#Anyway yeah post was for resources so I can feel more secure next time around

[sweetdreamspootypie]

Does aanyone have any links to info describing pressure tactics (like interpersonal argument strategies) or like general info of the psychology of being pressured into bad choices during high stress situations

[cyncerity]

HEY EVERYONE IM MAKING A NEW AU I HAVE THOUSANDS OF WORDS TYPED ALREADY SO IM GONNA SPLIT IT UP

have fun with this with absolutely no context, i’ll explain it once i post all the parts but you’re all free to guess until then!! I’ve been having a lot of fun with this au and i wanna talk about it hsksksjshj

anyway, here’s part 1!

tw: vore

“We have to cut our losses here. We don’t have enough to fund this any longer, and there’s no one we can reach out to for more money. We can’t risk this getting out.”

“Fine, I- I know, it’s just…this is a breakthrough. We can’t afford to give up now.”

“We won’t. We just need some time to get back on our feet is all. Besides, he knows what to do now…” the scientists turned their heads to the one way mirror they stood behind. A little boy, barely a teenager, sat behind it on his bed, his eyes glassy and unblinking, turned a glossy pearlescent white. Their project, practically their life’s work. Well, the container for it, anyway.

***

Wilbur heard the three scientists come into the room, and somehow registered one of them motion vaguely with their hand despite his eyes being effectively turned off, which meant they wanted him back in their world. Ugh. Still, he cut off his thoughts with his other half practically (given that it’d been almost a decade since they’d been separated), eyes beginning to function again and the scientists approaching him as they saw his eyes shift back to the colors they were supposed to be.

“Wilbur, what we’re going to tell you is very, very important, so you have to listen carefully. It’s your life at stake if this goes wrong. And his.” The one in blue said, gesturing to Wilbur’s torso. Well, that was certainly a way to get his attention. Wilbur didn’t say a word, though; the green one didn’t like it when he ‘sassed them,’ so he instead scooted back and placed both arms protectively around himself and his…what did they call him once, ‘cargo’? He was sure he heard Green call him a ‘parasite’ once, which was rude. Still, they must have noticed his panic, cause the orange one responded immediately. “It’ll all be ok, things will just have to change for a minute. You’re…youre not going to be able to stay here for a while.” “What?!” Wilbur said, unable to restrain himself. The green one went to speak up but was silenced by Blue, who just whispered something about him being ‘scared’ and how this was ‘probably a lot to handle.’ Yeah, no shit it was!

“I get this is a huge change, I do, but it’s necessary for now. We don’t have the necessary resources to keep taking care of you here. We need to find a way to keep you safe and healthy, both of you. You’ll be staying somewhere secure while we find somewhere more reclusive to hide you. We don’t want anyone finding out anything and putting the two of you in danger.” Orange said, sitting next to Wilbur and rubbing a thumb across his knuckles. Right. Right, he had a purpose. And if part of his purpose was to survive without his caretakers for a short while, he could do it. If it meant safety for his stowaway, he could do it.

“You doin ok, bud?” Orange asked, and Wilbur nodded slightly. Orange was his favorite of the main three. He was always nice, and even gave him extra treats and toys when he was behaving! “When do you think you can be ready to leave, Wil?” Green asked, crouching to be at level with where he sat. “Whenever you need me to be, sir.” Green smiled and ruffled his hair. Wil always tried to be extra good for Green. It’s not like he didn’t like him, it’s just that Green was more likely to yell at him if he messed up. “Good kid. We’ll leave tomorrow morning and introduce you to who you’ll be staying with. Try to get some rest.” He said, smiling before leaving and leading the other two out with him.

He pressed into his core, feeling cold scales slither against his insides. He pressed in harder a few times and they pressed back, signaling that they’d heard everything. Wilbur pat down a few times and released the pressure, lying back onto his bed carefully to not jostle the weight inside of him.

This was going to be interesting.

