#marcuskaen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

professortennant · 6 years

Note

soulmate au: lucien x jean + Everyone has heterochromia, one eye is your natural colour the other is your soulmate’s natural colour. Once you meet all eyes return to natural colour

1549 words; little different than the usual soulmate AU.

Lucien catches glimpses of her in the mirror, sometimes. There are some soulmates who claim that the stronger the bond, the more intense the love, it is possible to catch glimpses of your soulmate’s life, to share their vision as surely as it was your own.

Most days, Lucien wakes and finds himself peering in the mirror. His own blue eye sparkles back at him as if in waiting, as if to say Soon. On the other side of his face, though, there is a pale green, sometimes hazel eye.

Lucien has studied this eye more than his own--knows the slope and curve of the pupil; knows that when his soulmate is angry it shifts into a stormy, dark green; that when his soulmate is sad it reddens and waters but tears never fall; that when his soulmate experiences an adrenaline rush--desire, fear, excitement--the pupil blows wide and the shade of green lightens to an almost translucent state.

(He wonders every time he catches sight of a wide pupil if she is making love to another man, if she is touching herself and thinking of him--her future soulmate--, or if she is scared and in need of him. All three possibilities make him shake with an untouchable ache.)

But he knows their love will be one for the ages because there are times Lucien feels transported and suddenly his vision is flooded with what she sees: a young man taking her by the hand and leading her down to the lake or a glimpse of her--just a glimpse--in a reflective surface. All he sees is the gentle curl of brown hair and red polished nails before the vision is gone.

He sees the same boy from the lake on bended knee, an engagement ring in his hand, and he wants to shout, wants to knock the ring from this boy’s hand and claim his soulmate. He wonders if she saw the dread in his own eyes, wonders if she returned home and his matching blue eye upon her face was red and swollen with tears of frustration and despair. He dreads the next few weeks, dreads catching a glimpse of a ring on her finger.

(He doesn’t see a ring and he can finally fucking breathe again.)

Lucien becomes obsessed with her eyes and there’s an ache in his bones, a need to find her and complete them both. He wonders if she feels as empty and incomplete as he does?

The years pass and he continues to learn about her as the visions come in flashes and every few hours he pulls out his pocket mirror and checks on her eye to gauge her temperament. For the most part, his soulmate seems to be incredibly happy, living her life as surely as he is.

Then, the war comes and for the first time in his life, at the bottom of a musty hole in the middle of a POW camp, he prays his soulmate won’t ever share his visions with him; prays she will never find herself face to face with an enemy soldier brandishing a pistol and bashing the butt of the gun into his face.

(But he clings, however selfishly, to the moments in the camps when he shares her vision: bright sunshine, flashes of her face and body as she passes a mirror--always, always out of sight. When he finds her, he will kiss her deeply, drop to his knees and thank her for keeping him alive, keeping him sane in this hellscape.)

Later, when Singapore falls and he sits huddled on a plane back to Australia, back home, he is assaulted with the longest vision he’s ever had, as if their bond knew exactly what he needed to make it the last few miles to her.

He watches through her eyes with his heart in his throat as her hands hold a feather duster, the feathers brushing dust off of a sign: Dr. Thomas Blake. There’s a pause and then she turns and he sees his own father through her eyes and he gasps as the vision ends.

At twenty thousand feet in the air, Lucien feels like he’s floating away into the atmosphere, his head spinning, his heart racing.

His soulmate is at his home, waiting for him like a welcome home present from the universe and he can almost hear Her in his ear: You’ve suffered enough. Come home. Come to me. I’m waiting.

When the plane lands, he foregoes the bus and hikes his pack on his shoulder and runs home. He wonders if she’s seen him coming, too. Has she seen glimpses of Ballarat through his own eyes, his bobbing vision narrowing in on the Blake household at the top of the street? Can she can see his trembling hand lifting to knock at the door, the sheer want rumbling through him?

The answer is yes.

The door is open before he can knock and she’s standing there before him, his own blue eye twinkling back at him. There’s a moment where they simply look at each other and it is she--so much braver than he--who breathes out You first and steps forward into his waiting arms.

