#now he's a GLORIFIED CHICKEN
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pigeon hunting :)
redraw of an old doodle now that i have a clear idea of what aang's dino form looks like. background under the cut cuz im proud of it
#the avatar is not meeting zuko's expectations at ALL#first he was TWELVE#now he's a GLORIFIED CHICKEN#zuko unfortunately gains the title 'pigeon hunter'#which surprisingly helps keep others from trying to steal his thunder cuz who wants to be known as that#the gaang hears to nickname and the sibs are outraged on aang's behalf#meanwhile aang is just like 'i like pigeons c:'#anyway uh#embrace my au i beg of you#atla dino au#atla#zuko#aang
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There's 3 fucking guys in my f/o list named victor
#like that sure happened somehow. huh???#its victor fries victor jenkins (SDVE) and now victor veloci#im sending that glorified chicken nugget to hell where he shouldve gone millions of years ago SOLELY bc hes been very prevalent in my dreams#like girl who do you think you are this is like the third in a row. help me. someone. anyone.#📡 incoming transmission 📡
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A New Type Of Fear: Part 2
Donatello x Fem Reader
Summary: After meeting Donnie after the chess competition, he walks you home and you invite him to hang at your house for the rest of the night.
Word Count: 3k+
<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3
Part 3 is now posted!
You were walking with Donnie down the alley ways because he obviously couldn't be seen. You were still a bit shaken up over what happened before he got there. You had more important things on your mind. This was the first time you'd seen what Donnie looked like, and obviously his physical appearance was jarring. He was extremely tall and kept complaining about how you needed to talk louder because he couldn't hear you. He was a full head, shoulders and then some above you. You were taking in all the little details he was made up of. Like his hands, he only had three fingers on each. Once you guys finally got home, it wasn't hard to sneak him into your room. Your mom was already home in bed. You directed Donnie into your room and shared the good news with your mom. She was happy but you could tell she was exhausted from the day. When you came back to your bedroom, you laughed at how Donnie was standing. Like he was afraid that even resting his gaze on an object would cause it to break. You sat on the bed and started emptying your bag.
"Sorry, I know my room is kinda messy," you said.
"No, I'm just looking around at your posters and stuff. I'm almost certain that 90% of your walls are covered," he said.
"Yeah, some of them are really old, like JoJo's Bizarre Adventures poster. My older brother got that in like 2006 at a random convention," you said, pulling your phone out of your bag.
"One time, I tried to convince my dad to let me go to an anime convention. I explained to him what cosplay was and how I think I could get away with it. Obviously he said no," he said, setting some of his gear on the ground next to your bed.
"Yeah about that, now looking back I feel really bad for pressuring you. Obviously there was a good reason for wanting to hind this part of you. So I'm really sorry about that," you said, playing with your fingers but trying to keep eye contact to keep things sincere.
"Well, thank you for the apology but I wouldn't be so hard on yourself. I don't think I ever would have had the courage to meet you in person without a little.. encouragement," he said. You smiled and couldn't help but laugh a little. This entire situation was just so weird.
"Have you ever had Italian food?" you asked while scrolling through take-out options on your phone.
"Pizza but not from an Italian place," he said.
"No I meant like baked ziti, chicken cutlets, lasagna or like sausage and peppers. More traditional foods you know? There's this place in Midtown that doesn't even open until 11pm. The owner says it's because the clientele he's looking for don't come out any earlier than that. I know it sounds a little glorified but the food is really good, the delivery charge isn't too bad either," you said scrolling through the menu before continuing, "or do you have to be home by a certain time?" you asked.
"Not everyone was asleep when I left so I should be good for at least a couple of hours," he said, adjusting his glasses.
Once you ordered the food you put your phone on the charger and began talking. Asking each other questions about the ins and outs of your lives. You asked him about his brothers and martial arts. Even though he was keeping his identity a secret, he was still very honest about his life. This really impressed you and it also showed that he's a very trustworthy person. He explained how he lived in the sewer but assured you that it isn't as bad as it sounds. He told you about the set of his house, like where they eat and the room she shares with his brothers. It was nice hearing about all the stories he had to tell about his family. You had an older brother but he left for college by the time you were 5. It's always just been you and your mom for the most part, you thought it must be nice to have people your age who understand everything you go through. You told him about your school and how the other kids acted; he was curious about the social pyramid because they always put so much emphasis on this concept in the media.
You told him it was similar but much more subtle. The bullying is more micro aggressive than direct and this made him laugh. He was shocked when you showed him your homework, he thought you'd be learning more advanced math and science. He showed you how a couple of his devices worked which fascinated you. You got the notification that the food arrived so you quickly went out to get it. You showed him one of your favorite shows at the time which was Steven Universe. He ended up really liking it, all that was ever on their T.V at home was MTV. Apparently it was the only channel that his brothers could all agree on. He also really liked Italian, you were amazed at how much food he could eat in one sitting. You ate a little bit of everything and were full leaving the rest of Donnie; he was in love with it.
"I don't know if it's because I've only been eating pizza but this is the best thing I've ever had," he said, shoving a big bite of ziti into his mouth.
"Well good, I'm glad you like it," you said, taking a sip of lemonade out of your styrofoam cup.
"Thank you for giving me the motivation to, you know, break the wall I had made between us. Not going to lie, this may sound creepy but when I saw you playing chess earlier tonight, I thought about turning back. I mean, you looked so pretty, especially with your concentrated face. I couldn't help but think about your reaction if you saw me. Like I would freak you out or scare the hell out of you; and in turn all this work we put into each other would be flushed down the drain. I'm really happy that things ended up this way. This is the most fun I've had. I can't remember how long," he said, wiping his mouth.
"I'm really happy to hear that, I just don't want you to feel on edge. I respect you need to be private, I just don't want you to think I'll tell anyone," you said.
"No I don't think that, I probably would have thought that if you had run away," he said, putting some trash into the plastic bag that the food came in.
After you guys ate, you just kept talking. He was asking you questions about current pop culture and in turn you were asking about his home and family. You felt like you kept having to regulate how much you were smiling. It just felt so nice to break the distance and it was even better knowing that he wasn't that different from how he acts over the phone. The sunrise was going to happen in about 15 minutes so Donnie had to leave. You were sad to see him go but he reassured you that he would call you later. Yesterday was a sunday, and you practically had to throw yourself out of bed to get ready for school. The only reason you went is because you had a chess club meeting after. You wanted a chance to rub it in Benjamin's face that you won. He was always making micro aggressive comments to you and you wanted to shut him up while your victory was fresh.
You were sitting in your vanity putting on a bit of makeup. Your mom walks in and asks you a bit more in detail about the competition. You told her about it and how you were excited to tell your friends. She told you she was proud and that she would be working late tonight. Once you left for school and made your way to the subway, all you could think about was the night before. The feelings of butterflies were still there but some logistical concerns about the relationships definitely gave you anxiety. It was important for Donnie to stay out of the public eye, and you fully respect and plan on honoring that. You can't help but be saddened about the limits this can put on your relationship. Going out on dates like to the movies or out at the mall. Not being able to introduce him to your mother. Would you even be able to have a wedding? He wouldn't be able to go to your graduation which meant alot to you. It felt scary to be in the unknown when it comes to your relationship. You got to school and practically had to hold your eyes open with your fingers to stay awake. Your friends all questioned you at lunch as to why you were so groggy.
"You look like you've been craving sleep for years," your friend Jess said, taking a bite of the mash potatoes and turkey that the cafeteria was serving.
"Yeah, I was up all night on my phone," you said.
"With Donnie?" she asked, raising her eyebrows up and down.
"Yeah, I think we really made a breakthrough in our relationship last night. I don't know, I feel like we both take the relationship more seriously than ever before," you said, taking a bite of your sandwich.
"Do you love him?" she asked you, changing her tone to come off as a bit more serious.
"I don't know. I don't think I do quite yet because if I did I wouldn't be scared to say it. I definitely more than like him but I don't think I can say love yet," you said.
"Love is crazy," she said, demolishing an entire carton of milk.
"Yeah," you sighed before resting your head on your hand and picking at your lunch.
~
The bell finally rang, releasing you from your last class. When you told Mrs.Cleverson about how you won the chess competition, she bought you a frappuccino for her lunch and brought it back for you. You were very grateful because it did perk you up a little. You walked into the classroom and saw Benjamin sitting in front of the chess board; he always claimed white because he loved making the first move on the board. He was so egotistical and it drove you crazy, he wasn't confident but more cocky. It drove you so crazy.
"Y|N! Congrats on winning that chess tournament yesterday. These amateurs better watch out right?" Mr.Davidson jokes. You returned the sassy little grin that Ben had given you when you walked in. After a couple moves on the board Ben finally breaks the silence.
"You know if I were there you wouldn't have won right?" he asked clearly in a rhetorical way.
"Oh I'm sure. You know if you were truly confident in your skills, you wouldn't feel the need to shit talk the entire time. You shouldn't focus that brain power on the game," you said.
"I'm just stating facts, if you interpret that as shit talking it might be you projecting your insecurities onto these said facts," he said.
"Whatever makes you sleep at night, but I believe what happens on the board is most important," you said, taking his bishop.
"Hmm, did you get that line from a pinterest board?" he asked.
"No I actually got it from your mom," he looked up from the board and scowled at you, without responding. Your heart was racing from adrenaline, seeing him mad and looking around at our peers to see their reaction was so satisfying.
The game continued for a while, just gathering each others pawns and claiming territory. The best games were always the ones that lasted the longest. As much as it killed you to admit, Ben was a great chess player which is why your games with him always lasted so long. He checked you and you wanted to punch him in the face.
"I guess you're right, it's what happens on the board that counts. I'll let you contemplate this moment for the rest of the night. It kinda makes me blush that you'll be thinking of me all night," he said laughing, grabbing his bag. It was 2 hours since the match started and all your peers had gone home already. You sat in your seat and waited for him to leave before you or your stuff together. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing any type of reaction from you.
After getting your stuff together you took the subway back home. You mom had texted you that she was working a double and wouldn't be home for the night. Even though you barely got any sleep last night, you were pretty restless. You had taken a shower, washed the day and your make up away. You put on a hoodie and boyshorts, along with a pair of socks. You had called Donnie and told him about what happened at school.
"He was just trying to get under your skin and fluster you. He knows he can't beat you unless you're off your game," he said, trying to console you.
"Yeah I guess you're right. It just bothers me how he was all like: I'LL lEaVe yOu To tHiNk aBoUt tHis aLL nIghT. Because now what am I doing, talking about it to you," you said.
"Yeah he said that so you would think about it. Think of it like.. reverse psychology. You're way too smart to fall for that," he said.
"It's just so-" you were interrupted by hearing something coming from the kitchen.
"What is it?" he asked, not sure why you paused.
"I think I heard something coming from the kitchen," you said, getting up and walking towards your bedroom door.
"Like a person?" he asked a bit more seriously.
"I don't know, don't say that though. My mom is working tonight so don't make me paranoid," you said.
"Well, maybe I can come over and check it out for you?" he asked.
"Are you just looking for an excuse to come over?" you accuse him playfully.
"No! I mean.. I just-" he began to panic.
"I'm just messing with you, of course I want you to come over. It would make me feel better if you looked around a bit," you said.
"I'll be over soon," he said, hanging up.
Your stomach flipped a bit, it made you feel special that he wanted to come over to make sure you were okay. Even if he was just making an excuse to come over, that didn't bother you one bit. You were excited to see him, you almost needed to see him again to believe this was real. Nothing for nothing but the whole human turtle half breed was just strange. It would shock anyone and with everything you had going on it just added to more of your stress. Not in a bad way, it's not like you got nervous or anxiety ridden when thinking about him. Not at all, but thinking about some of the adversity that you would have to face or wouldn't have a chance to. You pushed those thoughts out of your mind and focused on how excited you were to see him. He showed up not too long after, as soon as he got there he began searching the closets and underneath the beds. It was endearing to watch, it made you feel so comforted to see him worried about you. Especially after the incident in the alleyway, like he was going out of his way to make sure you felt safe.
