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television-overload · 22 days

Text

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 23/34 - filing cabinet

[Read on AO3]

The water cooler gurgles as he fills a small paper cup and takes a sip. Today had been the day. After weeks of going through personnel files for prospective replacements, they finally met with a few candidates. He meant what he said to Scully; he’s ready to let go of the reins a little. That doesn’t make the actuality of handing over the X-Files any easier.

Force of habit, he thinks, to resist any and all efforts to boot them from the X-Files. He has to keep reminding himself that it was his idea this time, and that they’d still be working on them in a consulting capacity anyway. He isn’t quitting cold turkey. And besides, they’re moving on to bigger and much better things.

Lost in thought, he doesn’t notice at first when a few other guys gather around, each filling their own cups with water.

“So, Garcia,” the first one says, addressing a man Mulder vaguely recalls works in Organized Crime. “I hear the wife’s about to pop. You ready?”

Agent Garcia smiles, nodding his head. “Oh yeah. We’re going out tonight. One last night on the town before the baby gets here, you know?”

“You gotta do it,” another agent says. Agent Mann, or something silly like that, Mulder thinks. “They call it a ‘babymoon,’ you ever heard of that? My wife and I took a trip down to the Isle of Palms for ours before Michael was born. Great beaches. Now we’re lucky if we make it to the coast without one or all of our kids ingesting sand.”

The men share a hearty laugh, and Mulder feels a little out of place.

“Amy would have killed me if I hadn’t taken her out for a nice dinner before our first,” the first agent says. “It was another two years before we were able to go to a nice restaurant alone, so I wouldn’t have blamed her!”

Is this something people do, Mulder wonders? Is Scully expecting it? Maybe he had missed the memo at some point. Is there a soon-to-be-dad handbook somewhere that tells them how to win points with their wives before they become parents? Should he have come up with a plan to do something special for Scully? Their lives are about to irreversibly change, and he hadn’t even considered, really, that very soon, it won’t be just the two of them anymore. There will be a third person, someone entirely dependent on them just to stay alive.

He fills his paper cup again, feeling sweat begin to form under his collar.

Dinner. He can do dinner, that’s a good idea. He should ask her. One last hoorah as the infamous Mulder-Scully duo for old times’ sake. She’d like that.

With a polite nod and a forced smile at his fellow agents around the water cooler, he heads back toward the elevator, and back to the basement.

-.-.-

“Hey, there you are,” Scully says as he shuts the door behind him. She’s elbow deep in one of the filing cabinet drawers, evidently rooting around at the back for a stray piece of paper that has escaped a folder. “Help me figure out which files to make copies of. I know you’re going to want to keep some of them,” she says.

She knows him so well. He’s already started making a mental list of ones he wants to have in his personal collection. The Bellefleur file, for example. And of course, the ones with his name or Scully’s in it, but those are for much less happy, nostalgic reasons.

Slouching his suit coat off his shoulders, he rolls up his sleeves and approaches the drawer, offering his assistance in reaching the wayward scrap of paper. Her little arms are too short, a fact which he intends to tease her about later. His fingers successfully find the edge of the document, and he extracts it with careful precision.

A familiar picture stares back up at him, giving him a hearty chuckle.

“Remember this one?” he asks, turning his sketch of the Jersey Devil back toward her.

She laughs as she takes it from him, inspecting it. “How could I forget?” she says, “I think this image is forever ingrained in my psyche.”

“Hey, don’t make fun of my drawing,” he says. “I want a copy of that file. With my beautiful artwork, please.”

She rolls her eyes, but opens up a folder and slides the paper in its rightful place. He can’t help but notice it was already in the ‘to-be-xeroxed’ pile before he said anything.

The office falls silent as he continues rifling through the cabinets, plucking out a file here and there that he wouldn’t mind keeping. It’s a walk down memory lane, for him. Flukeman, Big Blue, the vampire sheriff in Texas… Who would have thought that seven years later, he’d still have Scully by his side as he prepares to let go of what became his life’s work? Their life’s work. She should have run screaming from here years ago, but she didn’t.

Now look where it’s gotten them.

Glancing up at her from over the top of the overstuffed file drawer and filled with a sudden surge of gratefulness that he doesn’t know what to do with, he blurts, “Let’s go out to dinner tonight.”

She freezes, and he mentally kicks himself for the hasty delivery of his idea. Theoretically, he should have planned a better way to ask her. After a second that feels like an eternity, she turns to him with a skeptical tilt to her brow and a small smile.

Well, at least he knows he’ll still get to see her make that expression at him even when they’re off the X-Files.

“I mean, we could try that new place in Dupont Circle. The one your mom was telling you about? If you want.”

“What’s the occasion?” she asks, folding her arms expectantly in front of her chest as she leans back in his office chair.

“You know,” he shrugs, “pretty soon it won’t be just us anymore, and I– I like… spending time with you… So I just thought it would be nice to—”

She smiles shyly. “That sounds great, Mulder,” she says, interrupting his fumbling explanation. “Tonight at seven?”

He grins, ducking his head to hide his goofy expression. “Yeah, seven. I’ll make the reservations.”

-.-.-

In hindsight, this is a crazy idea. The restaurant they’re going to is extravagant. Ostentatious. And he knows Scully knows it, too. The margin of error for plausible deniability here is extremely small, and if she doesn’t have some idea of his feelings for her already, he’s going to have a hard time keeping it that way as they sit in a low-lit room munching on those fancy breadsticks and drinking expensive wine.

What had he been thinking? He asked her out without even sparing it a thought, not realizing how it would sound. To be going out on a date with your best friend who is also technically your wife? Langly and Frohike were right. He is an idiot. What is he supposed to do on this ‘date?’ How is he supposed to act? Does she expect anything from him? Is this his last chance to make a move? What does it mean that this is one of the last nights they’ll spend alone together before someone literally hands them a baby and lets them take it home?

The idea of making a move, after all this time spent explicitly trying not to do exactly that, has him in a spiral. He paces around the floor in his bedroom, trying not to think about what dress Scully might be putting on in her room on the other side of the hall or what she might be doing with her hair.

He can’t upset the status quo like this with the baby due any time in the next few weeks, can he? Bad idea. Bad, bad, idea. But at the same time, when else would he get the chance? He’d heard what the other agents had said… it was years in some cases before new parents got the chance to really be alone. What if he had to spend the next several years silently pining for his own wife in the home they share together, watching her be a mother to the baby they adopted? Maybe there’s a reason people don’t get into arrangements like this with their platonic best friend, after all.

How stupid was he to think he could do this without letting his feelings get in the way? Why on earth didn’t he just tell her months ago, before all this started, instead of getting his hopes up?

The answer, of course, is that he wants this. He wants this family more than anything, even if it's never anything more than friendship and cohabitation with Scully. He would have scared her away if he told her the same day she found those adoption brochures on his desk. It would be too much at once. He knows her, she would have been overwhelmed.

But, man… What if?

He checks his reflection in the mirror one more time, smoothing his hair into place. He hopes he didn’t overdo it on the cologne. Should he be wearing a tie? He puts on one that Scully got him several years ago, complete with a tie clip he’d gotten from her mother at Christmas.

He hesitates over the chain he wears under his shirt. What would Scully think if he took it off and wore it on his finger tonight? He finds that he wants to. Just a normal husband and wife grabbing dinner together. Without giving it much thought, he loosens his tie and unbuttons the top button of his shirt to free the necklace from its usual place. He knows that if he gives it much more consideration, he’ll talk himself out of it, so he pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind and slides the band onto his left ring finger.

There. He’s ready.

He takes a deep breath and opens the door to his room, intent on continuing his pacing in the living room if Scully isn’t ready to go yet.

“I’ll be ready in a minute,” he hears her call from the bathroom as his door creaks open. At a quick glance, he can see the back of an elegant dress he’s never seen before, black with a neckline that swoops down low in the back. She stands at the sink, fastening an earring in place, and it feels like junior prom all over again.

“Oh, I’m in deep trouble,” Mulder mutters to himself, rubbing his hands over his face. Forcing himself to turn away, he walks straight to the kitchen and fills up a glass of water, downing it in record time.

Not five minutes later, he hears her emerge, and he prepares himself for the sight of her.

Sure enough, it knocks the breath out of him, a fact which he makes every attempt to hide. He’s pretty sure she catches it, though, because the corner of her mouth quirks up and her eyes drift to the floor, as if she were somehow self-conscious about her appearance.

Impossible.

He’s suddenly very glad he opted for the tie, if this is what she's wearing to dinner. Although, it’s feeling a little tight, at the moment.

“You, uh—” he starts, at a loss for words. His mouth is bone dry, despite the water he had just chugged a few minutes ago. “You—”

“Thanks,” she says, mercifully sparing him from further embarrassment. She tucks a gently curled tuft of hair behind her ear, drawing his attention to the careful way she’s arranged it. “I figured this might be my last chance to get properly dressed up for a while, so… It’s been… years, I suppose, since I’ve had the occasion to.”

This just confirms it. He’s been an idiot. Years of missed opportunities, chances he’s wasted. He could have been taking this gorgeous, magnificent woman out to fancy dinners all the time, if he’d just been able to pull himself together and see past the end of his own rather distinguished nose.

If time travel is ever invented, he’s gonna use it to go back in time and kick his own—

“Mulder?” she says, smiling amusedly at him. He gets the sense that that’s not the first time she’s tried to get his attention, and he feels his cheeks warm. “I said, are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” he chokes out, finding his voice at last. She reaches down to grab her purse, and he coughs to clear his throat. “Yeah, let’s go.”

She shakes her head at him in mock admonition, but happily accepts his proffered arm as they exit out the front door of the apartment. In the hall, he glances down, taking in the sight of her hands wrapped comfortably around his right bicep.

Her ring. She’s wearing it. He swears his heart might leap out of his chest at the thought. This might just be the thing that does him in. Put it on his death certificate. ‘Cause of death: the woman he loves is wearing his ring.’ What a way to go.

He doesn’t say anything—couldn’t, even if he wanted to—but he can tell that she saw him take notice. How could he not, with the way it sparkles on her finger, like it belongs there? He feels her hold loosen, and it stirs up a mild panic in his chest. She shouldn’t be embarrassed. Please, please don’t be embarrassed.

He lifts his hand to stop her from releasing him, running his thumb over the diamond inset on her finger. It’s okay, he’s saying. Look, I’m wearing mine too.

He sees the moment her eyes fix on his ring, as he rests his left hand over hers on his arm. She avoids his eyes, but he can tell she’s moved. She swallows back her emotion, and her hold on him tightens again, which sends a wave of relief through his body.

“Come on, we’ll be late for our reservation,” he says, his voice low, just for her ears.

She nods, and lets him lead the way.

-.-.-

His first mistake was thinking that he could get day-of reservations at one of the trendiest places in all of Washington, D.C. His second mistake was not considering that his straightforward request for a table that evening might somehow be misconstrued to mean that evening a year from now.

It takes all his self restraint not to raise his voice at the host at the host stand, because really, why would he be asking for something like that? He’d like to give them a little lesson on the use of the English language, but he won’t, only because Scully is there and he doesn’t want to completely ruin the evening.

She’s there watching him as all this takes place, undoubtedly amused as he fights back frustration. After a moment, her hand lands on his arm, her typical method of pulling him back from the brink of a poor decision that she’s perfected over the years, and she shakes her head.

“It’s alright, Mulder,” she says. “We can just go somewhere else.”

Yeah, but where?

“Have a good evening,” the host says dismissively, and his tone is just a little bit too smug for Mulder’s taste. It reminds him of stuffy dinners with his father’s associates or interactions he had with the pompous law students at Oxford. Maybe they don’t want to eat here after all.

Scully feels him tense under her touch, and gently guides him out of the restaurant before he can respond. What would he do without her? He’d probably get beaten up a lot more often, that’s for sure. Or at least kicked out of places, like he would have been tonight.

She leads him outside, and soon enough, they’re standing on the sidewalk by the street, at a loss for what to do next.

“I’m sorry, Scully,” he says, mentally kicking himself for screwing this up so badly. “I just wanted to do something special, and now—”

“Mulder,” she stops him. “Seriously. It’s okay. I’m happy with wherever we decide to go tonight. This is about spending time together, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let's go,” she says, grabbing his hand. “Come on, I have an idea.”

She holds tight to him as she leads them down the sidewalk, passing other couples on the street on this lovely spring evening. He has no idea where she could possibly be taking them, but she’s in a great mood, so he tries not to let the minor setback ruin his night. If she’s happy, then he’s happy.

The sun draws closer to the horizon, casting a golden glow on everything and everyone it touches. It makes her hair shine like fire, and once again he counts his blessings. It feels a little bit like the night of their wedding, and that thought brings a smile to his face.

They walk past several up-scale restaurants, and Scully doesn’t even spare them a glance. Wherever she’s taking them, she must know the way there. After a couple more blocks, she comes to a stop, standing out front of a greasy diner, maybe just a little nicer than the ones they frequent in small-town America.

“Really?” he asks, looking dubiously up at the neon sign. “You sure you don’t want to go somewhere a little fancier, Scully? You got all dressed up.”

Her answering smile is resplendent in the glowing light.

“I want to eat here, Mulder,” she says, stepping toward the entrance. A bell above the door jingles as she pushes it open. “It seems fitting, doesn’t it?”

It does. A wave of nostalgia hits him like a truck when he realizes why she brought them here. Why a diner, of all places, would be the place she chooses for their ceremonial last meal, just the two of them. He can’t count how many formica tabletops just like this one they’ve shared a meal at, over the years. Hundreds of hamburgers with a side of fries, maybe a milkshake they end up splitting when Scully’s ice water loses its appeal. Ripped vinyl booths that Scully thoroughly wipes down with wet wipes she’d started keeping in her bag for that exact purpose.

“Well, don’t you two look nice?” a waitress in uniform says as she approaches their table. Her hair looks like the 80s have come back with a vengeance, all frizzy and permed, and she chews a wad of bubblegum aggressively, smelling like her last smoke break.

In short, it’s perfect.

“What’ll it be?” she asks.

Mulder orders for the both of them, knowing Scully’s usual order by heart. She smiles the way she always does when he remembers to ask for a lemon for her water, and he makes sure to tell the waitress to bring two straws for the milkshake instead of one.

When he looks across the booth at Scully, again, he imagines a little girl sitting next to her, coloring away on a kids menu with two, cheap, plasticky crayons that break in half if you look at them wrong.

It won’t be long, now. That will be their life. Mulder, party of three. Maybe Scully will start to carry a plastic baggy of the good crayons in her bag, for when they go to places like this. He’s absolutely certain she’ll at least double her use of wet wipes and sanitizer. He’ll become a chicken strip connoisseur, knowing all the best places in the city to get the child-favorite delicacy.

“To us,” Mulder toasts once their drinks arrive, lifting his chocolate milkshake in the air between them. “To… endings and new beginnings.”

“To endings and new beginnings,” Scully repeats, clinking her glass against his.

-.-.-

It’s past dark already, barely a hint of color lingering on the horizon, but that doesn’t stop them from prolonging the evening with a walk to the National Mall. The moon is bright, and the streets are lit up for tourists making the most of the warmer spring weather. It’s a pleasant walk. Scully feels drunk, despite the absence of alcohol with their dinner. She wonders if Mulder feels it too.

He guides her with his hand in its usual place, and she feels what can only be described as complete and utter contentment, as each brush of his fingers propels her gently forward. The street leads them straight to the reflecting pool on the National Mall, a favorite spot of theirs, not that they find the time to visit often enough. They’ve missed the cherry blossom blooms by only a couple weeks, but the sweet smell of them persists, unless it’s just her imagination.

Something about being with Mulder like this dials all her senses up to eleven. She has never experienced life like this before. Are the stars always so bright? Does the cool breeze always feel like silk on her skin?

Maybe it's his cologne that has her feeling tipsy. She selfishly hopes the scent of it will linger on her clothes and in her hair even after this night has come to its end.

The Mall is quiet and mostly empty at this hour. The Washington Monument looms in the distance, lit up brightly and casting its imposing reflection on the still waters of the reflecting pool. A family of ducks disturbs the glassy surface, sending ripples radiating outward as they paddle from one side to the other.

Mulder has this peaceful expression on his face, the corners of his mouth quirked upward ever so slightly. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he had never been here before, taking in all the sights for the first time. He watches the ducks for a moment, expelling a breath of laughter through his nose as a small duckling falls behind, then swims faster to catch up with the rest of the crew.

His hand drops from her back, but before she has a chance to mourn the loss, he entangles his fingers with hers, clasping their hands tightly together. She follows after him in a daze, her lips pulled back in a self-conscious sort of grin. She can’t help it. He makes her feel like a teenager, and… she doesn’t even know what this is, really, but she likes it.

They circle the reflecting pool for a bit, wandering aimlessly at a lazy pace, reluctant to put an end to their time together. Eventually, they end up sitting on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, the gargantuan statue of the nation’s sixteenth president a silent sentinel behind them.

Scully leans her cheek against Mulder’s bicep. Despite her best efforts to keep them open, her eyes fall shut, her body succumbing to the serenity of their surroundings and the comfort of good company. He offers her his coat, draping it over her shoulders to combat the slight chill. It dwarfs her, the extra fabric at the hem pooling on the ground behind her.

“How about we come here on the weekends?” his voice rumbles, the first words spoken since they left the diner almost half an hour ago.

“Mm?” she hums in question.

He jostles her slightly with his arm, and she forces her eyes open again.

“You know, take the stroller for a spin around the pool,” he says, gesturing ahead of them. “Maybe stop into the Air and Space museum if we feel like it…”

She smiles. She can picture it so easily, the two of them experiencing the wonders of this city through the eyes of their child as she grows. Of course Mulder would want to go to the Air and Space Museum. It’s a wonder he hasn’t dragged her there before.

“Every weekend?” she asks doubtfully, her words slurring slightly.

He wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side as he chuckles.

“No, not every weekend,” he says, pressing a kiss to her hairline. “I’m sure some weekends we’ll want to sleep in. Maybe have a late breakfast and watch movies. I can make pancakes. Chocolate chip.”

“Children need to have healthy breakfasts, Mulder,” she says admonishingly. Something tells her it will be a constant battle to keep Mulder from spoiling their daughter with sugar and empty carbs. But if that’s the worst of their disagreements when it comes to co-parenting, she’ll happily accept the challenge.

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Half blueberry, half chocolate chip,” he concedes. She decides to let it slide for now.

Above them, an airplane soars across the sky, lights blinking rhythmically as it passes overhead.

It’s funny. Before Mulder, she never looked twice at things like that. But now, she finds herself checking a second time, her gaze lingering a little longer, just in case it might be something other than an airplane.

What has this man done to her?

Mulder follows the direction of her stare, his chin tilting upward. Against the backdrop of stars, the perfectly normal, human-built aircraft flies out of sight. The hand on Scully’s shoulder drops to the ground, his palms resting against the stone steps as he reclines back a little.

“Thanks for hanging with me all these years, Scully,” he says softly, his eyes never wavering from the heavens. “I really couldn’t have done it without you.”

Her lips pull back in a smile. “We make a pretty good team, huh?” she says over her shoulder.

His lowers his gaze to meet hers. “I like to think so. You think that will translate to raising a kid?”

She has often wondered that exact thing, but for the life of her now, as she looks into his eyes, she can’t think of even one reason why she questioned it.

She leans back onto his shoulder, her eyes falling shut again.

“Only one way to find out,” she answers sleepily.

He sighs happily. “Any day now.”

-.-.-

What a day. What a night.