[ppersonna]

out of my league - knj | 01

you were out of my league. got my heartbeat racing. if i die, don't wake me, cause you are more than just a dream - out of my league, fitz and the tantrums

✹ summary- Kim Namjoon was never supposed to find out about your years-long hopeless crush on him. And he most definitely was not supposed to find out about it in front of all your coworkers in a company-wide meeting.

✹ rating- explicit/18+/nsfw

✹ pairing- kim namjoon x reader

✹ word count- 6.6k

✹ genre- angst, smut, comedy

✹ chapter warnings- swearing, descriptions of sex, sexual content, namjoon being a sexy flirt, jungkook being a himbo, awkward conversations, jimin being a protective bff

✹ a/n- hello and welcome to this fic thats lived in my google docs for almost a year now. without @ladyartemesia @xjoonchildx @untaemedqueen and @chimoona, i would never have posted it. i truly owe so much of my brainstorming and creativity to their incredible brains and thoughts and ideas. i love them very much! i hope you enjoy this first chapter! please feel free to message me, talk to me abt anything!! im always here to chat. ILY!

MASTERLIST

Kim Namjoon was never supposed to find out this way.

You planned to confess your undying, unerring love for your coworker at a better time, a classier place. You would wear a dress that highlighted your features, hair cascading down your back, makeup done to perfection and spritzed with expensive perfume. You’d confess, he’d confess right back, and you’d live happily ever after.

You’d also dreamt that Kim Namjoon would have the slightest inkling of who you are before he finds out about your year long crush. He might know you as the mousy girl in the office who doesn’t talk and doesn’t contribute much other than some crunched numbers and apparently the best coffee brewer in the office. But you’d prefer he knows you well—your favorite colors and movies and foods, what makes you happy and sad; things future husbands should know.

You very much did not think it would happen in a company wide conference, full of over five hundred suit-wearing executives. You did not think it would be done by the office bully, Chungha, who carefully takes over the mic and speaks the words clearly as she presents awards of recognition.

“Congratulations to Kim Namjoon for 5 years with the company, over $4 million in revenue, and the object of ____’s lust and affection. I’m sure you two will have the happy life she’s written in her journal about. Make sure you celebrate with her today!”

The room is silent, so silent you could have heard a pin drop from a mile away. Your face is cherry red and you wish the earth would open up and swallow you whole. Your heart feels like someone has ripped it in half and you stare in horror at the girl smirking at the front. Is this what it feels like to be backstabbed? Namjoon looks perplexed—confusion written on his face as he gestures around to no one in particular like he’s saying ‘what the fuck was that?’

Awkward coughing and clapping begins and Namjoon stands to receive his award, a fine wooden fountain pen, and chances a glance around the room. He easily spots you, with your wide, frightened face. His look remains passive, not hinting what he’s thinking behind those stormy eyes, before he turns and sits back down at the table with his buddies from his department.

You seriously contemplate quitting your job. You could find a new one easily, right? Just stand up and tell your boss you quit and you’re out of there before Namjoon ever sees you again and you’ll never have to face the mean girl who’s ratting you out.

As much as the idea rolls through your head, you know you won’t do it. You love your job, love the security and finances it provides you, and you love to look at Kim Namjoon, all day every day.

You don’t understand where things went wrong.

( one month ago )

It’s 9:03 am. You finish brewing the coffee in the small staff kitchen and sigh at the aroma of the freshly ground beans. Coffee is your favorite meal, favorite time of day, favorite snack, and preferred beverage. You drink it constantly. You’re known as “coffee girl” at work, mostly because no one really bothers to get to know you beyond that. You drink coffee like it’s a devoted religion. You could drink a cup right before bed and still sleep like a baby. It was, put simply, your drink.

The office workers deem you to be the one to make the pots of coffee every morning, claiming you were the ‘best’. You didn’t mind—you preferred to make your own coffee regardless—but you believe your coworkers are trying to pass off the twenty-minute job to someone lower in the office hierarchy. And you were one step above the interns.