After he 'cleared the area' he went back to your room to hang out. You laugh at his terminology which puts a bashful look on his face. He sat on the bean bag facing the bed when you were sitting up with your legs crossed. You wanted him to come sit on your bed with you but he was worried that he was so big he'd break it. You eventually convince him to lay with you, the bed creaks a bit when he puts his full body weight onto it. He moves his arm so that you can use it as a pillow and start talking more about what a smug asshole Ben is.
"Maybe because I have a lot of stress with school work, my mom working so much and the fact that I didn't sleep too much. I think that's the reason why it bothered me so much, just a build up of things," you said.
"Definitely, sleep deprivation can cause irritability. That's probably why his mindless comments got under your skin, and is 100% why he beat you," Donnie said, gently moving a piece of hair out of your face.
"You're so sweet, I'm really happy I got to see you today. I think I needed this," you said, playing with his fingers till you eventually fall asleep.
~
Donnie laid their in silence with Y|N for a while. He was happy that you had finally fallen asleep. Not because he didn't want to hang out with you or anything. He just knew that you were running on empty all day. He thought it was cute to see you all mad about Ben, of course it upset Donnie how bothered you were but he knew it was mostly because you were crabby from a lack of sleep. He had no idea what time her mom would be home so he quickly wrote a note that read: Had to go home, call me when you wake up <3. He put it on top of the keyboard on your laptop and closed it. He didn't want your mom to see the note and question you about it. After grabbing his gear and attaching himself to himself, he leaned down to give you a kiss on the forehead. On his way home all he could think about was you, he felt lucky. He was well aware of the fact that meeting you in person could cause so many problems. It questioned his faith in Splinter, he had been told from so young that he can't trust human society. Yet here he was, in a relationship that was getting more serious by the day.. with a human.
He thought the hardest part of this entire situation was to show himself to you; he was completely wrong. It was trying to navigate having such a big secret with his family. Once he got home from Y|N's house, he snuck back into the sewer. Splinter said he would be out today, running frivolous errands. Donnie was hoping he had made it home before he had gotten back. All his brothers asked him about where he had gone and he made an excuse about wanting to check the status of a lead they had been pursuing for a couple weeks. This didn't raise any eyebrows with the brothers because they all would make excuses here and there for a chance to be out for a couple hours. Splinter came into the house holding 5 boxes of pizza which all 4 boys including Donnie attacked. As they ate, Splinter hovered over Donnie for a second and kindly whispered,
"We have much to talk about tonight," he said, giving him a reassuring smile. This made Donnie choke on his Pizza for a second.
#donatello x reader#fanfic writing#fluff fanfiction#part two#tmnt donnie#tmnt donatello#Protective Donatello#tmnt fanfiction#teenage mutant ninja turtles 2014#Live action donatello#Donatello tmnt fanfiction#donnie tmnt#donnie x reader#donnie x y/n#tmnt bayverse#bayverse donnie#bayverse turtles
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Hi there! I really love your lords of chaos stuff and enjoyed what you wrote for the last request I had sent previously, so here’s another idea I wanted go get off the brain. Do you think you could write a male reader that had used to be friends with Euro when they were younger comes into Helvete to see him again? A bit of an odd sight in the store, as they have their hair dyed a reddish color, and is not afraid to rock eyeshadow. At first there’s bickering about not staying in contact, but they warm up to one another and it’s like old times again. And then reader finally works up the courage to properly confess to him, because he chickened out when they were teen, when their alone and surprises Euro with a smooch. Because who wouldn’t wanna kiss him lol?
Old love and an old friend
warning : drinking, smoking, kiss, use of Y/n
info : Thanks for the request dear anon I hope you like it and thanks for your praise it was fun to write :)
masterlist
Disclaimer : I don't want to glorify anything, it's about the actors who play a role, not the real events.
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Helvete and the customers were a circle of darkness there was no light and no hope only the blackness the owner would say if you asked him. But it was true, the customers in Helvete were mostly dressed completely in black and chose the black records.
Black like the souls they didn't have. It was a time when he thought about the now or the future of how they would destroy the world. It was a time when the past was all but forgotten. too many things had happened there that he wanted to forget.
Which is why when the doorbell rang, announcing a new customer, it was all the more striking when the bright red mingled with the black. Euroynmous looked up from the till and confusion showed in his gaze, his bright eyes almost blinded by the red. It wasn't a dark hellfire it was the bright red standing out. It was mesmerizing.
But as he looked at the face something flashed, it was the eyeliner around the eyes that looked around with interest. It was the image of a punk, someone else but a metalhead who knew. ,,What's up?" he asked, slowly approaching the other, the black circle was still asleep, the party had gone hard but he, as the owner, couldn't leave his precious store alone.
He tried to look at the face again, it reminded him of someone, someone strange, a young boy as old as he was, but who? What was suddenly different in his head, in his body? Was it the red hair, a distant voice that had told him years ago that red was his favorite color. Who was he?
,,Do you know a certain record?" the stranger asked, holding one of Venom in front of him but putting it down when it didn't seem to be what he was looking for. The eyes that were covered with the eyeliner that Euronymous was so fascinated by almost showed something like bitterness. But why?
Why was the stranger bitter if they didn't know each other or did they? ,,That depends on what you're looking for," Euronymous replied and continued to look at his counterpart, coming a little closer but the stranger didn't move back. He stood still and even seemed to enjoy the closeness. The smell of cigarettes and alcohol and mustiness surrounded them both.
A smell they both knew from when they had leafed through old books of witches and devils in Euronymous' room, the red nail on the fingers of one of them, the cigarette they shared and the stolen beer from their father. ,,I'm looking for do you remember the destroyer of the world, old friend?" asked his counterpart, smiling slightly at him as he seemed to wait for the reaction. A reaction that came.
Destroyer of the world was the name they had both given to the first band they had formed together before his friend Y/n had moved out of town and broken off contact. ,,By Satan Y/n! That's you!" Euronyous exclaimed and immediately pulled him into a hug, holding him close for longer than necessary, afraid of losing him again.
Losing…had he lost him or had they simply grown apart? Something he didn't know what it was but it didn't matter when he saw the grin on the other's face.
,,It's been years, I see you have a record store now," his counterpart said and looked around a little before looking back at Euronymous, the blue of his eyes showing happiness and the heart of both of them beating perhaps too fast for it to be just joy.
,,And you have red hair and pretty good looking eyeliner," Euronymous replied and the two laughed lightly before silence fell between them again and the mood became almost heavy.
It was as if they both didn't know what to say before Euronymous disappeared behind the till, grabbing cigarettes and a couple of bottles of beer. ,,To our old place…and talk?" he asked, already standing in the doorway hoping he'd say yes, that he agreed he didn't want to lose him again.
,,Thought you never ask" the red-haired man muttered and walked after his old friend before they got into the car and drove off. The old place was just a tree on a hill, an old cemetery where they had tried to summon spirits.
Helveret could wait, he had told Y/n it was an ark that wouldn't last long, but neither could they, in the end it was all the same anyway, they had this one life they had to use.
They had both opened the bottle of beer and taken a few sips, ,,You know…I-I never really wanted to leave," he began and Euronymous listened as he watched the sunset, the red in the light competing with the red of his hair. ,,And I didn't want to lose you," Euronymous said, daring to look at the other.
He saw him reach for a cigarette, the eyeliner still around his eyes. It made him look pretty, he had to admit, knowing that his heart wasn't beating because he was reaching for his lighter.
As he picked up his cigarette himself and held the fire underneath. ,,Here…I'm glad you're…here with me now," the black-haired man said and leaned forward, holding his lit cigarette to Y/n's. An indirect kiss before he told him his feelings knew that was why his heart was beating as he pulled back and released the smoke into the sky.
,,Me too," Y/n replied curtly, taking a drag of his own from the cigarette before slowly moving his hand to Euronymous'. He could feel the other watching him, waiting to see if he would withdraw. But he did not. He paused, stood still and tried not to let on.
Euronymous looked from the sun to the other and took another drag of the cigarette, but felt his hand remain on his, tapping him lightly. ,,Can you still remember that summer here under the tree after we took the motorcycle?" he asked, looking at the black-haired man, knowing no, hoping that Euronymous remembered what he couldn't finish back then. But the blue-eyed man's gaze turned almost melancholy at the moment when they were both too scared as teenagers.
They thought they had the world, the night and the day. ,,Yeah, sure, you tried back then-" Euronymous began, turning to his friend as he felt the lips on his. The warm, unforgiving kiss that was soft and yet demanding. The hand that gently pulled him close.
The moment as it was then. ,,Trying to kiss you," his friend replied as they broke away, a grin on both their lips as they leaned against each other, feeling for the first time that they wouldn't grow apart again, that they would stay together and this time forever.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Misery Business, 12
masterlist
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During the next month, they fell into a strangely comfortable lull.
Their mission had to go mostly on pause while Elide worked to decrypt all of the most sensitive information on those drives. In the meantime, they did have work to do. Their normal duties kept them occupied. But, with Rowan now working with her, he was able to feed Aelin little bits and pieces about Maeve that she was then able to pass on to Arobynn, to make him believe his plan was working and she was using Rowan to slowly dismantle Maeve. On the other hand, she made sure to work more with Maeve, to do the tasks she asked without complaint, to make her think Rowan was charming her over to their side.
The hardest part of it all was controlling her rage as Aelin looked the two people who had ruined her life in the eyes and pretend she didn’t want to violently dismantle them and feed their body parts to feral animals. The only reason she didn’t snap was because she knew they would get what was coming to them.
She and Rowan had made their own sort of ‘domestic bliss’, if one could call it that. They had begun sleeping in Rowan’s bed every night and the spare bedroom became the glorified closet Aelin had joked it would be the first night she arrived. They spent plenty of time learning one another's bodies, of finding ways to make the other moan and come apart beneath their hands. At this point, Aelin was sure they had fucked on nearly every surface in the apartment: the kitchen island one night after Rowan had cooked them a rather spectacular meal, the dining table when Aelin had gotten down on her knees and sucked him off one morning before he left, the couch when they were watching t.v and couldn’t make it to the bedroom before sliding off their underclothes and coming together. It was a frenzy Aelin never wanted to end.
A delivery arrived for her one day consisting of a box of fancy chocolates and an expensive bottle of wine. A small notecard accompanied it and, written in the center with chicken-scratch handwriting read, Sorry. -L
Aelin frowned at the note, her husband doing the same from where he peered over her shoulder.
“Is Lorcan trying to poison me?” Aelin asked.
“Poison isn’t usually his style,” Rowan said, rubbing his chin and frowning deeper. “But neither is apologizing.”
Aelin didn’t toss them out, nor did she eat them right away. Though, eventually, after she arrived home from a rather long mission, she caved and popped one in her mouth. She didn’t die, so she decided to open the wine and share it with Rowan, which then led to a wine-fueled tumble in the sheets.
There was likely only one person that would be able to convince Lorcan Salvaterre to write an apology letter and send a gift that wasn’t meant to kill her.
Aelin had taken Elide’s offer and came over to her apartment one night. It was a strange thing, to be there for pleasure instead of business. She was certain she sat stiffly for most of the evening, preparing herself for the worst. But the worst never came. So, later that week in the spirit of continuing friendships, she invited both Elide and Lysandra over one night. They ordered take-out and drank wine and laughed. Both Aelin and Elide knew better than to broach the topic of Lorcan while the subject was so hot, but that was half a thought in the back of their minds all evening.
Aelin had a good time. And it was good practice for when they finally killed Arobynn and she could try to be a regular woman with regular friends.