Mulder can’t sleep, lying stiffly on his back in bed with his hands clasped on top of his torso. All he can think about is how beautiful she looked in the blinding fluorescent light of the diner, with a bit of ketchup smeared on the corner of her mouth from when she stole one of his fries when she thought he wasn’t looking. How she held his hand, content just to walk in silence beside him in the shadow of some of the nation’s most revered monuments.

What a perfect way to put a cap on their time working on the X-Files together. He couldn’t have planned it better himself (clearly). Who needs expensive wine and stale classical music when you have bottomless milkshakes and a jukebox playing the greatest sock-hop hits of the 1950s?

It wasn’t a real date, he has to remind himself, but it sure was close to one. Usually a first date doesn’t end with both parties going home together, that’s one difference. Or, well, going home to the apartment that they both live in together, he should say. But tonight, as they returned home, they got ready for bed side-by-side at the sink, brushing their teeth and washing their faces, and it felt like they’d been doing this for years. There was no awkwardness there, just a wave of peace and stability he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel in his adult life.

If they ever move somewhere else—somewhere closer to Quantico, maybe—he’ll make sure the bathroom is equipped with a his-and-hers vanity. A sink for each of them, and plenty of counter space for all of Scully’s specialty serums and creams. It’ll be nice, he thinks.

When he finally falls asleep, it’s to visions of wraparound porches and matching rocking chairs, and maybe a nice playset in the backyard with a couple of kids running around. Now that’s a dream worth dreaming of.

-.-.-

This is ridiculous. She should just go back to bed, try one more time to actually fall asleep, get a few hours of rest at least.

But she can’t sleep. Because Mulder had gone and put it in her head that everything is about to change, and it really could happen at any moment. Somehow, when she’s with him, she forgets every apprehension that plagues her, lured into a sense of security and assurance by some mystical power he possesses. Okay, maybe not a mystical power, but it is frightening how easily she casts aside her doubts when he’s within eyesight.

But then it all comes flooding back the moment she’s left to her own thoughts. It’s infuriating. She thought she was ready for it—for this massive life change—but she’s not. It terrifies her.

What if she can’t do it? What if she misses working in the Hoover building with him too much? What if she and Mulder have a disagreement about something trivial and it pulls them apart? What if he meets a nice woman at Quantico and wants out of this arrangement? What if it’s not enough for them to just be friends and raise this baby together? What if her feelings get the best of her, and she scares him away?

Or perhaps worst of all… What if they don’t get to go home with a baby at the end of all this? What if the mother decides to keep it? What then? Would they even have it in their hearts to try again? To wait a little longer, when there are drawers full of onesies and newborn diapers already in their home?

For weeks, the same nightmare has plagued her. Standing in a hospital hallway, their path blocked by people from the adoption agency telling them to turn around. Go home. You do not get a child.

She wakes feeling emptier than ever, and wishes for the millionth time that things could be easier.

There’s so much to think about, and she can’t take it anymore. She’s scared. And there’s only one person she likes to go to when she’s scared, and he’s sleeping peacefully right behind this door.

She sighs, leaning her head up against the door frame in exhaustion. She’ll just poke her head in for a moment. Remind herself that he’s there, and he’s not going anywhere. She repeats the words he’s said to her over and over in her head like a mantra, ways he’s reassured her in the past that he’s in this for the long-haul. But for some reason, they’re hard to recall in these moments of doubt. Maybe she’d misunderstood him. Maybe she’s remembering it wrong, applying more meaning to his words than he’d intended.

Her stomach tosses and turns uncomfortably with nerves. She’ll never be able to sleep like this.

As quietly as possible, she eases the door open, a sliver of light from the hallway piercing its way into his room. He looks warm and soft, the way his face lays slack against the pillow. He’s made himself at home here. His knick knacks line the shelves, unpacked from their boxes after the move and scattered about. As she steps carefully inside, she spots a photo of them that once sat on a shelf in their office. He must have moved it here recently, part of the slow transfer of their lives out of the basement of the Hoover building. She can’t help but notice that it sits beside him on his nightstand, right next to his glasses and whatever book he’s been reading lately.

She lets out a breath, allowing the comfort he unknowingly offers to dull her senses. Just a minute longer, then she’ll go back to her room and give sleeping another shot.

Or she would have, if he hadn’t started to stir, slowly waking from his peaceful slumber. It’s almost like he’d sensed her there, some kind of psychological link that told him when she was near, and in distress. She quickly turns back to the door, hand on the door handle to open it and make her exit before he truly notices her presence, when she hears her name spoken in a confused whisper.

“Scully?”

Her shoulders slump in defeat, and her hand falls away from the doorknob.

“Sorry,” she says, turning to face him sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He props himself up on an elbow, blearily rubbing sleep from his eyes with a fist.

“You okay?” he asks.

Her mouth drops open to reassure him that, yes, she’s fine, but she takes just a second too long to answer, and she knows he sees right through her. It’s not even worth lying to him.

“Come here,” he says, scooting over to make room on the bed beside him. “We can talk, if you want.”

She really shouldn’t, but his offer is tantalizing. She’s too vulnerable to be in this position, right now. Who knows what will slip from her mouth in her exhausted and overwhelmed state? Her feet carry her toward the bed anyway, and she slides into place under the covers, staring blankly up at the ceiling as he settles on his side facing her on his side of the bed.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks knowingly.

She shakes her head, her hair rustling on the pillow.

“Took me a while to get to sleep too,” he admits. “A lot to think about. A lot, a lot.”

At least she’s not alone in this problem, she guesses. She hates feeling like the insecure one in any situation, and that’s how she’s felt more often than not throughout this process so far.

“What’s keeping you up?” he asks, gently urging her to open up.

She tries to shrug, but she knows she’ll have to come up with an answer sooner or later. There’s no reason to hide this from him. Sometimes, he knows her better than she knows herself, and that can be a blessing and a curse.

“I’m going to miss working with you, Mulder,” she says honestly, her lips sealed tight to fight back the slight tremble in them. She can’t stop hearing her own words spoken by the reflecting pool a few years ago. ‘If I quit now, they win.’

She feels a hand land on her upper arm, stroking it comfortingly. Her eyes flutter shut. She can lie to herself all she wants, but this is why she really came in here. There’s a type of comfort only Mulder has ever been able to bestow, and she needs it now more than ever.

“We’ll still be in the same building,” he says appeasingly. “We can get lunch together every day, talk about our classes, complain about the new recruits.”

It’s silly, but his words do help. She imagines sitting across from him in his own private office—probably decorated a lot like their current office is—and munching on a salad while listening to him complain about an essay one of his students turned in. It sounds pleasant. Easy. Maybe he can come help decorate her office too. She’s gotten used to his clutter. She isn’t sure she’d be able to work in the sparsely furnished office space like she’s naturally inclined to.

“And besides– We’ll still see each other here,” he adds. “Every night. And the weekends.”

The thought sends a thrill through her. Sometimes it still feels like a dream, what they’re doing. Giving up the X-Files… that’s a tangible thing. But the baby? She’s still an abstract idea, despite the fact that physical reminders of their plans are scattered throughout her apartment. The picture he’d painted earlier of a relaxing day at home together feels out of reach—like a nice idea that isn’t really attainable. Is she that traumatized from all the disappointment in her life?

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” she asks, her mouth downturned in a frown. “I mean– I know you’ve said before that this is what you want, but I—”

“You’re gonna have to learn to trust me sometime, Scully,” Mulder says, a slight sadness in his voice.

She does. She does trust him—maybe even more than she trusts herself. That’s what the problem is.

“I do,” she says. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just…”

“Freaking out?” he finishes, smiling at her in amusement.

“Just a little,” she says, returning his smile.

He breathes in deeply, his face pensive like it always is when he's mulling over a difficult question.

“I think we’re ready,” he says, projecting confidence into his voice. “I think you’re going to be a rockstar mom, and we’ll wonder why we didn’t do this years ago.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

“But what if—”

He shakes his head, putting a stop to her words immediately. “You gotta stop that, Scully,” he says seriously. “This is going to work out.” His fingers find the dainty necklace she wears, his thumb brushing over the cross. “Have faith,” he implores.

She closes her eyes, letting out a breath, and with it, trying to release some of the fear that keeps her up at night. She wants to do what he asks, to let herself go, but it's not as easy as that. Sometimes she can't help but feel like they're trying to cheat destiny, to force things into going their way when they've been repeatedly told “no” at every turn.

His reassurance does help, though. Wasn't that why she'd come here in the first place?

Mulder settles back, turning his attention back to the ceiling.

“What did you think of the new agents?” she asks after a moment, changing the subject. It’s hard to believe that it was just this morning that they’d interviewed a few of them, hoping to find some trustworthy hands to leave their work to.

“Reyes seems sharp,” Mulder says. “I think her background in folklore and ritualistic abuse is a good starting point.”

“Mm,” Scully hums her agreement. “And what about Doggett? Too staunch of a skeptic for you?”

Mulder chuckles. “He comes highly recommended by the higher ups, so I don’t know,” he says. “It’s always good to have a variety of opinions around, though, don’t you think?”

She turns her head to the left, her eyes meeting his in the darkened room, lit only by what little moonlight comes through the blinds.

“I think… we’ll be okay,” she says then, willing the words to be true as she speaks them. Her assertion brings a smile to his face, and he leans back on the pillow, focusing on the patterns on the ceiling like she had been a moment earlier.

“We will,” he agrees. “For once, I think we’ll be better than okay.”

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @msrafterdark @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

#msr #txf #x files #xf fanfic #mulder and scully #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #of our own making #ooom #msr adoption fic #adoption

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josmoodboard · 2 years

Text

🌙✨ my favorite lyrics from midnights ✨🌙

❝ All they keep asking me is if I'm gonna be your bride. The only kinda girl they see is a one-night or a wife. ❞ — Lavender Haze.

❝ The lips I used to call home. ❞ — Maroon.

❝ I have this thing where I get older, but just never wiser. ❞ — Anti-Hero.

❝ I should not be left to my own devices. They come with prices and vices, I end up in crisis (Tale as old as time). ❞ — Anti-Hero.

❝ I wake up screaming from dreaming one day I'll watch as you're leaving and life will lose all its meaning for the last time. ❞ — Anti-Hero.

❝ You wanting me tonight, feels impossible, but it's comin' down, no sound, it's all around, like snow on the beach. ❞ — Snow on the Beach.

❝ I gave my blood, sweat, and tears for this. I hosted parties and starved my body, like I'd be saved by a perfect kiss. ❞ — You're on your own, kid.

❝ Everything you lose is a step you take. ❞ — You're on your own, kid.

❝ You're on your own, kid. Yeah, you can face this You're on your own, kid. You always have been. ❞ — You're on your own, kid.

❝ He was sunshine. I was midnight rain. ❞ — Midnight Rain.

❝ I don't remember who I was before you painted all my nights a color I have searched for since. ❞ — Question...?

❝ Draw the cat eye sharp enough to kill a man. ❞ — Vigilante Shit.

❝ I don't dress for women. I don't dress for men. Lately I've been dressing for revenge. ❞ — Vigilante Shit.

❝ Putting someone first only works when you're in their top five. ❞ — Bejeweled.

❝ Don't put me in the basement when I want the penthouse of your heart. ❞ — Bejeweled.

❝ You would break your back to make me break a smile. ❞ — Labyrinth.

❝ You know how much I hate that everybody just expects me to bounce back just like that. ❞ — Labyrinth.

❝ Karma's a relaxing thought. Aren't you envious that for you it's not? ❞ — Karma.

❝ Ask me what I learned from all those years. Ask me what I earned from all those tears. Ask me why so many fade but I'm still here ❞ — Karma.

❝ To you I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it ❞ — Sweet Nothing.

❝ You see all the wisest women had to do it this way 'cause we were born to be the pawn in every lover's game. ❞ — Mastermind

❝ No one wanted to play with me as a little kid so I've been scheming like a criminal ever since to make them love me and make it seem effortless. ❞ — Mastermind

❝ So I told you none of it was accidental and the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me. I laid the groundwork and then saw a wide smirk on your face, you knew the entire time. You knew that I'm a mastermind. ❞ — Mastermind

❝ My hand was the one you reached for all throughout the Great War ❞ — The Great War.

❝ And maybe it's the past that's talking screaming from the crypt telling me to punish you for things you never did. ❞ — The Great War.

❝ Did some force take you because I didn't pray? Every single thing to come has turned into ashes. ❞ — Bigger Than The Whole Sky.

❝ Romance is not dead if you keep it just yours. ❞ — Paris

❝ I want to brainwash you into loving me forever. ❞ — Paris

❝ You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love. The slowest way is never loving them enough. ❞ — High Infidelity

❝ I think there's been a glitch. Five seconds later I'm fastening myself to you with a stitch. ❞ — Glitch

❝ And if I was a child, did it matter if you got to wash your hands? ❞ — Would've, Could've, Should've.

❝ And now that I'm grown, I'm scared of ghosts. Memories feel like weapons and now that I know, I wish you'd left me wondering ❞ — Would've, Could've, Should've.

❝ I miss who I used to be. The tomb won't close. ❞ — Would've, Could've, Should've.

❝ I can't let this go. I fight with you in my sleep. The wound won't close. ❞ — Would've, Could've, Should've.

❝ Give me back my girlhood, it was mine first. ❞ — Would've, Could've, Should've.

❝ Burn all the files, desert all your past lives and if you don't recognize yourself that means you did it right. ❞ — Dear Reader.

❝ Never take advice from someone who's falling apart. ❞ — Dear Reader.

❝ Dear reader, bend when you can, snap when you have to. Dear reader, you don't have to answer just 'cause they asked you. ❞ — Dear Reader.

❝ You should find another guiding light, but I shine so bright. ❞ — Dear Reader.

#taylor swift #midnights #taylor swift midnights #midnights lyrics #taylor swift's version #taylor's version

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runelocked · 8 months

Note

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” // @gunactii henry to verse iii will ??

THE WORDS DRAW A BLANK STARE FROM WILLIAM, WHO HAS GROWN ACCUSTOMED TO BLAMING OTHERS FOR HIS MISTAKES. He hadn’t said anything that extraordinary: he’s been careful, since finding himself in the past, not to draw attention to himself. William dotes on his family (and avoids them where he can), treats his friends a little better (and avoids them when he can), and does his best not to fall into the same mistakes as before (while avoiding all memories of the future when he can. There’s a running theme in this new life). Brow furrowing, he stares at Henry nonplussed. “…I need to check the other locations,” he says, slowly, like he’s talking to a child, “we haven’t heard anything from them in days. Aren’t we expecting— those files for the updated Toy Freddy, or—”

…He stops, very abruptly, when he realizes that maybe Toy Freddy doesn’t exist yet. In fact, maybe none of these other locations do, because as he speaks he’s flipping through his file, and none of them appear. Not the names, not the tax information, not the absent scribbled notes reminding him to get maintenance scheduled for them... Ahh. Henry’s blank expression and words make sense now.

So it’s a William - problem, not a Henry - problem like he’d assumed. Still, too late to shut up now: he spins past Henry, brushing next to him while he blusters through the rest of his sentence.

“We should start building another location somewhere!” He ventures. “I think it’s about time, Henry, we’ve— we’ve been discussing it for months.” (Hopefully. They’ve probably spoken about it at least once, haven’t they?) “After all, we’ve got everything under control here. A few minor incidents, but nothing we haven’t dealt with. Don’t you want to expand past the diner? Into something bigger?”

#(( pov you send the world’s most absentminded man back to the past . things go wrong immediately ))#(ii) man behind the slaughter — roleplay thread.#(uiii) kairos: william.#(xox) last man standing: william & henry.#(( time travel YEAH ! ))#a; gunactii

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haeroniel-doliet · 9 months

Text

Bonus content: heres the super speed summary of how I struggled through the dinluke big bang piece I started over 80 days ago! More thoughts and details on my process below to cut

- Overall wanna post this with all the flaws galore for my future self, not at all because I've just left the record function on, forgot about it and now I have this!

- Good reminder that the worst thing is blank paper and just getting something down okay, rough simple lines convey ideas its all good!

- Drawing on an airplane produces questionable results (the first more refined lines, not NEARLY enough references in use)

- Speaking of, never regretted following a reference over trying to improvise. I feel like it always looks better (that smoke is one good example!)

- Redrawing and redrawing sometimes is so worth it, other times you should just let it be and move on (those first trees before the yellow dotting were kinda okay honestly!)

- Less all sorts of different brushes is better, for consistency :')

- Theres many parts I'd forgotten that in hindsight maybe look better than the end result (like overall composition being bigger and with better feeling of space) but choices were made and I gotta choose to be happy with and proud of the completed piece, afterall its better than all the dusty never finished wips.

- Definitely didn't quite follow the big bang deadlines, I'm sorry :') in general I'd consider that greyscale to be 20% sure (proof of idea and a layout figured out!) But hilariously after what I posted for even 80% I went and redid all that work. (Maybe its not actually totally redoing if you're making the same just improved! All the ground work took its own time and I wasn't starting from scratch at all.)

- At the very end it gets abruptly cut off, despite asking the program to leave on the last frame for a bit... Then I remembered the panic I had just yesterday, because the file for these screenshots took up too much disk space and caused Krita to crash, losing all the progress of like good bit of little adjustments and corrections. I guess I never turned the recording back on, so the very final few hours are missing, but thats okay! This is not professional! (Spot the absolutely tiny differences with the final image posted :p)

-Also realizing after many a rewatch, there's been some glitch with it not recording me recolouring the characters entirely!! How sad, but you can see the difference from when they pop up around the time I'm redoing the trees and at 02.53 and when they return all redone at 03.07

- Theres a lot I don't love, theres a lot that could be better if done differently, but I really have to start being okay with being done rather than perfect!

- Really proud of myself for dedicating to doing a more involved and detailed background/scene than i've ever done before digitally. I've pushed beyond my comfort zone of just characters with a hint of a background, it will get better from here!

- Did I need to post this with all sorts of bits missing? No, definitely not, but hopefully someone will find this interesting, and my future self feels that this was helpful!

#Haeroniel draws #art timelapse #art progress #krita timelapse #anyway this is mostly a personal post for future reference and for venting out the struggles I had along the way #but hey maybe someone finds it interesting and thats cool!#kritas suggested settings would've made this timelapse over 30 mins long.... so you're welcome!#I won't even have a guess how many hours this all took #still have to go finish the other pieces oop maybe those timelapses will be better?

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thychesters · 1 year

Note

oooh tell me about op 5+5.5 please!

wip files game

op 5 is the zoro pining fic! 5.5 is 6k that i took out of it last night because it didn't match the rest of the flow, so i might end up posting it as its own fic and imply it's like, a coda to it or something (oh spn days...). "the pine trees fic" because an entire forest would grow before he finally says anything about it. also because he's a little dense.

“So where to next, Captain?” he asks, eyes closed against the sun in bursts of bright orange against the backs of his eyelids. He curls his toes in the water, flexing his feet. Beside him, Luffy hums, making that pleased sound he notices he makes every time he calls him captain.

He trails his fingers lazily against the surface of a small wave cresting against their boat. “Dunno. Should be a lot of fun though! Maybe we’ll find a musician.”

“Or maybe a bigger ship,” Zoro says, rolling his head along the rough wood to find Luffy grinning down at the sea. It isn’t just the size of the ship that’s the problem, though the lack of leg room doesn’t help, but the overall lack of … well, a crew.

Luffy hums again before raising his head to beam at him. It’s a look he gives him a lot. Sometimes he catches himself staring, watching Luffy’s profile as he looks out over the horizon, or his face lax in sleep, and sometimes he catches Luffy staring too.

from 5.5, the part i removed:

“Are we gonna talk about it?” he asks, head bent. He has his bandana tied up higher to keep his hair out of his face. He also calls this the golden hour, says it’s great for drawing, but Zoro doesn’t really see how since it’s such a short window and it’ll be dark soon.