The coffee machine chimes to let you know it’s hot, and it’s ready for you. You eagerly pour a mug, a large one, and smile as the waft of freshly ground beans (by you, of course) fills your senses.

You nearly knock the cup out of your hand as Kim Namjoon strolls into the office, eyes set on the coffee.

You feel your throat swell up, like he’s an allergen and you’re caught without an epi-pen. Butterflies swirl in your stomach and you can’t stop staring at him. He pays you no mind, tired yet determined to pour a cup of coffee and get back to his office.

You stand in the small kitchen, clutching your coffee like a lifeline, and pray to god you don’t do something stupid.

Namjoon pours his mug, and you watch his muscular hands grip the coffee pot. He pours a hefty amount of cream and sugar into his cup—it appears even perfect male specimens have their faults. 

Your eyes dance on his face before they tango down his body. You wonder what he looks like in the morning, crawling out of bed with mussed hair and a sleepy smile painted on his face. He’d look at you and tell you you’re the most beautiful girl and kiss you deeply despite morning breath. Maybe he’d take you to the shower to press you against the tile as he fuc-

“Oh!” it startles Namjoon to see you, and the coffee in his hand swishes violently. “Didn’t see you there. Sorry!”

Your heart melts. He’s the picture of kindness and politeness. You recognize it’s been a few seconds and you still haven’t replied.

“It’s fine!”

“Great coffee, by the way,” he smiles. His teeth nearly knock you out cold with their brilliance. “Have a good day.”

He turns and exits the room without so much as a glance back at you. Your knees feel weak.

Kim Namjoon talked to you. He complimented you. He told you to have a good day. It’s the best and most significant conversation you’ve had with your secret crush.

You definitely file that away for another day when you need to reminisce on his compliment, and you scurry out of the kitchen towards your desk.

Park Jimin is waiting dutifully at your desk when you arrive, a smug smile still slapped over your features as you sip at your coffee. Namjoon spoke to you today—how lovely.

Jimin quirks an eyebrow. 

“What’s got you so perky this morning?” 

You’re normally quiet and passive, avoiding eye contact or any semblance of emotion on your face.

You look up at the blonde bespectacled boy. Park Jimin is the closest thing to a best friend in the company. He’s who you spend time with at lunch, see on weekends, and text often. You suppose he’s the closest thing to a best friend you have in your entire life.

You send him a smirk and lean in close to whisper. “Namjoon said hi to me today!”

Jimin sends you a pitiful look and pats your shoulder. Your best friend is well aware of your secret crush and while he thinks Namjoon is a nice guy, he thinks your crush is a little hopeless. He’s the most popular guy in the office, often has dates lined up every weekend. Jimin hears the way he and his friends talk in the break room. The man is definitely not hurting for female attention.

“Oh, honey,” he sighs, unenthusiastically. “That’s great.” He can’t help but feel a twinge of sadness over how excited you’re getting from a simple ‘hello’ from a coworker.

“I know, right? Anyway, lunch today?” You ask as you settle down into your cubicle.

Jimin pushes his glasses up his face and nods. “Of course! That’s why I came by this morning. I wanted to let you know that Jungkook from marketing will join us.”

You make a face, disgust etched in the lines creasing your forehead. 

“Why?”

Jungkook is well known in the company. He’s a loudmouth, a player, a clown, and everyone’s favorite comedian. He’s just not your favorite.

“Don’t be rude,” Jimin admonishes at your grimace. “He asked to join and well—he’s cute. I can’t say no to him.”

“Oh Christ, Jimin,” you groan. “Not you too! Don’t tell me you have the hots for the serial fuckboy?”

He blushes lightly and shrugs. “Maybe I do! Be nice to him today or I’ll eat all your chocolate ice cream I know you have at home.”