She had grown rather accustomed to sleeping in the same bed as Rowan. But tonight she had a job, and wouldn’t likely return until the early hours of the next morning. A frown formed at the thought, realizing how much she now treasured waking up to his handsome face in the morning, resting her head on his chest to catch a few more minutes of sleep or kissing his neck while they enjoyed a quick morning fuck.
Aelin had a long, leather trench coat on, forgoing her normal uniform of tactical clothes and gun holsters. She would have to go undercover tonight. No use in bringing them along.
She glanced down at the emerald on her finger, slipping it off with a sigh and tossing it in a jewelry dish she had put on Rowan’s dresser. She wouldn’t be able to wear it tonight, and didn’t trust others to not steal it away while she worked.
“Should I be offended?” Rowan asked, strolling out of the bathroom. His hair was still damp from his shower, a pair of gray sweats slung low around his hips. He stopped before her, putting his hands on her waist. “Are you going to pretend you’re not married to pick up other men?”
Aelin laughed, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck and kissing him. “That’s actually more accurate than you think.”
He stiffened.
“Does it make you feel any better if I’m picking them up to kill them?” Aelin fluttered her lashes innocently. “I have to go undercover at Clarisse’s tonight.”
“Arobynn’s strip club?”
“Unfortunately.”
Rowan’s lip curled in distaste. “Is there no other way to do the hit?”
“This guy knows he has enemies and never goes anywhere without like six bodyguards following him… except for his fancy hotel room with a pretty woman who he just happens to pick up tonight.”
“I don’t like it.”
“It’s not your job to like it,” Aelin said, brushing silver hair from his forehead. “But it is my job to kill him. Simple as that.”
He released a long breath before brushing his lips against hers. “Just… be safe.”
“Aw. You’re cute when you worry.”
“And you’re a pain in my ass.”
Aelin smiled broadly. “As if you’d have me any other way.”
Rowan responded by kissing her once more.
…
Aelin didn’t like Clarisse’s.
The club was situated in a busy, expensive part of the city and generally attracted two types of customers: rich men who could afford it, and sleaze-bags wasting a month or two worth of wages to enjoy the finest women the city had to offer.
It was technically a strip-club, but everyone knew it was more of a high-end brothel. The narcs just never had enough evidence to properly shut it down.
Arobynn had been a frequent enjoyer of the atmosphere and the women, that much Aelin knew. In fact, it was the reason she had met Lysandra. Arobynn favored her, often spent obscene amounts of money to take her back to his estate for the night. One morning, Aelin had found a stunning woman she didn’t recognize lingering outside. It was just the beginning of winter, and it had been obvious she wasn’t dressed for the occasion, shivering in her trench coat with her still-bare legs pointing out.
“Why are you sitting out here?” Aelin had asked.
There was a frown on Lysandra full lips- still stained red from the previous night’s makeup, bags under her eyes. “I don’t like it in there. Too many men that are too comfortable staring. My car should be here soon… I think.”
Aelin had known what Lysandra had been there for and who had paid for her. She didn’t think she was often extended kindness, so Aelin half-expected the stranger to refuse when she offered for her to come wait upstairs in her room with her until the car arrived. But she agreed. And it was the start of what Aelin had too-long referred to as a partnership when she had really just been too much of a coward to say what it really was- a friendship. One she was profoundly grateful for.
But, as they were both aware, this wasn’t a normal sort of friendship. Which was why Lysandra was helping her pass as a stripper as a means of later killing someone. Most girl friends spent their evenings watching sappy romances. Maybe one day they would be there too.
“Look up,” Lysandra instructed, eyeliner pencil held in her talented fingers.
They were seated in a back dressing room where the girls were to get ready before they were on. Lysandra, being one of their top earners, got the luxury of a private room. She hadn’t bothered to do much in decorating, and it was instead filled with the necessities of her trade: towering heels, fancy make-up, and lots of little lacy things.
Aelin complied, allowing her friend to apply a dark, smudgy kohl around her eyes.
The tip of Lysandra tongue poked out between her red-stained lips as she worked. There weren’t a lot of people Aelin would feel comfortable allowing so close to her eyes, but Lysandra was one of them.
“This makes your eyes look amazing.”
“I doubt my mark is going to be looking at my eyes. What matters is my tits. How do they look?”
Lysandra’s gaze dropped to her chest. Aelin had to look the part, so she wore a black, lacy set. The bra was highly uncomfortable, but it pushed her boobs up to what felt like her chin.
“They look unfairly good. Why does an assassin need such a nice rack?”
Aelin shrugged. “The gods work in mysterious ways.”
Lysandra laughed and tossed the eyeliner into a bag she had resting on the counter. The movement caused the sleeve of her robe to ride up her arm, displaying the bands of bruises encircling her wrist.
Aelin’s blood turned to ice, her hand shooting out, catching Lysandra’s and pulling the sleeve down fully. There was no mistaking that it had been large hands that had caused the bruising on her wrists, and the others on her upper arm. It had taken her too long to notice with Lysandra doing her make-up.
But, judging by the look on Lysandra’s face, she hadn’t meant for Aelin to see them anyway.
“What happened?” Aelin demanded.
“It’s nothing serious.” Lysandra pulled her arm to her chest, sliding the sleeve of her robe back into place. “Arobynn’s just been a bit rough the last few nights, is all.”
“Last few nights? How often has he been requesting you?”
Lysandra’s lips were pressed into a tight line. “It’s been more often since you moved in with Rowan. I just don’t think he quite knows what to do with himself now that you’re not there to push around.”
Shame and guilt flooded Aelin, hot and acidic. “I’m so sorry, Lysandra.”
“Don’t apologize. I’ve seen the marks he leaves on you when he’s pissed. You’ve had it worse.”
“What he does to us is different,” Aelin whispered. “But both equally reprehensible.”
Lysandra gave a bitter laugh and dipped her chin. “You’re right.”
In that moment, all Aelin wanted to do was to assure her friend that Arobynn’s days were numbered, that soon she would free them both from him and that Aelin would then turn her attentions to Clarisse, to get Lysandra out of this life. But, she said nothing. Not that Aelin didn’t trust Lysandra. She knew her friend would never speak of it on her own free will but… Lysandra wasn’t trained to hold out against torture if it came to that. And Aelin didn’t trust this establishment either. It could be bugged, or there could be a eavesdropper waiting to pass on juicy information to whoever would pay the most.
Aelin simply grabbed Lysandra’s hand and gave it a firm, comforting squeeze.
Lysandra squeezed back before loosing a breath and grabbing a wig from the mannequin head upon which it rested.
“Let’s get you finished up. The sooner you get out there, the sooner you can put that creep down.”
Aelin grinned and ducked her head, allowing her friend to place the wig over her tightly-braided hair. “I’ve always wondered what I would look like with dark hair.”
“Still hot. But blonde suits you better.”
“So I suspected.”
…
It was late and Rowan couldn’t find sleep.
The apartment seemed deadly quiet without Aelin. A quiet so smothering it seemed to ring in his ears. He couldn’t remember how he had survived like this for so long before his wife had moved in. And now, the sound of her voice, her laughter, her trashy television, had become so ingrained into his home it was hard to be without it.
He sat in the living room, a glass of whisky that he was working through slowly to his side, a book in his hand. He knew Aelin had said she wouldn’t be home until nearly morning and that he shouldn’t wait up for her but… it felt strange to sleep in the bed without her now.
Rowan was struggling to focus on the scene before him when his phone buzzed on the coffee table. Welcoming the interruption of an unsuccessful night of reading, he grabbed the device, interest instantly piqued when he recognized the name that came with the message.
It was an informant he had inside the Terrasen Bureau of Investigation. It was impossible to get someone deep on the inside, to get all the details Rowan would’ve preferred, but this man listened well and provided what information he could which, when helpful, led to a fat check sent his way.
Keep your people away from downtown tonight, the message read. It’s gonna be flooded with cops and agents. They’re setting up a sting.
Rowan felt his stomach sink. Where?
The few moments it took for the informant to type were the longest of Rowan’s life. Clarisse’s. Someone let it slip that some of Hamel’s top people would be there tonight.
There was a dull droning ringing through Rowan’s ear. Aelin. Aelin was there, was likely the one the narcs were going to try and capture. And if they did that, with Aedion Ashryver as the head of the bureau… no. No, he couldn’t let that happen.
He sprung into action, sweeping into his room and clipping on his harness as well as two pistols, concealed a few knives on his being, and covered it all with a coat. He had to get downtown as fast as he could, get Aelin out before the bureau got there.
He could only hope he could do it in time.
…
Rowan had never been inside of Clarisse’s. He knew where it was located, had seen it from the outside more times than he could count. It was located in the busiest part of downtown and people tended to flow in and out of its doors all night.
He had always stayed clear of it. Up until recently, any establishment owned or funded by Hamel was somewhere he was not welcome.
It was a large, rather unassuming building with a bright red neon sign hanging over it flashing its name. There was a line of men waiting at the door, likely no one he would ever bother with. The people who mattered, who worked with Arobynn or had the money to spend on the girls, got in without question.
He strode past the line right up to the front. He could hear the music pounding from inside the building, a few men drunkenly stumbling out with wide grins on their faces. All signs that Rowan had beaten the feds here.
For the briefest of moments, the bouncer stationed at the entrance looked as though he was going to try and stop Rowan from entering. It was a possibility he had prepared for, and he had already planned to fight his way through if needed. But, the guard seemed to recognize him, had been trained enough to know who Rowan was to Arobynn, that he had wedded his heir for an alliance.
Wordlessly, the bouncer motioned for Rowan to enter. And that was that.
With his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat and his head ducked low, Rowan took his first steps into Clarisse’s. Immediately, his senses were assaulted. The drowning sound of the music’s pounding bass, the scent of cigars and alcohol, the dim lighting slashed through by the occasional beam of color light. Scantily-clad waitresses slipped through the crowd, bearing trays of expensive drinks and steaming piles of meat. Men laughed bawdily, ogling the women who served them and the others dancing for their entertainment.
For a moment, Rowan wasn’t sure where to begin looking for his wife within the madness around him. But then, he simply looked forward.
On center stage, there were two women. It was easy for him to recognize Aelin’s friend, Lysandra. She was beautiful, her luscious dark hair loose and gleaming in the colored lights, her curves highlighted by the deep green, lacy ensemble she wore. She clearly knew her craft, knew how to move to get men foaming at the mouth and vying for her attention. Most of the crowd was looking to her as she swayed.
But there was another figure on that stage. One that Rowan nearly didn’t recognize at first.
Her long, lithe, strong body was on display in a matching lacy, black set that left nearly nothing to the imagination. The bra pushed her breasts up sky high, the delicate fabric clinging to the curves of her hips, and her long legs seeming impossibly longer with the towering heels she wore. With the blunt, black bob she had her hair in, it was no wonder Rowan didn’t immediately recognize her. He watched this woman dance for seemingly a single man, one who looked at her like a meal and was surrounded by five, strapping bodyguards. The lights on the stage hit her face at just the right angle, and Rowan recognized his wife.
Her body moved entrancingly, perhaps not as skilled or honed as Lysandra’s dancing, but enticing nevertheless. Aelin’s eyes were pinned on what he realized was her mark as she danced, and the stupid fool was too horny to notice the promise of death that lingered in them.
As he was assessing the situation around him, he met Lysandra’s eyes. There was only the barest hint of surprise in them as she recognized him, but she didn’t show it. In fact, she made it look as though it was part of the performance as she closed the distance between herself and Aelin, wrapped a hand around her arm, and pressed her lips to her ear to whisper something.
It was clear what that something was when Aelin’s eyes snapped to his, lips tightening in almost imperceptible anger.
One moment Aelin was on the stage and with the next flash of light, she was gone. The man who she had been dancing for frowned, looked as though he might complain or go searching for her. That is, until Lysandra took off her top and moved closer, effectively making him forget Aelin for the time being.
