you to do when you fall down a crevice? Just... let yourself perish? How degrading.)

She reintegrated herself into society with vengeance in mind under the belief that all humans are savage bloodlusting murderers who had to answer for their treachery. (And she was royally angry there was no Dwemer left to spite, but partially satisfied at the same time). But she grows conflicted after being shown genuine kindness, even as early as being freed from her binds in Helgen.

Subsequently has a very muddled redemption arc. Queue Dragonborn hero stuff

She has impaired vision, but she cultivated detect life magic to aid her in daily life and combat (think Hyakkimaru from Dororo ‘19 and his soul detection or Toph Beifong from ATLA and her seismic sense). At her peak, she can detect life from about a kilometer away.

She can just barely read, but only if she holds the text incredibly close to her face, not to mention her Cyrodilic lessons were left unfinished after her abduction, making reading a very taxing process. Weary travelers are often spooked at the sight of a floating, ghastly looking elven woman with her nose pressed up against crossroad signs, and it has become somewhat of an urban legend.

Isn’t as nearly as skilled with detecting the dead and tenses up in burial crypts or around other vampires for that reason. Unfortunately, being the Dragonborn and all, she finds herself in a lot of crypts...

When questioned about her background due to her unique appearance: “Oh, yeah. My mother was one of those mer from the east. You know the ones. Dark elves, I think? And my father was one of those er, tall elv- no, sorry, HIGH elves. Yeah. They both died in a big fire or something though. It was horrible. I can’t get the noxious smell or the deafening screams out of my head. Good talk, but never ask me about that again.”

Queue sheltered old immortal antics: “Wow, you’re THAT old? Enlighten me on how it felt witnessing the fall of the Dwemer. Or perhaps the rise of Tiber Septim’s Empire. The Gates of Ob-“ “Oblivion if I know. I lived in someone’s basement for thousands of years. And I still don’t know what everyone means by Empire. You all are messing with me, aren’t you? That really annoys me.”

She ultimately returns to faith in Auri-El and makes it her life’s purpose to help the Betrayed find peace, as well as to seek out any remaining snow elf groups. Probably good friends with Gelebor or something.

Had a crush on Serana. We all know how THAT went. Damned temples.

Was originally gonna spiral into a much darker corruption arc (another ATLA comparison being Jet or Hama) but I just felt bad for her. Moureneris can have a little found peace. As a treat.

That’s her preliminary design made. I’ll need a mod to properly play her, because that right there was made by choosing Dunmer as her race. But I can’t do that. I’m on console, and while I got the Steam port a month ago, my PC’s stone age specs can’t handle Skyrim yet and I’ll need to wait until I can afford a better graphics card (thanks economic inflation)

Alexandre Armasi, jokingly nicknamed Alexandre the Curious

A complete and unapologetic export of my character from a dead and unfinished DND campaign. Except there are no Aasimar in Skyrim, so he’s half Altmer half Bosmer. And his initial last name was Armas but I thought Armasi suited his Skyrim counterpart more, as subtle a change it is.

He’s mainly Bosmer in appearance and constitution, save for his hair and eyes, which are more similar to that of his Altmeri father’s.

I can’t really export his original backstory though because the campaign wouldn’t translate well into TES lore at all.

He’s a writer who came wandering into Skyrim in search of inspiration. While he mainly writes dramatic fables, he wanted to divert his focus to crafting his own bestiary and herbal compendium surrounding Skyrim’s fauna and flora. The ones at home are simply too vague to him!

He’s very altruistic, wishing to spread cheer wherever he goes, through the art of song (even though he was a cleric in DND and not a bard. My bad.) However, many of his verses are just blatant self promotions of his published fables.

But he’s too naive for his own good. Dangerously so. In fact, he says what’s on his mind with little forethought, with little grasp on the consequences of his actions, which lands him in lots of trouble. “I don’t favor him myself, but you guys kill people over Talos worship? That’s not very cool. A bit scary, if you ask me.” or “A Stormcloak rebel? Didn’t your leader kill a bunch of Reachmen rebels years back, or so I’ve heard. By the divines that’s not a man I’d make a symbol of nonconformity.”

He’s also insatiably curious. The type to ACTUALLY shove alchemic ingredients in his mouth with no knowledge of their properties, experiment with dangerous rune spells, throw rocks at pressure plates, and more. Needless to say he’s very accident prone.

Doesn’t know common curse words. People exploit this for laughs. Think that episode of Spongebob.

Everyone is a little baffled that HE of all people is the prophesied Dragonborn of legend. This agonizingly imbecilic writer who has absentmindedly wandered into burial crypts, troll dens, bandit forts, and more, too busy juggling his manuscripts to pay attention to his surroundings.

His past doesn’t exactly reflect his outlook on life. His mother and father fought in the Great War aligned with the Imperials despite their elven background. Both managed to live to see the war’s conclusion, but his father vanished without a trace shortly after, and it seems his mother knows something she won’t tell him.

With plenty of exposure to bad influences, his innocence is slowly lost throughout the course of his journey, and his altruism begins to grow twisted. But nevertheless, he maintains his jovial, social persona, except this time with much darker undertones. Kinda like a creepy dentist or something.

Whoops. He winds up becoming a feared Dark Brotherhood assassin. (Haha get it “Innocence Lost”???) He somehow deluded himself into thinking that the life of an assassin was the right thing to do. But he’s a funky little guy so he gets a pass for his heinous crimes against society

sudden desire

chapter eight: hey, one question! what the hell?

part nine of sudden desire

in which two best friends won’t admit they’re in love so decide to have a baby together instead.

pairing: marcus pike x original female character (coraline meyer)

word count: 1.6k (she’s a short queen)

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, the tiniest smidge of angst (not really), alcohol consumption, extremely overly-enthusiastic and unnecessary use of italics, not beta’d because of course

author’s note: this chapter was born of me needing more coraline x loren interaction in my life, but it not fitting in with the next chapter. it’s a oneshot, of sorts, but it does help the story so i’ve chucked it in here anyway! next chapter’s coming suuuuuper soon (it’s like 2/3 written!) so don’t worry about the lack of marcus!

“Coraline.” The way she says sounds like she’s being reprimanded. Like it’s her mother calling her name when she’s done something wrong, a little girl hiding away inside her bedroom. Her stoicism comes out along with the wine, though she knows she doesn’t mean it, not really. She never does; she snapped at her for drinking her wine too quickly once before. Her bravado seems to grow when the flush of red wine touches her cheeks. “I won’t lie to you, I think it’s a terrible idea.” Loren Hull cocks an eyebrow at Coraline as she sighs and sinks back into the couch cushions.

Loren leans forward and sets her glass on the coffee table. Coraline eyes her scepticism as she nurses her drink, swilling the liquid around her glass until it creates a whirlpool that’s suddenly far more interesting than the conversation. She wishes it was big enough to swallow her up.

“I knew you’d say that.” She sighs in resignation. 

She’d toyed with the idea of not telling a soul. That, if she did get pregnant, she’d just pretend it was some crazy accident after too many glasses of wine one evening, when their loneliness had taken over and they were in need of a friend to hold them close. She still figures it best to let her parents believe that; as close as they all may be - Coraline, her parents, Daniel, and even her brother, Jamie who they still rarely see, especially when he’s wandering carefree across Europe with someone new every week - she’s not sure her parents are entirely ready to accept the unusual nature of Coraline and Marcus’ agreement.

They’re traditional, to an extent. Whimsy and blithe, sure, time spent at concerts or travelling, or anything that made them happy whenever their hearts so desired, but the kind to believe that pregnancy spelt marriage. That was the way they’d done it, when her mom had fallen pregnant with Daniel by happenstance. 

But, as she wrestled with the idea, she settled on a list of people she thought best to confide in. But the list, still - limited exclusively to Loren, Daniel and Kimmy - was, perhaps, the most daunting collection of names she’d faced in her lifetime. 

Kimmy had taken it the best. When she’d told her - drying the dishes, as they always did, gossiping about the week - she could see that she was trying not to yell out loud, so she didn't wake Piper, or let Daniel know something was up before she told him. 