He doesn’t know her name--not yet--but he knows her. This is his soulmate and she is in his arms and everything seems to click into place: the warmth of her pressed against his chest, her arms wound tight around his neck, her breath puffing warmly on his skin, the scent of her--floral and sweet--wafting up and enveloping him.

Their hands wander over the other’s body and Lucien distantly hears her gentle muffled sobs and he pulls away, cupping her cheeks and wiping away her tears. She raises her own hands and returns the favor. He hadn’t even noticed his own tears.

He offers her a watery smile. “Hello, there. I’m Lucien.”

She mouths his name silently before smiling brightly. “I’m Jean.” She reaches up and traces the lines beneath his eyes, biting her lip. “You have my eye.”

Lucien nods, pressing her hand closer to his face, savoring the touch. He fights the urge to lean forward and kiss her eyelid, instead agreeing, “And you have mine. For now at least.”

They smile at each other, knowing the last step to complete the soul mate bond: a kiss.

And then a thought chills him: she’s seen him at his absolute worst--at the bottom of a hole (literally) rolling around in the dirt for his own survival. Perhaps she didn’t want him, perhaps she wanted a soul mates whose soul was whole.

He takes her hands in his and presses a kiss to the back of them, taking a deep shuddering breath. It will kill him to lose her, but he will do it for her, for her happiness. “Jean, if you’ve seen what I’ve been through, what I’ve done, I’ll understand if you don’t want me; if you want someone better, someone whole.”

Jean stares at him for a moment, the mismatched eyes--his and hers--evaluating him, measuring him up. Lucien takes a deep breath, straightens to a soldier’s stance and prepares himself for the final blow that will break him. He’s survived a lot but this, this he may not survive.

But he needn’t worry. Jean steps forward and he marvels at her height, that she fits so snugly beneath his chin, that he can hold her close, like two pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place.

She kisses the underside of his jaw like it’s absolution and he melts. “Someone else? My soul mate is one of the bravest men I’ve ever seen. He’s a survivor and a hero. And I’ve waited for him for such a long time.”

He hooks his fingers beneath her chin and lowers his face to hers, whispering against her lips, “Oh, Jean...”

Their kiss isn’t a kiss of lust. It’s a fresh beginning, a welcome home, a union of two souls. Lucien’s lips caress Jean’s, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth, teeth grazing the flesh slightly. She deepens the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling herself up against his body, mouth opening beneath his, letting his tongue sweep in and taste her.

They break the kiss and Jean falls back onto her heels, arms still wound around his neck. Their eyes are still closed and Lucien leans forward to blindly place another kiss on her lips, catching her top lip.

“On three?”

“On three.”

“One--”

“--Two.”

“Three.”

They open their eyes and grin at one another, the evidence of their completed soul mate bond on their faces. Jean’s eyes--both of them--are the same stunning shade of green Lucien has peered into every day of his life and will continue to do. Jean beams at him and raises herself up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his eyelids.

She takes his hand and drags him inside, over the threshold, and he realizes that he’s home. His father is waiting for him inside, his soulmate--who he still has so much to learn about--is holding his hand.

He’s home.

#tdbm fic #jean x lucien #tdbm #marcuskaen

61 notes · View notes

theodore-lasso · 6 years

Note

10 + philinda

10. ‘You nearly died’ kiss

He was stupid. There was no logical reason that he should be alive right now. Melinda tried not to think about how many times she’d seen him like this before, watching him come back from the brink of death. This time it wasn’t anyone else’s fault, there’d been no fighting and no enemy except himself.

She’d told him countless times that he needed more sleep, that his body needed more rest.

But when Tess brought him back into the hatch, Phil passed out on the ground from a lack of oxygen, Melinda couldn’t help but rush towards his prone body, her hand checking his pulse on reflex. She’d been in stasis, waiting for the news. Waiting to find out if he was alive or not.

Maybe if she’d tried harder, stopped him from going; maybe she could have stopped him from getting hurt. Maybe it was her fault.