Rowan looked in the crowd, scanning the dimly lit bodies and faces for the one that belonged to his wife. In the flashing lights, it was nearly impossible to differentiate between the patrons, the dancers, the servers and the security. He was sure it was purposefully designed that way, to give the customers anonymity.
In the end, Rowan didn’t find Aelin. She found him.
Two hands clamped down on his shoulders and shoved him into the nearest open seat. In a heartbeat, he was being straddled. But her weight and the scent of her perfume was all too familiar.
There was ire glowing in her eyes, her upper lip twitching in an attempt to hold back a sneer. But, she had a role to play. She wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, pressed her body tight against his, and leaned in close enough until her lips were brushing against the shell of his ear.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Rowan? Do you want to blow my cover?”
“We need to leave immediately.”
“What? Why?”
“It’s a godsdamned sting.”
The words had barely finished falling from his lips when the music shut off suddenly, all the fluorescent lights flickering on at once, revealing every ounce of debauchery that had been happening under that roof. Men shouted in outrage, women gasped and moved to cover themselves. Rowan grabbed Aelin’s waist, hauling them both to the feet just as the doors burst open and feds started pouring in.
Instantly, it was chaos.
The women shouted, hurrying away from where the armed men were pouring in. While some of the male patrons were crying out in protest at their night being interrupted, others were shoving and rushing towards the door. Chances were they had warrants out for their arrests.
Rowan snatched a man’s trenchcoat off the back of the nearest chair, helping his wife shrug it over her scantily-clad body. He took the spare gun he had brought and pressed it into Aelin’s palm, leaning in close and hissing, “We need to go. Now.”
But it was as if she hadn’t heard a word she said. Aelin’s face had paled, her eyes wide and unblinking, pinned directly on a darkly-dressed man who had strolled in with the latest wave of feds.
Ice flowed through Rowan’s veins as he recognized who, exactly, had arrived.
His hair was a familiar shade of blonde, eyes the same color as the woman he had wed. Rowan had spent years dodging him, damning him, but always still slipping through his fingers. He was the biggest pain in his ass.
But to Aelin, Aedion Ashryver was so much more.
Rowan didn’t know how long it had last been since Aelin had laid eyes on her kin, but judging by her expression, it had been a great long while.
“We need to leave,” Rowan tried saying again. But still, it was as if his voice didn’t penetrate her ears. Aelin still looked towards her cousin, a tremble growing stronger in her hands. He didn’t dare say her name, real or false, in this place. So Rowan merely wrapped a hand around her upper arm, preparing to drag her away if necessary.
Aedion stopped, the waves of feds flowing around him and filling the premises. His brows were lowered, jaw set, lips tight, gaze sweeping around him. And somehow, whether by divine intervention of a particularly bad moment of luck, he looked right towards them. Right towards Aelin.
Instantly, Rowan saw his expression change. It was clear that even from the distance, even with the years that separated them and the disguise Aelin wore, her cousin recognized her. Aedion’s mouth and hands went slack, taking a nearly trance-like step in their direction, and his lips formed a familiar name.
Aelin.
“Fuck.” They were compromised. More than compromised, if he were being honest. They were screwed. “Please. Please listen to me.”
Whether it was his words or the slight tug he gave her arm, Aelin snapped out of it. She tore her gaze away from Aedion and followed his lead, falling into the chaotic waves of people rushing away from the feds.
It was a swell of bodies. Rowan’s senses were assaulted by the smell of expensive colognes and hair gels, alcohol, the shouts and squeals of both workers and patrons. Judging by the mania in which these people were trying to escape, Rowan would guess that nothing good would be waiting for them if they were caught.
Rowan and Aelin included.
A startled woman crashed into them, breaking the grip that Rowan had held on his wife’s arm. Even with turning back in her direction instantly, she was lost to the swarm. And with the people pushing and frantic, if Rowan stopped moving, he would be trampled.
He hissed out a filthy, dirty curse and pushed along with the crowd, inching closer and closer to the back door. Those going that way were idiots, there would be plenty of feds out that way waiting to catch those trying to escape. But Rowan knew better, and he knew his wife did too.
Arobynn wouldn’t frequent an establishment that didn’t have a discrete way for him to leave should the worst come to pass. Such as this shit show.
There was a door that led to a basement garage that Arobynn would park at when he would visit. Though Rowan had never seen it himself, nor had he been in this building, his years of studying Hamel and his movements proved to be more than beneficial tonight.
He managed to shove himself out of the thick of the crowd, slipping down a dark hall. Despite knowing approximately where the entrance to his garage was, Rowan hadn’t the slightest idea what the entrance looked like. It wouldn’t be a door, that would be too obvious. Was it one of the framed paintings? The shelf against the far wall? Or-?
Then he spotted it. A long, tall mirror pressed against the wall. The glass was spotless save for fingerprints on the edges and the shape of lips in the same shade of red that had painted Aelin’s mouth that night. A clue, and a message. She had gone this way.
He pulled at the edge of the mirror and with only minor resistance, it swung open and revealed a dark, long hallway. Rowan wasted no time slipping into the shadow and shutting the entrance behind him, leaving him in near-total obscurity.
Relying on little more than his instinct and whatever vague shapes his eyes could make-out through the murk, Rowan moved.
He strained his ears for any clue of where Aelin could be, hoping for the sound of her voice or the click of her heel. Anything that told him he was getting closer and that she was safe.
But he wouldn’t be so lucky.
He didn’t know how long he traveled, the cool, damp air telling him he was likely underground somewhere. Where exactly, he couldn’t pinpoint. His intel had only told him that Hamel had a secret exit, but not where it led to.
After what felt like hours, the narrow hall opened into the garage he was expecting. There were a handful of dark, nondescript black cars parked. None running, nor had the garage been opened. But there was another exit whose door was opened just a crack, pale light from the night streaking inside.
He followed that light, slipping outside and finding himself in an alley. From his vantage point, there were no obvious signs to tell him where he was. Nor any signs of his wife.
A frustrated breath hissed out through his clenched teeth, tugging on his hair. Where the ever loving fuck was she? Rowan debated just heading towards the nearest road, finding his way home. Perhaps she was already on her way there, perhaps-
But before he could further debate his next move, there was a distinctly metallic click from behind, and then the tell-tale feeling of something hard and dangerous nudging the back of his head.
“Where the fuck is she?”
Dread, cold and oily, rushed through Rowan. He knew that voice. Knew it belonged to the one person he had been meaning to avoid at all costs. Grinding his teeth, Rowan slowly raised his hands.
“I said,” Aedion Ashryver growled, jabbing the back of Rowan’s head once more with his gun. “Where is she? What have you done to Aelin Galathynius?”
He was compromised. Fucked, in all honesty. In his harried rush to find his wife, he had let his guard down. And now he was at Aedion Ashrvyer’s mercy. Not that he likely had much to give. He thought that Rowan had kidnapped his cousin, probably suspected he and his consorts were doing much worse on her given the situation in which he had found them: Aelin dressed as a stripper, Rowan’s hand tight on her arm and pulling her away. Rowan would be lucky to leave here tonight walking.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The excuse sounded lame even to Rowan’s ears.
“You bastard.”
Rowan could hear the hurt, the sorrow, the pain in Aedion’s voice. He couldn’t imagine what he was feeling. Even if he had been holding on to hope that Aelin was alive all these years, seeing her must have been an entirely different experience.
Rowan considered his options. He could continue to try and make paltry excuses to buy himself some time, but it likely wouldn’t do much. He would be taken into custody, interrogated, likely tortured for information. Especially since he had just been seen with Terrasen’s princess.
Aedion gave a low, mirthless laugh. “We’ve been looking for the right excuse, the right situation, to bring you in for years, Whitethorn. And now, we’re going to have plenty of time to get answers out of you… by any means necessary.”
Fuck. Rowan had a few moments, perhaps only seconds, before Aedion summoned backup and he would be totally and thoroughly screwed. They’d haul him away under armed guards, take him to somewhere so secure there would be no chance of escape or rescue. And although Rowan had been trained to not break under torture, he certainly wasn’t looking forward to it.
“Put the gun down, Aedion.”
Rowan froze. He knew that voice. And judging by the catch of Aedion’s breath, so did he.
Aelin.
…
Aelin willed her hands not to tremble as she pointed her gun at the back of her cousin’s head. Every fiber of her being was protesting, telling her it wasn’t right. Aedion had been like a brother to her growing up, the other side of her golden coin. Pointing a weapon at him felt wrong. So wrong.
But his gun had been pointed at her husband. Which meant she had no other choice.
“Aelin?”
Her name sounded raw and painful coming from her cousin’s lips. Hurt and confused. Aelin had to swallow hard to keep the swell of sorrow within her in check.
“Drop the gun, put your hands up, and turn around slowly,” she instructed in a low, even voice. “Now.”
Inch by inch, Aedion squatted low and placed his weapon on the concrete below before raising his hands and turning towards her.
It was a practice in self-control to keep her expression blank as she saw Aedion for the first time up close since they were children. There had been photos of him over the years, yes, but Aelin had never liked to look at them for too long, lest the ache in her chest get the best of her. But now… there was no turning away.
The years had added a harshness to his face the same way they had done to hers. They still had similar sharp jaws and cheekbones, matching golden undertones beneath their skin. Their hair was the same shade of blonde, though hers was still hidden beneath the harsh, black wig she had worn tonight. And then those eyes… Ashryver eyes, same as hers. His, however, were swimming with tears.
“You’re alive,” he rasped. “I never gave up hope but…” His eyes scanned her up and down, likely looking for injuries that she didn’t currently have.
Without Aedion’s gun pointed at him, Rowan moved to her side, his presence steadying and grounding in the whirlwind of this moment. Aedion’s eyes shot towards him briefly, filled with disgust momentarily before they were locked on hers once again.
“Aelin,” her cousin began, “you can come home. Please. Put the gun down and we can get you away from this. Keep you safe.”
“I can’t go home, Aedion. Not now.”
There was a deep furrow between his brow. “Is he hurting you? Is he keeping you here? Are others?”
“Rowan is not hurting me. No one is forcing me to do anything or keeping me anywhere.”
“Then come home. Whatever you’ve been through these years, whatever you’ve had to do to survive… it doesn’t matter. We can get through this, get you help-”
“Aedion, please.” Aelin’s heart hammered in her chest, palms slick with sweat against the grip of her gun. “I need time. I need you to trust me. There are things I have to do before I can be rid of all of this.”
There was confusion in his gaze, but he still said, “Then let me help you.”
She shook her head. “I can’t let you do that.”
“Please, Fireheart.”
Aelin flinched.
Fireheart. Her mother had called her that as a child, a name that had only ever been spoken with love. She hadn’t heard it, hadn’t even dared to whisper it to herself in the dark, since the day her parents were killed. Hearing it again now… Aedion was good. Good at trying to get her to do what he wanted.
But she couldn’t.
“If you’ve ever trusted me, you must trust me now,” Aelin said. “Stay out of my way. Don’t come looking for either me or Rowan. You’ll be putting us all in danger if you do so. Do you understand?”
“I don’t understand any of this.”
“Well, you’re going to have to fucking figure it out, Aedion. Don’t come poking around unless you want to get either us or yourself killed.”
Aedion blinked, still trying to put all the pieces together.
Her heart wrenched for him, for all the hurt and confusion he must be feeling now. It wasn’t fair but she didn’t have the luxury of being fair.
“You have to trust me, Aedion. You have no other choice.”
Aelin lowered the gun and her cousin let his hands drop to his sides. He was too shocked to pose much of a threat now, judging by his body-language. So she took a step closer, close enough that she could have embraced him if she wanted to.
“I- I’ll find you after,” she whispered, lips pressing together tight. “But for now… I’m sorry.”
Aedion only had a heartbeat to look confused by her apology before she swiftly brought the butt of her pistol down on his head and knocked her cousin out cold.
…
Not a single word was uttered as they traveled back to Rowan’s apartment, keeping to shadowy places, hiding in alcoves when police vehicles sped past.