You stick your tongue out, petulantly. “Fine, now let me get to work or else Seokjin will be up my ass.”

Jimin smiles and kisses your cheek before he scurries away, back to human resources.

It feels as if barely any time has passed. You’re working hard, running calculations and updating spreadsheets. You have an eye for numbers, and losing yourself in an equation is just another day for you. You’re shaken from your cheerful place by a vibration from your phone, and a text alert popping on the lit screen.

jimin 12:01 pm- it’s lunchtime!! you better get your butt out here!

You smile and text back an affirmative reply, then move to grab your lunch from the company fridge. Gliding down the steps leading to the fresh outdoors, you meet Jimin at the lunch tables in the grass.

Jimin is sitting with Jungkook. You can recognize your best friend by his hair and glasses, and Jungkook by his obnoxious laughter.

“Hi,” you murmur as you sit down and open up the brown bag lunch you’ve brought.

“Hi!” Jimin is excited to see you, and just a pinch over eager to be sitting next to Jungkook.

“You know Jungkook, right?” Jimin asks, a harsh look in his eyes that reminds you to be on your best behavior.

You nod as you pull out a bag of grapes. “Oh, yeah, hey,” you smile. “I’ve seen you around.”

Jungkook delivers you a signature smirk and you feel yourself roll your eyes internally. “Yeah, you’re Coffee Girl, right?”

You pout and glare down at your brown bag lunch. Will you ever become more than just Coffee Girl?

“Yeah, I suppose that’s me.”

Jimin clears his throat to dismiss any awkwardness. 

“So, Jungkook, I hear you like working out? ___ likes to work out too. She drags me to the gym sometimes. Maybe we could all meet up sometime?” You don’t miss the hopeful lilt in his voice. Jungkook does.

“Oh, yeah?” He narrows a sexy look at you, rather—a look he thinks is sexy that you find off-putting. “What do you do at the gym? Little cardio sets with 5 pound weights?”

What an asshole.

“Sometimes,” you state as you take a bite of the homemade salad you handcrafted last night. “Most of the time I’m lifting heavy. I can bench 275 and deadlift 300.”

Jungkook looks taken back. “What, really?” He sounds breathless. “You lift more than Namjoon-hyung.”

At the sound of the love of your life’s name, you pause. Your face heats quickly and Jungkook smirks. Of course, he recognizes this and not Jimin’s obvious flirting.

“Why are you blushing?” He asks. “Did I say something?”

You’re quick to dismiss things. “Um--no. I just um,” you’re grasping at straws. “I’m hot.”

Jimin is trying not to laugh, hiding his mouth behind a petite hand.

Jungkook tilts his head. “It’s not even sunny today.”

You gulp. “Yeah, I must be hot. With a fever. M-malaria… probably.”

Jungkook snorts. 

“You have malaria? Bummer.” He picks at his nails. “I thought for a moment you had a thing for Namjoon.”

“No!” The retort is quick, too quick for normal conversation, and it gives you away.

“Aha!” Jungkook points an accusing finger at you. “You have the hots for him, don’t you?”

Your features melt, and Jimin tries to assuage the situation. “Jungkook, please don’t tell anyone,” he pleads.

Jungkook smiles at you. “That’s so cute. It’s like a little nerdy freshman crushing on the senior class president.”

You bury your head in your hands, suddenly unable to stomach any food.

“Jungkook,” Jimin’s tone becomes more firm, authoritative. “I’m asking you this as a friend. Please, don’t say anything.”

Jungkook holds his hands up to prove his innocence and waves his proverbial white flag. 

“Secret is safe with me,” he promises. “But it’s cute. I know him really well, you know. I could try to hook you two up.”

You blanch, unsure if you want Jungkook saying anything about you to the man of your dreams. 

“I’m good, but thanks,” you offer meekly. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going to head back to work, okay?”