“No,” he says.

Usopp makes a soft ah sound but doesn’t push it beyond that.

#alethiometry #asks #thanks charlotte!#featuring early days of their journey because i know you just started but i don't know how far you got!

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amchara · 2 years

Text

Herondales Don't Fail Ch. 3 - Charm Offensive

Ao3 / 1 / 2 / 3

Kit Herondale, Ty Blackthorn (Kit/Ty), original characters, Blackthorn family members, Emma Carstairs, Ash Morgenstern

Wordcount: 7,317 words (this chapter - 🙈 sorry its a long one folx)

Rating: Mature

Summary: It’s been almost five years since an epic line-up of Shadowhunter heroes and their allies closed all the portals to Hell. Now, demons are scarce and the Nephilim are searching for their purpose in this new world. Centurion Ty Blackthorn has been sent to London to investigate a potential new threat, while Kit Herondale has taken up a post helping to rebuild the London Enclave.

Kit was happy to accept the London Institute’s invitation to assist in the rebuilding of the city’s Enclave. But he didn’t count on being blindsided into joining the competition to become its next head - or being hated by most of its inhabitants who assume he’s only there because of his name.

---

“This stack can go to Christopher,” Roger slid some heavy files across the round table. It was early the next morning and the three candidates and Stormborn had moved into an old drawing room on the second floor of the Institute to start the handing-over process.

“Kit, it’s just Kit,” he said, biting back a yawn. If he was going to do this competition, he was going to do it as much as possible on his own terms. He had already gone to Evelyn’s office first thing that morning, dressed in gear but with his hair braided back and all earrings switched out to studs. He informed her in polite terms he would wear gear during weapons training and patrols but his other clothes were not up for discussion, nor the rest of his look, including his hair. And if she wanted to make a bigger deal of it, they could send a note to the Consul asking if there was actually an official dress code for Shadowhunters.

Kit had suppressed a grin as he watched Evelyn try to think of a response… but in the end she had just waved him out.

If she wanted to make something of his name, he could play that game too- reminding her of his own ties to powerful members of Shadowhunter society. But he had stayed deferential otherwise - he and Ty had discussed long into the night what kind of approach would be best when it came to investigating the Institute. Ty had thought he should play it relatively straight - as he pointed out, Evelyn already had doubts due to Kit’s background and if she wrote him off, that could allow him relatively free rein to investigate. But Kit wasn’t so sure that would fly… so he had adjusted.

Roger paused and corrected himself. “Kit. You can take over correspondence with the Americas Institutes, given you already have ties there.”

“Maybe he should cover a different region. If he’s already familiar with the Heads of US Institutes - it would be good to get different perspectives on Shadowhunter life,” Jacob said, as Kit reached across the table.

“Excellent idea,” Sabina cut in smoothly. “I think it would be good for all three of us to have different regions than we’re used to. In which case, I’ll take Europe and Africa, Dearborn,” she said, nodding at the stack in front of Jacob.

Jacob reluctantly held up his hands on the folders and Sabina tugged them towards her.

There was clearly no love lost between the other two London Shadowhunters, Kit noted, although he also noticed that Jacob’s gaze lingered on Sabina while she studiously avoided his gaze.

Kit didn’t care what region he’d be responsible for in terms of intra-Institute communication - perhaps it would’ve been easier to send Jace updates on official business but also- potentially awkward if it had been intercepted, given the vernacular he and Jace typically used on their correspondence. “Give me whatever region,” Kit said, making sure to inject a bored note into his voice. This was his other plan- as the son of Johnny Rook, who had often played a similar role- he knew an underwhelming presence could lull others into a false sense of security.

Stormborn watched the scene unfold as they all awkwardly swapped around the notes and then he cleared his throat. “I think perhaps we should lay down some general expectations around this competition and your roles,” he said. Sabina and Jacob’s attention snapped to him at the sharper tone entering his voice. “You all have expertise that Evelyn has deemed worthy enough to be considered to lead this Institute. You can prove it by demonstrating said expertise to us in practice, not squabbling like children or by thinking that up-one-manships will do you any good,” he said.

He looked like someone’s affable uncle, Kit thought, with his receding hairline, weak chin and a mouth that looked like it smiled way more than it frowned. But there was also something hiding behind his eyes, and Kit figured one didn’t get to be acting head of the London Institute without a mind for strategy.

Kit bit his lip to hide his amusement. He leant back in his chair as he listened to Roger outline the division of responsibilities for the next few months. Sabina would continue as Institute tutor, but Kit would cover training three mornings of the week, with Jacob taking over the Saturday morning slot. Jacob would scale back on his archivist responsibilities and Kit would take point on Downworld requests, (he winced internally at this, given his and Ty’s off-duty mission the previous evening), while informing the others on any joint missions. And they would all take turns shadowing the daily routines of the Institute, including paperwork. Kit made sure to let out an audible groan at that, which wasn’t just an act. He hated paperwork- having had a taste of it earlier in the summer- when Helen had decided that he could earn some of his keep at the L.A. Institute by helping clear some of her backlog.

Intriguingly, they would rotate ownership of leading external patrols or additional missions associated with the wraith investigation, as directed by the Centurions. Kit wondered if Ty and the other Centurions had already been made aware of this plan.

“What about budgeting and the running of the Institute in terms of costs and how it’s all paid for?” Kit asked near the end of the spiel, watching Roger closely. He didn’t want to lay all his cards on the table with the tithe issue- but leading yet perfectly reasonable questions, that was someplace he could start.

It was the slightest tell and Kit almost wasn’t sure if it had been there but while Roger’s face didn’t betray anything, his hands twitched and he put down his pen to quell them. “That’s mostly under Evelyn’s watch,” he told Kit calmly. “You’ll learn about that side of running the Institute from her, in due course.”

“Of course,” Kit gave him a sunny smile and prepared to settle in for Roger’s tutorial on appropriate intra-Institute communication. But he also stole a covert glance at Sabina, who had responded much more strongly to his question than he expected.

“Sabina-,” Kit hurried after her as she strode down the hallway towards the stairs to the Institute’s training room. “Can I get some time with you later this afternoon?”

She turned, folding her arms. “Pardon?” she asked, impatiently.

“The other Shadowhunters here- I’d like to know your view on how their training has been going,” Kit said. “You know, if I’m supposed to be taking over some of your shifts- I’d like to know what I’m walking into.”

She gave him a long, appraising look. “I’m about to do a warm-up before I head down to teach tumbling to the younger ones in the ballroom,” she said. “Can you chat and fight at the same time?”

“Even better, I can quip while I fight,” Kit told her, turning on the charm. While he wanted Evelyn and Roger to think him young and slightly feckless and not suitable for running an Institute, he planned a different strategy with his two competitors.

She shook her head slightly, unimpressed.

“So, you know how the evacuation of Idris went really quickly after the Cohort took over in 2012?” Sabina asked, as they squared off with some training sabres and went through basic drills.

“Well aware,” Kit said. He corrected himself. “Or- I was kinda in hiding at that point. But aware of the general facts.”

“A lot of them came to London and settled into the Enclave,” Sabina told him. “We had a big influx in the city for a while.”

“But?” Kit asked, as he parried an easy blow from her.

Sabina frowned slightly. “But it’s been hard to maintain manpower- and with Idris restored, over the past four years it’s been a struggle to keep the full numbers that we really need to patrol adequately.”

“The Dark War still has a lot to answer for,” Kit guessed. They finished the first set of drills and Kit drew back, waiting for her next move.

Sabina spun lazily and aimed low towards his feet. Kit knelt to block her, and pressed upwards, forcing her back. He didn’t try any fancy moves this time, more focused on the conversation.

She took a moment to respond, her eyes darting back and forth over his body, mirroring Kit. Both looking for weaknesses. “People leave- it’s an expensive city to live in and Institute life isn’t exactly great for young families. And once Idris re-opened- even in its current state, most went back if they came from there. So… we tend to get people who stay a couple years, then leave for a quieter, less eventful life. Demon attacks are more frequent here, despite the supposed decline and we have our share of Downworlder issues.”

“All big cities do,” Kit pointed out. Sabina narrowed her eyes at him but didn’t comment. “You haven’t mentioned the quality of fighting ability here at the Institute,” Kit said, going back to the original topic at hand. He adjusted his grip, following her form as they returned to some basic blocks.

She pursed her lips. “Most are adequate,” she said. Then, reconsidering, she added: “We lose more than we should- on patrol. Our casualty numbers have been high- not always fatal but higher injuries. I don’t know if it’s the quality of candidates or the-” she faltered. “Or the training. “I’ve increased required attendance sessions because of it,” she said shortly, slightly defensive. “Gone back to basics with most Enclave members.”

She met his eyes. “So,” she said. “I’d start there.” She stepped back as the last basic defense drills were completed. “I’m not going to do your work for you though- you want to be Head, you can make your own assessment,” she said, her voice chilly. She set down her sabre. “I’ll need to go down now,” she said.

Kit nodded his head at her. “Tithe time,” he said, almost under his breath, watching her carefully. She looked back at him confusedly, and Kit stifled a sigh. Whatever Sabina had reacted to in his questions around budgets earlier, it didn’t appear she knew about the tithe issue. But he did add her to the list of potential ominous text message-senders, given what she had just told him.

“Sure,” she said, giving him a tight smile. “See you around, Herondale.”

But she also seemed to dislike him- or at least, resent him for coming in and taking one of the competition spots. Not that he could blame her. So would she have tipped him off?

He debated telling her his deep reluctance to even be taking part in the competition. But he knew it wasn’t the right time- not until he knew more about the Institute and its inhabitants to rule her out as being part of the problem.

When he wasn’t shadowing, training, patrolling or getting his head around paperwork, Kit spent his limited free time the next few days reacquainting himself with the Institute. Despite his occasional visits to London in recent years, he hadn’t spent any time at the Institute properly since his first time with the Blackthorns - mainly because during his last extended time in the city he had been a wanted fugitive. He had been wary in the years afterwards, still preferring to stay with his parents in Devon when he visited the UK, or more recently, at the townhouse.

The London Institute remained as awe-inspiring as ever, its sparse Gothic beauty evident in the echoing halls, beautifully carved lintels and stone-tiled floors. But Kit could also see evidence of wear and tear he hadn’t remembered from before, like cracks in the intricate window panes, moth-eaten tapestries and broken door handles. He remembered Tessa had told him the London Institute had been the wealthiest and largest Institute and Enclave in her and Will’s day. Evidence pointed to that not being the case anymore…

And as Sabina had indicated, the London Enclave was still understaffed, with seven full-time Shadowhunters living at the Institute and a further three families who lived outside, alongside the Centurion office in the city, which helped to bolster patrol numbers. He had meant to ask Evelyn about the Institute’s finances but each time she had stuffed their meetings full to the brim with protocol and instructions, and with the other two candidates around, Kit didn’t want to tip them off yet.

It was quiet in another way too, in a way that had him feeling increasingly uneasy. He hadn’t seen any ghosts - or one ghost in particular - and he had been looking for her, given she might have some of the answers he was seeking.

“Jessamine?” he finally resorted to calling out cautiously, in several rooms. Unfortunately, that strategy backfired.

“Are you trying to talk to the local Institute ghost?” an amused Scottish voice came from the high-backed armchair by the fireplace. Kit rocked back on his heels as Jacob rose, his finger in a thick tome.

“I had heard the Herondale family had a talent for ghost-whispering,” he said, a small smile playing on his face.

“It’s true,” Kit said reluctantly. He didn’t volunteer more information even though he knew he should be friendlier with Jacob, make him trust Kit.

But he was still making up his mind on Jacob Dearborn. On one hand, despite Roger’s lecture, Kit suspected Jacob of still trying to sabotage him in smaller, subtler ways. A fire message sent by Jacob for a summons with Evelyn had arrived five minutes after the meeting was supposed to begin. His temporary room (which he was mainly using to store his gear and weapons), assigned by Jacob, was in the furthest reaches of the Institute’s maze of hallways, meaning he always seemed to miss the first few minutes of training sessions. And when he had asked for any notes on Downworlders in London, given his new role, Jacob had simply evaded. Kit was left trying to piece together a picture of the London Downworld through dusty filing cabinets and yellowing pages of handwritten notes, ahead of his planned meetings the following week.

On the other hand - and perhaps this was because Kit had other Dearborn interactions to compare with - Jacob didn’t seem to share the abhorrent views expressed by others of his family, as far as Kit had noticed. A low bar, sure- but Jacob did at least clear it.

“Hmm?” Kit realised Jacob had said something else to him.

“Are you trying to contact the Institute ghost, Jessamine Lovelace?” Jacob had come around to stand in front of him, looking down his long, aquiline nose.

“That’s right- have you seen or spoken with her recently?” Given his archivist position, Kit wasn’t surprised Jacob knew about Jessamine.

“No,” Jacob admitted, surprisingly glum in his manner. “She is surprisingly skittish- but even more so recently. I thought I had been making headway- we had an old chalkboard and she had been communicating through that, confirming facts I’ve found in the archives. But she’s stopped responding in recent months.”

“How long ago?” Kit asked, intrigued. “Have you tried setting it up in different places?” He remembered a long ago night spent on the steps of the Institute and Jessamine’s surprisingly good company.

“Of course!” Jacob seemed personally affronted by the question. “This isn’t my first time communing with undead spirits.”

Kit hid his amusement. “No, of course,” he said gravely. “It’s just that I wonder if she’s passed on?”

“I hope not,” Jacob said, and then hastily added. “Not that she canna… but last time we spoke she was in the middle of confirming the guest list for the annual Christmas party for the prewar years and seemed very keen on it. I think that was about- five months ago? Four months perhaps…” He eyed Kit and for once didn’t seem to be considering him as a rival. “If you see her, could you tell her I’m willing to go and purchase more of those American Girl dolls for her?”

“Because buying creepy dolls for ghosts is always the best plan…” Kit retorted but he revised it when Jacob looked confused at his initial sarcastic answer. “Uh huh, sure- no problem,” he answered. He started to back up slowly, out of the drawing room. “Anyway, given I can’t find her- I’m going to head to the library to research instead.”

“Understandable- we have the best library in Europe, including many rare and unique primary sources. What were you hoping to learn more about?” Jacob said, a touch pompously. But having seen the library - Kit could forgive him a little for that.

This was the first time Jacob had spoken more than a few polite words to him and opened up and Kit decided to press his advantage for more information. “Faerie lore,” he said casually. “Recent interactions with the Institute… and any faerie traditions associated with it- geas, tithes, you know that lot. Particularly if I’m going to reach out to the Courts and free Fae of London and represent the Institute.”

Jacob looked disconcerted. “I would’ve thought with your heritage, you’d be better versed in that than most Shadowhunters,” he said, his voice slightly stiff. Kit couldn’t tell if the look on Jacob’s handsome face meant he knew about the tithe or not.

“I only know one side-” Kit said, watching him carefully. “I’d like to understand the Nephilim view- and I thought Jessamine might be helpful, if she’s seen Fae representatives visit over the years.”

Jacob drew himself up. “I could help with that-” he said, not meeting Kit’s eyes. “Given our schedules and the size of the library, it would take you a while to find anything useful. I can weed out the unimportant chaff.”

Kit smiled. “That would be incredibly helpful- thanks Jacob.” And if it ended up being completely irrelevant information- that might also tell him something… like Jacob trying to throw him off onto the wrong trail, he thought.

“Mm,” Jacob said noncommittally. “And in return- if you do see Jessamine - or any local ghosts- I’d like to attend any conversations you have with them. You could be an incredible resource to my research.”

“It’s a deal,” Kit said immediately.

He resisted the urge to whistle as he walked down the hall after exiting. Another lead out- and depending on what Jacob turned up, it could help him figure out if Maryam’s comments were related to the rot within the Institute.

Kit could feel his chest heaving as he dodged another slow-moving tourist group. Ahead of him, Ade spared a quick glance back but didn’t slow his pace, his legs pumping effortlessly. Kit looked up as the shadow of the giant ferris wheel came into view on the river bank, thanking whatever deity was listening that their run was nearing its end.

Their route was around five miles but Ade had set a punishing pace from the start. Beginning at his flat just behind Whitechapel station, they ran along narrow graffitied streets around Aldgate, down modern roads buttressing remains of Roman walls, across Tower Bridge, to the bustling market areas around London Bridge and Southwark and to the increasingly tourist-crowded Southbank. Finally they rounded the curve of the Thames by the London Eye, directly across the river from Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament.

Kit wasn’t sure if the unreasonable speed was retribution from his and Ty’s vampire intervention or just Ade running to get his frustrations out. Kit was paranoid it was the former. Ade had been short when Kit had met up with him outside his flat’s door, muttering about a rough couple of shifts, and shaking his head when Kit asked if he wanted to talk about it. They had stretched in silence before setting off.

Kit could also feel some tendrils of guilt continue sitting uncomfortably in his stomach, and he resolved to talk about the situation with Ade. He’d been so busy at the Institute he hadn’t had time to do more than arrange to meet up with his friend on the weekend, picking up their college habit of going on runs together, before they planned to meet up with their other friend Ellie for lunch. Ty was already at Blackthorn Hall for the day, with Kit joining him and the rest of the Blackthorns later on.

Ade finally started to slow in the park just behind the Eye. He threw himself down onto a grassy knoll. Kit jogged up, sweat streaming down his neck. He gestured the universal sign of ‘water’ to Ade, who nodded as he took out his earbuds. “You want something to eat too?” Kit asked, remembering their years in Devon when they used to go and gorge themselves at the local Wetherspoons after runs. He pointed to a nearby ice cream van.

Ade shook his head, sweat flying off. “Nah, bruv- can’t handle the sweet shit after a run. Literally,” he said, a brief grin emerging. He nodded towards a taco van parked beside it. “But get me some of those pork tacos and it’ll be grand.”

When Kit returned, he could see Ade staring intently at his phone. “All good?” he asked, and Ade shut it off quickly. “Yeah, yeah.” he said, the faint frown disappearing.

Kit sat down across from his friend, breathing in the muggy air. It was set to be another scorcher of a late summer day and even mid-morning, he could feel the humidity rising. “I don’t remember London being this hot,” he complained, pulling at his damp t-shirt.

“Global warming, innit,” Ade said, shrugging.

They ate their food in silence until Kit couldn’t stand it anymore. “Look- about Wednesday night. I’m sorry, man. I know Ty and I didn’t handle it the right way.”

Ade stared straight ahead, intently chewing. He took a moment before he answered. “No, you didn’t,” he said quietly. “Why not just tell me, instead of ambushing me and Maryam?”

Kit took a moment to answer. “I guess we could have. But you have to understand- Maryam might be okay… but not all vampires are. And you had magic around you that’s often used to keep mundanes docile and forgetful. Apparently she did it to try and protect you… but if she had had ill intentions, it was better to catch it in action.”

“Okay but… you both knew about the magic from when? When you met me the night Ty got hurt?” Ade demanded. He shook his head.

Kit shifted uncomfortably. “The morning after- Ty spotted it,” he confessed. “But we didn’t want to freak you out.”

Ade scrunched up his face. “That’s messed up, mate, you get that right? I should have a right to know if I’m being fucked up by magic.”

“Yeah. Sorry-”

But Ade wasn’t finished. He turned to look at Kit. “But you know what’s even more messed up- is how you treated Maryam,” he said firmly. “You need to apologise to her.”

Kit immediately opened his mouth to protest and he shut it again at the hard, closed off look on Ade’s face. He thought back to that evening. “Yeah, I suppose we went in too hard.”

“You went in like coppers- you know, assuming the worst of her.”