Aelin was on edge the entire time, her entire body tight and fragile, like at any moment, she would shatter. It took much effort to keep herself together, to not fall apart in relief when she laid eyes on Rowan’s building.
Rowan was just a step behind her as she pushed into the apartment, his fingers just missing her arm as she swept away.
“Aelin…”
She didn’t respond, her towering heels seeming deafeningly loud on the hard floors as she strode into Rowan’s room, making a bee-line for the bathroom. She fisted the hairs of her wig and tore it off, tossing it carelessly to the tile floor of the bathroom. The stranger’s coat, which smelled heavily of cigars and booze, was next.
Her hands were trembling as she turned on the sink, splashing bracingly cold water on her face and scrubbing roughly, hoping it would help ground her back in her body.
Aelin gripped the edge of the counter and dared to look at herself in the mirror. She looked a fright. Makeup was smeared across her face, dripping and clumping. Her hair was sweaty and frizzy and her eyes… blown wide and red-rimmed. She felt ridiculous, still wearing the matching set.
In the reflection, she saw Rowan enter, concern etched on his handsome face. He approached slowly, giving her time to step away if she so wanted. But, she didn’t. Let him place his hands on her shoulders and turn her towards him gently.
Wordlessly, he grabbed and wet a washcloth, cleaning away the ruined makeup with a tenderness that made her heart clench.
“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.
There was a tightness in her throat. “I- I just didn’t expect to see him tonight. To talk to him.”
“I know.” He cleaned away the smeared, red lipstick around her mouth. “I’m sorry.”
The trembling returned to her hands, her entire body, as her eyes burned. “He… he’s going to keep looking for me, now. He’s not going to stay away. And when Arobynn finds out that Aedion knows I’m alive, he’s going to-” She couldn’t even finish her statement, the sobs overpowering her.
Rowan dropped the rag and hauled her against his chest, holding her tightly as she cried.
She lost track of time with the sorrow, not knowing how long they stood in the bathroom, waiting for her cries and shaking to subside. When her body went limp with exhaustion, Rowan gently guided her into the bedroom, urging her to sit on the edge of the bed. He went to his knees before her and removed the heels she wore before he removed the bra and panties.
Rowan had undressed her plenty of times now, but this was different. It wasn’t for the purpose of fucking her, but rather to simply take care of her. He returned with a soft shirt of his own for her to wear for the evening, helping to slip it over her head.
He pulled the covers back and they crawled into bed, instantly coming together in the middle. Aelin found solace in his arms, tucking herself into his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and praying for sleep to take her swiftly.
~~~
a/n: allow me to apologize for the long wait for this chapter! some months, the writing juices flow better than the others. still, i hope everyone enjoys! we’re honestly probably pretty close to the end of this story!
tags: @val-gon @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @lattristantketchup @poisonous00 @sleeping-and-books @booklover242 @elentiyawhitethorn @shyvioletcat @charlizeed @swankii-art-teacher @nalgenewhore @morganofthewildfire @emily-gsh @fireheart-violet @fangirling-4-ever @leiawritesstories @stardelia @empress-ofbloodshed @fromthelibraryofemilyj @gwynethhberdara @rowaelinrambling @justreadertings @thegreyj @rubyriveraqueen @rowanaelinn
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Hey there @enquiringangel I have a prompt for based off of one of my posts
Here it is https://www.tumblr.com/ria-coolgirl/725198999630594048/hey-there-lost-boys-fandom-i-just-have-a-dumb
I hope you like it 😅
(…This is not a drabble. I can’t believe I wrote so much about baby ducks lol.)
Keeping Your Ducks in a Row
🪿🦆🦆🦆🦆🦆🦆🦆🦆
-x-
It begins in the park one night.
There’s a lake, more of a glorified pond than anything else, the surface scattered with algae and lilypads. And on the shore, a nest in an ill-advised place. There is also a fox, small and sleek and hungry.
Long story short, one dead mother duck later and it’s Marko to the rescue, filling his jacket pocket with eggs while Paul makes a joke about omelettes.
Marko pushes him into the lake.
It’s fine. There’s no running water involved, so the worst that happens is Paul thrashing to the surface, spluttering and blinking furiously, carefully dishevelled hair now limp and flat, a broken lily pad on his head. Dwayne and David just about laugh themselves sick at the sight of him.
“Dude! It was a fucking joke,” Paul complains, splatting wetly back onto the shore and peeling off streams of pond weed. “You know I wouldn’t hurt your birdies.”
(A lesson learned after the Boys had decided to use the pigeons to make their game of darts more interesting. Marko had taken a look at the dead bird speared on the wall next to the dartboard and launched himself at David in a whirl of curled hair and fangs. The resulting tussle had been bloody, and scariest of all - Marko had almost won.
David jokes he still has a scar on his calf from Marko’s teeth, despite the fact that none of them scar.)
Marko takes the eggs back to the hotel with him and builds them a brightly-colored nest of fabric swatches. There are nine eggs in all, though one of them is bigger than the others. As he returns to their roost in time for dawn, he hopes they’ll be warm enough.
The following evening he wakes to David’s voice in his head. ‘Marko. One of your chickens has hatched. Come get it, it keeps squeaking at me.’
Marko’s barely-awake brain digests this for a moment before his end of their telepathic bond is swamped in excitement. He flies back through to the lobby, leaving Dwayne and Paul’s groggy, just woken-up thoughts behind him.
It’s the big egg that hatched first, and a ball of yellowy-brown fuzz is clambering over the shells of its siblings, peeping excitedly as it stares up at David, who regards it with mild interest from amid a cloud of cigarette smoke.
Marko scoops the duckling up in both hands holds it up to his face. The peeping intensifies. Marko smiles. “Look how fuzzy it is, man.”
David squeezes his shoulder. “Congratulations. On your firstborn,” he says solemnly. “You should name him Marko Junior.” Because he is small, fluffy and yellow, David didn’t need to say.
“Fuck you,” Marko says. “Maybe I’ll name him David Junior.” He immediately decides he’ll do it, just because he can.
David rolls his eyes and gives Marko a little shove. “Whatever.” Having given his vague approval, he loses interest in the proceedings and goes to sit in his wheelchair and finish his ‘morning’ smoke. All he needs is a newspaper and a cup of coffee and his old man routine will be complete, Marko thinks as the baby bird in his hands begins chirping more urgently.
David Jr. is still chirping frantically by the time the others arrive. “Aw, cute,” Paul declares, stroking the top of its head with the tip of one finger. It immediately starts trying to devour his finger. “Little guy’s hungry!” he declares, laughing.
Dwayne leans over and turns one of the other eggs. “This one’s hatching.”
And it’s not too long before they’re all hatching, and Marko finds himself with nine baby birds all cheeping up at him. David Jr. looks different from the others, he notices. They’re all shades of yellow and brown but most of the others are more dark brown on top with a yellow underside and head, but a stripe of brown across their face like winged eyeliner almost. The first chick is more yellow, with a faint dusting of brown on top and no markings on its head.
“Maybe it’s not a duck,” Dwayne suggests.
“The fuck you talking about? Of course it’s a duck,” Marko says, looking at him like he’s demented. “They’re all ducks.”
“Maybe it’s just special,” Paul says, giggling as the oldest duckling keeps pecking at his hands. It tickles.
“Of course David Jr.’s special,” Marko dismisses, leading to uproarious cackling from his brothers at the choice of name. They each insist on naming a duckling after themselves as well, but quickly lose track of which one is which because they all look the same.
Once lowered to the ground, the baby ducks trail after Marko everywhere, dogging his footsteps like a shadow. It’s cute but he has to take great care where he steps. The one exception is naturally his problematic firstborn, who, upon figuring out its land legs, immediately weaves its way across the room to the foot of David’s wheelchair where it hops at the side of his boot insistently. Marko hastily goes to retrieve it, not wanting to risk a repeat of the pigeon dartboard incident.
“Figures you’d be the problem child,” he says, sighing.
-x-
“Are you seriously taking those things to the Boardwalk with us?” Dwayne asks him later that night.
“Yes,” Marko says, feeling immediately defensive. “I can’t exactly leave them alone can I? They might fall down a hole and perish. Or one of the rats might hurt one.”
“Never come between a mother and her child Dway—ow!” Paul rubs his arm and widens his eyes at Marko in a show of being wounded. “So violent,” he remarks. “Such strong maternal instincts—hahaha!” He’s still laughing even when Marko gets him in a headlock, the two of them able to wrestle without crushing any ducklings due to the fact said ducklings are currently locked away in an old cat carrier they had lying around.
“Say my name, bitch,” Marko orders, grinding his fist into Paul’s scalp.
“Never,” Paul growls back and, because he’s a bitch, grabs the underside of Marko’s upper arm between his fingers and pinches. Hard.
“Oww! Motherfucker—!” Marko immediately goes to close his teeth on Paul’s ear, but the angle of his own arm prevents this. He releases the headlock and the two of them kick and strike at each other playfully, complete with Bruce Lee sound effects.
“Girls! You’re both pretty,” David calls out, already straddling his motorcycle and looking over his shoulder with amusement. “Now put your purses down and get on the fucking bikes.”
“Aww, knew you loved me, Davey,” Paul says and runs over, planting a wet smooch on David’s cheek.
In the end they make it to the Boardwalk, ducklings in tow. Marko releases them and quickly realises he’s going to have to walk slow enough for them to keep up so they don’t get lost and trampled in the crowds. In the end the pack form a loose circle around Marko and the baby ducks, with Jr. trotting contently at David’s heels.
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A3! Kamikizaka Reni - Translation [SSR] Us on April 1st (2/3)
*Please read disclaimer on blog
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Reni: “This is the first time I’ve ever felt this way.
Every day, I can’t get it out of my head no matter what I do—”
Yukio: …There might be a little too much dialogue.
Reni: ?
Yukio: I think your acting will shine through if we cut back a bit.
Syu: Are you sayin’ you’re gonna cut down on the lines Hakkaku-san wrote?
Hiro: That’s disrespectful, you know…!
Yukio: I will discuss it with him.
Reni: No. We should leave this scene as it is, shouldn’t we?
I won’t be able to get through to the audience with my current abilities.
Yukio: That’s not true.
You can do it as you are now.
Reni: On what basis do you—.
(You’re the one who would be able to pull it off.
If it was you from that day…)
Yukio: Let’s give it a shot!
Hakkaku-san will also agree once he sees the performance.
Reni: Don’t say that so easily.
To begin with, you always place too much faith in us actors.
You’re always spouting, “you can do it, you can do it.” But that’s nothing but your own assumption.
Yukio: But everyone’s acting has been getting better and better, so—.
Reni: You are way too optimistic.
Syu: Geez, these guys…
Hiro: You don’t say.
Yukio: Come on? Let’s try it out!
Reni: If you insist so much, then—.
(You should be the one taking the stage in my stead.)
Kasumi: We’re late!
Yuzo: I said don’t pull me!
Syu: Now we’re just waiting on Zen.
Hiro: He’ll be here soon, right?
Zen: Good morning.
Kasumi: Good morning!
Reni: …
Yukio: Errm, why don’t we take a short break?
Zen: Kasumi and Yuzo, you two came here straight after school, right?
I made some sandwiches.
Kasumi: Wow, thank you so much!
Yuzo: I was starving. That helps.
Hiro: You two, go change your clothes over there first.
Kasumi: We’ll do that.
Reni: …
Yukio: …
Kasumi: …Hey, about Yukio-san and Reni-san lately…
Yuzo: Huh? What about those two?
Kasumi: You haven’t noticed?
…You really are dense, Yuzo.
Yuzo: Hah?
Zen: I have sandwiches for the rest of you guys too.
Yukio: Don’t mind if I do.
Hiro: Don’t you have any fried chicken?
Zen: No.
Boil your chicken instead of frying it, and choose breast meat over thigh meat.
Hiro: That’s not fried chicken anymore then!