Daniel had taken it well, too. Surprisingly well, in comparison to how she’d imagined. She’d imagine he’d scoff at her, tell her she was being ridiculous and try to talk her out of it, but he’d smiled and even hugged her, and insisted that he’d support her as long as she was happy. He’d watched her fondly as she’d bounced Piper in her lap, her niece giggling jovially at her aunt’s ridiculous facial expressions. He’d hugged her again as she left and whispered that he was sure she’d be an amazing mom. 

She’d almost cried in the car on the way home.

Loren, on the other hand, was taking it about as well as expected. By insisting that she had surely gone insane

“You can at least acknowledge that you’re both crazy and that this is a ridiculous idea, right?” Loren raises her eyebrows at her best friend. Coraline doesn’t expect her to support the idea, just support her, at least. 

“I know it’s probably a stupid idea.” Coraline tilts her head back against the sofa and drains the last of her juice. She’d supposed it best not to drink too much alcohol - just in case - but she could sure do with the liquid confidence right now. “But I have thought it through, a lot,” she insists, “I didn’t just decide this on a whim.”

Loren hums. “It’s a big commitment, y’know? Huge.”

“I’m not a child, y’know?” Coraline counters.

“I know, I know-” She sighs. “Look, if this is what’s going to make you happy.” Loren watches her as she drinks, still nervous, her hands gripping the glass tight enough around the lip of the glass that she wouldn’t be entirely surprised if it broke between her fingers. It wouldn’t take a genius to see that she was still worried. “So-” She seems to perk up, a first attempt to comfort her best friend. She shakes her bangs from out of her face and smiles fondly over at her oldest friend. “-have you made your appointments yet?”

“Appointments?” She furrows her brows.

Loren blinks back at her as if she’s completely crazy, as if she should most definitely understand what she means. Like her confusion makes no sense. “... your IVF appointments? I mean, I assume that’s how you’re doing it.”

“Ooooh… about that... “

“Oh, Cora.” Loren lets out a chuckle she can’t contain. She raises her eyebrow at the revelation, then shakes her head and tilts it back. Her hair brushes against the couch cushions as she begins to laugh. “You two are so damn oblivious, it’s painful,” she insists.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Coraline picks up the pillow that’s propped behind her back, alleviating some of the ache that has been building up thanks to long hours on set and on her feet, rushing around like a mad woman with reckless abandon. She hits Loren on the arm with a resounding thump, trying to hold back the smile that threatens to break out on her face at the sound of her friend’s ridiculous snorting laughter.

“You know you don’t have to do it like that, right?” 

“Right. But this just felt like the best way to do it, so-”

“But that’s how couples do it, not ‘friends’,” Loren insists, drawing air quotes around the final word. 

“Were the air quotes really necessary?” Coraline glares over at her, rolling her eyes. It elicits another snort from Loren, shoulders shaking as she tries to masquerade her laughter, seemingly-permanent creases at the corners of her blue eyes. “Shut up,” she groans. She lets out one of those almost-pathetic sounding giggles, the kind that she’s sure makes her seem like a child, frustrated but not enough to really be upset. The kind that hides the hint of a laugh, when your emotions are thrown into turmoil and everything comes out confusing and muddled and vaguely incoherent. “We’re just friends, I told you!”

“And I’m the President of the United States! You can pretend all you want but you’re not fooling anyone, least of all me,” she exclaims, “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“He looks at everyone like that. I’m nothing special.”

“So, he looks at everyone like he’s just seen the sun for the first time?” She tilts her head to the side and vaguely narrows her eyes. Coraline can tell that she’s digging for some kind of confession; it was a bad habit of Loren’s - one she’d vowed to break on several drunken New Years Eves in the town square of their hometown, but so far had failed to stick to - but the thirst for gossip always seems to overtake her. She’s been better since she’s had Maisie, she barely has time to worry about any potential news she’s missing out on. Coraline is the only one who seems of interest to her, now. Though Coraline has to admit, she finds her best friend’s gossiping endearing, even if she knew one-too-many secrets about people she’d never even met. 

Coraline and Loren have been friends for about as long as they can remember. They’d met at three-years-old, pre-school, on that daunting first day without their parents. Loren had always been the exuberant one; vibrant and flamboyant, raucous and bright, while Coraline had been more of a reserved little girl, kind and sweet, and small for her age until she hit high school. Looking at them then, you would think that Loren was the one in the limelight, not Cora. 

But they’d known each other for so long, been there through the good times - and the bad - and still, somehow, managed to stay close when Coraline had left for California for college and Loren had followed Cora’s younger brother to D.C. like, in her own words, she was some lost lovesick teen. Jamie had broken her heart and jetted off to Europe in search of adventure, and Loren had moved on with her life in that stoic, matter-of-fact way. Still, she’d cried on Coraline’s shoulder the moment she made it to D.C., her and Scott’s belongings in a thousand-and-one boxes trailing behind her. She'd been there for Cora after Scott, too. 

But, for better or for worse, Loren could see right through Coraline, and she’d be lying if she said it didn’t drive her utterly insane. 

“He calls you Sunshine, for god sake.”

Loren had nearly collapsed when Cora had told her that. But Coraline has never seen what the big deal was - because, to her, it was just a friendly nickname born of the colour of the dress she’d chosen the day they met - but it seems to drive her best friend completely insane every time she mentions it or she hears the words pass from Marcus’ lips. She practically swoons at the sound of it, when he greets Coraline with his low voice and a hand pressed against her lower back.. 

“He doesn’t look at me like that, now, hush. Can a man and a woman not be ‘just friends’?” 

“They absolutely can, but friends don’t look at each other like that. Believe me.” 

Coraline shrugs. “Well, I guess we’re different then. We’re just friends.”

“But-”

“Uh uh uh.” Coraline points and wiggles her finger like she’s telling off a small child. Loren smirks at her irritation. “-friends.”

“Whatever you say.” Loren sips on her wine and side-eyes her. “Whatever you say.”

taglist: @wheresthewater @ah-callie @its--fandom--darling

April Contest Submission #8: River Rockman

Words: ca. 2,000 Setting: canon Lemon: no CW: none

River Rockman The sound of a river stream echoed through the trees and the golden leaves. Autumn meant it was cold, but not cold enough to freeze the shallow stream of clean running water. Maybe at different times of the year that whole area could be a river, Anna would never know. She was too young to even know for sure where this memory was. She knows her age and has a vague idea it couldn’t be in their kingdom because it was the only time the whole family exited Arendelle. Nowadays Anna would guess her father was on a diplomatic trip, but with all the other details fuzzy she can’t find out. She only knows how old she was, because… A platinum white braid swayed behind a young girl as she held the hem of her skirt to avoid getting it wet. Black polished shoes hopped on stones, crossing the water.