“I know, I know. The thing is… we kind of are,” Kit said slowly, feeling guilty. He remembered his initial revulsion around being told he was a Shadowhunter; he had grown up in the Market where it was anathema to have anything to do with them. When had the lines gotten so blurred for him that he didn’t immediately remember those facts?

“Shadowhunters have a policing role in what we do. More so in Ty’s role but I have to do it too sometimes.” But then he thought about the times he had seen Lily or Maia or Mark march into Clary and Jace’s office in New York and the joint missions that had been run with the Council. And how in contrast he hadn’t yet met any non-Shadowhunters in London so far at the Institute, other than at the initial wraith briefing. His meetings in the upcoming weeks with London’s Downworld might be more challenging than he originally anticipated, he realised.

“I thought you were like- demon hunters,” Ade asked, with a slightly confused look. “You know, with your cool lightsaber swords and all that.” He waved his arm in demonstration. “Hold on- are demons also misunderstood? Thought you said they’re evil?”

“Demons are evil - pretty much solely concentrated on eating your face or demanding your soul for eternity,” Kit reassured him. “But Downworlders- vampires, werewolves, warlocks, faeries etc. aren’t as easy to classify into all good or bad, no matter how much some Shadowhunters want that distinction. But uh- It’s kinda what Nephilim were created to be. The protectors of humans- mundanes- from any evil creatures that go bump in the night. Not that we’re all good either.”

He sighed. “Believe me, when I found out I was one, after growing up thinking I just had the Sight, I also thought the worst- thought they threw their weight around and were bullies. But as I got to know them, it became more nuanced than that.” Kit cut off his rambling, looking over to his friend.

“Hmm,” Ade made a non-commital noise.

Kit ducked his head, knowing how it sounded. He thought about the mundane news that he made a point of trying to keep up with regularly. “Look, I do get where you’re coming from. I’ll make it right with Maryam- apologise to her. I promise.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ade nod, but he didn’t say anything.

Kit worried a patch of grass near his sneaker as the silence between them stretched out. “Are we- are we okay, man?”

Ade took a long sip of his water. He nudged Kit with his foot. “You mean- am I calling you out. ACAB shit and refusing to have anything to do with you going forward?”

Kit squirmed at Ade’s accurate insight into his state of mind. He nodded, without saying anything further.

Ade sighed. “We’ve been friends for what- seven years now? I know you as Kit. Not as Shadowhunter recruit number seventeen or whatever.” He crumpled the rest of his food wrapper and tossed it like a basketball into a nearby bin. “Look- I have no problem calling you out if it’s needed, if I see you being a bigoted piece of shit, yeah? But let’s not make it more complicated than that right now. All right?”

“Totally fair.” Kit nodded, feeling relieved. “What about Ty?”

Ade huffed. “Same deal, okay? Also you’re not getting rid of me- nah, it’s not that easy. Especially as I’m apparently about to see more weird shit, thanks to my friendship with you,” he said, a wry look crossing his face.

“I am also sorry about that-” Kit groaned. “I never thought-”

Ade shoved him playfully. “Okay okay, even I’m getting bored now with the apologies and self-recrimination,” he said. “At least now I’ll be able to see those invisible things you and Ellie were always talking about…”

“Ellie is going to have opinions, for sure,” Kit said, beginning to smile.

“When does she not?” Ade laughed.

“I am so sorry-” Ellie covered her mouth. “I know I shouldn’t laugh but oh my god. Ade Olawale, the most down to earth, unruffled-” she cackled. “You’re about to get a rude awakening, if you haven’t already.”

Ade’s eyes widened across the small booth they had squeezed into, in an equally tiny Thai restaurant tucked behind Waterloo Station.

Kit tried to manage expectations. “I mean- it’s not going to be as bad as that...”

“True,” Ellie said, wiping her eyes. “I’m exaggerating- gotta love the drama. And you’re at least aware of what’s happening- for me, I just thought I had a really good imagination as a kid. ‘Though I did worry I was going crazy when I started seeing more and more glimpses of the Shadow World. Not helped by someone initially telling me I was imagining stuff…” She reached over to poke at Kit in the chest, exasperatedly.

Kit held his hands up in a mea culpa signal. “I was just trying to protect you both, remember?” They all fell silent as they remembered the last few incidents before Kit disappeared from Devon, driven away by the danger around him being the First Heir.

Ade broke the silence. “Well- we’re all in the club now, so initiate me,” he said.

Kit remembered the stories Simon had told him about recruitment of mundane Sighted teens, and his own experiences growing up in L.A. He outlined some quick pointers. “So… once you know not to eat or drink Faerie food, and you stay clear of spells- you just get used to just accepting that yeah- the local dude running the corner shop late shift is a ghoul, or those local bikers are actually werewolves…” Kit trailed off. He didn’t want to freak his friend out too much and he figured Ade’s practical nature would keep him away from the darker areas of the Shadow World.

A visibly worried Ade frowned. “Right. And will they notice me more now?”

“No. Unless you stick your nose into their business. Just ignore it and walk on if you spot something weird and you’ll be fine,” Ellie replied, almost dismissively.

“Is that what you’re doing now, Ellie?” Kit asked, curious. Ellie had left the Shadowhunter Academy a few months before her Ascension ceremony, after her mum had been diagnosed with cancer. But that had been a few years ago- her mum had died since, and Ellie was back attending a mundane university in north London. “I know it must be hard- having been part of the Shadow World for a few years and then going back to mundane life.” He had tried it for a while himself, post-saving the world. And realised that for better or worse- his life was intertwined with Shadowhunters and the Downworld.

Ellie gave him an arch look, beneath her smudged black eyeliner. “Oh don’t give me that,” she said, almost peevishly. “I’ve coped. But if you want to know- I’ve left it all behind. I’m on my uni course and if I see any strange Downworld things, I just pretend I don’t.”

“Doesn’t exactly sound the healthiest,” Ade muttered. Kit was inclined to agree. But Ellie had a look of mulish disagreement that Kit didn’t want to say much more. He tried to be diplomatic.

“Okay but If you ever want to like- visit a Shadow Market or something, for old times sake, Ty and I would be happy to meet up with you there,” Kit told her, trying to bridge whatever gap was making her cold with him. He wasn’t sure what he’d done- they’d been fine when they had met up to go clubbing earlier in the week.

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Oh so magnanimous,” she said. “I might not have gone all the way into becoming a Shadowhunter but I don’t need you baby-sitting me.”

Kit felt stung by Ellie’s response. “That’s not what I meant, El.”

“You can protect me,” Ade said, sensing the tension between Ellie and Kit. He grinned. “Despite Kit’s pointers, I still have practically no idea how this works- you can be my guide.”

“Me as well as this mysterious vampire-” Ellie said, brightening up. A brief look crossed her face that Kit wasn’t sure about, but she appeared to be allowing herself to be distracted. “Vampires are also soooo on trend,” she wiggled her eyebrows beneath her mauve fringe. “Not surprised that’s what dragged you fully into the Shadow World.” She looked mischievous. “If you need it, we got the ‘safe blood-donation’ talk from Luke at the Academy- I might have my notes around somewhere to share.”

Ade rubbed the back of his head, slightly embarrassed. “We’re just friends,” he said. But he allowed himself to be pulled into describing Maryam, as Ellie dragged the details out of him, while Kit relaxed in the corner of the booth. He and Ellie answered Ade’s remaining questions and he was feeling better about the whole affair by the time they finished their meal.

As they were leaving Ellie pulled him aside. “Sorry for being snippy back there,” she said, her blue eyes bright in the sunshine. “But rather than me rehashing old haunts- how about you and Ty come a bit further into the mundane? Come to dinner at my house, and you can meet Ollie.”

Wanting to get back into Ellie’s good graces and also being curious about her new boyfriend- who she had said very little about so far, Kit quickly agreed.

“DIE, demon spawn,” Dru hissed across the board, throwing down her hand of cards.

Ash raised one white-blond eyebrow. “Ouch, my petal of loveliness,” he said mildly.

“Bit on the nose for Ash in terms of insults, isn’t it Dru?” Kit said, grinning. Dru stuck her tongue out at him.

Passing by with another huge carton of maple syrup, Julian peered down. “Game heating up?” he asked with interest.

“He sent the robber around to steal the wheat,” Ty informed him, shuffling a couple of cards in his hand as he spoke. “Thereby denying Dru what she needed to build her longest road.” Even as he spoke, Ty’s eyes were focused on the board, shifting around constantly.

Hearing the explanation, Emma shook her head from her perch at the long birch island in the centre of the room. “I’m so glad I didn’t agree to play. You all are vicious.”

“Settlers is a great game- we’ll get you involved next time, Em,,” Dru said loftily even as she threw another filthy glance at Ash. “Should’ve left you to rot in that troll’s cage when I first found you in Faerie.”

“Love you too, my knight,” Ash replied with a smile, reaching out to grab her hand and kiss the back of it. Dru finally cracked, smiling but still shaking her head.

“Food will be ready in ten,” Julian told them, the smell of bacon and pancakes permeating in the air of Blackthorn Hall’s massive kitchen.

Kit’s stomach was rumbling, and he played the last few minutes of the game half-heartedly. Ty won handily with Dru coming in second.

Outside, it was rapidly getting dark, late on the Friday evening as they sat down to food and there was little chat while they ate. It was a smaller group than typical at Blackthorn Hall but as it was Tavvy’s week back at school, he, Aline and Helen hadn’t made the journey out to London. And Mark and Cristina and Kieran were all settled into their New York loft, nesting with their newborn baby, Malena, born only a few weeks before.

“Oof, I can’t fit any more in,” Emma said finally, pushing back her plate. She poked her belly, which protruded heavily over her skinny jeans. “Barney and Jezebel appreciated it though.”

Julian winced. “I swear you’re coming up with even worse name combos the closer we get,” he said, half-resignedly, half amused.

“You guys still planning to stay in Idris for the birth?” Dru asked.

“I know some crackin’ faerie midwives,” Ash mentioned. “I was apparently a terrible birth for my mom but they helped a lot with it. If you want, I can make the introduction.”

“Er- as much as I appreciate the offer-we’ll either be here or Idris,” Emma said diplomatically, and Kit wondered if she was amused or horrified at being recommended the same birth plan as the Seelie Queen.

He noticed Ty’s unhappy look at the chat and Kit reached out underneath the table, letting his hand rest gently on Ty’s knee, stroking. Ty’s hand came to rest on top, and he gave a quick grateful glance to Kit. He knew Ty didn’t want to talk about it but the fact that Emma was expecting twins brought up tough memories around Livvy.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kit could see Julian watching them, also in tune with the mood of all his family members and he steered the conversation away to a different topic- letting Emma talk about her work with the new Academy curriculum. Then Dru updated them on her latest quests in Faerie, in contrast to Ash, who was charming but as ever, his flowery language told them limited information as to what was happening in Faerie, and its rebuilding.

Finally they came around to Kit and Ty’s first week in London and between them, they gave a quick summary of what had occurred.

There was silence as the table digested the news about the apparent issues at the London Institute.

“Just my luck, getting a dud Institute,” Kit laughed nervously, watching Julian’s reaction. “And before you ask- no, I don’t want to be Head, and it’s likely they just invited me to join because of tradition.”

Julian didn’t reply for a few long seconds, his green-blue eyes dark in the kitchen’s shadowy, homely lighting. Kit snuck a glance over to Ty.

Ty cleared his throat. “We’re looking into it, Jules.” It wasn’t phrased as a question and Ty seemed unshakeable in his belief that they could handle it themselves, as if announcing it to the Inquisitor - albeit also his brother - was a fait accompli. “But do you have any advice while we do so?”

Julian let out a long sigh. “I am assuming you’re basically asking permission to conduct this investigation?” he asked.

“We can… hand it over to your office instead?” Kit offered carefully.

Julian shook his head, and he gave a rueful look over to Ty. “No- and I’m sure as Ty already knows, we don’t have the resources to deal with it, given what we’re currently dealing with...” He didn’t elaborate.

Ty shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “So let us handle it.”

“You mean Kit will handle it. You already have a lot on your plate with the wraiths,” Julian said sharply, and Emma looked up at his tone, her brown eyes worried. “I’ve read the reports.” And Kit wondered at Julian’s reach as Inquisitor and whether he had somehow found out about Ty’s injuries and his and Kit’s late night dash to a mundane hospital to deal with them.

“There’s a whole team of Centurions with me on the case,” Ty reassured him. “And yes- Kit’s taking the lead with any Institute issue but I’ll be there to assist him.”

“Kit can handle a 90 year old woman and a sick man,” Ash said, supportively.

Dru frowned. “That’s awfully dismissive,” she told him.

“It wasn’t meant to be,” Ash said, looking confused. “Elderly women are some of the wiliest adversaries and those who are ill often have nothing to lose…” Not for the first time, despite them being the same age, Kit was reminded of the wide chasm of his and his cousin’s experiences. But then he remembered his history with Mother Hawthorn, not to mention his recent interactions with Evelyn and he was inclined to agree with Ash’s assessment.

“We don’t know for sure it’s coming from Evelyn and Roger or whether it’s elsewhere in the Institute,” Kit replied.

Julian looked over at Kit. “Whoever or whatever it is- find the evidence of corruption or misconduct and send it to my office. And then wait for instruction,” he told Kit. “Don’t put yourself in danger.”

Kit nodded, feeling relieved. So, officially slash unofficially, they had the support of the Clave, if they needed it.

Later on, as the Blackthorn siblings and Emma settled down to competitively watch the Great British Bake-off, Kit drew Ash aside and asked about tithes and a possible connection to the Institute. “No Seelie or Unseelie Court member would pay a tithe out to a Nephilim Institute,” Ash told him. “Not since the Cold Peace ended.” His green eyes were shrewd as he looked Kit up and down. “But I don’t know about the Free Folk- you’ve always had more connections there.”

Kit sighed. “Mostly in New York and L.A.,” he said. “I have to make a trip to the London Shadow Market this week to see if I can find some similar connections.”

“You will, brother,” Ash said. He looked down at Kit’s hand, the voyance rune gleaming blackly against Kit’s pale skin. Ash smiled and held out his own, similar-inked hand - the only permanent Shadowhunter rune he wore - and turned it palm upwards.

His body language indicated he was waiting for Kit. “I haven’t practiced,” Kit warned even as he mirrored Ash’s position.

“I don’t care,” Ash told him, some of the authority of the Seelie realm seeping through in his voice. A tendril of greenish-white light floated up from the centre, and tentatively moved towards his own open palm.

Kit grit his teeth, letting the light caress up and around the lines of his hand and he took a deep breath, attempting to wake up a long dormant - and potentially dead power. Slowly, Kit could feel something float up from deep within and trickle down his arm. He willed it to manifest.

For the briefest moment, he thought he saw a flash of golden light dancing with Ash’s own magic and then it faded and the other faerie magic was too much, burning Kit in its intensity.

He withdrew his hand with a hiss, watching as the skin blistered.

Across the room, he saw Ty look up suddenly from his conversation with Dru and Kit hid his hand. Ash looked stricken, and a stele appeared in his hand. “It’s improving,” he said, covering Kit from view even as he swiftly drew an iratze on Kit’s forearm.

“Maybe,” Kit felt exhausted, as if he had gone for a ten mile run, or just come in from a long night patrol. “I’ll keep trying.”

“We should do more next time you’re in Faerie,” Ash said, his face contemplative. “I think we’re close.” As always, there was a faint note of guilt in his words as he attempted to help Kit regain his Fae power.

Kit nodded and pushed past him without response, going to join Ty on the sofa.

“What were you and Ash talking about?” Ty asked quietly, as Emma and Dru shouted and Julian leaned forward anxiously over some kind of 3D cookie tower being constructed on the TV.

“Tithe business,” Kit told him, reaching out to twine his hands in Ty’s, ensuring his newly drawn iratze was covered by his sleeve. “He doesn’t think that it’s connected to Seelie or Unseelie Courts.” He didn’t mention the aborted magic attempt- it was something that he and Ash had only just started the last time Kit was in Faerie. He didn’t want Ty to worry about something that was likely to be a dead end- especially given everything else on their plate at the moment.

If - and it was a big if, he managed to jumpstart his magic again, then he’d let Ty know, Kit figured.

Ty was watching him, his mouth pursed slightly and Kit wondered if he’d seen the magic attempt- and he opened his mouth, about to explain when Ty suddenly looked past him. “That doesn’t even look like Big Ben,” he complained, and Kit looked over to see more cookie sculptures on screen. “No, but I’d still eat it,” Kit said. Emma heard and grinned at him.

Ty smiled too. As the credits rolled, he turned his attention back to business. “It’s okay that it’s a dead end with Ash,” he said, his grey eyes serious. “The interviews we conduct this week with key Downworld contacts might shed light on it instead.”

Kit nodded. “Yeah.. about that,” he said. “I have a feeling it might be more challenging than we think…”

Taglist: @dontmindmyshadowhunting @sandersgrey @of-same-steel-and-temper @thomastaircompassrose @thechangeling @mferraz @kestrafagnor @gabtapia @alldagayships @blindbandit1515 @silvermagnolias @chaotic-halfblood-kit @fighting-god-69 @lifeofbrybooks @all-this-panic-still-no-disco @heloisacosta23 @kitheronthorn @idk-i-just-really-like-tsc @t0wergirl @immortal-enemies @ahumanbeingtryingherbest @chewriting @bookishjules

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#tsc fanfiction #kit herondale #ty blackthorn #kit x ty #the wicked powers #post canon #established relationship #casefile #mystery stories #the dark artifices #secrets of blackthorn hall #my fanfic #tsc: london files #alicantenet

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yasyaryzhik · 2 years

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For this assignment, I chose to photoshop two photographs. One that I found while researching my photographer - Steve McCurry.

In this photo, people are fishing for their livelihood. They use particular devices: structures made of sticks and even longer sticks to hunt. They stand on these structures to walk to the depth. The photo conveys an entire atmosphere.

The photo's setting is recognizable, and the time is daylight, around midday. I found a photo of a massive tsunami. This wave is unusual, as it goes in a circle and leaves an empty island in the center. That's where I decided to photoshop people. Thus, the meaning of the photo has changed. Now people are fishing without seeing the impending tsunami. They might not survive, or maybe they will. Nobody is sure of what will occur to them next. However, it is clear from the picture that they are present-oriented. This image serves as a reminder of how to live. You can't foretell what will happen next, so it would be better to look to the future, exercise caution, and live in the moment. I also included a man who was photographing everything while distantly observing a fisherman. The third perspective is represented by this man, who also increases the image's realism. People will always watch your life through social media or being physically present. It may also imply that others are making fun of what you are doing, but you can interpret it in any way you like.

In terms of composition, I used elements of art to create an image; colour, space, line, texture, and value. Furthermore, I constructed my image using the principles of art; balance, contrast, movement, and unity.

To photoshop, I used my Ipad and the program "ProCreate." It is also more convenient to work in digital media. It saves you time, and you have more material to work with, giving you an enormous field to work on. First, I created a new file and inserted the tsunami photo. Then, I inserted Steve McCurry's shot into the different layers. Then, using the eraser brush, I carefully removed the background, leaving only people's figures and their sticks. Unfortunately, it turned out people were too massive and had not fit into the whole idea and picture. So I make them smaller, using the distort tool. Next, I made some objects bigger and some smaller. Then, I added more colours to the new photo. Next step, I chose to photoshop the man to the bottom left corner. The picture was cropped, so I needed to draw him hair and a new hand. That's what I did using a "0.5 calligraphic" brush. Then, I photoshopped the phone with the photo to create the effect that he is doing that photo.