Jimin frowns, knowing you’re feeling like a cornered animal, and nods. “Feel better, babe,” he sighs.

Jungkook watches as you leave and turns to Jimin. “Man, he’s way out of her league.”

Jimin slaps the boy in the chest. “Be nice, asshole, that’s my best friend.”

Jungkook promises to be nice, and Jimin is blissfully unaware that others are listening and that the man beside him is easy to persuade.

( present day )

The company-wide meeting adjourns soon after what is likely to be the most embarrassing moment you’ve ever lived through.

You’re grabbing at your things and trying to run out of the room, desperate to get out before anyone sees you or talks to you or laughs at you.

A hand grabs at the coattails of your suit jacket and you’re pulled backwards with a yelp. You turn to seek your captor and find the concerned face of your best friend, Jimin.

“Are you okay? What the fuck just happened?”

Jimin’s concern makes it all real. Until now you could pretend you were in a fugue state, totally dissociated from reality. Now, you realize that everyone in the entire company is aware of your crush on Kim Namjoon.

You can feel your bottom lip wobble, tears threatening to spill. Jimin murmurs an ‘oh shit’ and drags you out of the large room and into the nearest bathroom. He pushes you to sit against the sink and passes you toilet paper to dab at your eyes.

“I don’t know how she found out!” you cry. “God, I feel so stupid and embarrassed.”

It incenses Jimin. He’s holding it back to ensure you’re okay, but in reality, it’s an HR nightmare waiting to happen. He’ll find who did it and punish them accordingly.

They will suffer. 

“It’s okay, babe,” he pulls you into a hug. “Everyone will forget about it soon. They’ll think it’s just a lame office joke, okay?”

You nod, feeling the slightest bit comforted by his words. 

“How could she find out, Jiminie?” You ask with a sniffle. “You’re the only person who knows.”

Jimin sighs and shakes his head.

“I don’t know, but they’re dead. I haven’t told any-... oh, my god,” Jimin stops suddenly. You look up at him to catch what he’s thinking.

He growls and balls his fists. 

“Jungkook knew.”

You let out a sob and bawl your eyes out into the tissue you’re holding. Jimin holds you tighter while he conjures up a hundred different ways to hurt someone and make it look like an accident.

“Don’t worry,” Jimin sighs, trying to comfort both you and himself. “I’m HR. I have to handle this. I’ll make sure they get what they deserve.”

You feel a sting of pain for Jimin. He’s been hopelessly doting on the man who spilled the beans for a few months now, even got to take him on a few dates. It was still nothing serious, but Jimin was clearly smitten.

“I’m sorry you have to do that, Chim,” you whisper. “I know how you feel about him.”

“Yeah, well,” he swallows thickly. “You’re more important than any asshole.”

Jimin holds you tight for a few minutes longer, before you clean yourself up and steel yourself. Ignore everyone, Jimin encourages. Just get to work, he says. Then you can go home and we’ll drink wine and forget about it all, he promises.

You replay his words in his head like a prayer as you walk down the corridors and towards your office. Everyone in the hallways stops to stare at you. They lean towards their friends and whisper. You hear snippets of their gossip, like “Namjoon” and “out of her league”. It drives the sharp blade lodged in your chest even further. It threatens to collapse your lungs and break your ribs.

You make it to your desk safe and sound and bury yourself in work and forcibly ignore the gawking and the stares. 

Just make it home. Just get through the day. You’re almost there.

You could do this.

You nearly make it the entire day before running into the one person you didn’t want to see, Kim Namjoon.

At the end of the day, you’re taking the stairs down to the parking garage instead of the elevator. The elevator is too busy, too many people, and you’re trying to avoid the stares and giggles at your expense. The stairs are always deserted and you figure it’s your safest bet.

You can nearly hear the wine calling your name at home. A delicate glass of Sauvignon Blanc and some chocolate ice cream and a good cry—it sounds like the best and only way to unwind after the worst day you’ve ever had in your life.