Yes, Anna couldn’t be older than five if Elsa was there. Elsa started tossing stones to try and make them skip on the water like they sometimes would on the fjord. The water was too shallow for that, but neither girl knew that back then. They spoke something about needing to find a perfect stone and that would make it work. Anna was more than eager to join, to help, to participate and follow her bright sister’s ideas. Elsa seemed so big and wise. Three years older feels like a decade when you’re five. The little red haired princess searched with fervor… for half a minute. She ended up distracted by the movement of minuscule fishes –were they even fishes?– when she heard Elsa squeak. It wasn’t a bad squeak, it was a good squeak. Her tiny legs barely had enough coordination to keep her from falling into the waster as she rushed to Elsa’s side. What did her sister see? She wanted to know right that second. She didn’t want to be left out. “Anna, look!” Anna remembers when Elsa opened her palms and the gasp that escaped her own lips. “It’s a snowman!” Saying it looked like a statue would be a stretch, but for a five and a seven year old the pareidolia bordered perfection. All the main elements were there; three connected spheres –not quite– of diminishing sizes and some bumps and crevices that made a decent impersonation of a snowman face and nose. All it missed was the arms. The girls squealed with delight. Finding a naturally made snowman before winter felt like finding a treasure. Nowadays, knowing that gemstones and precious metals can be found in rivers, Anna would compare their joy with the one of a lucky miner. Anna is sure what she remembers is not exactly what happened, for a long time she wished she didn’t, so perhaps she simply doesn’t. Her own feelings got muddled then as she saw the precious find in Elsa’s hands. Her sister held it with the same poise she would anything else, her slender fingers delicately scanning the stone surface, still discovering its secrets. Elsa’s fascination made Anna feel odd. During her childhood Anna lacked the tools to understand the context of the memory; her memory had been robbed and never returned, but now thanks to her new knowledge, a knowledge she had back then, it made all sense. Elsa had found in nature what she herself could create. It must have felt like finding a piece of yourself, carved and left for you to find by fate. “We should give him a name,” Elsa said almost to the air instead of at Anna. Good and bad emotions warred inside the little princess. She wanted the prize for herself, but it was Elsa’s discovery, so it was hers. Anna wished she found it first so she could have been the one to show it to Elsa and cause that face of wonder, that calm contentment. She wanted to be the reason Elsa was happy. Her chubby hands shook as all her preferred scenarios crossed her mind. She just had to choose what mattered the most. Anna was taken by surprise in her focus when Elsa held her hands and pushed the stone into her distracted palms. “Here.” Anna blinked, astonished. Was Elsa giving the treasure to her? What would make Elsa do that? She wanted to accept it, but what would she do with it? Everything seemed ruined now because she couldn’t simply give it back after taking it. Her possessive feelings clashed with her desire to see Elsa happy with a thoughtful gift from her younger sister. “No!” Anna tried to push the snowman back into Elsa’s hands. Elsa was confused, and while back then it didn’t make sense, now it is crystal clear. Elsa saw Anna’s frustration and figured it was because her sibling wanted it for herself, which was partially true. Anna’s refusal probably looked like stubbornness, reluctance or even petty jealousy. Anna wished that at five years old she had been wise enough to know that nobody was to blame for what would happen next. The sisters firmly pushed the proffered snowman back and forth between themselves, both reluctant to keep it and be the cause of the other’s unhappiness. “No, it’s yours! You found it!” “It’s a gift! You want it. It’s yours!” Thanks to their most selfless selfish argument –Anna is sure it was her fault because Elsa was too coordinated to be blamed– the precious snowman slipped from their grasp and fell into the water with a terrible cracking noise. Elsa covered her gasp with her hand and Anna let out a mute shriek. The younger princess quickly retrieved the snowman from the water, as if she was fast enough she could undo the damage. Tears welled in two sets of eyes as they each saw the new fissure in the stone. The damage hadn’t been strong enough to break the snowman completely, but the face was now scarred by a diagonal gash that crossed the whole body vertically. Their treasure hadn’t lasted five minutes before Anna had destroyed it due to her petulance. It wasn’t truly broken, but she ruined it all the same. She marred it with a scar not unlike the one she would someday have herself. Anna doesn’t remember what happened next. Did they argue? Did Elsa cry? Did she cry? Maybe they both cried? She does remember getting back into the carriage and how Elsa silently held the wounded snowman all the way home. - “Hi.” In the present Anna leans on the wall in the study, watching Elsa get lost in the details of their once precious treasure as she cradled it in her hand. “Hi. I was just searching for a letter opener…” Elsa trailed off. She doesn’t move her gaze from the little snowman. Anna smiles as she watches Elsa. The snowman doesn’t look like what it was when they found it (or broke it). The entire body is now covered in an uneven coat of white paint and it now has a red scarf around its neck with delicate branches glued to its sides, mimicking arms. Elsa’s slender fingers explore it delicately like they did so many years ago and Anna knows Elsa is lost in her own memories now. “Good memories?” “I tried hard to fix it,” Elsa says, putting it back inside the drawer where she found it. “I didn’t know you kept it. It wasn’t in the box along with the other Olafs.” “Well…” Anna approaches Elsa, taking it out from the drawer again. “This is the first Olaf isn’t it.” Anna smiles as she caresses it. It feels much smaller now in her hands. The paint is dirty or cracked at some places, revealing the stone beneath. “So you noticed,” Elsa mentions quietly. “It had the same shape! I remember back when you first introduced Olaf to me. You made it move with your arms and said in a pathetic gruff voice that he liked warm hugs.” “And you loved him.” “And I loved him.” Both sisters chuckle and a comfortable silence falls between them. “I thought you didn’t want to play with me anymore because I broke it,” Anna starts then pauses. “At least I did until it showed up one day in the middle of the clean laundry.” “Oh, Anna.” Elsa takes Anna’s free hand in hers and squeezes it. “I didn’t know… I thought fixing it for you would make you happier, but…” Elsa grimaces. “Looking at it now I did a really bad job fixing it.” Anna can’t help but laugh. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s fine work for a seven year old.” “I could have done a better job,” Elsa insists looking at it. “I could have made him a little top hat. And not have borrowed the scarf from Sir Jorgenbjorgen. And I could have asked to buy real paint instead of…” Elsa trails off. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that last part,” Anna tries to say evenly. “It’s nothing.” Anna can feel the unspoken words trapped in Elsa’s head from the way her sister looks to the side. Elsa tries hard to mute her body language, being the Queen. But when they’re in private or when Elsa is comfortable… She just slips and Anna loves pushing her sister’s reactions. “Ohhhh.” Anna purrs like a happy cat. “Is that a secret I smell.” She nudges Elsa.Elsa winces. “Don’t make me say it out loud.” Anna nudges her, knowing her sister is not really distressed. “Come on, big sis. Confess.” She knows Elsa will spill it out. They always share embarrassing childhood tales. Elsa makes an indignant noise. “I could not haven stolen the paints from the royal painter. He was doing that portrait of Father and… I just didn’t want to admit what I truly wanted the paint for and I didn’t want to lie.” Anna can’t help but chuckle at Elsa’s expense. “Are you telling me Prim and Proper Elsa committed a crime to avoid committing a crime? I. Am. Shocked.” Anna feigned her best appalled expression. Elsa swatted Anna’s arm, who kept laughing to herself. “I don’t know why I thought it looked good. You can even see the crack.” “About that…” Anna stopped laughing and fidgeted with the figure in her hands. “I kind of broke it again.” She was barely audible. “Hmmm, what was that? I didn’t quite hear you,” Elsa grins. “Fine!” Anna is as red as a tomato now. “I broke it again as soon as I got it back! But it wasn’t bad, look.” Elsa watches as Anna removes scarf from around the snowman with care and places it back inside the drawer… only to unceremoniously split their treasure in half. Elsa’s jaw drops open and her brows knit together in worry as she tries to make sense of what’s happening. Anna hands her one half and she understands after careful examination. Inside both halves of the snowman were covered in crystals as blue as a clear sky and between those and the outer shell of rock was a layer of smaller white crystals. The overall effect reminded Elsa of- “It reminded me of you,” Anna commented, looking at her own half. “I couldn’t remember why- I didn’t know why snow and ice crystals reminded me of you… But looking at it made me really happy. I was less lonely.” Elsa didn’t know what to say. Her mouth ran dry. “Is it celestite?” she tries instead, feeling the spiky crystals, rough to the touch. “Yes! Who knew our snowman was a geode all that time right? It is funny how-” “How some things only are revealed after they break.” “Yeah…” Their eyes connected and they silently gazed at each other for a long time. It was a comfortable silence filled with words unsaid. That is, until… “Oh my. Was that me?” Anna blushes and removes her hand from Elsa’s palm to cradle her stomach, and hopefully quell it from making another embarrassing noise. Elsa chuckles and takes Anna’s hand again. “Let’s get you something to eat before we uncover the monster that lies beneath.” “Meanie.” They place the two halves together again on top of Anna’s desk as they leave for dinner. A perfect fit with no missing parts along the crack. Aside from a scar, the halves fit like they were never broken.

Pairing: GaaraNaruto Word count: 1587 Summary: The one where soulmates can speak inside each other's minds

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header! 