Zen: It’s healthier and you get more protein that way.
Yukio: You’re really taking our nutrition into account, aren’t you, Zen-san?
Zen: An actor’s body is their livelihood, after all.
Reni: …Phew.
Syu: You’ve got some pretty high ideals for your own actin’, don’tcha?
…Or rather, did you raise them?
Reni: …Hmph.
Syu: Memories become glorified to suit your own convenience.
Remember, chasin’ after a false image won’t do you any good.
Reni: (Even so, I…)
---
previous | next
#a3!#a3! translation#kamikizaka reni#act! addict! actors!#why is this so sad#we're supposed to be laughing#yet all of us are crying#oh no
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“Pax,” Martin says suddenly.
She looks up from the small seam tear in her gambeson. “What?”
Martin opens his mouth, closes it again. They’re sitting in his too-big room, Pax cross-legged and stitching on his cushy bed, Martin fidgeting in the chair next to the cupboard. He still doesn’t have many things here, though it’s been months. Not much more than a stack of books, a few changes of clothes, exactly two items of sentimental value. It can’t be nice to rest in such a cavernously empty room. Pax should really get him some more little knick-knacks, the kind a person has when they stay in the same place for a while. A paperweight shaped like a cat or some such nonsense. They wouldn’t know.
The bareness of the room makes it feel a little stark, uncomfortable, like all Martin’s awkward restraint is pressed into the walls. Pax will freely own that they don’t know what a normal person would do in this scenario, but they don’t think it would be whatever Martin’s doing. They’d at least get a paperweight or something.
At least the Xarxes isn’t here, radiating whatever fiendish miasma bothers everyone so much and poisoning the air of the room further. (Pax is willing to bet he would have brought it in here to study, but apparently the Blades wouldn’t let him.)
Martin still hasn’t said anything. Pax jabs the needle back into the padded wool fabric. “Spit it out.”
Martin wrings his hands.
He says, “Jauffre tells me you’re getting to be quite renowned throughout Cyrodiil.”
“Mm-hm.” The needle is sticking near the seam – Pax brings the cloth to his face and shoves it through with his teeth. “Can’t go three steps in the Kvatch gambeson without someone asking if it’s me. Talk like I’m going to fight off Oblivion single-handed. Black Horse Courier wrote a pamphlet about me and all.”
Martin nods – then keeps nodding, head bobbling up and down like a socially inept chicken. “Right,” he says, pauses again – spit it out, Pax wants to say again, he gets so ridiculous sometimes – “Doesn’t it bother you?”
“Doesn’t what bother me?” Pax pulls the thread taut. “The pamphlet? It’s a bit early in the day for them to write a whole book about me, Martin Priest.”
“I mean – the way people talk, as you say, like you’ll end the crisis single-handed. Like you’re a hero.”
Pax’s eyes flicker over to Martin’s drawn face.
“I am a hero,” she says, tugging the needle sharply enough that the thread almost snaps.
“Of course!” Martin practically trips over himself trying to eat his words; the tight set of Pax’s jaw softens. “That isn’t what I meant, Pax, of course you are. Just.”
He’s visibly struggling again.
Pax shuffles to the end of the bed and thumps the mattress with his foot. “Come on,” he says. “Sit.”
“I am sitting.”
“Over here, you git.”
Martin sits.
“All right. Now spit it out.”
Martin sighs, hands flexing on his knees. “Just. You are a hero, Pax, but you aren’t like heroes are supposed to be – you’re just a person. And yet everyone acts as though you’re not, as though you’re more an idol to be glorified than you are you. Doesn’t it grate on your nerves after a while?”
Pax says, “Nah.”
Martin cants his head. Pax stares at the rip in the gambeson – it’s almost all mended now.
When Martin doesn’t speak, they stick the needle in the wool and take a rustling breath. “I ever tell you,” they say, “that my parents were highwaymen?”
They can feel Martin’s watery old-man eyes on their scalp.
“No, you did not.”
“Well, they were.” Pax is painfully uncomfortable. “Are, I guess. They’re probably still kicking around the lower Niben.”
“I assumed they were dead.”
Pax shrugs, still staring down the eye of the needle. “Reasonable assumption, but no. And they weren’t bad – weren’t bad parents. Bad people. Fine parents.”
Martin shifts so that Pax just gets the rustling of his blue skirts out the edges of her eyes. He says, “Why did you leave?”
“Don’t push it, Martin Priest.” This is already more personal than Pax would like. “I’m just answering your question, I think. No-one’s ever what the stories say they are, you know? My mother terrorised the Yellow Road for years, I saw posters when I was in Leyawiin, but. She was my mother, you know? There’s always a person behind the myth.”
“So you’re already more comfortable with being misinterpreted?” Martin tries.
Pax shakes his head. “No. Well – yeah, kind of, but. I think.” He doesn’t know how to say this part – how to explain why being idolised never bothers him, why he remembers it all so well, the stew and the talking and the smell of the paper, the stain the candlewax left on the table. “I’m six years old, right? And I’m telling strangers I’m lost so they dismount and my parents can rob them, and my father’s training me with a bow so I can help when I’m older, and the travellers always look so upset with me when they find out. And I’ve never seen a dead body up close but I know the smell of blood well enough to know when it’s time to close my eyes. And we go back to the wagon and the adults are laughing and I’m reading Pelinal by candlelight.” And now he’s just recounting his childhood memories and it’s weird and he hates it, and Martin looks all sympathetic when he peeks up and it’s weird and he hates it, but the only way out is through and Pax pushes along through his terrible nightmare explanation. (He’s not even sure Martin understands what he’s trying to get at.) “And I don’t mind stealing but the blood turns my stomach and I don’t like how they always act betrayed because I lied. Even though I don’t owe them anything. And I’m reading Pelinal and at least the blood has a point. And at least there’s a song at the end of it. And then I put myself to bed and my parents say goodnight and I know if we all dropped dead in the night no-one would care, and I get older and I know that if I left they probably wouldn’t follow me. And no-one would remember me. You know?”
Martin, stymied, lays a compassionate hand on Pax’s shoulder and says, “I definitely don’t.”
Pax knocks it off.
“Thank you for telling me,” he says, ever earnest. Pax groans.
“Forget it,” she says, and tips her head back. Revises her answer. “No, it doesn’t bother me. It’s nice. The Hero of Kvatch is important. People are happy when I show up.”
“It’s nice to be wanted,” Martin says softly.
Before they have time to think better of it, Pax replies, “Yeah.”
They press their chin to their chest to hide their face and resume sewing.
Martin, because he’s annoying, does not tacitly agree to stop talking and never bring it up again. “But at least people want you because you – did something. You earned your reputation.”
His face is pinched and pale, brow furrowed, and he’s beginning to wave his hands about in the way he does when he’s getting het up. Pax screws up their face. He’s been fidgety the last few days, tucking himself and his books into odd corners and wincing whenever someone addresses him –
“Ah,” Pax says, and they lift their head, aggressively grateful to pass over the spotlight. “This is about your doubts.”
He presses his lips tight together, a strand of hair falling in his face. He’s got to do something with that, it’s getting too long to just leave loose all the time. “Pax, I’m really doing my best, but I still don’t feel –”
He huffs and goes quiet. He’s getting himself into a proper state about this. Pax stretches out her legs and drops her feet in his lap, much more comfortable now they’ve returned to the status quo of Martin being the weird and weepy one. He gives her a look.
“Emperors are supposed to be – mighty,” he manages. “Blood of kings, the divine right to rule, they know what they’re doing. I’m no Emperor. I don’t know what I’m doing!”
Pax knots off his stitching and drops the gambeson on the floor. “Martin, I met the last Emperor.” He spreads his arms, makes sure Martin’s paying attention. “He was literally just a weird old man.”
“Pax.”
“You’re a slightly less weird, slightly less old man. I’m pretty sure you’re fine.” Martin is staring, aghast, as though they just told him they ate a divine relic – or something else ridiculous bordering on blasphemous. “I don’t think Emperors are that special, Martin, they’re just lucky. You’re the same as all of them.”
He still looks shocked. Pax crawls over the mattress so she can prod him in the chest.
“Ow,” he says. “Rude.”
“Calm down, Martin Priest. I promise you the Blades won’t arrest me for treason for saying you’re just a person.”
He frowns, pushes his hair back behind his ears. “I don’t know that you’re wrong,” he says reluctantly. “But I don’t want to believe you.”
Pax sits back on their heels. “Why?”
“I don’t know what it means if you’re right.”
They are quiet for a bit before Pax reaches around him and steals his pillow.
“Doesn’t make much difference, does it?” she says as he snatches it back out of her arms. “We have to do what we have to do anyway.”
Martin clutches the pillow to his chest. “I just wish I had a little more certainty.” He cracks an awkward smile. “Or some of your confidence, if you’ve any spare.”
Pax is not a touchy feely person. They flop against his side. “You know I’m not – I’m not the hero everyone thinks I am, right, like you said?” they ask. Martin nods. “It’s just that I want to be. I like that they think that. I’m going to keep going in that direction because I want to be what people think I am.”
Martin’s hair is really too long; they can feel it brushing the top of their head.
“I want to be a good Emperor,” Martin says quietly. “I want to do this right.”
“Then you’ve got a good start,” Pax says. He draws his knees up to his chest. “Just keep going in that direction.”
I’m with you all the way, he doesn’t say, because he’s said far more than he likes to already.
It doesn’t need to be said, anyway. They both know.
#god I love them so much. my little guys. I am mashing them like potatoes#hope you enjoyed this piece. ruminations on perception and expectation. ft pax backstory stuff#(which of course she reveals in the clumsiest most hamfisted way possible. and then never acknowledges again)#my writing#fay writes#oc tag#pax#martin#HoK#hero of kvatch#oblivion#microfic#the elder scrolls#tes#martin septim
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I'm a bit conflicted, because I know the person irl who suggested Confession (they told me in person), Climate got the most votes, and the one person who reblogged said Apocrypha. I love democracy, but I was tempted to show favoritism
But, I decided to be fair this time, and go with Climate. But I may not be so unbiased in the future
So, how does Climate apply to the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Well, the Earth is our home. We helped create it (Michael was one of the Creators, and the Endowment tells us specifically to associate ourselves with him, after he becomes Adam), we live on it, and it will be glorified with us
When Adam was placed on the Earth, he was commanded to be a wise Steward over it. As I previously said, we are Adam, we are all supposed to be Stewards. But what is a Steward? It is one who oversees and manages a property (in this case, the Earth). So, to be a wise Steward is to careful manage the Earth, properly using its resources
We have not done that. When we began using Coal & Petroleum, we didn't know the affect it would have on the environment. I can't get mad at their ignorance, because it helped build our society. But we have absolutely no excuse now. We know the affects, and it's inexcusable to look the other way (it's not a conspiracy, and if anything, implementing clean technology would inspire a new boom in careers)
Now, as you know from the Evolution post, I believe in Old Earth Creation. As this is the case, I have to acknowledge the changes in Climate over time. But, we cannot deny that humans have accelerated it to unprecedented extent, and we are not slowing down
So, what can you do. There's a number of things:
1.) Vote! I know, many of you aren't going to vote for the Green Party, but vote for policies which help the environment, vote out politicians who don't believe in climate change, or who are paid off to look the other way
2.) Speak. I'm taking an Environmental Science Class this semester, and I learned that one individual is useless. But you don't have to remain one person. Speak out, whenever, to whomever. If you live a more sustainable life, and talk about it, you'll get others to join you. Brigham said the Gospel is everything, Temporal & Spiritual. So, this counts as Missionary Work. Talk to your Ministering Families about these issues
3.) Hunt. I know, it's weird to say that, but hunting can help. In my Word of Wisdom post, I discussed limiting Meat. Well, not only does Hunting cut down on the need for Land & Feed when it comes to raising Pork or Beef, but it also prevents overgrazing. The only thing I will say is hunt wisely, and use what you kill. Overhunting can lead to a population collapse, and trophy hunting is just... No. I'm addition, raise your own animals. Not everyone can have a whole cow in their yard, but if you have a few chickens, that cuts down on eggs being shipped thousands of miles (and you can sell the extras)
4.) 3R. Recycling is good, but it's not enough. We need to reduce & reduce first. Let's say you get Soda for a Party. Instead of getting a 12 Pack, get some 2 Liters, and use your washable cups. Reuse your used 2 Liters (I use mine as Mini-Greenhouses), and then you don't need to recycle
5.) Learn more. I can't tell you everything. Learn the effects of Climate Change, what you can do to slow it, ect
I've got some resources here. From personal research or my Environmental Class. Please share more in the Comments & Notes
https://ldsearthstewardship.org/
https://www.climate.gov/
https://www.nrcs.usda.gov/conservation-basics/natural-resource-concerns/climate
https://www.ipcc.ch/
#mormon#lds#tumblrstake#queerstake#lds church#ldschurch#mormon hot take#climate change#climate crisis#climate action#climate catastrophe#climate emergency
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KaiShin 34
"You're covered in blood, need to tell me something?"
hurt and comfort dialogue prompts
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It was rare that Kaito found himself in a situation in which he couldn't handle himself, but today had been that exception. Some nefarious fellows had gotten the drop on him and now he was strapped to a table and slightly out of it, veins coursing with some mystery chemical he was probably better not knowing the origin of.