The chanting of your name gets louder and you wonder if you’ve finally lost your mind—if you’re actually hearing your wine bottles all the way at home talking to you.

No, wait. The voice is real, and coming from behind you. You turn around to face who’s calling you and nearly faint at the sight.

Kim Namjoon stands on the landing above you, one strip of stairs between you.

“Hey!” He seems glad he’s caught you. “I’ve been calling your name for a minute.”

You swallow and search for an answer. 

“Sorry, I’m-.. I guess I’m just a little out of it today.”

Namjoon grimaces. 

“Yeah, about that…” he begins as he takes the steps down to be on equal ground as you. Your heart is spinning wildly. He’s so close to you. He’s talking to you. On any other day you’d be erupting towards the sky like a firework. But today isn’t any other day.

“I feel like I should apologize,” he states. “I don’t know what happened. I didn’t plan it or anything.”

Damn him and his kindness. Damn him and his cute, awkward smile.

“No, no,” you assure. “I know you didn’t. You don’t have to apologize.”

It’s hard to make eye contact with the man. You want to, know it’s important in intense conversations like this, but the thought of him seeing you—really seeing you makes you ache inside.

“It was a really shitty prank,” he begins. “I’m sure you don’t even know who I am, let alone have a crush on me.”

For the millionth time that day, your face heats to a near boil. You stammer and you’re sure you’ve blown any chance at even thinking about a date with Namjoon.

“Oh, uh, right,” you seek an answer, beg your brain to pick something to say that doesn’t make you sound stupid. “I do.”

“You do what?” He’s confused and you widen your eyes at what just left your mouth.

“I do know you! I mean, I do have a crush on you! Oh, fuck,” you shove your face into your hands. “Please, ignore that. I need to go. Sorry!” You don’t give him a chance to reply, you book it out of the stairway as fast as your heels will take you.

Today was the worst day you’ve suffered through in your life.

The next few days aren’t much better.

Not only are you “coffee girl”, you’re now also sarcastically called “Namjoon’s girl”. As much as you hate your initial title, you’d prefer it to the new one they throw at you as you walk by.

Jimin rats out Jungkook and Chungha to the bosses. They get two weeks probation and they have to write you apology letters if they wish to keep their permanent files clean of any reprimands. It’s a slap on the wrist, and everyone involved knows it. Jimin is furious and wants the boss to reconsider. You tell him not to push it. You’d rather this be over and everyone to forget it even happened. Jimin unwillingly agrees.

You’re working at your desk, earphones shoved in your ears to diffuse the gossip in the room, when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn and are greeted with the face of Judas Iscariot himself, Jeon Jungkook.

“Hi,” he sounds sheepish, cheeks reddening.

You narrow your eyes at him, sharper than steel. “What the fuck do you want?”

He winces, knowing he deserved that. “Well, I just wanted to apologize. I know they told me to write you a letter, but it seems too impersonal…”. 

You can’t believe Jungkook is sucking his ego up and actually coming to you to apologize. You thought he’d for sure be the one to cop out and send a shitty letter.

He continues. 

“I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry that all went down. I didn’t mean to tell her. She got me drunk and said she saw me eating lunch with you and Jimin. I think she was jealous or something and it slipped out. I know that’s not an excuse. I fucked up your trust and Jimin’s trust. But I just wanted you to know I didn’t do it to be an asshole. She sort of duped me.”

You pause as you take in the man’s apology. He didn’t have to come to you in person. He could have easily taken the shitty route and half-assed a letter to you. But he didn't, and he owned up to his mistake. God dammit.

“I appreciate your apology, Jungkook,” you sigh and you see his body visibly relax. “I’m still mad, but I guess the anger is at her for doing it in the first place. I’m sorry she tricked you.”

He breathes a sigh of relief and kneels down beside you. “I’m really happy you believe me. I was worried you were going to kick me in the nuts.