Chapter 217

He knew that Sakura was trying to get his attention, he wasn’t ignoring her just to be a dick. It was just that the voice in his head was always so much more interesting to listen to than, well, anyone else. Sakura might be one of his best friends but his soulmate was his Best Friend. As in closer than closer, better than best, been there for him through all the lowest parts of his life, only one that’s never gonna leave type of best friend. If not for the fact that they were physically incapable of trading names through their mental link Naruto would have torn the world apart years ago to find the one person who had loved him when no one else had. 

So yeah, he knew Sakura was saying something, he could even hazard a guess that it was probably important, but he willingly gave his attention over the the voice in his mind instead and smiled distantly as he listened to his ephemeral partner exclaim over all the things that were different in the new village they were apparently visiting. In his imagination he pretended it was his own village, that his soulmate could be so close within reach. He’d heard a few rumors about the chunin exams coming up but after all the years of fate dicking him about in life he didn’t have much confidence that it would start giving him breaks now; having his soulmate attend such an important event right here in his own home village was just too much of a coincidence for him to really believe it. Naruto might be filled with endless optimism but he wasn’t actually stupid. 

A sudden explosion of pain in the back of his head brought his thoughts to a screeching halt. Or maybe that was the sound of Sakura yelling in his ear.

“Can you not stay tuned in for one full conversation!?” she demanded. “This is important!” 

“Everything you say is important,” he responded without thinking. 

He didn’t realize his mistake until he saw Sasuke rolling his eyes on the other side of Sakura. What he’d actually meant was that after a childhood of being entirely alone but for the voice in his head Naruto considered his friends very important to him. Unfortunately whenever he tried to express things like that he usually ended up muddling his words, giving rise to the widely accepted rumors that he had a massive crush on his teammate. He didn’t but once the gossip had spread there was little he could do to fight it. 

“What were you saying?” He tried for an apologetic smile, though it didn’t sway her annoyance very much. 

“Ugh, I’ll tell you later. Look! Those three coming towards us, they’re wearing Suna headbands. I bet they’re here for the chunin exams!” 

“Guess so. What else would they be here for?” Despite his attempt at sounding nonchalant and cool Naruto still craned his neck as subtly as he could to get a better look at the trio walking towards them. 

As Sakura had noted, they all wore the Suna crest rather than the stylized leaf he had grown up surrounded by. None of them were really wearing it as a headband, though, even though one of them did have it stitched on the forehead of his spiky-eared hood. The girl of the group wore hers on a sash around her waist while the boy in the middle had wrapped his around the heavy strap holding a large gourd on his back. Naruto observed them all one by one, wondering if he would look as cool as them if he started wearing his headband someone different. Maybe he could stitch it in to his jacket somehow. 

He floated the suggestion by his soulmate even as he continued inspecting these three strangers. They were all fairly young but he would bet the one in the middle was closest to his own age. Since he looked the coolest out of the three Naruto was sure that meant they would definitely be fast friends. He was pretty cool himself. Just as his soulmate was answering him, asking why he wanted to wear the mark of his accomplishments somewhere different after fighting for so long to wear it in the first place, he and his teammates drew abreast of the foreign shinobi. 

Sakura was the first to introduce herself. Out of the three of them she was generally the most socially qualified to talk to strangers, no matter how enthusiastically Naruto often tried to interact with people. The girl from Suna introduced herself as Temari and then waved vaguely at the other two. The boy with the hood said his name was Kankuro. 

“Gaara,” the boy in the middle grunted. 

It was only a single word, two syllables, not exactly a lot to go on. But Naruto had known that voice his entire life. 

When he suddenly began screaming a small part of him did notice Sakura looking around for what had set him off while Sasuke clapped both hands over his face with embarrassment. Two of the Suna kids immediately dropped in to battle stances, a reaction he couldn’t really blame them for, but he had eyes only for Gaara. A name he’d never heard for a boy he had always known. He moved without thinking of the consequences. So caught up was he in this incredible discovery he’d just made that no other thoughts could possibly have wriggled their way in just then, let alone the idea that he should maybe proceed with a little caution.

His legs coiled to launch him forward but just as quickly he found himself tackled out of the air by a massive - and very solid - wooden construction. Sakura’s voice screamed on one side while metal flashed on his other. It took a few moments to orientate himself again, to see past the joy rushing through his veins like a raiton out of control, and when he did he was utterly baffled to see Sasuke crossing kunai with the girl Temari while the Sakura held her fists up to Kankuro, his fingers spread out in some very strange configurations. 

“The hell?” Naruto muttered under his breath. Then he kicked the wooden construction off of himself and cried, “Cut it out, you guys! What are you doing?” 

“Us!? You’re the one who attacked my brother!” Temari sniffed at him with a look that suggested he wasn’t all there in the head. It was a familiar look, although hers carried a more distant malice than he’d grown used to from his fellow villagers. 

“I wasn’t attacking anyone!” 

Kankuro snorted. At the flick of his fingers the wooden thing leapt back to his side. From farther away it was easier to see that it was a puppet of some sort, oddly jointed but clearly meant for battle judging by the assorted blades and the way it stood in just the right spot to leap to his defense. 

“Ah come on, just get out of my way. Gaara! Hi Gaara! Hi! My name’s Uzumaki Naruto, dattebayo!” 

“...hello Naruto.” 

Just those two words froze his companions in their place for some reason. Naruto decided why was unimportant for now so long as they stopped interfering with him getting to the most important person in his whole life. Dusting himself off was put aside as a problem for later as well. The moment he was able to properly regain his feet Naruto beamed as wide as his face would let him and dove through the air again. This time no one stood in his way. 

Gaara didn’t exactly catch him in a big hug but that wasn’t really a surprise, if he were honest. After everything the boy had been through and how it had all affected him Naruto would have honestly been surprised if the other had gone straight for a hug. He was just grateful to be allowed to throw his arms around Gaara’s shoulders and hold as tightly as he could, determined to squeeze all the love he carried through their clothing and press it inside the other boy’s heart where it had always belonged. For several long moments no one said anything. There was nothing but the sheer bliss of finally being together. Finally having a solid warm body to house the voice so precious to him. 

Then, of course, someone had to go and ruin it. 

“Are you seeing this!?” Temari screeched. 

“He’s hugging him! And he’s letting him!” 

“Gaara, since when do you have friends!?” 

The two other siblings continued to scream and jibber while Naruto’s teammates lent their voices to the cacophony as well, demanding to know what the hell was going on. Ignoring them was as easy as letting himself sink in to the mindspace that had brought him comfort in the darkest of times, listening to the raspy voice of the one who held his sanity in strangely gentle hands. 

“It’s so good to finally meet you,” he murmured out loud.

“Yes,” Gaara agreed. “It is...good to know that I truly do have a soulmate.” 

Around them the screaming grew more violent and confused than ever and it wasn’t that Naruto was intentionally ignoring them. He knew Sakura and Sasuke were both shouting for his attention. It was just that meeting the source of the voice in his head that had always been there was so much more interesting. Gaara had always - and would always - hold his attention before anything else.

Curse Meant to Be Broken | Geralt x Reader | Pt. 5

Summary: After facing your worst fear in battle and freeing your mother’s soul in the process, you travel with Geralt all the way to Kaer Morhen—but he has been hiding something.

Word Count: 2,416

A/N: Again, I know that this portrayal of a Noonwraith is not canon, but here we are.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

I hope you enjoy this chapter, and if you want to read more of my work, you can check out my masterlist, and if you’d like to be tagged, check out my taglists and I’d be happy to add you! I’ve also set up a ko-fi page. A dollar here and there would help me be able to help me start moving toward part-time work so that I can focus more on my creative work. But of course, as always, the best way you all support me is by continuing to read my stories. I appreciate it more than I can say.

Another Trial

“Kaer Morhen,” you breathe, eyes drinking in the sight of the old castle. There are places where the stone has crumbled, but it is still grand. Though, it does strike you in the way that old, deserted places do – with a sense of sadness and loss for what was once there. Though, Kaer Morhen holds no dear childhood memories for you, and so it is easier to bear that looking at your old hut in the village back home.

“Where I grew up,” Geralt nods in response. You sneak a look at his amber eyes, which seem to be searching the castle much the way yours are. You want to ask him what it looked like when he trained here, but you have no idea how long ago that was, and you don’t wish to pry.

