﹕﹒ ADfic is a term and flag (may be also considered as a xenogender) meant for people who feel like an advertisement. It can be used in a negative sense (such as feeling oneself is always interfering and bothering other people's lives, or feeling that oneself can carry consumerism as part of one's essence while spreading it to others) or positive sense (such as feeling like oneself can introduce other people to things they may enjoy), or in any other senses oneself wish to attribute to it.
ADfic by @mimieltiny
anyone may use this term. please do not repost my terms without permission. if this has already been coined, consider this an alternative flag!
the stripes in the flag are in order of the most used colors for brands logos! (blue is the most used color while green is the least used one.)
also the thing in the middle is meant to symbolize an ad pop-up!
He hated feeling vulnerable. Hated it. He was strong, damnit. Strong as stone. Stronger. He wouldn't allow himself to fail, to be broken as Wall Maria had. Let no one say Jean Kirstein needed protection from anyone. He was the protector. He needed to be.
If he wasn't, what else was he?
It worked, most of the time. No one noticed his insecurity, everyone saw him as the leader he could be at his best. At his best, no one could tell he was at his worst. Except for Marco. Marco-goddamn-Bodt. Marco could see him at his worst, and smile as though Jean was at his best. And, admittedly, it was hard not to feel stunning when Marco smiled like that. Jean was stunning. Marco, certainly, was stunning. The whole godforsaken world was stunning when Marco smiled.
But Marco wasn't smiling anymore.
Jean didn't smile much either, nowadays. Arlert could sometimes weasle one out of him, but losing your best friend did that to you, they said. Whoever "they" were. "They" were still alive, probably. Marco wasn't.
Jean wanted to wring their necks, but that wasn't very leader-like, and Marco would disapprove. Marco would disapprove of his moping like this, too, but Marco wasn't around to tell him so. But moping made Jean feel vulnerable, so he hid it, like always. Only Marco would know.
Jean remembered every bit of advice Marco gave him. That damn speech in the middle of Trost, too. And still, Jean managed to fuck things up and do nothing but watch his friends die later. So much for being a leader. He kept wondering if Marco died while Jean was swapping out his broken gear--distracting the Titans to save his life.
It might have been a sweet sentiment, but it made Jean sick. Marco didn't have to die for that. Marco was the team player. Marco worked well with the group. Jean was the standoffish asshole whose friend he now carried around in a little leather bag as a bit of bones.
Jean was a protector now. He couldn't afford to be weak, to be vulnerable, to be insecure. Jean couldn't add anyone else to his bag of bones.
The first part of Tayelor's and my Grey Griffins fic, by less than popular request (but i need to post something here), recently revised.
Enjoy.
I. IN THE BEGINNING, THERE WAS NOTHING.
"Even cowards can endure hardship; only the brave can endure suspense." -Mignon McLaughlin
The legs that dug deep into the silt at the bottom of the pool shifted lightly with the motion atop them-- a person, wearing clothes so dark he may have just cut them out of the night sky. Had the moon not been hiding it’s head, it's beams would have reflected off a chiseled face and creamy-white scar slicing down a cheek, a swath cut into the faint beginnings of a chin covered in short-cropped stubble. The figure made no sound, not even as his arms rustled within his jacket, an object surely too warm for the late-summer weather. He bent at the knees, eyes darting from side to side, prepared, it seemed, for something to leap out at him. Extending a hand, he dipped his fingers below the surface to grasp an object. It had been floating just below the waves, and easily could have been mistaken for leaf or other object of little interest, missed by the untrained eye.
Deftly, the man pulled his prize from the water. He let it rest in the palm of his hand, droplets rolling down the well-worked creases in his skin. An inarticulate noise rose from his throat, a growl caught somewhere between boredom and disgust. With little ceremony he closed his hand on the object and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. After checking the surface of the lake again (it remained still as still), he turned to walk back up the dock.
"Another one?" a rough voice cleaved through the darkness, like gravel on stone. The figure did not stop until he was on dry land, then turned to face the owner of the voice. He was another shadow, dressed darkly, a broad, strong creature. His eyes glowered in the darkness, emitting a soft glow. They waited, preparing for sad news.
"Aye," said the first figure, in a rolling, lilted voice. "It's the second one in a month. I didn't want to believe it, but the evidence is here." He tapped his jacket with two fingers.
"What is to be done?" questioned the second figure. The first cast his gaze back out across Lake Avalon.
"Normally, I'd just crawl in and be done with it," he said darkly. "But, in this case, I think we need an expert." A slight motion disturbed the placid waterline, and both figures began to walk away at a good clip.
"Whom do you have in mind?" the second figure pressed. "The baron would prefer to not have to touch the Zephyr's tunnels."
"You tell the baron not t' worry. I've got someone in mind."
"Wunderbar. Clear it with the baron first, Logan, if you please." The second figure stopped abruptly. "He does not want dangerous characters hanging around his daughter." He bowed stiffly before walking away into the darkness.
"Then I'll just tell Max to stay clear too, yeah?" Logan chuckled under his breath, heading in the opposite direction.
Max stared blankly at the table before him. It's entire rounded surface was covered in playing cards and books, pieces of paper and remnants of snacks. At each of the tables sides sat another person-- two children like himself and a wizened, older man, with white whiskers and a dignified air about him. He flipped through the pages of an old, leather-bound book, with golden embossed figures on both covers that looked like they had just clambered out of an algebra problem.
"What are you reading, Iver?" the silence was broken by a question, it's asker the only girl in the room. Natalia sat straight up with a posture enviable by princesses everywhere, her freckle-smattered face turned curiously towards the odd tome Iver held. Her orange-red hair was pulled into her signature braids, not a strand out of place, contrasting neatly with her white lace dress all the way down to her sandals. Even in her relaxed summer attire, Natalia exuded needle-sharp properness.