I used the contrast of blue, white and sand yellow colours as these colours show calm and peace (contrast and colour). White represents life and hope. I left the background (lack of negative space) to add to the difference and juxtapose the focal point (fishermen). A man taking a picture also adds balance (balance and space). Asymmetry Balance illustrates the visual weight of an image - man on the left and fishermen on the right sight. I used a lot of lines to make a cross shape to create a rhythm. The spaces, correlations, and differences between subjects (waves and fishermen) in my image reflect the rhythm. It also gives a sense of vibrancy and life to an image. I try to cultivate a sense of unity using similar colours and elements. To understand the movement, the viewer should look from the bottom (fishermen) up to the tsunami and at the end to the bottom left corner, where the man is taking a picture. After that, the viewer should observe the whole picture.

In conclusion, I liked I like how my image turned out. However, I was a bit scared that it would not look realistic and would not convey a message and explain the difference from the original photo concept. What I like about my poster is that it gives you euphoria for a moment and grabs your attention. It creates lasting appeal for viewers and myself. I stared at my image continuously to look at the details. Speaking of the parties, that is the part I wanted to change if I did this work again. I could have added more details related to the plot to the image. It would have created a longer-lasting appeal and made people stare at my photo for more than one minute.

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basslinegrave · 2 years

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answers for the prev reblog (artist ask) because it looks fun

1. Art programs you have but don't use

💚 clip studio, i used it like 3 times in total because its not really for my win7 so its too buggy for me to use right now

2. Is it easier to draw someone facing left or right (or forward even)

💚 facing left for me

3. What ideas come from when you were little

💚 probably anything to do with bugs or dinos

4. Fav character/subject that's a bitch to draw

💚 certain clothes like tech wear and shoes but i still love it

5. Estimate of how much of your art you post online vs. the art you keep for yourself

💚 i post a solid 95%

6. Anything that might inspire you subconsciously (i.e. this horse wasn't supposed to look like the Last Unicorn but I see it)

💚 for human art its dmmd and bleach, at times pswg

7. A medium of art you don't work in but appreciate

💚 anything i dont do goes, animation, comics, sculpting (3d as well),...

8. What's an old project idea that you've lost interest in

💚 anything to do with 3d stuff, im not good with that (i could still learn though)

9. What are your file name conventions

💚 hfhshdhshhdh.png or the rare 0827464.png

10. Favorite piece of clothing to draw

💚 shoes? and tops like tees or hoodies.. but i also like drawing jeans, thanks to gorillaz

11. Do you listen to anything while drawing? If so, what

💚 anything im in the mood for, music, podcasts, true crime stuff, ... lately its yass stuff (like slay. bad bitch vibes. idont know how else to describe this music ✌️), nightcore, hyperpop and abba. yeah

12. Easiest part of body to draw

💚 is there one? ...ears? ik those are hard for some ppl but thats the thing i do in 3 seconds

13. A creator who you admire but whose work isn't your thing

💚 kinda beats the purpose for me or i just cant think of anyone here...

14. Any favorite motifs

💚 dunno if this is motifs, but first thing that pops up in my mind is wuxia theme... or funky angles, also anything y2k inspired

15. *Where* do you draw (don't drop your ip address this just means do you doodle at a park or smth)

💚 my bedroom pc 99%

16. Something you are good at but don't really have fun doing

💚 rn most furry anthro art? as i prefer doing sonic style anthros but i still like doing it its just connected to only work now for me. so i think that affects it as well cuz work = no fun

17. Do you eat/drink when drawing? if so, what

💚 rarely now, it taught me to only use one hand while drawing which i hate, cuz i rather click the undo button than go ctrl z. its either popcorn or fruit or nacho chips

18. An estimate of how much art supplies you've broken

💚 my main thing is digital But i have broken several promarkers on purpose to dye some stuff with the ink especially cosplay wigs etc

19. Favorite inanimate objects to draw (food, nature, etc.)

💚 hmm aside from clothes maybe nature background (if i can keep it messy) like shrubs, clouds. but i prefer characters. and hate anything geometrical

20. Something everyone else finds hard to draw but you enjoy

💚 probably hands and aforementioned (human) ears are easier for me

21. Art styles nothing like your own but you like anyways

💚 theres so many i cant even name, but to choose one, anything overly retro cartoony and like don bluth style... i would love to draw like that but i would have to rewire my brain

22. What physical exercises do you do before drawing, if any

💚 i should stretch but i rarely do :( sometimes i do wrist exercises

23. Do you use different layer modes

💚 if it means like like overlays and stuff, yes, i use those and shadow+light for shading bigger pieces, sometimes lumi if needed

24. Do your references include stock images

💚 if im lost on the idea then yes.. or i use my own reflection/shitty webcam photos, you know (but senshistock has a place in my heart)

25. Something your art has been compared to that you were NOT inspired by

💚 definitelly happened but i cant remember

26. What's a piece that got a wildly different interpretation from what you intended

💚 uhh if its meant from others, then one picture i drew of murdoc and noodle. meant to be harmles father daughter fun. but. people online are gross creeps and you can imagine what they said :/

27. Do you warm up before getting to the good stuff? If so, what is it you draw to warm up with

💚 i cant warm up as i will spend hours on the warmup and waste time and energy i could put into the main thing (and most of the time i end up liking the warmup more)

28. Any art events you have participated in the past (like zines)

💚 some collabs ages ago.. i would love to do more but people never bite when i ask around

29. Media you love, but doesn't inspire you artistically

💚 cant think of anything, i usually get inspired by everything, even if just a little

30. What piece of yours do you think is underrated

💚 many of my commission works but, as long as the customer loves it, its enough

#long post #answers #thoughts are being thunk

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ronearoundblindly · 2 years

Text

The Book of Steve Rogers (1 of 2)

Summary: You’re a writer, too, but Steve has never pushed for you to share. It’s nerve-wracking as all hell, but you’re gonna show him. You’ve *got* to show him what you’ve been working on now. It’s time.

(This is gonna be split between two posts because I wasn't expecting a few very small ideas to weave together into 5k+, but this half is basically all lovey fluff before a tooouch of smooooot in the next.)

[For @whiskeytangofoxtrot555--you deserve.]

Your hands are so clammy they stick to the pages still warm from the printer. The manuscript is sloppily bound; you didn’t feel this warranted a fancy seal. It could all go in the bin at any moment. If Steve for one tiny second doesn’t seem to approve, it’s game over. You’ll delete the whole file and burn all the copies…although currently, this is the only hard copy on the planet.

Gosh, you need to find a better phrase since you are now set to marry into an intergalactic band of heroes.

Only hard copy in existence. There. That’s more accurate.

You’ve chosen the day you and Steve officially move in together, into a new, bigger apartment on AvIn campus, to hopefully take some of the pressure off of this moment, this…present. Steve’s so over-the-moon about your new space—since you now have an extra bedroom that is the agreed ‘studio’ space for you both—plus a second bathroom and its own laundry. He’s gone off on several little shpeels about hating that someone else washes all of his clothes. Dry-cleaning and the tact suits, he understands, but his boxers? Steve doesn’t like handing that task off. It’s always made him uncomfortable. It makes him feel high and mighty. It makes him feel like Tony, though he’ll never be caught dead admitting that. So your fiance self-corrects to the point of hauling his own army duffel down to the laundry and chats up some staff while he uses a machine for himself whenever he possibly can. Once or twice he even brought his laundry over to your apartment, your old apartment now, to hang out with you during the cycles. It took a lot of effort to convince the man you’re gonna marry that he should maybe let you wash both of your things together when he isn’t around to do it himself.

Logic was a mighty weapon that day, but from Steve’s face, hell likely froze over in the process. He’s a stubborn git when he wants to be, and you love it. He loves you because you won’t let him be a stubborn git for too long. He gets to throw his ‘back in my day’ tantrum. He’s heard…and then you immediately offer him the logical option which was your choice in the first place. Everyone’s happy. When it doesn’t really matter, you let Steve win. Compromise is the name of the game.

You even compromised on what you consider is not pulling your weight when it comes to moving. Steve insisted he carry all the boxes himself, two by two, across the entire compound. His logic: it will be about the equivalent of his dozens of mile runs or the hours-long training he does regularly. It’s not as big of a deal as you’re making it out to be. He kissed your forehead as a warning. This was just one of those things he wasn’t going to budge on. You weren’t ever going to win this argument.

And so you took the time to print out this and hope for the best. Two hundred and seventy-eight pages weigh a fuckton, say nothing of the weight of their meaning. Your palms are sweating full-stop now.

Since your desk had to be driven from your off-campus apartment to the compound, it was one of the first things moved in. You set the beast of pulp down with a thud, leaving it to rest and cool off—or maybe just you need to rest and cool down—because Steve’s not back from his latest pickup from downstairs. Shame, but oh well, you’ll do it later.

The manuscript fits in the second drawer. You even put it face down, so it looks just like a stack of paper, not even Steve’s good drawing paper. He has no reason to look or to want it. It’s only going to be until you next see him, which might be seconds away. That thought makes your stomach swirl harshly.

Now to grab some lunch. He’ll be so proud you remembered to feed yourself without his prodding, especially because you aren’t sitting at work with a whole group of people who walk out to do just that every day. Compromise and growth. It’s a beautiful thing.

* * *

“D’ya’know, one of the perks of billionaire life is paying someone to do this for you,” Tony drawls with a click of his tongue slapped on the end for good measure. He doesn’t help, of course; he just leans against the door frame.

“Yeah, well, I’m not a billionaire, Tony.” Steve lifts the third-to-last box of books and papers (plus one surprise), the heaviest by far because you efficiently stuffed it full, a Tetris of bricks. Good thing he’s a super-soldier, or you would’ve had to unpack it and carry the same contents in four smaller bins.

“You and the misses are so cheap,” Stark chides.

Steve doesn’t even correct him. Tony has offered so many bad ideas for the wedding that Steve needs a single day without giving him ammunition. “We aren’t cheap. We’re thrifty. It’s a good quality to have. Maybe you could even try it sometime.”

“Ew—“ Tony wrinkles his nose as if he too saw what the empty fridge looked like this morning “—why.”

Steve snorts and pushes past the loving idiot in his way.

“When’s the housewarming party?” Tony calls after him.

If Steve could roll his eyes hard enough to shake the ground beneath Stark’s feet, he would, but alas, that kind of power eludes him. You two are only moving to a different floor, one with larger (and thus fewer) residentially suites. Instead of Steve’s original and perfectly adequate one-bedroom apartment, you’ll have three rooms and two and a half baths. You and Steve agree that it’s a bit excessive, even though you’ve been giddily chatting on how to use all the space several nights in a row, legs tangled together in bed as Steve called dibs on the smallest room to use as a studio.

You’d crossed your arms in a huff of fake irritation, shoving your naked breasts together in a ploy to distract him (in the dark because you know he can see that and it will get you what you want). “Fine, but then the other is an office or work storage. And that includes—“ you emphasized your point with a finger to his chest “—your suit, shield, and weapons. I don’t want them in the closet anymore.”

“Hmm,” Steve acted perplexed, using his Cap voice for a minute, “what if I say ‘no?’”

You cocked an eyebrow and shimmied your feet behind his calves. “That’s the hill you wanna die on?”

“No.“ He leaned forward and pushed your arm out of the way, hand sliding over your ribcage so his thumb could caress the soft swell of you. It’s his favorite. “But you’re very cute when you’re annoyed.”

“Oh, welcome, Captain Critical to my bedroom,” you teased.

“Our bedroom.” Steve’s arm wrapped around your back to pull you closer. He’d kissed you with a smile on his lips because he knows it makes you giggle. “Must be true love if I move the suits for ya, huh?”

Steve fondly recalls all of this while he waits for the elevator. These books are actually heavy enough that he doesn’t take the stairs.

You had then playfully smacked his arm.

“No, Sketch. Separate bathrooms is true love.”

He just smiled wider, hugged you a little closer, and ticked his nose up to nuzzle at your neck.

“That’s the saying, huh? Separate bathrooms make the heart grow fonder?”

He would have laughed if he weren’t thoroughly distracted by the pulse of your heartbeat against his lips. Suddenly, you didn’t have any more quips for him either.

The elevator dings, and there you are, smiling brightly as you see it’s him.

“I’m gonna get us some food. You’ve earned it, big buy,” you say with a wink, but Steve hears a nervous edge to it. Maybe you’re still concerned with how heavy the boxes are or how many trips back and forth he’s been taking, but since he’s almost finished before lunchtime, he doesn’t see the big deal.

So all he replies with is “sounds good.”

It does sound good. It sounds perfect because you’ll be out for a bit and he’s got that surprise to hang in the new place. Since he knows he can grab it now, he hurriedly drops off the heavy box and races to the stairs. He saved the surprise for last, but two boxes ahead of schedule will do just fine.

Only one other thing, he wants to write a little note, but everything is packed away. There might be paper floating around in your desk still. He’ll take a look when he gets back up.

* * *

It takes way longer than it should to drive out and pick up Indian. There’s traffic, a line, a substitution they needed to make when something suddenly ran out, but it’s fine. You are nowhere near as put out as the staff rushing around the packed restaurant (and you got a refill on mango lassi, so you can’t complain).

You ask Friday to swing open the door since your hands are full. It still smells like new apartment when you step in, and you passingly wonder if your first meal will christen the whole place with a homey aroma. If that’s the case, your mouth is going to water every time you come home, an impulse Steve will wildly approve of since it’s just another reminder he won’t have to give.

Steve isn’t visible from the entrance or the kitchen. You put the food on the counter and check to see if anything will need heating a little more before digging in, and then you see it.

A long rectangle wrapped in brown paper sits across the coffee table. It’s not a shape you recognize as one of the paintings you packed from downstairs, but it sits with the taped side up. Maybe Tony dropped it off? He loves to collect art. Well, Pepper loves to collect art, and Tony loves to own art.

Your finger slices beneath a corner fold. Steve’s not really one for surprises—another reason you’re so worried about your little project—so he won’t mind if he’s not here for an unveiling of a gift. Where is he anyway? Only one of the huge book boxes is there sitting by the door, so he might still be—

Oh my god.

It’s…it’s…

It’s you. The whole thing is you, or you two rather. Nearly two feet tall and one foot wide, it’s a close-up of your favorite photo of you and Steve.

But this isn’t a photo. Steve has drawn you in painstaking detail, with vivid colors, and soft edges. His arms are wrapped around you from behind as he curls forward to kiss your cheek. Your head is lifted with a huge, toothy smile, open and laughing. Natasha took the original. You and Steve don’t really remember to take photos much, and there was one time, just one time, you joked that “it’s no big deal, he can sketch us anyway” in front of everyone. You’ve never seen him draw you, but you don’t ask because he wants things private until he shares them, like everything about you two and your relationship so far.

But oh my god. You loved the original photo. You didn’t care that you didn’t have makeup on or that you wore one of his oversized sweaters. You didn’t care that your flesh rolled just a smidge between his tight arms across your middle. You didn’t care that your hair looked a bit lost because it was pulled back and out of frame. That was the photo.

This. This is you and Steve absolutely perfect. The tone of your hair is noticeably portrayed in a style you love, your skin is flawless, and he’s changed the sweater he wears to your favorite color. He hasn’t made it hyper-realistic. He didn’t simply copy over what he saw in the photograph. He interpreted what you adored about it with a few added bonuses. You look amazing. You look joyous. Most importantly, he’s captured how in love he looks by your side, enveloping you, feeding your body his heat on that brisk cold day.

You can feel that heat in your cheeks now.

“Steve,” you call out, unable to take your eyes off the art. His art. It’s already framed and everything. It’s like he knew you would want it up right here in the living room. “Steve!”

It’s odd he’d take so long to come back up—shit.

On your way to the door, you see him. He’s leaning on your desk because there’s no chair. You’ve ordered a new one, and it hasn’t arrived yet. In his hands, Steve is flipping through a document about three hundred pages thick. Your brain can’t even make up any option but the worst.

He found it. He found it with no explanation, no lead-in, no excuse.

“Sweetheart,” you huff in a rush to get over and take it back before too much damage is done. It’s not as perfect as his drawing of you; you know now that it’s not ready. Your sinuses seize and threaten to flood your vision while you beg to have it back, but Steve just holds out a long arm and easily keeps you at bay while he continues to read…

…about himself, about his life.

You’re not even sure what gibberish comes out of your mouth before he finally lifts a crystal clear gaze to you.

“What is this?”

“It’s nothing. It’s stupid. Please just put it down. I promise I’ll get rid of it if you—“

“Keeps, what is this?”

“Um, it’s,” and then you mumble a bit. His stern look tells you to try again. “It’s a…biography. Kinda. I wrote down every story you’ve ever told me. And then I…put in commentary about why it’s all important. How it all—“ a shaky breath ravages your tense system “—made you the man you are today.”

“Honey,” Steve starts with an inscrutable tone. You’re not sure what’s coming but your mind is on fire. “When did you start this?”

You giggle nervously, afraid to admit the truth, but he’ll know. Steve Rogers will know if you lie to him.

“The day…” you say quietly, “the same day you…when I sat on your couch for the first time. The day my hand was injured, again, well, the second time. I wrote down little descriptions of how you looked sketching, real you, not Captain you. I didn’t know what I’d do with it, but I knew even then that most people don’t get to see that. It just…snowballed from there.”

From where his finger sits in the stack, Steve’s already forty to fifty pages in. How long has he been in here? Jeez! He looks down at the manuscript and then back out toward the hall. He runs a broad hand over his face.

“So like a year,” he questions.

You nod and bite your lip.

“Dang, I—“ The sharp, slapping thud of paper on your desk startles you until you’re pulled into a huge hug. “I only spent three weeks on the picture.”

“Heh,” you cry-laugh. Your shoulders kick up to your ears even under the weight of Steve’s arms. “I’m an over-achiever.”

Now it’s his turn to laugh, but he’s more focused on tucking his arms beneath yours to lift you up. Your hands slide across his shoulders and bury your fingers in his hair. Steve hums between chuckles. You can feel his smile through your shirt at your collarbone.

His words are muffled in the fabric. “What’s it called?”

You quickly sweep away a few recklessly shedding tears and gasp in relief. “Ah, well, the working title—the one I’m leaning toward—is The Son of Joseph and Sarah.”

Steve stops laughing. He grips you tighter for a long moment.

It’s bright daylight. You both are fully clothed in a nearly furniture-less room. You aren’t even eye-to-eye, but neither of you has ever been so exposed to the other. From early on, Steve said he struggled to find the lines to capture you. You replied by saying you wanted the words to describe him. You’re both here now, at the finish line of your separate lives, at the start of your lives together, and you’ve done it: you’ve learned one another enough to show what you’ve seen. It’s beautiful. It’s flawed. It’s a long, long time in the making. It involves so many people and experiences you weren’t around for, but you understand.

You let Steve hold you as long as he wants, and after what feels like an eternity (which isn’t enough), he untucks his face and sniffs the air.

“Oh, wow, that smells good. I’m starving.”

You’d completely forgotten again. Good thing he’s around to remind you.

[Next Part]

I can't handle how sweet Steve would be in a relationship, guys. Like this literally haunts me at night--his cuteness, his support. Just dying, but really happy about it? Ugh, ok, happy Thursday everyone! Dignity get's updated tomorrow...

@im-a-slut-for-fluff

Ope! Almost forgot there's a masterlist.

#steve rogers fic #steve x reader #fluff and feels #fools rush in #steve rogers #fluff and romance #steve x you #fanfic #series #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x reader #eventual smut

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helloblobbyblobfish · 2 years

Text

My writing masterpost

I am reblogging so many things, I had comments about doing a masterposts allowing people to find my writing more easily. Sorry.😓

A bit unsure how to sort the many different things I wrote, the posts will probably be updated not only with new stories but also get re-organized.