“Why’ve we come?” You can’t help but ask the question that has been hanging on the tip of your tongue since you set off on the journey—or at least for as long as you’ve been conscious. After the first few days, the pain had gradually started to fade, even without the help of elixirs. You still took a milder potion, but it didn’t cloud your mind the way the stronger one did. You’ve seen much more of the Continent than you had ever hoped to.

Geralt looks at you with a twinge of guilt – regret. Your first instinct is to turn and run or cower in the corner. Has he grown tired of your company? Does he wish to dump you here, leave you with someone else so that he doesn’t have to deal with you anymore? All of these questions swirl in your head, making it impossible for you to voice any of them.

Finally, he speaks.

“I…” he begins, golden eyes shifting from your face down to the floor at your feet, “The wound on your back, Y/N.”

You don’t know what he is about to say, but you feel the need to cut him off. “It’s been feeling better every day!” you protest.

“Yes, but it’s only a matter of time before it…” He seems to have lost words again, and now you are panicking, heart thudding in your chest.

“Before it what, Geralt?” You can’t keep the shrill edge out of your voice as you speak, your nerves choking you. “What are you talking about?”

“There is a poison.” Geralt hangs his head, looking utterly defeated. “The wound will heal, but the infection will spread. This is the only place I know that will be able to help.”

You look at him, mouth hanging open in shock. You want to be angry with him that he hadn’t told you sooner, but the consuming panic is making it hard to see straight. Perhaps it was better that you hadn’t known this entire journey.

“W-What do you mean?” you stammer, taking a step closer to him, your voice still sounding shrill in your head. “She caught your arm as well… Does that mean…” You can’t even bring yourself to form the sentence. Somehow, the Witcher being in imminent danger is much more frightening to you than yourself.

The Witcher shakes his head, face growing more serious—more pained, by the moment. “No, Y/N. The poison doesn’t work like that on Witchers. Our mutations make us immune to disease, to infections.”

Your eyes momentarily widen as the whole world seems to blur out of focus. Your thoughts, however, somehow remain intact. If a Witcher’s mutations are the only thing that can stop the infection, and he’s brought you to Kaer Morhen, the old Witcher school, there can be no other reason than undergoing mutations yourself.

You are shocked that the prospect both excites you and terrifies you at the same time. Geralt’s face, on the other hand, betrays nothing but resigned desperation.

You know what the mutations entail—or at least, in a general sense. Nobody really knows how the Witcher mutations work save for Witchers themselves, and he is the only one you’ve met. Now you understand his unwillingness to talk about them. In the days spent traveling, he would change the subject each time it veered anywhere close to his childhood and the mutations he underwent. You only know that part of the reason his hair is white is because of extra mutations he underwent. You do, however, know that only three in ten boys made it through the mutations alive… Those are not god odds. But then, if what he is saying about the infection is true, those are even worse odds.

“The lesser evil,” you whisper, not sharing any of your other thoughts. You are sure he’s thought about it plenty.

He looks at you, taking a hesitant step forward and making your breath catch in your throat. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if there were any other way,” he says.

You trust him. But something is still nagging at you.

“I thought that only men could become Witchers.”

“It is the norm,” he says, “But it has been done.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, attempting to calm your nervousness but failing.

“I think,” he finally adds after an abnormally long silence, “There should be a way to use minimal mutations—only the necessary ones.” His face betrays a pain, long-repressed memories that had been shoved to the very back of his mind for decades.

“Visimir will know.”

You vaguely recognize the name. He has mentioned it a few times, if you are correct.

“He is… like a father to me.”

“Oh.”

Yes, you remember the name now. Geralt has mentioned him often. His father-figure and mentor, the keeper of Kaer Morhen who has been in charge since before he was born. You deduce that he must also be the Witcher in charge of the Trials; the Witcher who knows the correct elixirs and potions to turn an ordinary human into a Witcher… or Witcheress.

You look from the Witcher to the once grand castle behind him, the whole world blurred strangely. You are afraid, though you will not admit it to him. But, at the same time, the thought of the mutations—if you live—making you nearly invincible against those who had once wronged you is exciting.

“Y/N.” The Witcher’s voice brings you back to the moment, pulling you out of the fantasies playing through your head of returning to your shitty little town and teaching Stephic and his men a lesson they will never forget.

“Come,” he finally says, extending his arm. You grasp it without a second thought, perhaps pulling yourself a bit too tightly to his side. You are glad for the support, as your legs have turned into something akin to jelly, and your head is too muddled to follow directions. You are almost certain that you can feel a dull ache in your back where you hadn’t felt it before. You imagine it spreading like a virus through your veins—or a lit fuse with burning its way to inevitable destruction.

You walk beside him with unsure steps, eyes still taking in the wonder of this new place despite it all. It is a small price to pay, you suppose, to set your mother free. Besides, there were plenty of other ways you could have died back in that shit Nilfgaardian outpost of a town.

Slowly, your steps become more confident, your spine straightening and your head lifting higher. You survived a battle with a wraith, which could not be said for most humans. You’d survived the destruction of your entire village. You’d survived for years as the lowest ranking member of the staff for a cruel master. You can survive a few elixirs and mutations; you know you can.

When you walk through the massive front doors of the old keep, you gasp. Regardless of its state of disrepair, the hall is beautiful. You can only imagine what it had looked what it had in its golden age.

As the doors close behind the two of you, you hear the sound of footsteps echoing in the massive hall, growing closer. Your eyes move in the direction of the approaching steps, the image of a man with long hair, like Geralt’s. As he gets closer, you realize that he is older than Geralt—though it is impossible to tell how old. Witchers were rumored to live to all manner of ages, usually far longer than any average human.

“Geralt!”

The man smiles warmly, quite uncharacteristically – at least in your limited knowledge of Witchers – to hug your companion, who wraps his arms around the old Witcher.

“Visimir.”

“It’s good to see you, Wolf.”

“You too, old man.”

“Let’s not point out age,” Visimir says with a smirk.

A pause.

“And who is your companion?”

You want to open your mouth and answer for yourself, but you find that your mouth has gone entirely dry and it feels like your throat has closed up. You are not intimidated by the man; he seems warm and loving, at least the way he greeted Geralt. But still, you are in a new place where you never would have pictured yourself in an entire lifetime.

“Y/N,” he introduces you. “She helped banish a Noonwraith.”

A knowing look passes between the two men. You only notice it for a fraction of a second, but you notice it. You can’t possibly imagine everything running through their heads, but you can guess. You know that no Witcher school is currently creating new Witchers. There hasn’t been a Trial in years—even humans knew that. You wonder how long it has been, and why it has been so long.

Visimir looks at you and smiles warmly, despite the faraway look in his eyes. “Welcome, Miss, to Kaer Morhen.”

* * *

“What the fuck, Geralt?”

You are sitting with your ear to the wall, trying to pick up as much of the conversation going on in the next room over as possible.

“Lambert, you know I wouldn’t suggest this if there was any other way.” You feel a tightening in your chest upon hearing the strain in the Witcher’s voice; it is pained in a way that you never want to hear him.

“And what, you’ve tried everything?” Lambert counters, “Don’t the mages have some sort of cure? They sure are proud of their advanced magic.”

“Our magic is based on theirs, and apparently rudimentary at that,” Geralt continues, “Anything that they would do would be just as dangerous as this, if not more.”

You shiver, wrapping your arms around your knees and hugging them to your chest. You know for certain that you do not want to die; not when this whole new world has opened up to you.

But that would be my destiny, you think bitterly. To live only long enough to finally have something to leave behind.

“And what if it works?” a third, unfamiliar voice cuts in. “Will you start training her as a Witcher? No one in the society she’s from will give her work once she’s one of us.”

“Oh, why bother with pointless questions, Eskel?” Lambert’s voice is raised now, and you are certain you can detect a fear in it. “She won’t live. She will die an agonizing death.”

“Stop!” Geralt roars, drowning out the other voices. Silence envelopes the room, leaving only the sound of your labored breathing as you remain still, ear pressed to the wall.

“Well, Geralt?” Lambert breaks the silence, “Did you have something to say? Because I do.”