Or maybe not. His eyes kept doing something, really, really weird. His vision would sharpen, then blur; the ant navigating its way up the mortar of the top of the far wall looked like it was right in front of his eyes.
His suit was so dirty with set-in blood he’d probably have to procure an entirely new one.
How sad.
His lips were so numb it was difficult to speak, and his arms itched something fierce. Really, it was worse than the pounding in the shoulder from where they’d stabbed him. He wanted to scratch at them, but he was strapped down.
Anyway, Kudō Shinichi kicking down the door and growling at him was far more pleasant than it should have been, really. Well, to be fair, it was probably not at him. More like, uh, the situation in general. Kaito could get behind that. And not to sound overly sentimental, but this horrible day had turned into a pleasant one, now that he'd gotten a chance to see his detective again.
Kaito blinked up at him, eyes unfocused, and then he shook his head and blinked up at him again as Meitantei shifted back into focus. “Detective?” he slurred. "You're covered in blood. Need to tell me something?"
His eyes glowed a fierce blue, lighting up the dim room. “You know what? I guess I do,” he said. “It’ll certainly make it a lot easier to escape if I don’t have to hide.” He shifted, hair sprouting along his face and hands as he bulked up and his clothes disappeared. When he finished, Meitantei was a bipedal wolf, standing a meter taller on wolfish hind legs, drool dripping from a wide maw full of sharp teeth. His umber coat was stained and matted still with blood.
He cut through the straps binding Kaito’s arms to the table with sharp claws, then lifted Kaito over his shoulder with one massive arm. His arms dangled over the detective’s shoulder, and he blinked yet again as he saw feather growth. No wonder they itched so badly. He was molting.
...He was molting!
“Tantei-kun!” he squawked. “What did they do to me?” He dragged out the last word, close to hyperventilating.
A loud sniff as he ran through the halls on his hind legs, tail stiff and alert. “Smells like infection,” he said. “They drugged you and injected you with hato blood.”
“What does that mean? I’m a werepigeon?”
“Weredove,” Shinichi said grimly. “And since you’re taking the change quickly, it means they murdered your predecessor.”
That didn’t make any sense. “I don’t understand. You said I was infected? How does that equate to murder?”
The building rumbled from another explosion. The hall in front of them collapsed, but Shinichi skidded and leaped over it in one smooth motion so they were on the floor above. The pile of rubble had to be two meters tall, and he ran for the waiting area with the large window at the far end of the hall.
“I don’t have time for this. Look. Most shifters are born, not made. It’s poor form to turn a human. Long story short, it’s a complex process, you can be turned without murder, but it takes months, and it’s very painful. But if they trap a soul and bind it to yours, their power becomes yours. And you’re clearly turning.”
“Why?”
“That’s what I’d like to find out. They’re up to something. Didn’t expect to find you in a black organization building.”
“...Do you know a Snake?”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Shinichi asked. “Brace yourself.”
Kaito did. Shinichi threw a chair through the window, then jumped out to the adjacent rooftop.
“What am I supposed to do as a glorified chicken?” he asked.
“Don’t worry. I’ll teach you everything you need to know. We’re in this together now.”
“Together?”
“Yeah. Together.”
And somehow, when Shinichi put it like that, it didn’t seem so bad, regardless of what the future held.
#dcmk#detective conan#magic kaito#kuroba kaito#kudo shinichi#whump#kaishin#sentinel writes#sentinel responds
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The subconcious part of Stu that feels most keenly the othering effect that his secret relationship with Maureen Prescott has on him reaches out with some frequency to try and normalize it. It's in his signature tongue-out display at every chance he gets— in his waggled brows and quick ability to lace just about any conversation with innuendo and loads of perversion and suggestion.
Class clown that he may be, everything about him exudes a sort of ease and confidence about sex— gives his teenage peers the impression he's got experience somehow. Maybe scandalously so. No one fesses up to being the one to give it up to him, but still, it's known. He couldn't talk the way he does, know the things he knows, without having done it already.
Stu's pretty sure it's how he lands Casey for those glorified fifteen minutes he has her, before she trades up to Steve from the football team.
He touches Randy with it. Well. Not literally. They might not be able to look each other in the eye after if they touched. No, he just lets the usual back and forth movie babble turn into an invite to his house— sans parental supervision; perfect for being able to enjoy the bare-chested scenes of their favorite horror flicks. It's nice being able to pause them, taking in the grainy offering of tits halted in time, suspended there for their eager perusing and committing to memory. It's not a secret that it's a turn-on... nor what they'd usually do about it if they were each on their own. Stu says something about it being if the same if they just don't look. So they don't, though they do share the moment, pushing hands into jeans to relieve an ache that plagues them on the regular and with little provocation.
He never confides his dirty little Mrs. Prescott secret with Randy, but he doesn't need to. They have their own, now. An infrequent semi-circle jerk around the tv screen, the kind of thing everybody does, according to Stu. You just don't talk about it.
There's something calming and less lonely about knowing and being friends with somebody confirmed. Someone else who does what he does— or would if he wasn't such a dork that no girl at school will give him the time of day.
Stu touches Tatum with it too— just like Maureen taught him. Tongue out, face buried in her muff, suffocating on the scent and taste of her. That's not weird though. She's his girlfriend. They're supposed to, and she's real appreciative of the so-called home training she ribs him for getting from whoevever had him before— so long as it wasn't that Casey Becker. Stu grins and swears he barely dated her at all, let alone long enough to get a peek under the hood, and keeps Tatum sweet and satisfied.
Fucking around catches more easily than chicken pox, and it's like the more he shares it, the less itchy he feels about it all.
#* ⠀ / ⠀ 𝙁𝙄𝙇𝙀𝘿 𝙐𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍 ⠀ ﹕ ⠀ ❪ ⠀ stu macher ⠀ ❫ ⠀ * ⠀ HEADCANON.#nsft cw#usfw cw#hypersexuality as a trauma response#also the ways in which secret-keeping victims feel a need to feel less alone in what they know and participate in#depending on the stage they're at with it
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AU where Wicky starts the consulting firm with Ollie but he never actually majored in anything with finances or whatever it is the business is in. 90% of the time he's just fielding phone calls and emails and basically running Ollie's work schedule.
He's the glorified secretary, basically.
Ollie doesn't mind - he was shocked Wicky wanted to help him with the business to begin with, but he loves his husband and was more than happy to start the business with him.
But Wicky isn't happy like this. Ollie knows he isn't, because his husband hasn't been smiling as much, and his depression has been hitting harder, and his sleep is getting harder to come by, and Ollie is worried.
But also, Ollie knows that Wicky was an English major, and he never talked about it, because he didn't want to seem like a pretentious prick freshman year, and then in sophomore year, he had Nursey who was way better at being an English major than Wicky was, or at least that's what Wicky always told Ollie when they were curled up together.
And Wicky always felt better when he was writing.
The other man constantly wrote in college, and sometimes even now Wicky wrote when he had the time, and he had been writing since he was sixteen years old, and needing an outlet for his frustrations of being a queer in South fucking Carolina to parents who were "gross old money" and he could never come out to them, and Wicky always told Ollie in college that he hoped to one day publish something, "but I doubt I'll be able to - I'm not nearly as good as Nursey is."
The work wasn't quite poetry, but it wasn't a novel or a short story either. It wasn't a diary entry.
Wicky probably knew what to call it, but Ollie didn't.
So while Wicky's asleep, Ollie pulls out all of their old things from college and high school, and he finds all of the writings Wicky did, handwritten and all dated and numbered, because Wicky was a stickler for chronological order when it came to his writing.
He transcribed 2 of them, and sent an email to Nursey - who graduated and opened an independent publishing company of his own - and said 'someone I know wrote a whole bunch of stuff like this, about his life, what do you think?', and then attached the 2 pieces, and sent it before he could chicken out or feel bad about doing it without consulting his husband about it.
Nursey's reply?
"He making a collection book of these? I'd get it published in a heartbeat."
Ollie doesn't question why Nursey's awake at 3 AM on a Tuesday.
But he talks to Wicky, in the morning, and Wicky is understandably upset his husband showed his private work to someone, but especially to Nursey.
"He asked if you're making a collection book." Ollie says, "He said he'd get it published in a heartbeat. Look."
Wicky stares at the email for several minutes, before looking up at Ollie, and quietly asks "He... liked it?"
"Yeah, he liked it, Pace'." Ollie said, smiling. "You should do it. Publish it. Please?"
"That- that'll take forever, and work-"
"Babe, you and I are the owners. You don't need permission to take off for this."
"Who's gonna run your schedule at work? You can't manage your meetings on your own - last time, you scheduled two meetings at the same time."
"So hire a replacement for me. It can be temporary, if you want to come back, but I think you'll be happier if you do this."
That weekend is spent with both men transcribing all of Wicky's old work - from the time he was sixteen and writing about dysphoria and wondering if he was allowed to be a boy, and especially if he still liked boys to last week, when he wrote about the time someone called him and Ollie a slur for holding hands while walking down the street.
Ollie emailed Nursey again, saying "He'd like to. What do we do?"
"Can he come to Maine? I'm visiting Dex, but I'd love to meet and get this set up like, uber fast. I showed Dex, by the way. He thinks it should be published too!"
Nursey's face when Ollie showed up, his arm around Wicky's shoulders, was priceless to Ollie, because it was just so damn funny.
Especially when he spoke.
"Bro, Wicky?" He asked Ollie, who nodded.
"Pace' wrote it." He confirmed.
"I am so upset right now, like, bro! The amount of talks we could have had in school!" Nursey cried, and Ollie laughed, as Wicky pressed closer to his husband, embarrassed.
Dex just shouts at them to get inside because they're letting the heat out and it's december you baboons!.
The collection is on shelves within the next year.
Bitty and Wicky exchange signed books.