SFW FOR SURE

BH6

Big romance 2: abandonned oc x tadashi story. Should At least clean it. My first story. God it is full of faults. T.T

DC comics

The bat and the pencil: A batman x the eraser fanfic where Lenny gave amnesia to bruce. One chapter up on Tumblr. In need of transportation from A03.

Chapter 1

Blooming red: An AU where Jason Todd’s a meta with powers similar to Ivy’s. Chapters can go individually from crack to pure angst.

Jason the wannabe flower-boy: At first, Jason didn’t want to know what his powers were.

Jason the sprout: Jason doesn’t quite grasp his new powers and suffers a traumatic encounter

A plant boy in space: Much later down the line, Dick gets Jason admitted on the JLA.

A snake in the nest: Attempt at Timber. Mixed together with my love with obscure characters to make a story where Danny Temple comes asking Tim for help to keep Kobra in check, and Bernard needs to really learn about his boyfriend’s secret life.

Tron

Life with Tronzler the cat: Sam is out of the grid, and now has a weirdly behaving program as an unwanted guest. Wait, is he acting like a feline?

Linked Universe

E.E.F.K (Edy!Eldritch!Knigk!Four) : Me showing all my weird Four headcannons in one story.

Chapter 1 The fall: Sky and Four fall into a underground labyrinth. Four has a way of lighting up the path, but...

Chapter 2: Incoming! Being Written! Wind and Four talk magic! Fire!Earth! Water! WIND!: Wind is bored and decides to train his magic. Four joins him.

Original work (Mostly hypno-stuff, horror is starting to show up.)

Safety in coils : About a Naga who decides to study humans and becomes sort of an unintentional dad for some kids.

Safety in coils: The diary of the naga as he meet those kids, and especially abused Noah.

Obliviousness is contagious and my dad is a safety hazard: A day in the life of Noah

Chapter three who needs to be tweaked! Not a priority ion my work list. :( (Edit: that’s done. Should post it soon)

Lovely melody: Inspired by a somnefarious drawing on Twitter, a French teen get a romance with a merman.

The testament of Henry Branson: A young man learned he is one of the heirs to his great-uncle fortune. He and his more direct family go to the deceased’s mansion, and conflicts arises over the heritage. While everyone is out for themselves, strange deaths start to occur. Need to put latter chapters that are already written on Tumblr.

Welcome to Branson Manor! We hope you won’t stay: Meet the players!

Sins of the father: After the reading of the will, the family starts to rip itself apart immediately. Maybe they should notice the disparitions a little more...

Matai : A Salmoan sorcerer build himself a family. (Might go into the hornies later.)

Chapter 1: Fetu Lanuola “welcomes” Ace West into his household

THE HORNIES (not necessarily NSFW, just me trying to be sure you don’t get anything trying to be kinky 🙈 . Mostly original, but I started a supernatural fic)

Captions: Plenty of hypnosis-themed little (and slightly bigger) stories. Link towards the tag, or else they would be taking too much place.😮‍💨. Amongst the most notable series or individual captions around, we have:

Special hearing : A hard of hearing teen uses audio subliminals messages to get his revenge on his bullies. one caption for now, working on a second.

The champ : A teen uses a voice-based mind control to take control of the family of a rival after he is kicked off the team for being gay. 3 stories uploaded, I think a fourth is somewhere on my files...

The perfect wedding: A most beautiful and totally normal laos wedding, we swear! Might get a sequel if i have an idea. Someone had asked if there would be a sequel, back when that story was new... A one-shot for now.

The Hello series: Mostly a thing in my head, with only one caption published. A man with powerful brainwashing pheromones goes around turning people to his point of view

Phone haze: A teen discover his brother put a mind-control app on his phone and goes on a rampage. I should be able to find the second caption somewhere in my docs.😐

A Mediterranean date: While waiting for his date, Eracle is accosted by a strange guy

Thank you: A jock tries to interrupt a DnD (actually Call of Ctulhu) session a frat brother is having. Bad plan.

Coming Out Party: written for pride month 2022. A mysterious strange has an effect on the people he meets on the way to a pride parade.

The Full-blown series

A ghost of a memory: Series I really should remember exist. One chapter isn’t a lot. 🙈 A migrant mourning his dead boyfriend learn the boyfriend is kicking around as a ghost, possessing the clients of the hotel they work/used to work at.

The clock : Collab with @mathhypnostories about a boy finding a old watch with hypnotic powers! Four chapters for now!

Sasquatch and candies: Supernatural fic, post-series, Sabriel focus. Sam meets Gabriel, who has survived (again), and is planning on using a strange artifact to make Sam his.

Chapter 1: Gabriel uses a hunt to attract his love. originally a one-shot.

I dream of angel: Waking up after a dream he can’t remember, Sam get himself in a zombie apocalypse. Strange visitors come to the near-by hospital.

Do flesh drones dream of roboticlight toys? (Place-holder name. Basically, hypno/mind-control/brainwash one-shot about sciences that I headcanon as being set in the same-verse)

Shoppy’Slave: A man shops for his first slave.

The leather pet doctor: A new pet needs to be examined to figure out what kind of animal he is.

#my writing

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oh-for-fic-sake · 3 years

Text

Their Alright... For A Boomer

Masterlist

Summary: Being a girl with a larger chest always got you attention, maybe having your nipples pierced to try and fell more confident handt been the best idea, but how can you regret it when your latest client; the sexy Mr Cavill was ogling them but could this end up being more then just that one time you were eyed by a hot celebrity?

Warnings: Suggestive, No Smut, Fluffy? Cute and funny, Swearing

A/N: this was a request from @fanficlover91 i hope you like this hun, i tried to keep it hot but sweet and respectful? Which was a struggle but i hope i got the vibe you wanted. And as always i hope you all enjoy.

Taglist: In Reblogs.

You blushed as you looked down the lense at your model. He smirked sweeping his eyes over you non to subtly. You could feel the blues penetrating you with a hot stare. The was the distinctive fast clicks on you camera snapping a burst of shots managing to capture his smirking face and eyes sweeping over your form appreciatively.

You stood tall and smiled pulling away double checking the shoots. You bit your lip. Fucking hell this was both the best and worst job you had. Henry Cavill was the most enticing male you'd ever had the pleasure to photograph. He didn't even have a good side, every side was good! There wasn't an unflattering angle on the man!

"And that's a wrap? I think we have everything we need Mr Cavill" you said professionally making to move away from him and begin to swap sd cards and label them before packing away. Henry gawfed and rose quickly panicked almost.

"I- err no! Wait I was... Well hoping that I could have some more done?" he said chaseing you across the small studio you could hear his agent Leah scoff from the side lines. You frowned and looked to her nervously. The woman had been watching and tutting, scoffing and clicking her tongue through the whole session. It actually made you nervous, wasn't she pleased with the shoot? You were worried, being freelance this was your first time doing a celebrity shoot for a magazine but the usual photographer was in hospital having a stroke a few days prior and you were the only free photographer in the agency that was close enough to take the job. Sure you wasn't well known but still it was a little disheartening to have someone seemingly unimpressed with your work.

But it was when you eyed her you saw she wasn't giving you the evil eye. Her frown was directed at henry, a scolding look you'd give a misbehaving child. You frowned a little puzzled, but shook it off in favour of looking to Henry. Your actual client.

"More? I... I? Thought the piece only needed a few to choose from? They were very ah... How do I put it? Thorough? With the brief" you explained hoping Leah would step in and clarify just what was going on. Because you didn't have a clue.

"I yes but- I'd love to top up my portfolio? You know? I err yeah have a few changes going on and... I mean a few greys and such... Just want to update it a tad... I'll pay obviously- I'd pay anything for more time please?" he pleaded watching you closely eyes wide and bright full of hope.

"I... Err" you shifted swapping your camera from one hand to the other and craned your head around the man trying to spy his agent. But you had no hope of peeking around this gargantuan man. Just like with the camera he demanded your full attention.

"And for Instagram and stuff! There's only so much I can do in a selfie... I'd even recommend you- advertise your work!" he quickly added sounding desperate now. It would help you out if you did have a few shots of him for in your own catalogue. It shouldn't matter but having a celeb under your belt was actually a good thing. It meant you'd acted professionally and been good to work with.

"I suppose so, I do have a few extra sd's here... Tell you what I'll do another shoot for you as long as I can pick a few to put in my portfolio? Then we both update our files?" you nodded to him speaking slowly. He grinned and relaxed nodding quickly pleased with himself for wrangling more shots. You'd never know he was just glad to has more time with you.

"Oh yes absolutly! That's fine here should we get started now or?" he asked biting his lip trying not to stare at you for too long. But it was hard you were fucking stunning!

"Oh yeah sure iv got time, let me just sort these out and set up, need to switch, you've tired my poor camera" you said with a grin trying to ignore the man as he beamed at you looking excited nodding enthusiastically. You backed up and spun around trying not to blush as you felt henry gazing openly at you.

"Right well if the magazine ones are done I will be off then" Leah called packing up her bag with a small chuckle to herself. You froze and spun quickly seeing her seemingly abandoning you with Henry.

"Wha- oh you don't have to you can stay-" you tried to reason unsure why, I mean who wouldn't want to be alone with this huge glorious man? Maybe you just didn't trust yourself with him? He had been 'making love' to the camera all afternoon. Smouldering bedroom eyes that was making it hard to focus. You had been getting hot under the collar all day as you kidded yourself he was eyeing you, not the camera or would be readers.

It didn't help that you had caught him oogling your breasts earlier. But you wasn't mad, it was your own fault. It was the Hight of summer and you had on a string vest with a thin bra, that you could clearly see your nipple bars through. You didn't feel uncomfortable or anything, you didn't blame Henry for looking. You cant exactly ignore your tits.. The were pretty large for your frame. You were curvy but they were as one ex put it 'exceptional'. And besides he had looked not touched and he hadn't been a creep about it. In fact he had done a double take and then blushed when he realised he had been caught looking. But as you said you get that with big boobs, you'd had it your entire life, it was actually one of the reasons you'd got them pierced. It helped with your confidence and you convince yourself that they were looking at the bars. Not you per say.

"Okay aunt Leah I will see you in a few days." henry interrupted you quickly smiling practically ushering the woman out the door. He moved fast ever picking the womans phone and juice bottle to help her leave quicker.

"Yes, behave Henry I'll see you soon" she said with a giggle before calling a thank you and goodbye over her shoulder at you. You swallowed nervously and gave a quick bye as the door clicked behind her and you were left alone with Henry. The man groaned stretching as he spun around a huge grin on his face, making your knees tremble a little. Fuck.

Henry came over and watched you closely as you scribbled the name and date along with the publication name on the sd case label. You tried not to notice as he hovered biting his lip then took off the blazer and threw it on the table beside you drawing your attention as he did grunting a little. The v neck letting the smallest amount of soft looking chest fuzz that had been teasing you all day. He grinned slyly as he caught you eyeing him and crossed his arms over his chest flexing for your benefit. You gasped and quickly looked back to the camera in your hands inserting a new scarf into the new fully charges camera.

"Soo how do you like this kind of work?" henry said casually trying not to seem like a creeper but god damnit he couldn't stop eyeing you. If he had known how sexy you'd be he would have demanded to be doing a bloody swim wear shoot!

"You mean people?" you stuttered trying not to look him in the eye. Not that it helped because the rest of him was just as fucking sexy! You quivered all over desperately trying to remember how to breath, yet didn't want to draw in too deep a breath and make your tits bounce for him and look like a slut. There was a very fine line for a big busted girl, to much wobble will make you look like your trying to get attention.

"I mean celebrities, magazines we were told you mainly do private shoots for events and model portfolios" he offered leaning forward as he leant back on the desk next to you hooking one ankle behind the other. The way he stood placed his crotch in your line of sight as you looked down and worked on setting up the camera. You flushed. Oh god he looked er... Bigger then you'd thought earlier, not that you were looking but... Well you couldn't help notice the package! The man was a fucking serial man spreader! And that thing was huge! With the muscles he was packing he could probably bench press you with his crotch!

"Oh well its different... And you sir popped my celebrity cherry" you froze on the spot as you said that, it had meant to be an ice breaker, a joke but instead had sounded fucking creepy!. You snapped up to him making to apologize as your face flamed mortified but he had thrown his head back laughing. The deep rumble sent chilled down your spine.

"Well I'm honoured to have popped your cherry~" he teased placing a hand over his heart with a cheeky grin making you blush and nod then turned to him with the new camera all set up.

"Soo where do we start?" you said moving on quickly looking up at him trying to forget the whole cherry comment.

"Where ever you want me, i will let you take the reigns command me as you will" he chuckled standing tall once more and looked about the room casually to the various small set ups, different furniture, seats sofas and mini tables dotting the space.

"I... Okay then you said Instagram? How about we start with some facials-FACE SHOTS! Face. Shots. Not facials fuck. Shit" you quickly tried repairing the damage whist cursing yourself wanting nothing more then to be swallowed up by the floor.

"No, no love facials sounded perfect~" he said winking before gliding past you making you stutter and almost choke on your breath. Oh good lord this was a bad idea. You followed as he sat down on a sturdy sofa and looked head on at you and bit his lip once again watching you with a sultry look.

And that was the beginning. You followed him about taking various snaps whislt having small talk. He seemed to be very flirtatious as he spoke, dropping lines and compliments as he made eyes at you. You flushed each time clamming up at his suggestive comments. And rightly or wrongly you flirted back trying to seem cool and suave. But inside you were fangirling unable to belive you were here with this incredibly gorgeous man teasing one another. On a few occasions he even growled as you scampered about him, crouching and taking shots from blow getting some delicious angles that dampened your knickers. Then in between all this he managed to get little tied bits. You'd told him you were on agency freelance and were trying to get into the social media platform as it seemed easier in this day and age rather then to be in fashion photography. You wanted to be commercial not private but no one would really take a chance anymore.

Then you suggested a few shots on the sofa laying back trying to think of something different for your portfolio, maybe a body length shot. He was quick to agree and dived onto the sofa saying he had an idea you swallowed nodding not fully trusting the look in his eyes. But that was forgotten as he relaxed stretching out over the sofa legs crossed and resting on the arm of his hands behind his head and a devilish smirk looking down the lenght of his body. You knelt at his feet trying to get a flattering image of him looking down but cursed as the camera wasn't playing ball. The lense was focusing, this was why you used the other one first, the camera had a few issues and was temperamental.

"What's wrong?" he asked frowning a little at you as you growled pulling the camera away fro your face and began trying to manually focus the lense.

"Oh its.. It wont focus.. It does this sometime, really need to throw it out but.. She was my first I'm sentimental" you said feeling silly as you battled with the camera.

"We all are with our firsts... How about you come closer instead, I really want to see this shot, never done one at this angle.. Out of all my shoots your the first to suggest this~" you froze and looked to him but he just smiled impishly at you. Slowly you rounded the sofa and leant over him positioning the camera at his stomach as he looked right into the lense giving you a definite bedroom eyes, half lidded and burning. Both dreamy and amazingly sexy. It was as if he could see you beyond the lense, as if it wasn't even there!

"You can come closer love, I wont bite, not if you don't want me to~" his voice was low and teasing, luring you in like a siren. You trembled and moved along him but he tutted and moved a hand to your hip and pressed, coaxing you onto the sofa and sat you on him making you straddle him. You gasped squeazing your camera tighter as he moved you easily, warm palms holding you both delicatly and firmly. You could see in his eyes he was weary unsure if he had gone to far but you squeezed him between your thighs and relaxed making him grin up at you getting the message you didn't mind at all. You aimed the lense at him once more and got the shots you wanted.

"Perfect! Mr Cavill" you said actually a little sad that this session was over. It had been nice playing this little cat and mouse game with him. But all good things come to an end.

"Ah now i have a policy love, when a womans on top they can call me henry, among other things~" he said smoothly laughing as you chuckled nervously fiddling with the camera in your hands and shifted over him a little.

"I will try to remember that for next time boomer~" you teased managing to overcome your nerves as you pulled away the camera with a giggle winking at him as he stuttered. For a second you thought you'd gone too far but a quirk to his lips made you relax once more.

"That hurt, that was hurtful" he teased pouting not releasing you from his lap, instead holding you tighter, fingers digging into your sides making you gasp and bit your lip as he pulled you to his crotch and ground into you teasingly.

"I'm so sorry~" you uttered breathless trying to keep yourself together. But this man was something else, like a drug- the devil all fanged smiles and smooth words. God you were fucked, you knew this man could do anything to you and youd thank him for it~

"I doubt that" he cooed and slid his hand higher growing more and more confident. The last few hours of casual flirting had built up his appitite. There was no misconceptions, you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

"Oh yeah?" you said coyly tipping your head to him playing along willing for this to happen, whether it be a one of fuck or something longer. You didnt have any complaints~ this was your body and youd enjoy it with who ever you wanted to!

"Yeah prove it!" he hissed and moved quickly sitting up and swinging around planting his feet on the floor. You yelped as he moved surprizingly fast and managed to keep you in his lap now face to face with you eyes roaming your face settling on your lips.

"And how should i do that" you teased tilting your head skimming your lips with his as you spoke. He groaned and held you tighter making you whine breathlessly willing this to happen. You wanted him and you wont deny yourself the chance.

"Make and old mans day" he said plainly and leant back resting on the back of the sofa, you watched him closely and brought your hands to his shoulders prodding at the neck of the t shirt and drew your fingers down slowly feeling him shiver at the light skimming fingertips.

"Oh really Boomer? And how would i make and old mans day?" you teased once more making him grunt but he quickly caught himself as your fingers smoothed over the teasing curls that peeked over his top. You scratched over them lightly with your nails making him draw a needy breath and chuckled at him. He was sexy and cute~

"By accepting a job offer?" he said before smileing smugly as you paused and frowned. Had you missed something? Was he after a freebee?

"Job offer? Really another shoot?" you snorted suddenly not feeling sexy, more like he was trying to butter you up for some fuck for parts shoots or something. He sighed and began speaking before you could get yourself all twisted. But then again you could have taken his offer wrong.

"Manage my social media. I have many companies and brands reach out to me for endorsements. They want me caught wearing their brands. But I'm to busy most of the time I cant make it to the locations they want. It actually doesn't seem worth it most of the time, with cost of flights and time lost travelling to and from studios itd be easier if I had my own personal photographer that travelled with me its be easy, slip on the clothes and what not take a few snaps and then you touch them up and post them on my social media." he explained watching as it sunk in that he wasnt trying to pull a fast one. Well he was but not trying to fuck you over... Just fuck you... And keep you because you were fantastic and he wants nothing more then to have you around hime as much as possible. In the single dat he had spent working with you, you had enchanted him, not only were you sexy but you were good at your job and easy to work with but also funny and cute and he needed to get to know you.

"Of course its a very big venture and we'd have to have a few dinner and lunch dates to work out all the nitty gritty" he added after a few beats of silence trying to make it clear he was interested... Very interested~ it worked as you fluched and a playfull look donned your face your fingers began stoking his chest hair once more. He relaxed shuddering under the nails as they teased his curls.

"Is this a big ploy to get a date Boomer?" you purred his new nick name making him groan when you squeezed him between your thick thighs once more grinding on him and the considerable bulge below you that twitched.

"No... Maybe is it working?" he said quickly hissing at you shifted in his lap once more, his hands snapping to your hips trying to still you before he came undone in his boxers. You were a very dangerous woman and something told him you knew.

"Well it sounds like an offer I'd be very, very interested in taking further~" you clarified giggling when he swallowed dryly and eyed you surprized that his plan had seemed to work.

"Good to hear~ so got anything planned after this?" he asked feeling a wave of confidence at the prospect of snagging a date with you. He hadn't meant to sound so eager but... He was eager and that was that.

"Yes" you said with a straight face and got up off of him spinning around heading to the table with your camera bags. You gave him a glance and giggled seeing him still sitting there gobsmacked legs wide open and his crotch that was now definitely bigger then it had been earlier.