His lips were blue, but his heart was still beating under her palm.

Melinda didn’t know what she would have done, how she would have coped if she’d lost him. He grounded her, Phil meant more than she could vocalise.

Her world had fallen apart when Tess had alerted her. When she’d been told that Phil had gone on a spacewalk ill-prepared. His lack of sleep had caused him to make rash decisions, not thinking anything through.

But when his eyes fluttered open, a cough racking his body, she let out a sob she hadn’t known she was holding. She clutched at his body, his skin eerily cold under hers. She held him as his body shivered uncontrollably, as he apologised with every spare breath he had.

“I can’t lose you here,” she whispered as his arms wrapped around her, steadying both of them.

Every breath from Phil was an apology, as he realised how close it had all been to falling apart.

“I can’t lose you,” she whispered into his neck, her eyes screwed shut as she pressed herself tighter against him. Her hand didn’t move from his chest, his heartbeat a steady reminder that he was still there, that he’d come back.

Melinda felt his hand gently cup her cheek, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone before sliding back into her hair, holding her in place as he sat up, overwhelmed with guilt.

Melinda’s body had almost collapsed into his as the full weight of the situation finally dawned on him. He tugged her closer, his apologies never ceasing. But the words wouldn’t come to her, too much running through her mind to form a single coherent thought. She couldn’t respond. Later, she’d be angry at him, but in that moment she was overwhelmed by the thought of losing him.

She didn’t hesitate as she pressed her lips against his, not thinking about the consequences, the repercussions or the excuses they’d always made to not take this step. She showed him exactly what he meant to her as she harshly scraped her lips across his, her heart igniting when he reciprocated, slipping his tongue between her lips as his stubble rasped against her skin. It was messy, not the picture perfect first kiss either of them had dreamed of. It was the culmination of thirty years, thirty years of repressing their desire, their want, their need.

Their kiss spoke for them, conveying how desperate they were, how much they relied on each other and how vulnerable they were without the other. Phil’s heart broke when he finally understood what he’d put her through, and he held her tightly, fingers almost bruising against her sides. He mumbled apologies through their kiss, wishing he could take back any pain he’d ever caused her.

He didn’t know if he could give her anything she deserved, but he could try to hold back the pain.

#philinda fanfiction #philinda #marcuskaen #aos #agents of shield #claire writes things

90 notes · View notes

andallthatmishigas · 7 years

Link

A glimpse into life at the Blake House, post-5.3

#the doctor blake mysteries #jean beazley #lucien blake #matthew lawson #charlie davis #sexy blake and jean my queen #marcuskaen #this is one of the (many) short stories I've been writing at work #and texting to Melanie #because it helps us get through the day lol

40 notes · View notes

anextraordinarymuse · 6 years

Note

It's the Marvel short.

You’re a lifesaver.

#marcuskaen

1 note · View note

karlachslove · 7 years

Note

daisy johnson

Put a fictional character in my ask!

#daisy’s the love of my life <3 #again #thanks for sending this!#marcuskaen #ask games

3 notes · View notes

hanorganaas · 7 years

Note

Um so I'm only 4 eps in but my favorite thing right now is Hopper adopting Eleven.

UGH ME TOO!

URL: 9 / 10 MIKE WHEELERICON: 8 /10 DUSTIN HENDERSONTHEME: 10 / 10 LUCAS SINCLAIRUPDATES TAB: N/A / 10 NANCY WHEELERPOSTS: 10 / 10 MAX “MAD MAX” HARGROVEOVERALL: 9 / 10 JANE “ELEVEN” IVESFOLLOWING: NO BUT GOOD LUCK IN UPSIDE DOWN WORLD | WELCOME TO THE LOSERS CLUB [+F] | I’M WITH YOU ALL THE WAY | I WILL ALWAYS FOLLOW YOU, IT’S A PROMISEAND A LITTLE COMPLIMENT FROM NOR: You have a great taste in ships my friend and your theme is really prettyHALLOWEEN COSTUME SUGGESTION: Melinda May in that Red Bikini we didnt get to see her wear in AOS

Want One?