You hear no response.

“You care for that girl, I can see that.” His tone has changed somewhat, more pleading than angry now. “But trying to save her this way? You’re going to kill her, Geralt.”

More silence.

“The infection takes its victims quickly, in sleep. But to submit her to the Trial of Grasses? It’s cruel, Geralt. And selfish.”

“Not everyone regrets becoming a Witcher, Lambert,” Eskel says.

“But everyone regrets seeing people that we cared about, people that we loved die in front of us!”

You are buzzing with anxiety, anger, and words you wish you could speak. After all, it is your life that is currently being debated, very loudly, only a room over. The stone walls may be thick, but there are cracks, and it should be no surprise to the men that you can hear.

When silence has settled too long, you finally speak, loudly. You even slam your fist against the wall, as if it would help. Instead, it just leaves you with aching knuckles as you shout.

“All of these grand arguments and no thought to ask me what I want?”

You can’t hear it, but you can picture all three heads in the room turning to look at the wall. “Or does that not matter here?”

“Y/N—” Geralt mutters, and you hear a crash as someone quickly moves through the room.

You do not move from your place on the floor, even as you hear his footsteps echoing down the hall towards the door in front of you. He opens the door quickly, eyes searching for you for the briefest of moments before landing on you, huddled up against the wall, hot fury in your eyes.

He drops to his knees in front of you. You stare at him for a moment, not saying anything. He reaches out, placing a hand on each of your shoulders. But beyond that, he says nothing, does nothing, and it only makes the anger burn brighter – though you can’t quite place where that anger is directed.

“I want it to be my choice. And I choose the lesser evil.”

“Y/N,” he says, “It… You still have some time to decide, I would never force you to—”

“Geralt,” your gaze fixes intensely on his. “I want to live. I… You… I mean, a month ago, I had nothing to live for. Maybe my choice would have been different then. But now… I refuse to just let myself die, when you’ve finally given me a reason to stay alive.”

And, for the first time, you aren’t even worried about how he will react. Hell, you don’t care how he reacts. You just know that you want to kiss him, and so you do.

He reacts instantly, moving his lips against yours and pulling you against him, wishing that he could simply keep you pulled tight to his chest and protect you from all harm.

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Prompt fill for TLKFFF2020: Jealous possessive Finan please!

an: I may do another fill for this prompt with my OC from my fic Oaths of Loyalty bc writing this gave me an idea for that as well, but I hope you all enjoy my little contribution here :)

Pairing: Finan/Unnamed OC

Words:1586

So lovely and kind and he was just a man -a lonely man at that. He fell in love with her before he even knew it. She was a servant in Uhtred’s house; looking after the children, cooking, and cleaning since Gisela had passed. How he had not noticed her before was beyond him, but the new frequency with which he saw her made it difficult not to. They came to know each other over idle chatter as she went about her chores. Finan even began to think she might have a fondness for him.

She was scrubbing clothes in a wash bin as they chatted idly. Finan had just finished a rather ridiculous story causing her to chuckle lightly at him. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat and eyes shining when she paused to look up at him. He was grinning back at her.

“Ya liked tha’ one did ya?” he asked cheekily.

“I did,” she replied. “Though I cannot be sure how much is a stretch!”

“You wound me lass!” Finan retorted.

She was smiling again as she shook her head, her face full of amusement.

“Oh, if I could wound your ego I should be astounded.”

The wind caught a piece of her unbound hair then and blew it into her eyes. She reached for a cloth to wipe her hands before fixing the hair but was stopped by Finan’s hand. Gently he tucked the hair back behind her ear and they were quite close then. He was looking deeply into her eyes still a more subdued smile taking the place of his previous one.

“Or instead ya could be astounded at my foolishness,” he drawled lowly, his fingers trailing along her cheek lightly. “Fer my not having noticed ya sooner.”

Then they were called away to war. He did not have the chance to say goodbye before they left. A small detail of warriors was left behind to personally guard the Lord’s family and home though so he knew at least she would be safe.

When they returned Finan had hoped she would be waiting for him as news of their return was sent on a day ahead of their arrival. It was done to give the servants and villagers time to prepare. So, it was not unreasonable for him to hope. And his hopes did not go unnoticed by his friends either.

“Eager to return?” Uhtred asked Finan in a deceptively off handed tone.

“Of course, he is,” Sihtric snickered. “Can’t wait to see his sweetheart I expect.”

Finan shot a look of daggers at Sihtric. He supposed it was payback. After all he had teased the young Dane mercilessly over how smitten he had been with his own wife before they married. He was in fact still smitten with her. The joy of teasing Sihtric had grown old though as the young man’s skin had thickened to it over time, but that did not mean he had forgotten his embarrassment.

“His sweetheart?” Uhtred asked as if he did not know.

“Oh yes Lord you know that lovely servant girl he spends all his free time following around like a puppy after it’s mother!” Sihtric teased.

Without warning, Finan reached out and punched Sihtric nearly knocking him from his horse and causing Sihtric to laugh even louder. Meanwhile Uhtred was snickering in amusement and Osferth frowned slightly.

“You shouldn’t tease like that,” Father Beocca said with a long-suffering sort of look.

The teasing calmed some after that as they were nearing the open gates by then. As they rode into town Finan could not help himself but look for her which only caused Sihtric to snicker again. They reached the stables without any sign of a welcoming party so upon handing off their horses the men headed to the great hall. Outside waiting were Sihtric’s family as well as those warriors who had stayed behind and Uhtred’s children alongside a nurse.

Off to the far side, there she was which he thought was odd as she ought to have been with the nurse and other house servants awaiting their return. She stood closely to a young man of about her own age. The man, Finan recognized, was called Cenric. He was one of the warriors left behind for defense. Cenric’s hand rested on her shoulder and she was smiling at him as they spoke quietly among themselves. It seemed the two had not even noticed their victorious return.

Finan could hardly take his eyes from them. Vaguely he recognized Uhtred was speaking to him, but he could not rightly hear the words for how focused he was on the two. Finally, someone shook him, but when he turned to look at the culprit, he was blind. Not properly blind, but jealousy did that to a man; it made them blind. It was similar to love in that way. Two of the world’s most powerful emotions and they could make one utterly and completely blind to reality. And Finan was deep in both.

Without warning, Finan huffed and stormed off toward the tavern giving no explanation for his sudden departure. Though, it did not take long for his comrades to realize what had caused the Irishman such sudden distress. So wrapped up in his dark thoughts, Finan did not noticed the girl abruptly turning to watch his departure with a confused expression. She even made to go after him but was stopped by Cenric who furrowed his brow and held fast to her shoulder to impede her following.

Sometime later in the early evening, Finan sat outside the tavern with a jug of ale stewing in his disappointment. He had thought her fond of him, but he had only been gone a few short months. Cenric was not a bad fellow Finan supposed. But seeing her so familiar with another when he had thought, no he had felt, something was between them; well, it had caused a familiar sort of pain that sent him over the edge. That pain faded swiftly though leaving the sting of angry jealousy which had prompted his sudden flight and leading him there to drink.

Soft footsteps stirred his muddled mind though causing Finan to look up. And there she was in the fading light of the early evening, looking down at him with that sweet puzzled face. He glowered at her. How could she look at him like that?

“Finan?” she spoke cautiously. “Can I sit?”

He said nothing. Just stared at her like he could not understand what she was doing there. Shouldn’t she be off at the great hall celebrating everyone’s return with Cenric?

Fucking Cenric.

Cenric was younger than him. Taller than him also. Though, perhaps he was not more handsome, but it was a small consolation.

When Finan did not answer after a few moments, she sat anyway. Her expression changed as she gazed across the table at him. Where she had been puzzled, she now looked a little hurt.

“Will you not speak to me?” she asked.

“Why’re ya here?” he snapped.

“Why…should I not be here?” her brow furrowed.

“Should ya not be with Cenric,” Finan nearly spat.

“Cenric?” she said the name slowly her confusion clear in her voice. “You mean my brother, Cenric?”

Finan who had been staring down into his ale looked up sharply at that. His brows knitted together lips turned down into a slight frown. “Your what?”