Iver set the book down, allowing the trio of children to see the strange symbols scrawled across the yellowed pages. "Just something I dug out of the library. Logan asked me for some advice, you see, and I found I had need of a refresher course before I could respond confidently."
"What language is it written in?" Max asked. The writing looked even more confusing upside down.
"It's Greek," Natalia answered without missing a beat.
"Quite right, Miss Romanov," Iver said, smiling. "It is Greek. In fact, it's ancient Greek."
Max wondered what kind of problem Logan could have asked about that required Iver to read something so old it was written in ancient Greek. Maybe he should introduce them to Google?
"When's Harley gonna get here?" the exasperated question came from the final member of their group. Ernie reclined in his chair, tipping the front legs off the ground, his feet resting on the table-top. The tips of his toes twitched with the boundless energy his speedster status had brought to him, restraining him from stillness. His unruly hair bunched into thick, black curls that often fell across his forehead into his eyes. His fairy-blood induced growth spurt had provided him with a solid amount of height and sharp blue eyes, but he was still lean and knobby as ever. He ran with the grace of a swan and the reflexes of a cat, but when at rest, coordination still eluded him.
"Master Eisenstein has other dealings that require his attention," Iver said in a reproachful tone.
"Yeah, important things, like his girlfriend," Ernie sneered sarcastically.
"Maybe you'd understand, if it was possible for you to get one," Natalia snapped. She reached across the table and smacked his feet. "Stop twitching!"
Ernie lowered his legs and slumped grumpily on the table. Natalia may have silenced him, but his was the general opinion of the table. What time Harley didn't spend working at Monti's, he spent with Raven. They could not fairly begrudge him, however, as they were all busy. Max trained daily with Logan, and in his free time worked on controlling his Skyfire. Ernie spent most of his free time eating and the other half of it working on gaining the upper-hand on his speedster abilities. Natalia learned, as her job was the most crucial. In the time reserved for sleeping, they hunted monsters or ran amok in the VR simulator. And summer homework was always at the back of their minds, save for Natalia, who had finished hers in the first week of vacation.
"He assured me he would be here," Iver finished. "I am loathe to begin today's lesson without him. It is of the utmost importance."
"What's it about?" Max asked. Iver cocked a curious eyebrow, then slowly pushed the open tome out to the center of the table. Simultaneously, all three Griffins leaned in on their elbows, craning their necks to get a good look at the pages they could not read. The paper was yellow and frayed at it's edges, the ink faded and smeared as though it had been written with brush instead of press. A thin band of red silk fell down the center crease, marking the page so you could easily find your way back again. It all had a very mystical presence, so each Griffin held their breath as Iver let the dramatic tension build.
"This omnibus," he began, "was written by a man named John Gregory."
Ernie and Max looked to Natalia (for if anyone had heard of Mr. Gregory, it was she) and when she shrugged they turned back to Iver.
"He was a Spook, you see-- in the olden times, predating the Knights Templar, it was the job of the county Spook to rid towns and the countryside of ghosts, ghasts, boggarts, brownies, and all manner of other ilk that went bump in the night."
"Was that before the Codex?" Natalia questioned.
"Indeed it was," Iver praised, "though you should know the Codex is not the answer for all things of magic. Many beings were here before the book and just as many have remained. There are beasts who have no place in the Codex, and for this reason they are twice as deadly as anything that can be entrapped within it. These are the things a spook had to deal with, though the invention of the Codex made them unnecessary over time." He paused to flip through the pages. "Still, it was much more difficult for them. Their work took place during much of the Dark Ages. They had little magic and no technology-- no guns or nets or trap sensors. They used the only materials available to them: salt, iron, silver, rowan wood, and their own two hands."
Iver turned to the front of the book, showing the Griffins a page depicting a tall, dark man, his face concealed by a black cowl, clad in an equally black cloak. He clutched in one hand a lit candelabra and in the other a knotted staff of wood as tall as he was. Iver tapped the page. "John Gregory and his apprentice, Thomas Ward, were two of the most successful and equally burdened Spooks of their time. They engaged ancient evils so strong that the world we know of today would not have existed without their intervention. Their main specialty, however, and the topic this book is written about, is--"
Matt smirks and moves his palm in gentle, circular motions, over the front of Johnny's pants. "Feels good, doesn't it? You've been missing out, poor little angel." He drops the shades, leaving Johnny's light aura, the only glow in the room. Matt knew this would be the beginning of something beautiful, but also something he had to keep a secret.
Johnny gasps loudly and pushes his hips up, his aura glowing, as Matt touched him. "Oh god, Mattie!" He gasps and bite his bottom lip. He fucking loved this feeling, it was amazing. He knew that this was gonna be a great relationship, but no one had to know about it. It was so wrong for this to happen. He looks up at Matt, mouth hanging open. This man was amazing.To be continued....
Matt smirks and pulls the sheets over them. "Good, then how about I teach you a few things tonight? Promise I'll go at your pace." He touches over the front of Johnny's pants, pressing lightly. "You wanna?"
Johnny gasps loudly and bites his bottom lip. "A-Ah!" He's never felt any sort of feeling like this. "I-I..." He pulls Matt in and kisses him roughly, sliding his tongue into Matt's mouth. "F-Feels..."
"Yeah?" He leans in and kisses Johnny again, this time a little harder. He knew he'd get carried away with the boy, and he really hoped Johnny was okay with that after a while.
Johnny keeps his lips pressed tightly against Matt's. He bites his bottom lip when he pulls away, a blush staining his cheeks. "Y-Your lips make my lips burn... It-It feels nice. I like it." He mumbles and licks over his tingling lips.