#omgcp#pacer wicks#ollie omeara#I want Wicky being embarrassed around Nursey as an English major so much tbh#whether it's during their college years or post years IDC I just want it#also might be writing an actual fic for English Major Wicky
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the oc story is funnier from kisakis pov. you’re just tryna destroy anyone in the way of your weird egotistical alpha fantasy with hinata and if that means taking the 2hr train to yokohama every other day to talk to a grieving ex-con killing machine you dislike then so be it. except now he keeps skipping your awesome pep-talks about 'ashes’ and ‘rebirth’ to idk, play gay chicken and frolic in fields with some glorified hotline operator. and this guy admits to your face that he’s gonna use izana for his own evil plan. izana! Your soggy sad psychologically-malleable gang leader which You met first! Your izana! naturally, you send your own killing machine to take him out except this whole time hes somehow pack-bonded to all the fodder plebs who make up tenjiku so they wont let him get hurt and jesus h. christ everyone hates you now
#need 2 clarify jokanans not that much of a dick most of this is kisakivision kisakilogic#they dont even like each other as much as kisaki thinks they like each other which is supremely funny#kisakis going 'izana this guy is a dark seducer and you can't listen to his lies'#and izanas like 'idk abt seducing hes kinda ugly is there smth you wanna share with the class'#might delete it later..?#i feel like i delete a lot of posts i could have kept...#ah well#tokyo revengers oc#misc and non art tag#in case i dont delete#toow
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(3rd Person POV)(AN: The ages I'm listing are the newly adjusted ages that took me like 65 years to sit and calculate, so disregard any old ages that you might have in mind for the characters and just have these ones in mind)
This year for Harvestfest, all of Claire and Ryan's kids came back into Newcrest to celebrate at their childhood home. Since Eric and Valentina have the most children (and Valentina is the oldest daughter), they got to stay in at the house with their parents and single siblings whilst the rest got their accomodation in town. It was great having almost all of the extended family in Newcrest because it meant having their relatives essentially take over the town.
Names & Ages: Carter 31, Valentina 29, Alan 28, Celeste 27, Kristyn 25, Sabrina 25, Jarrod 21, Zachary 19, Conner 17, Jarrett 17
(AN: With all of them lined up like this, I've never really noticed that the kids are an even split of redheads and blondes. Genetics are wild innit)
This is this year's siblings portrait. Between these 10 kids there are 13 (almost 14) grandchildren that have been born, and hopefully many more to come as the years go on. Having all the kids be home means that the house is full of hymns, with everyone singing worship music to glorify the lord and worship him together. All 6 married children live away from home, so getting to see them all together is wonderful for the 4 kids living at home. Celeste, the oldest and only girl still living at home is relishing her single season of life. She spends her time working as a nanny for various church members, when she's not doing that she's out of town visiting her siblings or volunteering her time with different ministries. The Lord hasn't brought anyone special into her life yet, but she's content with her gift of singleness. Zachary is the next oldest boy at home and he's currently working full time with a local contracting company run by a man that attends Newcrest Baptist as well, he's got someone that might end up being special but for now they're just friends. Conner and Jarrett, the youngest 2, are almost done with highschool and are thinking of what they'd like to do. Both have ideas of going to a bible college to study either software design (for conner) and accounting (for jarrett), they're hoping to study online or to go attend colleges neat family that they can stay with.
These are the 6 married siblings and their spouses:
Carter (31) and Madelynn (28) live in Willowcreek with their 3 children: Lester (7), Fitzwilliam (1), and their newest addition baby Alana. Carter continues to work for the Willowcreek Police Department whilst Madelynn remains at home to homeschool Lester and care for the home and children.
Valentina (29) and Eric (31) live in Brindleton Bay with their 6 children: Aria (8), Ansel (6), Abbott (2) & Asher (2), and their newest additions Abigail and Adele. Eric continues his work in freelance software engineering work whilst Valentina focuses her energy on homeschooling the kids and taking care of the house and the blooming garden they've developed. When she's not busy doing that she's working on her music and teaching music classes here and there. In the past year they've gotten chickens and have been working with the children on learning how to care for animals, with talks of a dairy cow in the future.
Alan (28) and Tessa (21) live in San Myshuno with their 2 (almost 3) children: Charity (2) and Edgar (1). Alan continues his work for Christian Critics Association whilst Tessa stays at home with the children, most recently preparing to welcome their newest blessing to the family. (AN: She had the baby like a day after Harvestfest, it was a little girl named Faith. With Tessa's scheduling she should be pregnant again by the new year 🥴)
Kristyn (25) and Gregory (28) live in Oasis Springs with their daughter Kayla (2). Gregory continues his work for his father's company whilst Kristyn stays home with little Kayla. They chose Harvestfest to announce that they're expecting another little one!
Sabrina (25) and Tucker (26) live in Brindleton Bay with their son Campbell (6 months). They opted to not join his family on their music tour to stay home and bond with the baby, but did join for a few tour dates that were close enough to home that they could travel.
Jarrod (21) and Madison (19) live in Evergreen Harbour with their newborn son Myles. Myles joined the family just a few weeks before Harvestfest, so he was the youngest family member at the festivities (until Tessa's baby was born). Jarrod works for a construction company with a few other men from their new church, and they're excited to settle in nicely as a family of 3.
#fundie sims#fundiesims#quiverfull sims#collins family#quiver full sims#modest sims#sims 4 legacy#collins legacy#homeschool sims#gen 3#G3C#Carter and Madelynn#Eric and Valentina#Alan and Tessa#Gregory and Kristyn#Tucker and Sabrina#Jarrod and Madison#post#im tempted to move claire and ryan into a new house cause trying to take any pictures makes me wsnt to scream#carter and madelynn are due 1 more kid then will be done#valentina and eric arent having any more#alan and tessa will be having A LOT more#Kristyn and gregory arent qf and are due a couple more kids#sabrina and tucker are having a boatload 😂#no idea what jarrod and madison are doing yet tbh#this shouldve gone up yesterday after i got busy and didnt update the queue#but it was my birthday so i spent the morning fielding calls
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Pride in Promises
Summary: William Afton both finishes, and shows his wife the first Bonnie the Bunny suit. The first design he created using his original drawings, and created entirely himself.
Words:587 archiveofourown link
It's my first attempt at writing Will Afton! My girlfriend and I are working on a timeline of sorts. I wanted to write one of William's proudest moments… Or, at least the start. I know it's not much of .. a story, or anything. But! It's here. Short, and there's no attempt to write Mrs. Afton yet. But uh, there we go.
If you listened hard enough, with a hand to your ear - (or perhaps not so carefully)… You could hear his chuckles throughout Fredbear's Family Diner.
First they're sparse, but slowly grow deeper… The next more quick, and lighthearted. Almost as if he'd heard a joke that was only becoming more amusing over time. Hilarity seeping into his bones, and causing him to throw his head back in delight. His exposed teeth curving in an illusionists smile.
William's eyes press shut, with lithe digits curling over the bronze of his name-plate. Swivel chair rolling in a spin, when Mr. Afton pushes himself from the desk to give himself momentum. Beginning to move in a circular trajectory towards the door in preparation for his wife's arrival.
William hears her heels clicking down the hall soon enough. Yes, right on queue isn't she? He knew she would come, eventually. She always did, when Will was laughing away in his office. It was never a dull moment, when amusement tickled him. The small business owner slumping back into his chair, with both heels planted upon the dirty floor. Toes extended upward towards the dim lighting, above a costume designer's glorified broom closet.
Afton relaxes. One could even go so far as to call his posture limp, whilst he looks up at the ceiling. Four limbs hang from the seat, whilst William continues to chuckle. Softly, or… almost distantly.. One, single tear sliding down the man's cheek.
Ah, there she is.. The buildup of sound not-so-lost upon his ears, when she continued her approach. Echoing sound igniting the devious excitement in his giddy smile, within little more than a fraction of a second.
His wife creaks open the door. It immediately slams against a lock, threaded by chain through a brass slot.
"-- Shit -" Afton makes a soft huff of a laugh. "A moment, love."
Fredbear is already built, with a performer hired. At least until such time as he can get himself more acquainted with whatever that chicken fucker has going on, over at Chica's Party World. Latest in technology and innovation.. His ass.
Last time he checked, that bastard Emily had nicked one of his designs.
Regardless, William begins to bunch up as he gives his wife an almost sneering grin. Easily confused for, (and truly is), a pleased smirk of smug pleasure. He hadn't allowed her to see his creation. Just designs and schematics. Pen to paper, really. But, now? He is finally finished.
Heels brace against the floor, which is far from his vision. But it'll do, for now. Checkered anew in his future location. His tomb.. Yet not so much as what sits slumped and smiling wide under lamps above his desk. Paws stitched into the full body costume, that hang over the faux wood.
Once having fiddled with the lock, Will bows as he swings open his door. Forearm extended, and leg outward.
"Look what I made." His low, British accent eventually inquires from beneath a veil of greying hair.
Eventually, his head tilts upward. Expression proud, whilst stepping aside. His gangling legs moving forth to the suit, to which he promptly tugs at the thick, purple bow-tie around the bunny's neck.
His grey eyes admire it whilst he speaks.
"He's finally finished. My original design -" Afton turns around. Winding up just outside the bunny's legs, before leaning back against the surface. Crossing his ankles, and extending his limbs to lean upon the workspace. He smirks, with lips crooked. "Bit better than i imagined, don't you think?"
#william afton#purple guy#five nights at freddy's#will afton#fnaf#mrs. afton#mrs. afton oc#repost#writing stuff
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Halfway through Tokyo Revengers, and sadly, I can’t say I’m too impressed. This show has a habit of coming right up to the edge of being really good, only to chicken out and settle for mediocrity instead. Remember when I talked about how this show was at a weird inflection point between glorifying and criticizing toxic masculinity? Well, we’ve really started going all-in on the glorifying now. Which I honestly might not have minded as much- dumb power-of-friendship shonen punch-em-ups have their place- but after this show hinted at being able to push against that mindset, it feels like cowardice.
Same goes for Hina. Remember when she was introduced as someone who knows karate and isn’t afraid to stand up to a freakshow like Mikey? Well, she’s mostly relegated to cheering from the sidelines now and barely seems to have a life outside of her relationship with Takemichi. Oh, and of course we have to shoehorn in some accidental pervert jokes where Takemichi accidentally fondles some other girl and Hina gets mad about it, because god forbid a shonen have an actual stable romantic relationship at its core for a change.
Still, I think my biggest problem is how the show treats Takemichi himself. Not the fact that he’s weak and constantly getting his ass kicked; that works in his favor, honestly. He’s not strong enough to just get what he wants by fighting and winning, so he has to try and help everyone through their issues instead of beating them into submission. That stuff works. What doesn’t work, at least to me, is how the show frames his “failure” as a human being.
Which goes back to that toxic masculinity stuff I was just talking about. Takemichi is presented as weak and pathetic because he “runs away,” meaning he has to learn to stand his ground like a proper man and tough out the pain. But if you’ll remember, Mikey literally chastised Hina for doing the same thing. Takemichi’s arc is learning to do the exact same thing that his girlfriend is told not to, except in his case it’s presented as a good thing. It’s honestly mind-boggling how unintentionally perfect this is at showcasing gendered expectations. Hina gets in over her head to try and save Takemichi, and she’s scolded for it and never does it again. Takemichi gets in over his head to try and save Hina, and he’s rewarded for it. It feels like Takemichi’s arc should be about bettering himself as a human being and taking life into his own hands rather than blaming his circumstances on others, and there’s some of that, but it’s all mixed in with the more toxic stuff. And that’s not even getting into the gross undercurrent that part of Takemichi’s weakness comes from him being a virgin and he needs to “be a real man” by getting the girl.
Which is frustrating, because there’s so clearly a better version of this self-betterment theme right underneath the surface. One of my favorite parts of this show is how so many of the badass punks we meet in the past have grown up into miserable, bitter adults trapped by the mistakes of their past. They were hot shit when they were kids, but only until their stupidity drove them into a corner and they realized too late how badly they messed up. There’s a version of Tokyo Revengers in my mind that really explores this idea, where Takemichi recognizes his own failures in the failures of his fellow failed delinquents and learns how to not repeat those mistakes in the past and present alike. I hope this gets explored more, because it’s by far the most potent emotional hook in this show’s arsenal. Right now, though, it’s just sort of hovering in the background waiting for a chance to really break through.
So that’s all for now. We’ve still got half a show to go; maybe this is where it really starts getting good? I guess we’ll see.
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