#marcuskaen #nor blogrates

1 note · View note

lemmonlyman · 7 years

Note

friendship, the x-files, hot men over 50.

*blushes* oh stop!

#marcuskaen

1 note · View note

anextrapart · 7 years

Note

HOW FAR IN ARE YOU ON S2.

...it’s possible that I finished it and am already in season three...

#marcuskaen

2 notes · View notes

marcuskane · 7 years

Text

shoutout to all the marcus kane’s on tumblr @marcuskaen @marcaskane @marcuskanc @marcuskanebeard @marcusxkane

#marcuskaen #marcaskane #marcuskanc #marcuskanebeard #marcusxkane #y'all are wonderful #marcus squad unite

11 notes · View notes

lorelaigilmoure · 7 years

Photo

Everybody’s damaged. It’s just a question of how badly, and whether you’re healing or still bleeding. (Angela N. Blount)

#tdbmedit #tdbm #the doctor blake mysteries #jean beazley #lucien blake #what a fine beautiful morning for these feels #ellie5192 #marcuskaen #disturbingclarity #enjoy darlings!#round 3 #*sips tea*#mine

235 notes · View notes

professortennant · 6 years

Note

soulmate au: lucien x jean + You have a limited number of words, and you can only recharge when you’re with your soulmate (when you use up your word count, you die)

okay tweaking this so no one dies they just go mute mkay mkay

1875 words

Words are a precious commodity these days. There’s tales copied down in old books–days of endless communication, nonsense words and noises filling the empty space in the world. Those days are gone now.

The world is predominantly quiet as people shuffle from place to place, conserving their words until they’re sure–sure–they’ve found their soulmate. Only then are their vocal chords released, the wealth of words they’ve accumulated come spilling out, often murmured into their soulmate’s ear.

The world is filled only with the sounds of those already paired off and the daring utterances of those still looking.

Lucien Blake is down to his last word. His mother shook her head at him, running her hand through his hair and kissed him on the forehead softly. “You’re too trusting, mon chéri. Save your words for your soulmate.”

But he’d been reckless, every thought pouring from his lips in a search for his other half. He thought perhaps Monica Parker was for him (he’d been entranced by her bright hair and even brighter eyes). But the word counter on his wrist didn’t disappear. He was still bound by a word count.

Then, he thought perhaps Matthew Lawson was his soulmate. Matthew’s kind eyes and sharp cheekbones stirred something inside of him but even as he babbled at Matthew, he knew Matthew wasn’t the one.

On and on it went, from Monica to Matthew to a few girls in medical school and then finally, to Mei Lin. He was down to five words, now, but he only needed four for this. He could learn to live with silence. Lucien had learned to communicate with a look and with a touch. Mei Lin wasn’t his soul mate but she was all he wanted.

So he got down on one knee, ignoring Mei Lin’s wide eyes of surprise and grinned, using up four of his last five words: “Will you marry me?”

But Mei Lin–who he had always known was smarter than him anyway–had fallen to her knees, kissing him softly, sadly. She only closed the ring box he held in his hands and shook her head. No.

She didn’t even use a word on him.

So with a heavy heart and a single word left, he returned home to Ballarat. For the first time in his life, he was careful. He boarded the plane with a nod to the hostess and only managed a grunt of acknowledgement to those in town waving at him, greeting him on his return to Ballarat.

There was a heaviness to his heart that hadn’t been there before, a certain hopelessness. He had one word–one. If he took a gamble on the wrong person, said the wrong thing, he was dooming himself to a life of muteness, of solitude. The Mute of the world were untouchable and unloved and society pitied them, shunned them.

It was these thoughts that swirled in his head as he pushed open the door of his childhood home and found himself face to face with his father’s housekeeper. A soft gasp fell from his lips as he took her in: curled hair, bright eyes, curves that his hands would cover nicely.

He bit his lip to stop himself from saying Wow. Instead, he smiled brightly at her and waved, gesturing to his bags. She rifled through the pocket of her apron and pulled out a stack of index cards with dark, bold print on them.