"O-oh" he stuttered seemingly unsure how to proceed. You giggled as he fumbled over his words. Then decided to grant him some mercy and began speaking whilst popping out the sd card from the camera labeling it like the previous one.

"You see I had a very cheeky client today who asked for a shoot last mineut. But I wasn't to bothered he was very very sexy even if he was a boomer, but get this out of nowhere gave me a job offer? And we're having dinner- he promised pizza~" you giggled glancing at Henry as he slumped in the seat realising halfway through that you were talking about him. He smoothed his hands over his face and jumped up coming over to you shaking his head.

"You know I'm not actually a boomer?" he quipped folding his arms. You rolled your eyes at him as you packed your stuff away making sure to recheck everything.

"Have you seen your selfies? Your a boomer, boomer" you teased making him scoff but laugh at the name that has now stuck.

"Wait you've seen my selfies? What do you think?" he asked wanting feedback on the silly shots he took. You paused halfway through zipping up your bag and turned facing him fully giving him a thoughtful look then shrugged

"Their alright... For a boomer" you giggled when he preened for a second then his face dropped into a pout when you finished the comment.

"I repeat...That was hurtful" he said covering his heart with a kicked puppy look making you laugh and hoist your bags over your shoulder and make for the door with him hot on your heels.

"Its fine boomer a second date will make up for it I'm sure~" you sniggered at him playfully looking back at him as he followed you out of the door.

"A date for each time you call me boomer? Deal" he quipped walking along side you offering you his arm like a true gentleman unlike the teasing horny little shit he had been all day. Not that you minded either. Gentleman on the streets, freak in the sheets and all that jazz.

"God we may aswell marry now then boomer" he laughed nodding in agreement the banter from the day still in play as you both left the building.

"Seems so, I mean were at ten that's what the kids consider boyfriend girlfreind territory" he anounced with a sigh playing on the 'boomer' joke making you giggle and roll your eyes as he mentioned the tally. Then you frowned and quickly counted your 'boomers' and opened your mouth you correct him, arguing that ten was incorrect.

"I think its nine boomer- ah see what you did their sneaky boomer!" you cried pushing him playfully at his little trick. He roared with laughter and quickly tangled his fingers with yours dragging you back alongside him guiding you down the street towards a place he knew served pizza, he didn't remember but apparantly he promised pizza...

#henry cavill #henry cavill fic #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x y/n

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dulceackles · 3 years

Note

heyyyy, could you maybe write a one shot with ethan x reader. Ethan read some mean online comments and completely shuts down, so the rest of maneskin calls the reader to have her help them cheer Ethan up, and at the end it’s just really fluffy with a group hug including the reader?🥺👉🏼👈🏼

Silent movies | Ethan Torchio

Requested: yes

summary: Ethan reads hate comments after a long day of practice and the band decides to take the evening off and have a movie night with y/n.

Pairing: Ethan Torchio x reader (she/her, third person)

word count: 1.4k

content and warnings: well it’s only little angst in theory, it turns fluff, little cursing.

The rain had washed the streets the whole day and the wind had pulled threes apart the whole day. It was hard to believe that even an outdoor loving person would have wanted to step outside but gladly Ethan, Victoria, Thomas, and Damiano had had a great time practicing their new songs yet to be released.

Damiano and Victoria were in the kitchen making Tortillas for the band and Thomas had drifted into his own thoughts after a long day of work. Ethan sat on the couch, scrolling social media through on his phone to kill some time while waiting for their dinner to be ready. He usually didn’t dig in too deep what people were talking about them online but for some reason, one specific comment section stole his attention. Maybe he should have not cared, be the bigger person and not let some internet trolls get underneath his skin but maybe it was overwhelming to see so many people agreeing on just hating him. He didn’t know what he could have ever done differently in a public eye that would have made people dislike him so much. So maybe he didn’t even want to admit to himself how much it actually hurt him.

“Ethan?” Thomas snapped Ethan out of his thoughts, he looked confused.

“Hmm?” He answered to him noticing he had gotten up.

“The food, It’s ready.” Thomas said, “I’ve called you like two times now.” He muttered

“Oh sorry.” Ethan got up and started to walk to the kitchen with Thomas. Thomas however had noticed that something was bothering him greatly. He hated seeing his friend sad but didn’t fully know how to bring it up.

Victoria and Damiano were already filing their Tortilla’s as Thomas and Ethan walked to the dining table.

“You asses couldn’t wait for as, huh?” Thomas pointed at them smiling.

“Hey, We made these!” Damiano raised his hands in defense.

It didn’t take long for Damiano and Victoria to notice Ethan’s off behavior. It was painfully clear something was bothering him, he didn’t even say much during the whole dinner and that made Victoria worried and even though she tried to carefully ask him about it, he didn’t say much.

“What’s wrong?” Victoria had asked.

“Nothing. Just was on Instagram and have you guys seen the way some people talk there?” Ethan answered her, gently playing with the end of his hair.

“Don’t worry about them, like you said they’re just being rude for the sake of it. It doesn’t matter what they say.” Damiano said.

“true.” Ethan nodded his head but Victoria could tell Ethan was still feeling low.

“Let’s have a movie night, we’ve played all day I think it’s enough for today.” Thomas tapped his hands to the table.

“Yeah I agree” Victoria got up, “Let’s invite y/n too, she’s probably really bored at home too.” She knew y/n was really good at cheering people up.

Y/n heard her phone’s notification sound ring as she was laying in her bed reading a book she found on sale at the nearest thrift store.

Vic: Wanna come for a movie?

y/n: Sure, what are we watching?

Vic: Haven’t decided yet. By the way, Ethan’s really upset. He read some comments online. So heads up.

y/n: ohh okey, I’ll bring snacks.

It didn’t take y/n long to drive to them even if the weather was ruff and she truly was happy it didn’t because she hated to drive in dark and in rain alone. Because wasn’t that just how horror movies started?

After she had parked she quickly trotted to the front door. She knocked on it waiting for someone to open the door and let her inside out of the sharp rain.

“Snacks or won’t open.” Ethan joked behind the door.

“Well for god’s sake just open the door it’s pouring here.” y/n laughed at him through the door. She heard the door lock twist open.

“I brought Popcorn,” Y/n said showing a pack of microwave popcorns in her hand.

Y/n walked in and took her now slightly muddy shoes off. “Sorry, I tried to jump over puddles.”

“Hii Y/n!” Victoria screamed from the living room and y/n greeted her back.

Ethan and y/n walked into the kitchen to make the popcorns into the microwave as Damiano, Thomas, and Victoria were throwing pillows to the floor to make the best movie night living room possible.

The microwave howled as the popcorns were popping inside.

“Did your mom told you you’d hurt your eyes if you looked into the micro too long too close?” Y/n asked Ethan as both of them were keeping a very close eye on the popcorns, “Or was that just my mom?”

“Oh, she did!” Ethan smiled remembering the complete urban legend his mom too had told him once.

“I always wondered if she believed in it.” Y/n slowly said as she turned to look at him. His hair fell long alongside his back and y/n too had noticed he looked a little tense. She wondered if she should have said anything or if he was better left alone.

“Victoria told me you were a little sad today.” y/n said gently, almost whispering.

Ethan hummed, “I knew they called you here to babysit.”

“No they didn’t.” She protested, “No one just wants that you’re sad.”

“I just saw some stupid comments, it’s not serious.” He said. The microwave peeped and he took the steaming popcorns out.

“I mean it is serious if you’re upset by them and understandably everyone would be.” She looked into his eyes that were staring back at hers.

“hmm. It’s just... I guess it just makes you wonder if there’s something true about what they say.” He looked down a little bit. They started to walk to the living room.

“Well I think no, I see not one flaw in you and nothing I would change even if I had a chance.” y/n said as she laid down to the pillow see others had made onto the floor in front of the tv.

Ethan giggled and laid down next to her. “I wouldn’t change anything in you either.” He smiled at her.

“aww, cute.” y/n laughed and snuggled to give Ethan a little cuddle. He rested his head on the pillows.

“I just don’t get why people have to be so mean online.” He said as he gently played with y/n’s hair in his thoughts.

“They just don’t have anything better to do I guess. It really has nothing to do with you and everything to do with them.” y/n said while drawing figures onto his hand with her fingers.

“Yupp and besides, There’s always gonna be someone who likes you and someone who doesn’t,” Damiano said joining them on the floor and stealing the popcorn bowl.

Ethan too got up to sit to make room on the pillows for Thomas and Victoria too.

“That’s one thing I didn’t know though; like how much at the end of the day how much you’ll get shat on once you get noticed in the music industry,” Victoria said as she and Thomas joined them.

“True, well I guess sometimes people just need someone to use as a trash bag for their own negative emotions.” Thomas agreed, he reached his hand to crap a couple of popcorns. “I think, you know, we have each other and close ones and those really just are the people you need sometimes and who you know you can lean on. Yeah, You are the people whose opinions I care about, no one else.”

“Awww.” Damiano, Victoria, Ethan, and y/n said at the same time and y/n could see that Ethan’s eyes had softened.

Victoria wrapped his other hand around Thomas and the other one around Damiano pulling them into a hug and Thomas wrapped his hand around Ethan who then pulled y/n into the hug.

“I love you guys,” Ethan said as they all hugged each other and he truly felt like at that moment, it really didn’t matter what they said on the internet.

Y/n rested her head against Ethan’s chest and he pressed his cheek on top of her head yet before all of their hair got tangled with each other, they stepped back to their own seats.

“So what are we going to watch?” Damiano asked.

“We should watch silent movies cus people talk too much.” y/n snapped her fingers to her own pun.

#ethan torchio #ethan torchio fanfiction #ethan torchio one shot #ethan torchio fluff #fluff #måneskin #måneskin fanfic #ethan torchio x reader #x reader #damiano david #victoria de angelis #thomas raggi

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bluejayblueskies · 3 years

Note

Hey I hope I'm not too late for the kiss prompt <3

70 perhaps?

kiss prompt list!

70 - Starting With A Kiss Meant To Be Gentle, Ending Up In Passion

for jonmartin! takes place in an au where jon and martin are married when they first start working in the archives.

Three perfunctory taps on the doorframe are all Jon gets before Martin steps halfway into his office, a mug of tea in each hand and a soft smile on his face. “Hey. I brought tea?”

Jon looks up from the frankly enormous pile of paperwork on his desk and manages a smile of his own that he hopes doesn’t look too strained. “Thank you, Martin. You can just…”

He surveys the expanse of his desk, looking for an open space for the mug, before letting out a weary sigh and shuffling one stack of papers on top of another. It’s not like things can get even more disorganized.

God, he hopes not.

Martin sets the mug on the now-clear corner of the desk and leans against the wall, taking a careful sip of his own before cradling it between his palms. It’s a lovely mint green with little white flowers peppered across the ceramic. Jon’s pretty sure it had been a holiday gift from Tim several years prior, back when he, Tim, and Sasha worked in Research and Martin in the Library and he didn’t have to deal with stacks and stacks of horribly misfiled, horribly dusty paper.

His allergies have not been pleased about the development.

“Any luck on figuring out where to start?” Martin says, nodding his head at the papers. “It’s… it’s a lot.”

Jon bites out a bitter laugh. “That’s a hell of an understatement.” He flips up the nearest paper distastefully, sets it down with a frustrated noise. “I don’t know what Gertrude spent all her time doing down here, but it was not archiving. I find it hard to believe it was any sort of work at all, given the state of the place.”

“I- I mean, she was getting up there a bit…”

Jon levels Martin with a flat, unimpressed look. “If she was no longer able to do her job, she should have retired. Or Elias should have fired her. Either way, this is unacceptable. I’ll have ‘gotten up there a bit’ before we finally begin to make a dent in all of this.”

“Well, you’ve still got us.” Martin gives Jon what is probably meant to be a reassuring smile. “Four pairs of hands are better than one and all that.”

We’d need a hundred pairs of hands to get this mess sorted, Jon wants to say. But he’s distinctly aware of the bitterness coating his tongue, and so he swallows it back and offers Martin the warmest smile he can muster. “Yes, well. Thank you. I suppose that’ll have to do.”

“Ever the optimist, I see.”

Jon buries his face in his hands and lets out a low groan. It’s been two days since he first stepped into this office and he’s already so very, very tired.

“Hey,” Martin says softly, and then his hand is on Jon’s shoulder, warm from the mug and pressing down firmly enough to be grounding. “I��m sorry. I know it’s been difficult, but I mean it—we’re here for you. You picked us to be your assistants for a reason, right? Let us help you. You don’t have to wade through 200 years of dust mites and spooky stories by yourself.”

Jon sighs and drops his hands from his face. He reaches for the hand Martin has on his shoulder and covers it with his own, squeezing gently. “I know. I… I know.”

Martin presses a soft kiss to the crown of Jon’s head, and Jon feels a bit of the tension melt out of him at the contact. Then, with a hint of amusement in his voice, Martin says, “It is a bit weird, though, isn’t it? You being my boss.”

Jon makes a face. “I… suppose. Feels a bit unnecessary to worry about- about power dynamics or what have you when we’re already married, though.”

“I don’t know,” Martin says with faux gravity. “What’s to say you won’t fire me the next time I forget to get milk from the store? Or- or lose one of your socks in the laundry?”

“Or steal all the covers in the middle of the night,” Jon says pointedly.

“Hey, I apologized for that one.”

Jon laughs softly at the offended expression on Martin’s face and squeezes Martin’s hand. After a moment, though, a thread of anxiety worms its way through the levity and he says, quietly, “You… you know I wouldn’t, right? I- I know it’s odd, and- and maybe it was a bit inappropriate, asking you to be here with me, as my assistant, but it’s not…”

Jon’s mouth pinches into a small, unhappy line, and he lets his sentence trail off into silence. Martin seems to understand, though; his hand shifts underneath Jon’s, twisting until their fingers are interlocked, and he tugs gently on Jon’s hand until Jon gets the message and stands. Martin brushes his free hand against the side of Jon’s face, his knuckles ghosting across Jon’s cheekbone. “I know.”

Jon lets out a slow, shaky breath before offering Martin a tired smile. “Good.”

Martin brushes a thumb across the curve of Jon’s cheek, rests his fingers lightly against the shell of Jon’s ear, and leans down to press a gentle, closed-mouth kiss to Jon’s lips. It draws the last remaining tendrils of tension out of Jon’s neck and shoulders, and he makes a small, contented noise that elicits a smile from Martin in return.

“You know,” Martin says conspiratorially, pulling back just enough to speak, “I’ve always wondered why ‘snogging your boss’ is such a common romantic trope.”

“Oh?”

“Mm. Yeah, never really got it. Felt a bit too clichéd for my liking.”

“And now?”

Martin gives Jon a pleased smile, almost a smirk. “Well. I can definitely see the appeal.”

“Is that so?” Jon says, amused.

Martin hums, then leans forward and gives Jon another kiss, light and lingering, his hands moving to rest gently against Jon’s hips. Then, with no more warning than the ghosting of Martin’s hands against the back of his thighs, Martin lifts Jon up with startling ease and places him on the desk, capturing Jon’s noise of surprise with another quick kiss. There’s the soft thud of folders hitting the floor, and Martin stifles a laugh.

“Martin,” Jon says after Martin pulls back, and he’s not sure if he means to sound startled or offended. It ends up coming across as a bit of both.

Martin bites back a laugh and rests his forehead against Jon’s. “Sorry, sorry. I just- got a bit carried away.”

Jon makes a grumbling noise, but his tone is affectionate when he says, “Well, I suppose they weren’t going to get any more disorganized.”

Martin hums, pressing another soft, gentle kiss to Jon’s lips. Jon tilts his head up, his hands coming to rest on Martin’s forearms and then moving up to his shoulders, resting gently against the side of his neck as he melts into the kiss like butter in sunlight. Martin slips his hands from Jon’s hips to the small of his back, holding him close as he allows his lips to part, deepening the kiss with a small sigh.

Jon rests his forearms on Martin’s shoulders, his fingers slipping into the soft curls at the nape of Martin’s neck and tugging gently. Martin lets out a sound embarrassingly close to a moan (which sparks a small amount of pride within Jon) and sinks fully into the kiss, and Jon closes his eyes and lets the stress of the day melt away beneath the press of Martin’s lips against his.

It’s too soon when Martin finally pulls back, his cheeks red and his mouth curled into a fond smile, and says, “I suppose I should get back to my desk. I can’t imagine statement number… 0147187 is going to follow up itself.”

Jon lets out a groan. “I wish I could say with confidence that you made that number up, but then I’d have to have any confidence at all in Gertrude’s filing system, which I do not.”

Martin presses a soft kiss to Jon’s forehead before stepping back entirely, his hands lingering on Jon’s hips for a moment before retracting. “One step at a time, yeah?”

Despite the anxiety still clawing at the pit of Jon’s stomach, he finds that he means it when he says, “One step at a time. Yes, you- you’re right, Martin.” Then, more affectionately: “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Martin reaches forward and tucks a stray strand of hair behind Jon’s ear. “It’ll be all right. We’ve got this.”

Jon’s acutely aware of the mess on the desk he’s currently sitting on, of the even bigger mess sitting in document storage, of crates and crates of misfiled papers specifically designed to torment him. Still, he leans into the lingering warmth of Martin’s lips on his, gives Martin a small smile, and says, “Apparently so.”

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #my writing #my fic #so sorry this took so long!#ashes-in-a-jar

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fandom-monium · 3 years

Text

For the Holidays

Summary: In which Spencer does not want to go to his high school reunion, but you tagging along changes things. “You doubting my skills, Dr. Reid?”

WC: 2.1k

Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fake-dating trope, pining (so much pining), Morgan trying to be a good big bro (and wingman)

Spencer Reid does not hate Christmas.

“Reid, come on⎼”

“No.”

“Just listen to me.”

“I did, and it’s a stupid idea.”

No, really. Because hating Christmas would imply he didn’t care. Which he does.

Like when Garcia never fails to drag him into decorating the bullpen every year. Obnoxious Christmas music plays in the background as they bomb Hotch’s office, and it’s worth the smile on his face when he walks in the next morning.

It would mean hating Rossi and his extravagant dinner parties. And yeah, he always hosts but these are just as special if not more so. His mansion is decked in fairy lights and streamers, the food are traditional holiday recipes, and the whole place seems a little less massive.

And he doesn’t hate his breaks. He nearly spits out his coffee when Morgan grumbles about how he almost tripped and fell over from the ice. He has to scramble away as the older man bats at him.

Or when Prentiss drops off holiday-themed pastries? Mhm, just thinking of the ribbon-tied box makes him salivate.

Hating the Christmas card is completely out of the question. Henry and Michael make them every year for the entire team, and JJ makes an effort to shake them out carefully for. It has a boyish charm Spencer never had at their age, a mess of glitter and construction paper. He displays it on his desk anyway.

And you. It would mean hating all the various hot chocolate beverages you’ve made since December started.

Apparently, it’s serious business⎼the art of hot chocolate making. You’ve leaned against his desk, hands waving about as you try to articulate to him the relevance, going over anything and everything you can remember of its history and significance. Of course, he knows all of this already, but he likes you too much to stop you. He almost releases a loving sigh. Instead, he settles for nodding and grinning at you, and he doesn’t really get it but he loves it: the hot chocolate, your pensive expression as you await his critique, even though by now he’s sure you know he has no other comments except ‘delicious’.

He loves it all. He loves you⎼all of you guys. Obviously.

So, no. He does not hate Christmas.

But that doesn’t mean he loves it either.

Which is why, when Morgan leans against his desk, he greets him as normal, a smile forming on his lips as he sets his book down. There is no danger here, except Morgan’s guns. And the heinous green and red envelope between his fingers⎼

Where the hell did he get that.