“My brother?”

“Cenric is yer brother?” Finan asked looking absolutely bewildered.

She nodded slowly.

“So…you?” he could not even think of what to say. “I thought he was…”

She sighed heavily. “No.” She paused, a small amused smile blooming on her face. “You thought he was my man.”

Finan’s cheeks burned with embarrassment and he could not meet her eyes.

“Were you jealous Irishman?” she asked.

Quite suddenly Finan jerked his hand knocking the jug of ale to the floor. Instinctively she bent to fetch the jug, but her hand was caught by Finan before she could reach it. She looked up into his deep brown eyes. Finan swallowed thickly flexing his grip on her wrist slightly.

“I had thought I was fond of ya,” he murmured softly. “But seein’ ya this afternoon…it is more.”

She bit her lip. Twisting in his grip, she maneuvered so she was holding his wrist as well.

“It was you that we spoke of…,” she said barely above a whisper. “Cenric was assuring me that you were safe and that you would be with those who returned. I worried the whole time you were away…Perhaps I have more than a fondness for you as well.”

Finan blinked. Almost unbelieving of what he heard. Releasing her hand, he cupped her steadily reddening cheek with care and tilted her chin up towards him. She looked like she was about to say something else, but Finan cut her off by pressing his lips hungrily to hers. A soft yelp of surprise came from her throat, but she relaxed quickly into his warm embrace. Her hand slid around his shoulders drawing him closer to her as they both knelt there in the dirt the forgotten jug lying between them. The kiss though intimate stayed passively chaste until they both had to come up for air after some time.

“I have come to think of you as my Irishman,” she murmured, pressing her forehead against his.

Tipping her chin upward slightly, Finan place a peck on her lips.

“I am,” he said in a husky voice.

The Photograph

(Cairo - chapter 1/4)

“Okay, Tali, time for bed,” said Tony, kissing her head from where she remained curled up beside him on the couch.

"Abba, movie,” she asked, looking up to him with her big chocolate eyes. He loved those eyes. They reminded him of someone.

“We’ve already watched two, sweet cheeks.”

The snow fell unrelenting outside, covering the dimly lit streets of Paris, but Tali’s sweet giggle warmed the apartment as Tony tickled her sides and raised her in the air.

“Even little ninjas need to go to bed,” Tony declared, as he carried his little girl in his arms to the other room. She smacked his cheek, still laughing.

Tony laid her to her tiny pink bed and kissed her forehead. Tali grabbed her two fuzzy toys tightly, her ritual every night. A little dog Ziva packed with her named Kelev and a worn-out hippo with a gothic collar, which Abby gave her as a welcoming gift, Bert.

Already tightly tucked in bed, Tali gradually opened a smile and sent puppy eyes Tony’s way.

“Pleeease?”

“Okay, T, but only one, alright?” he declared as he laid himself down next to her, pulling her close to his chest.

Tony took the photo from her bedside table and turned on the fairy lights. The room turned into various shades of gold and Tali twinkled her eyes, not showing any sign of tiredness.

"Which one would you like?” he asked her, eyes watering with the sight of his picture with Ziva in Paris. Every time he glanced at it, his chest ached. She looked stunning, just as she did that day, riding that motorcycle, hair unbound.

"Box,” Tali declared, to no surprise to her father. It was one of her favorites.

"The box one, got it. But real quick, okay?”

“Humpf.”

"One cold, but very sunny, afternoon, many years ago, papa Gibbs asked Ima and Abba to go searching for a pirate who worked in the Norfolk Docks, an ugly pirate named… Ray…”

“Ray no.”

“Then what’s his name, princess Tali?”

“Butterfly.”

Tony burst out laughing at that. “Okay, sweet cheeks, let me finish then,” he said. She was just like her mother, always contradicting him.

God, he missed her.

“A ruthless, cruel and a widely famous pirate named… Captain Butterfly… who was smuggling weapons and gold inside his ship, to the faraway and dangerous lands of… Iraq. He stocked his treasures inside a massive box, bigger than you and bigger even than me, and everyone knew it was forbidden to enter it. But Ima and Abba were brave, just like you Tali, and had a job to do for papa Gibbs. So they entered the box to seek the treasures. But… it was a magic box, and just like that,” Tony snapped his fingers, “It locked with them inside it. They were trapped.”

"Hours passed and no one came to their aid, and the magic box started moving! We were trapped inside a moving thing! We had to act quickly, so Ima and I started to put our brilliant minds into action. Well, as you know, she’s way smarter than me, and after much discussion, we came to a solution.”

“As two very special agents trapped inside the cold magic box of Captain Butterfly do, we started to throw his treasure away, for papa Gibbs to find our tracks, just like Hansel and Gretel. It was a brilliant idea, to be honest, but what we didn’t realize was that it was gold we were throwing away! Gold! And civilians walking by started to pick it up and erase our path! We were locked in and now invisible as well.”

“But, as you also know, we had papa Gibbs. And he’s the most perceptive man I know, so he figured it out fast enough. And he soon managed to get us out of the magic box of Captain Butterfly, using his secret password. He never told any of us what that was, though. He’s a man of many secrets. And that was one of the many times Abba fell more in love with Ima.”

“Mooore.”

“I'm sorry, princess, it's time for bed” said Tony, as he kissed the photograph, “now you,” and Tali kissed it too.

“Good night, mon Coeur,” he told her as he kissed her little forehead one more time and turned off the lights.

“Luv you, Abba.”

“Love you too, sweet cheeks.”

Snow continued to fall outside.

That night, Tony didn’t leave the picture on Tali’s bedside table. This story was one of the most difficult to tell. He walked slowly to stand near the fireplace, the photo of his past lover in hand, and let the flames illuminate their smiling faces, a memory he so fondly returned to every now and then.

Ziva loves Paris. He missed her so much, more every day. Her secretive smile to him, her constant bickering, their forbidden love. Tali was growing up too fast and she wasn’t there to witness it. To be by his side. One of the things he thought about most was how good she’d be as a mother. He was so profoundly sorry time didn’t have the best timing for him to see that.

And now he was alone. For good.

Silent tears spilled over his cheeks, as the image of them happy in Paris a lifetime ago burned in his mind.

What.

The flames illuminated the back of the picture, turning it to bright orange.

There was something written in it.

Tony DiNozzo took the frame out as fast as he could, heartbeat racing.

It’s been six months since Tali arrived at the navy yard doors, six months since he started to look for any trace of Ziva like a madman. Six months he bothered McGee everyday, tracing calls and fighting for her, his hope fading with time, but always there. She was always in the back of his head, and their memories blurred his vision wherever he went.

There was indeed a message. He couldn’t think straight.

And here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; that which is essential is invisible to the eye.

November 21st, 2016

That which is essential is invisible to the eye.

That’s her quote, the quote she shared when he was telling her about his mother, years ago. The Little Prince.

God, what did it even mean?

And here is my secret, a very simple secret.

That she was alive? It was too vague, he was seeing things, wishful thinking. Or perhaps…

It is only with the heart that one can see rightly.

Why did she write that? She’d sent that picture with Tali, packed along with all her other things, so the message was surely for him.

She had sent that with Tali. She’d had enough time to do that. How… strange.

That which is essential is invisible to the eye.

"Oh", escaped his lips, out loud.

It was all a decoy, wasn’t it? It was invisible for everyone, they all had believed she was dead, gone with the flames in Israel and leaving only her daughter behind. They stopped looking because they didn’t see anything. They just saw her confirmed dead. Even Gibbs. He didn't go looking for her.

They didn’t know her well, though.

He knew her. He knew what was invisible, the wrongness of it all. Ziva David, former Mossad officer, had enough time to save her daughter with everything essential to her packed and ready to leave but didn’t have time to save herself? Time to go into hiding?

November 21st, 2016.

2016.

Today was November 16th, this date was five days in the future. It still didn’t come to pass.

Why write it like that? Why? Why? Why on the 21st of November?

Important dates, official days, birthdays, everything muddled up inside Tony’s racing mind. Clouded thoughts.

Tali. Tali’s birthday.