His eyes caught sight of: Tea? Breakfast/lunch/dinner? How are you? Drink?

It was ingenious, he thought as she held up a card that said: I’m Jean Beazley. Lucien watched as she rifled through her cards again and he shook his head at her as she held up a card that said: Tea? Instead, he dug through her pocket, ignoring her wide eyes and her slaps against his wrist. Triumphantly, he held up the card that said Drink?

She pursed her lips at him, shooting him a glare that said all that needed to be said. He shrugged unapologetically and moved past her, dropping his bags in the hallway.

That morning, they sat huddled together in the kitchen–a tumbler of whiskey in his right hand and a mug of steaming tea in hers–passing a small notebook back and forth, asking questions and exchanging information.

He admired the curly, looping scrawl of her handwriting; the way she licked the tip of the pen when it dried up; the way she brushed her hair behind her ear and hunched over the notebook.

While she was writing her response to him (a general schedule of her day-to-day duties in the Blake household), he caught a glimpse of Jean’s word counter: four.

For a brief, irrational moment, he felt jealous of all those who had come before him, those who had heard her voice. Who did she deem worthy of so many of her words? Had she been like him, reckless and overly giving? Had she found someone and simply thought to hell with it and used what she could on him? He ached to know.

For the first time in a long time, he regretted his single word and he wondered how he could say all he wanted to say to Jean with a single word.

Communicating with Jean without words was, surprisingly, easy. Her card system worked well for day-to-day conversations and he was quite proud when she added Lucien-specific cards to her deck:

More whiskey? (which Lucien rather enjoyed as it could be a genuine question if her eyes were soft and she was already walking to the cart or a chastisement if her jaw was set and her eyebrow arched).

Bex? (related to the aforementioned whiskey and his penchant for mischief). Nightmare? (this one had caused a bit of chagrin but it filled him with warmth regardless--Jean cared about him, Jean noticed him).

Piano? (this card was always raised after Jean had a long day, the sound of his piano playing soothing her. If he was lucky, she would sit beside him on the piano bench, swaying gently in time to his music as she sipped her sherry. And if he was really lucky, she would rest her head on his shoulder and hum along).

And still, the one word hung over him and he tried to think of how he could tell Jean he was hopeless in love with her, that he couldn’t imagine his life without her, that she was the only one he wanted to wake up to and even if this was his last word, he would gladly live out the rest of his life at her side with only their cards and their fleeting touches.

Because there were touches: hands on the small of the other’s back, fingertips trailing over the backs of hands, and that one heart-stopping moment in the sun room. Jean had been upset and he had taken her face between his hands, thumbs on her cheeks, offering comfort and then the moment shifted, turned into something more: an electric crackle filling his ears, everything in his universe settling and zooming in on nothing but her--Jean.

Then the bloody phone had started ringing off the hook and the moment was gone, shattered.

But he had felt it then: Jean was it for him.

So he sat at his desk, wrote a simple note, folded it up, and, heart beating wildly, he handed it to her. He watched as she furrowed her brow at him, eyeing him suspiciously, before opening his note and reading. He watched her lips mouth the words he knew by heart:

Jean, I have only a single word left before I’m rendered Mute. But I know--I know--you are the one for me. And I’m willing to risk it. Are you?

He watched as her eyes widened and she turned, shaking her head, using up three of her remaining four words: “Lucien, no, don’t!”

But it was too late, he was already taking her hand in his and grinning softly at her. “You,” he whispered. A white-hot heat filled him then, his heart beating wildly, and he didn’t need to glance down at his wrist to know what he already felt in his heart: the counter was gone.

His throat felt loose for the first time in a decade and he laughed, the sound filling the room and Jean let out a small, choked sob, her hands flying over his face, mouthing his name. Lucien’s hands came up to cup her cheeks and he licked his lips, “Jean, it’s you. I knew it was you. Trust me, love. Trust me.”