Spencer’s blood froze. His collection of trauma was nothing compared to this.

Now here he is, packing away his things so he can go home to his warm, cozy apartment and order takeout like he does every year. He's not one for change. No need to break tradition.

But Morgan is acting like a child. Wait, no, even children are better behaved than this. Children at least give up faster.

“I’m telling you, it’s a good idea.”

“As a certified genius, I can say with all honesty, it is not.”

“I promise you it’ll be fine,” Morgan reassures him, voice soothing. The letter, colorful and bright and an eye sore, mocks Spencer. He wishes his reflexes were faster, so he can snatch the abhorrent cluster of sparkles and poorly printed holiday cartoons. And shred it.

Maybe if he glares hard enough, it’ll burst into flames.

“Morgan, my class hated me. The whole school hated me,” Spencer shoves another book into his satchel. It's harder than he means to, and he sends a silent apology to Stephen King; he usually handles his books with care. But not right now. Now, he's tired and exasperated and he just wants to curl up on his couch with The Doctor. "I'm sure I won't be missed."

"But you’re the life of the party!"

Spencer looks up.

Morgan winces, "Yeah, even I wouldn't believe me.” Spencer snorts, continuing to stuff his belongings into his satchel. Morgan’s relentless however. “But you deserve to show them up. You’ve got degrees⎼plural⎼and you're a hotshot FBI agent.”

“Are you not aware of the tragedy that is my high school social experience?”

“Oh, I'm very aware, and thank you for being vulnerable with me. But it's because I care that I’m telling you.”

Morgan’s hand falls heavy on his shoulder, making Spencer pause. He meets his gaze, the man’s expression solemn.

“You deserve to rub it in their faces until the only thing they can smell is your success.”

Morgan grins when that draws out a laugh from him.

Spencer huffs, “Shouldn't we be the bigger person here by not going?”

The older man grimaces, retracting his hand as if the idea offends him. “Fuck that. Be a show off! They deserve to be knocked down a peg after what they did to you in high school.”

Spencer bites his lip. Yes, he’s accomplished, and yeah, as Morgan said, he’s a ‘hot shot FBI agent’. But the memories surge in like a broken dam, cruel laughter and harsh words crashing into him as if he’s twelve years old again. He’s an adult now, so he doesn’t topple over from the impact like before, but the pain is a phantom limb, old and familiar, and leaves a pit in his stomach.

He was a child prodigy then. How would going back as he is now be any different?

Morgan's heart clenches when an unspoken pain flits across Spencer’s face, glossing over his eyes. He can't imagine how deep the emotional scars go, but he knows Spencer needs some form of closure from his past. So when he found the invite, he knew they had to seize the chance. If he wants to continue to move forward, Spencer has to learn to let go. And right now, this is his first class ticket. It’s why he’s pushing this so hard.

This is for Spencer.

But the doctor shakes his head, a strained smile tugging his lips. “Morgan, I had no friends. Even if I go, what am I supposed to do once I arrive? It'd be awkward enough as is.”

“True,” The older man contemplates, a light bulb going off as he snaps his fingers. “You know what you should do? Ask (Your Name) to go with you.”

“(Your Name)?” Spencer jolts, fumbling to catch his phone. Despite being a man of science, his eyes dart around, like you’re a demon summoned at the mention of your name. “Wha-what? Why?”

“They could act as your buffer. And you did say you wanted to be closer with them. This is the perfect opportunity,” Morgan shrugs. Like his suggestion is common sense, logical. Maybe it is.

But this is you they’re talking about. You would never. You’re too cool for a silly high school reunion.

At least, that’s what he’s convinced himself as Spencer’s face pinches. He catches his lip with his teeth. “Morgan, I appreciate the… thought, but I could never ask (Your Name).”

“Ask me what?”

… Oh no. You are a demon.

Spencer whirls around in time to see the glass door shut behind you. You stand there in all your poise and beauty, the fluorescent lights softening your expression. You're bundled up in a matching coat and scarf, the knitted beanie snug on your crown and clashing with your outfit (Garcia told you it’s not your Christmas present, but you’ve worn it everyday since). There’s sprinkles of snow all over you.

You’re not a demon, Spencer decides, even as you brush a clump off your shoulder, nose scrunched in annoyance. More like a snow angel.

You tilt your head curiously when Spencer doesn’t answer immediately. There’s a knowing look on his face as Morgan, realizing the poor guy probably won’t respond any time soon, steps up.

“(Your Name), I thought you went home already.”

You cross the bullpen. “I was. Garcia walked me down and I got to the courtyard. Then I realized she had me so distracted that I left my phone charger,” You rummage around your desk and without looking up, you reiterate, “So ask me what?”

Spencer blinks. “What?”

“You had something to ask me, right?”

Right. That. He runs his fingers through his hair awkwardly. “Actually, I don’t⎼oof.”

Morgan jabs his side, “Yes, there is something Reid needs to ask you.” He sends him a meaningful look.

“Shoot.” You nod to them before rifling through your desk drawers. Nope, not there. You card through files and office supplies, oblivious to the conversation Spencer and Morgan have with their eyes, shooting looks and mouthing at each other.

You bend over your desk as Morgan gestures, Ask them!

Spencer shakes his head vigorously, No!

Do it, or I'll do it for you, he mouths.

Spencer squints at him. You wouldn't.

Morgan smirks and Spencer's heart drops to his stomach. Before he can run, shout for help, literally anything, the man slings a buff arm around his shoulders, forcing Spencer to slightly bend down to his level, hugging him to his side.

He's trapped. Stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Fuck.

“Reid is going to his high school reunion,” Morgan starts, biting back a grin when the nerd squirms against him. Both men boys watch, one excited and the other petrified as you disappear behind your desk.

“That’s nice.”

"Yeah. But all his classmates are older than him and married…“

“Uh-huh…” You scan the dark floors, half-listening as Spencer frowns at the unnecessary detail. He never told Morgan such a thing. He didn’t even know, so how would Morgan-?

“So, can you guys pretend to be a couple or something?”

Thud.

“What!?”

Luckily, neither of you notice the other’s surprise as Spencer chokes on air at the same time you let out a pained hiss.

Morgan lets him pull away, withholding a snicker. “You good, (Your Name)?”

“I’m okay!” Your head pops up from under your desk as you rub the top of your head. You blink owlishly. “I’m sorry, did you just ask me to pretend to be your partner?”

“Yes! But Reid’s partner,” Morgan emphasizes, slapping the doctor’s back hard enough he nudges forward.

You stand and Spencer straightens up, trying not to fidget as your gaze burns into his. You’ve known each other for quite some time now, and while Spencer likes to think he knows you pretty well, it bothers him when your expression becomes unreadable. He knows it shouldn't but it does. He’s a profiler, yet your thoughts are completely obscured by a mask. It only makes him more nervous than he already is.

His skin feels hot when your eyes trail over him, and he prays his scarf is enough to cover the flush spreading from his neck.

He's about to disintegrate when you finally answer.

"Okay."

His brow shoots up and his heart flips. You move away from your desk as he sputters, "Really? Are⎼are you sure? I don’t want to put you out of your way.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed otherwise. Why?” You step closer, and he can’t breathe, not without it hitting your face. You stare him down the bridge of your nose, eyes narrowed. “You doubting my skills, Dr. Reid?”

“What? No, of course not!”

You raise an eyebrow expectantly. “Then it’s settled? We’ll pretend to be a couple for your reunion thing?"

A beat of silence. Spencer realizes you're waiting for his confirmation. But panic rises like bile in his throat and he hesitates.

Maybe he should back out now, retract the entire conversation and take the embarrassment like a man. Tell you he was never planning to attend the stupid reunion because his classmates were (and probably still are) assholes. Honesty is key to any relationship after all.

Especially between coworkers. Ahem.

A flicker of movement and Spencer glances over your shoulder. Morgan nods frantically at him, teeth flashing as he grins wider than before. He gives him two thumbs up.

Maybe, for once, he should pull a Morgan and just vibe it.

Yeah. Yeah!

Swallowing, he nods to you, giving you his signature white-person smile because he's sure if he speaks he might blurt out something completely inappropriate. Like statistics on workplace relationships (they’re great reading material, okay).

Your lips quirk up. "Cool. Text me the details when you get the chance.”

You brush past him before he manages a reply, your footsteps fading. Morgan waggles his eyebrows at Spencer. Spencer blankly stares after you.

“What just happened?”

“You just got a date to your reunion. A fake date, mind you, but you’re welcome nonetheless,” Morgan smirks at him. “So, you got a plan, Pretty Boy?”

His face falls, and the hearts in his eyes⎼shit, had they always been there?⎼chip slightly.

He does not have a plan.

Deleted scene:

“Did you do it?”

“It went all according to plan, Mama.”

AN: I fucked myself over and wrote 7k+ and still counting. Now it’s an unplanned holiday mini series. This kind of stems from Bonding as this uses Mysterious!Reader. Also, I seem to be into pining (fuck established relationships, suffer in silenceee). Whatever holiday you celebrate, I hope you still enjoy this one shot!!

One of the biggest disappointments of CM: Spencer doesn’t confront his high school bullies. I read several fics of him doing so, but a lot of them have the bullies be just as much of an asshole as they were to him in the past, but he deserves more closure.

This will be my take on it. It’ll be a lot of pining but I hope to focus on the his hardships in a less angsty, dramatic way.

Hope you enjoy it!! There will be at least 3 parts?

Also, spread the usage of the term ‘partner’, which can be used for same-sex and opposite-sex relationships.

#spencer reid x reader #matthew gray gubler x reader #mgg x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x oc #mgg fanfiction #mgg imagine #mgg fic #my writing #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x oc #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds

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whimsicallyreading · 3 years

Text

Eight Second Ride

Part Three-

(Part Two)

“So you are telling me-“ Aedion scowls from the other side of her bed, “you ditched me for a sweaty bull rider and didn’t even last an hour into the date?”

Aelin shoves a spoonful of cookies and cream ice cream into her mouth and sniffles. “That’s all you got from my story?”

He slings an arm over Aelin’s shoulders and she lays her head on his chest gratefully. She’d caught an Uber back to her apartment where Aedion was already camped out waiting for her.

One look at her mascara smeared face, and he’d made a pillow fort on her bed. Complete with ice cream and “Little Women” playing on his phone.

“No, I got the whole chauvinistic asshole, bit.” Aedion stabs his spoon into the container and breaks up a particularly large piece of Oreo. “I just decided to focus on the part that doesn’t make me want to leave you hear and go and kill him right now.”

“I thought cowboys were supposed to be classy.” Aelin watched Jo play with her sisters in their attic on Aedion’s tiny screen. “Take city girls into the country to ride a horse and show them a bigger purpose in life, kind of shit.”

“Hallmark is such a liar.” Aedion huffs and squeezes her shoulder a little tighter. “I’m sorry, Lin. I know going out tonight was a big step for you. It’s a shame he acted the way he did.”

It was rare Aelin acted on a whim these days. Not like she used to do when she was in high school. She felt a pull to go with Rowan, but her gut had led her into a situation that could have gone south very quickly.

It’s a hard thing when you can’t trust yourself.

“No. I shouldn’t have gone. Especially not alone.” Aelin’s feels her thoughts drifting. Creeping towards that iron box of memories she keeps locked tight. “It’s my mistake.”

“No.”

The fervor in Aedion’s voice draws her attention up to his face, and Aelin is jarred by the intensity of his expression. “Aedion-“

“It’s not your fault.” His voice is gravely, and his blue eyes flicker like the heart of a flame. “I don’t give a shit what that bastard thought you accepting his invitation meant. You don’t owe him sex because he buys you a drink.”

“Aedion-“ Aelin tries to interrupt again. A new wave of tears burns her eyes, but Aedion is on a roll and he isn’t going to quite down until he gets out what’s on his mind.

“You don’t deserve to be treated like an object that can be bought.” Aelin can’t look him in the eyes any longer, but a calloused hand guides her face to the crook of his neck.

“His friends are shitty. He should have made them shut up. Ogling you, and making you feel unsafe and uncomfortable aren’t funny jokes.” Aedion goes on as Aelin sniffles into his shirt.

“You deserve respect. It doesn’t matter what you are wearing, what he buys you, or what his expectations are. His behavior isn’t your fault.” Aedion whispers against the top of her head.

Aelin wraps the arm that isn’t squished under her, around his waist. “I love you, Brother Wolf.”

“I love you too, Fireheart.” Aedion kisses her forehead and tugs her closer, the old terms of endearment are exchanged between them with ease.

“I know you are still dealing with everything that happened a couple years ago. I’m happy to remind you how worth it you are whenever you need.”

Aedion was an island of safety in the turbulent ocean of her life. Even when Aelin was small, she’d often go to him before her own parents with her problems. He was steady, and calm. The exact opposite of her own personality.

After the incident, he hadn’t rested until she was safely at his side again. Aedion stood by her faithfully as she picked up the broken pieces of her life and held her hand as she tried to make something new from them.

“How come you already had this movie downloaded onto your phone?” Aelin teased lightly, trying to lighten the mood. “Did you suddenly develop a sense of taste?”

Aedion purses his lips. “Lysandra said this movie is, and I quote, the most accurate depiction of the female experience.” He shakes his head. “I’ve tried to watch it three times, and I still can’t figure out what it’s even about.”

“You are a simple minded creature, cousin.” Aelin grabs her spoon and scoops a melty bite of ice cream into her mouth. “Thank you for coming over.”

“Anytime, Lin.” He leans his cheek on her head as the scene on his phone shifts from the cooler grey tones of the present, back to the warm colors that represented better days. “Anytime.”

~~~

The day started off better than she expected.

Aedion was gone when she woke up- he had to rise at an ungodly hour to make it to the fire station on time.

Yet, he set her alarm clock for her so Aelin woke up in time to get ready for work. He’d also set a glass of water and an Advil tablet on her bedside table to curb the headache she was sure to have from crying.

Aelin made it out the door with enough time to stop and get coffee on the way. She even splurged and got a chocolate hazelnut Frappuccino with enough sugar to smooth her wounded feelings.

It was going so well, Aelin should have known it was the universe winding up to screw her.

It was only a couple hours before she closed shop when Lorcan Salvaterre stepped through her front door.

“Holy shit, it’s you.” Were the first words from his mouth. His dark eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Rowan is going to flip when I tell him I actually found you.”

“What are you doing here?” Aelin’s slammed a stack of books on the counter.

Lorcan looked pensive. “Rowan said you mentioned owning a book store-“ he drags a hand through his dark hair. “I felt like I ruined his chance with you, so I thought I maybe if I apologized-“

“Let me stop you there,” Aelin didn’t bother looking at him as she labeled books and organized them into stacks. “You didn’t ruin anything, you didn’t help, but he screwed up all by himself.”’

“He realizes that,” Lorcan quickly defends, his voice gruff with irritation. “If I can give him your number I’m sure he will grovel for himself.”

Aelin rolls her eyes and slides another stack to the end of the counter. “You don’t get it.”

“Get what?” She can tell he’s losing his patience with her. Lorcan’s remorse only went so far, apparently.

Aedion’s words from earlier rang in her ears as she repeated them back to the man. “He was overbearing the entire time. Had double standard opinions about my life, and disrespected my boundaries.”

Aelin watched as Lorcan shifted on his feet, itching to say something but obviously refraining. Measuring his words carefully he looked her dead in the eye. “Look. He was just trying to impress you. Rowan doesn’t go out often. Don’t you think you are blowing this a little out of proportion?”

Red. Aelin saw red. Tasted it. Like iron in her mouth. Or maybe that was just the blood from biting her tongue so hard. “I’m working right now. You don’t strike me as extremely literate, but I have to ask for you to either buy something or leave.”

Lorcan glowered at her. “Fine.” He turns to walk out, but Aelin hears him call her a bitch under his breath.

Just then, Elide walks inside the shop doors. A backpack slung over her shoulder, finished with her classes at Rifthold U and prepared to work the evening shift with her.

Aelin is relieved for the interruption and about to take full advantage of it, when the small, brown-haired girl catches sight of Lorcan and beams like a rutting lighthouse.

“Lorcan! I didn’t know you were coming into my work, what a surprise.”

Elide. One of her best friends, runs up to the six-two tower of misogynistic cow boys and flings her arms around him. Hugs him.

Ellie she recalls the name being thrown out last night. She hadn’t put two and two together. Ellie was a common name. Of all the people in this city it had to be Elide, Aelin mentally bemoans.

She wonders if Elide knew how her cowboy behaved when she wasn’t around.

It doesn’t matter. Lorcan is all too aware of Aelin’s eyes boring into his skin, and knows he needs to make a quick get away.

“Ellie,” Lorcan pulls away from her. “I just had to see this book shop you are always talking about.”

He kisses her head, and looks at her with feigned remorsefulness. “I must have gotten your shifts mixed up in my head, though. I’m afraid I have to go. We booked a training time for six and I need to brush down Nettie before we start.”

“Oh,” Elide says, a look of genuine disappointment on her face. “That’s fine. Are we still on for a movie tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he promises. He pecks her one more time on the lips and tips his chin towards Aelin. Anger still bubbling in his eyes. “Good day, ma’am.”

Aelin releases a breath when the doors close behind him.

“I’m so sad I missed him.” Elide frowns, tossing her back pack behind the counter. “At least you got to meet him. What did you think? He’s absolutely dreamy, right?”

Aelin chokes back a gag. “Yeah. He was really charming.”

“And get this,” Elide smiles. “He’s a cowboy. Like an actual, real life cowboy. He rides pulls and does team roping. It’s sexy.”

Aelin can’t hide the grimace this time. “You are like my baby sister. I never want to hear the words sexy from your mouth again.”

At least, never in the context of Lorcan. They’d had plenty of boy talk before.

“He even carries a rope.” Elide wags an eyebrow. “Better to tie me up when we-“

Aelin holds a book over her face. “I’m not listening to this! I will file a report with HR.”

Elide laughs. “You are the boss, Lin. You know we don’t have an HR.”

“I need to get one now,” Aelin grumbles. “I don’t need an image of yours and Lorcan’s naked asses in my head.”

She wanted Lorcan out of her head entirely. Along with Rowan and the rest of their cadre.

“Fine,” Elide sighs wistfully. “One day you will be in love and I won’t hold it against you when you want to talk about whatever babe you wind up with.”

Her eyes get a mischievous glint. “Actually- Lorcan has some really cute friends. I could set you up with?”

Aelin’s brain banks. “No. No thank you. I like being alone. I’m more than enough company for myself.”

“Come on, a double date would be fun!” Elide whines and tugs on her arm. “You never go out any more. We could have a great night out.”

An image of the twins cutting lines on the bar flash across her mind and make her shudder.

“I said no, Elide.” Aelin says a bit more harshly then she intends, but Elide gets the point and backs off.

“Sorry. I won’t mention it again.” Instead of anger she looks at Aelin worriedly.

She kind of hates that more.

“Thanks.” She shakes her head and tries to clear the residual stress from her head. “I have to set up a new shelf display. Want to help?”

Elide lights back up at the prospect. She loved designing and organizing. They have a great time setting displays up together and Aelin knew it would take her mind away from the tension she’d created.

She just really hoped that Elide dating Lorcan wouldn’t drag any drama into her own life. Aelin didn’t care what half asses excuses Lorcan made, she wasn’t interested in seeing Rowan again.

Hello! I’m so glad I got this posted today. 😂 I’m hoping to get the next chapter of DRNS out tomorrow. After that, my birthday is next Tuesday and I reaaallly want to do a mass update of all my fics then as a hooray to 21. (Yes. That is what I’m doing for my 21st 🤣) Hope you enjoyed it!

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