Her little sister Tali’s birthday was November 21st. And every year she…

She went to an opera house to honor her sister.

This was a message. This was a message for him.

For him, who knew her, who took care of her many years ago on that same date, blasting music loudly in the bullpen because she had to stay working late.

This was a message for him.

She was alive. She was alive. She was alive.

Anthony DiNozzo let out a harsh chuckle, one he carried with him since he first knew about the fire. Since he started hoping everything was a lie. He was dreaming, he was…

He had to go. Now. This was five days away.

Tony ran to their daughter’s bedroom, not being able to contain his sudden euphoria. He turned the lights on quickly, only to find Tali still up, but pretending to be asleep, as if only to please her father. She was grasping Ziva’s necklace with one of her little hands and the other one was in her mouth as she was sucking her thumb.

“Let’s pack our things, princess,” he said, already grabbing the suitcase from her wardrobe, “we’re going to find Ima.”

"Ima!”, declared Tali with a big smile, quickly dismissing the act of sleeping with the mention of her mother.

Tony looked back at her, beaming widely, the first time he let himself do that freely for ages.

"She's in Cairo.”

chapter 2, chapter 3

Mariaaaaaaaaa oh, I love the sound of ace!bucky and you know I'm obsessed with the tangled au - but seeing as you've had those already, can you tell me about lets just pretend ill be coming home again?

Bec!! I swear the Tangled AU will happen eventually, I’m just terrible with plotting things out. And ace!Bucky will hopefully be as humorous as it is heartfelt, so fingers crossed I find the inspiration to work on that relatively soon.

Anyway! let’s just pretend i’ll be coming home again. Ah yes, the only WIP with a semi-reasonable title. Okay, so I haven’t worked on this fic in forever but i recently went looking for it in my drafts and I just really love the concept, so I’m hoping to get back into writing for it at some point. It’s Winter Soldier!Steve (who at one point was still Captain America) and modern!Bucky, and admittedly I started on it because I’d read like, one fic with the same premise and I thought that was a travesty that there wasn’t more in the fandom (I’ve since read another one that was excellent). I have an outline for this story, actually; or, less an outline and more just a collection of ideas, but I did map out how Steve became the Winter Soldier, how he’d be different from Bucky, SHIELD’s involvement in the story, that sort of thing. I got like, weirdly into the physicality of WS!Steve? As in, how he’d be physically changed, because I don’t think I gave him the metal arm, and I think he looks closer to nomad Steve, though without the full beard. Also there was definitely scarring involved.

Here’s part of the opening scene (which is, admittedly, most of what I have for this AU):

It’s a stupid idea. Incredibly stupid 𑁋 tactically, logically. By all rights he should’ve dismissed it the moment it popped into his head, and in any other situation he’s sure he would have.

It’s just his luck he got shot. 

Gritting his teeth around another rather creative expletive he doesn’t remember learning, he scopes out the scene again, watching pedestrians muddle along, distracted, unseeing; no one who walks within ten feet of him even acknowledges his presence, their eyes glued to faintly glowing phones or dropped down so as to deliberately avoid eye contact. That’s good, at least; it’s something vaguely positive he can cling to while he rides out the rest of this shit-show. 

His target 𑁋 fuck, not a target, not a mission, he’s past that, but what else is he going to call the guy he’s been doing recon on for the past month? 𑁋 hasn’t noticed him, remains happily oblivious as he lounges on the stoop of his apartment building across the street. He’s chattering away to someone on the phone, pausing occasionally to make notes on a stack of paper cradled in his lap, tapping his foot idly when he cocks his head, listening intently to whoever’s on the other end of the line. He’s frowning now, a crease between his brows; like he’s irritated, or confused by whatever he’s hearing. The expression clears after a minute and he nods, scribbling something else into the margins with a satisfied smirk.

His name is James Barnes. Approximate age: mid- to late-twenties. Five-eleven, with an estimated weight of a hundred and seventy pounds, give or take. Friendly but not close with any of his neighbors; usually only vacates his apartment to return with groceries or other assorted necessities. Takes weekly phone calls outside (presumably with the same individual), always with a neat sheath of papers and pen in hand. In terms of combat abilities, aside from his size and obvious physique, he appears to be untrained and therefore unthreatening. 

The Soldier could 𑁋 would 𑁋 eliminate him without expending much energy. But that isn’t why… God, he still doesn’t know what to call himself. He isn’t the Asset, the Soldier, but the only other name that rattles around in his head tastes wrong on his tongue, sticks to the backs of his teeth whenever he tries to whisper it to himself in the dead of night, when the nightmares have left behind bloody snapshots of a life long dead and gone. It’s been months and the name sits heavy in his chest, clenching tight around his facsimile of a heart whenever he so much as thinks of attaching himself to the moniker. So he won’t use it, not unless it’s required.

Fortunately, he’s fucking fantastic at lying.

Name: Lachlan “Lucky” Caie Species: Selkie Occupation: Dockworker Age: 28 Years Old Played By: Zero Face Claim: Daniel Durant

“I’m tired. But believe when I say, come hell or high water, I’m ending this here.” 

When you’ve been one way for a long time, it’s hard imagining anything else. This is true for Lucky Caie. For five years, five excruciatingly long years, he’s been in pain and muddling through. Five years ago, his coat was stolen from him. Truthfully it had been his own fault, which is the real kicker. Ever since he was a pup, his parents drilled it into him and his siblings to never trust humans or other supernatural beings. His grandfather had told tales of what hunters could do to a selkie. Still, his family worked for generations as dock workers and fishermen, so how bad could humans truly be?

Lucky had always been enamored with the idea that humans and other supernatural beings, however dangerous they may be, were out there and so different from himself and his own family. He had been raised fairly insularly, only communicating with humans when it related to the family business. The humans in his small, coastal town in northern California didn’t seem like the monsters his family made them out to be, so he wasn’t truly afraid. As soon as he was old enough, he was teaching himself ASL and sneaking off to mingle with humans. His family, especially his grandfather, greatly disapproved of this. Lucky was quickly cementing himself as the black seal sheep of the family, but he didn’t really care. He was happy and ever curious. That was what got him into trouble, so to speak. 

He’d been careless, really, leaving his coat amid the sand dunes and running off to do whatever it was he was doing that evening. He told himself it would be safe there, and he wouldn’t be gone for very long. When he came back to the dunes, it was dark. Dark enough, in fact, that he couldn’t get a good look at the person who was running off with his coat in their arms. He tried to chase them, but his human feet were clumsier than his flippers and he wasn’t as fast on land as he was in the water. They got away. As he stood there–bent over, hands on his knees, chest aching from the chase–a sudden realization flickered across his mind. He couldn’t return to his family. Even if they weren’t in the water, there was no way they would accept him after his foolishness. On the other hand, he had nowhere to go without his coat. He made a decision right then to get it back no matter what it took. 

Since then, he’s zigzagged across the country in pursuit of his coat and the person who took it. The years have let the anger ebb away some, replaced by a never ending pain, fatigue, and depression. All he has really has left is a craving for justice, and a deep want to stop this from happening to anyone else, whatever it takes.

Character Facts:

Personality: Curious, perceptive, subdued, irritable, self-centered, cautious, affable

He knows that hunters exist, but he wouldn’t really know what to look for to spot one. He’s aware of other supernatural beings vaguely; he knows of ballybogs, dobhar-chú, mermaids, and kelpie, but hasn’t really seen them and generally considers them one of his grandfather’s tall tales.

Currently, he’s staying at Haven Hotel and isn’t planning on staying long term, though he will if this is really where his coat is. He doesn’t really have much of a home to return to.

He’s deaf and understands ASL, though he isn’t entirely fluent as he’s self taught. He relies a lot on lip reading and tends to mumble when he does talk.

He’s never really needed to hide his teeth before, so he doesn’t wear veneers or anything. This is part of the reason he mumbles when he talks, trying to conceal his teeth by not opening his mouth too wide.

He’s not sure if his seal skin was stolen by a human or another supernatural being, so he’d be wary of anyone he met, but not necessarily unfriendly. Always curious, but now with a healthy dose of caution, too.