Jean’s gaze was fixed upon his mouth and he took pleasure in the way she shuddered at the sound of his voice, eyes fluttering closed and her head tilting to the side like a dog listening to a particular intriguing noise.

Lucien felt the warmth and giddiness fill him, the feeling of completeness at the knowledge of his soulmate--his soulmate--was in his arms.

Jean pulled away, scrambling for a notecard and pen. The counter on her wrist flashed one. She held her note up to him: What if I’m your soulmate but you aren’t mine? What if I go Mute?

He took the note from her and tossed it over his shoulder, laughing at Jean’s outraged face, her hands settling on her hips. He took her hands off her hips and pressed his lips to the back of them, smiling softly at her. “Jean, love, I don’t care if you’re Mute. You’re mine. And I can feel it: I’m yours, too. Let me be yours, Jean.”

With a deep shuddering breath, Jean nodded and took one, final glance at her word counter. She paused then and curled her fingers into his shirt, eyes closing as she whispered out her last word, “You.”

The same lightning hot heat that rushed through Lucien filled Jean and her own counter disappeared from her wrist, the tightness in her throat loosening. She looked at Lucien, eyes wide. He didn’t appear shocked at all and instead he cupped her cheek, thumb brushing the soft skin there.

Before she could utter another word, his mouth was on hers, hot and demanding and so, so right. She melted against him, curling closer to his body and wrapping her arms around his neck. When his tongue stroked over hers, she gasped out his name, “Lucien!”

And then, because she realized she could, because she had the rest of the world and as many words as she wanted at her fingertips, she babbled out only his name over and over again: Lucien, Lucien, Lucien.

He buried his face into her neck, simply holding her--his soulmate--in his arms and muttered the only word he wanted to say for the rest of his life into the warmth of her skin: Jean, Jean, Jean.

A lifetime of vocabulary to catch up on and the only words they could utter were their names over and over again. After all, they had the rest of their lives to say everything else.

#marcuskaen #tdbm fic #tdbm #jean x lucien #i'm gettin the hang of this soulmate thing

62 notes · View notes

theodore-lasso · 6 years

Note

Lucien/Jean + 15

A kiss because I have literally been watching you all night and I can’t take anymore, prompted by @marcuskaen as well

The stage lights were on her, the audience spellbound by her performance, by her commanding presence. His eyes followed her every movement, his eyes wide in rapture.

There were no words to describe her, but he took her in as much as he could, aching to be there beside her, to whisper sweet nothings in her ear until the sun fell and until darkness enveloped them both. He yearned to tell her how stunning she was, to be by her side, hold her hand, tell her how much he loved her.

Because as distractingly beautiful as she was, he had to wait until the end of the play - he needed to see how it ended. So he watched as her bare feet skipped gracefully around the stage, and the smile on her face never diminished. She was in her element, her lines as natural as any conversation, her reactions as human as he’d ever seen her.

The hours passed, the audience gasping and laughing along with the cast, Lucien feeling light with love and awe. His wife was incredible.

As soon as the curtains drew to a close, he was on his feet, clapping and cheering, catching her eye. Her smile lit up the stage, and everything else dulled around her. The clapping fell away, the lights and the noise, leaving just him and her.

She was glowing when he found her after the play, surrounded by cast and crew members. She was incandescently happy, and he couldn’t imagine a better sight than her smile, joy bubbling at the surface as she hugged him.

Their shared joy set the room alight, Lucien kissing her lightly through their smiles. He’d wanted to kiss her since he set eyes on her that evening, watching her in the play had simultaneously been bliss and hell, admiring her from afar, but unable to be there with her. It was like reliving their early days.

He was surprised when she slanted her lips over his, deepening the kiss as she held him close. They broke apart with laughter on their lips and love in their eyes, Lucien pressing one last kiss to her temple before sending her back towards the cast to celebrate. She deserved this celebration, but he still smiled dumbly at his shoes when he remembered she’d be coming home with him. She’d chosen him.

#lucienblakes #marcuskaen #tdbm #the doctor blake mysteries #lucien and jean #claire writes things

76 notes · View notes