“I won’t lie, I thought about it.”

He smiles with you, and you feel like this is the restart of a friendship. “I definitely deserved it.”

You shrug and smile. “Jimin would kill me for hurting you. He might even kill me for thinking about hurting you.”

Jungkook’s smile drops at the name of your best friend. Yikes. Looks like there’s still trouble in paradise.

“I think you’d be in similar company with Jimin right now. He’s not speaking to me.”

You let out a breath through your nose. “Yeah, he’s a little protective of me.”

“For good reason,” he admits. “You’re like a cute little flower. A cute nerdy flower.”

“Jungkook,” you warn. “I just forgave you after I was humiliated in front of the entire company. I’d be careful with calling me nerdy right now.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

It’s hard to stay mad at the boy, no matter how much you dislike his reputation around the office. The fact that he humbled himself enough to seek you out and apologize is proof enough to you of his character.

“It’s okay, Jungkook. I forgive you,” you smile. “Thank you for apologizing.”

He rubs the back of his neck anxiously as his cheeks flare red.

“Yeah, it felt pretty shitty to just… do anything else. Plus, you seem really cool.”

“You seem great, too, Jungkook.”

He smiles and pulls you in for a hug, catching you off guard. For the fuckboy type, he’s surprisingly sensitive and soft. You like that about him.

“I’ll see you around, okay?” He says as he pulls away from you.

“Maybe you should apologize to Jimin, too?” 

His smile drops, but he nods anyway. “Yeah, maybe I’ll go find him now.”

“Good luck,” you offer with a pat on his shoulder.

With a sad smile, he turns and heads down the hallway towards the HR department. You pray Jimin shows mercy to the handsome boy.

A few weeks go by, and you’re sure that everyone has forgotten about you and your most embarrassing moment to date. You make the coffee, you calculate the numbers, everyone ignores you. Things return to relative normalcy.

Until it doesn't. The moment you think you're safe is the moment your guard comes down and everything falls apart around you.

It's when you're in the staff kitchen, grinding fresh beans to brew a second pot of coffee, that it happens.

The kitchen is fuller than usual. You normally try to wait until the lunchtime crowd dwindles and leaves to make your second pot, but you're so desperate for the caffeine that you can't find it in you to care.

You trudge into the kitchen with your handy coffee mug clutched in your tired hands and head towards the cupboards to grind up the beans.

There's a few groups of coworkers lingering in the room, and as your grinder whirs the beans around into a powder, you chance a look around to see who's among the crowd.

Your eyes flick immediately to where a hearty laugh erupts. It makes your heart still in your throat. Namjoon sits with his usual crowd of friends, hand gripping a homemade sandwich while the other assists him in telling his story to his friends. He pays you no mind—why would he?—and you can't help but stare at the way his dark brown hair lays perfectly against his forehead, and his eyes crinkle so cutely at the edges when he smiles.

You nearly forget about the coffee grounds—you're snapped out of your Namjoon-induced trance when suddenly a woman's laugh echoes around the room.

"Look at her," the voice states.

You peer up and see a girl you vaguely recognize. Is she from Marketing? Or perhaps Sales? You’re not sure, but she’s staring at you with a sneer.

“She’s so weirdly obsessed with Namjoon. It’s so creepy.”

Your face turns cherry red and you’re sure your lungs stop functioning. The air your body needs to breathe freezes and your chest aches. 

Namjoon turns to look at the girl before he looks and sees you grasping your coffee grounds tightly.

“Chungha was right—it’s so weird. Namjoon, you should talk to HR about this!”

Namjoon turns back to the gossiping coworker and frowns. “Can you leave it alone? She wasn’t even doing anything.”

The girl huffs and crosses her arms over her chest and looks back at Namjoon.

“How can you stand to be in the same room as her? She clearly thinks she has a chance with you.”

Her words come out like a bite. She punctuates her point with a harsh laugh and the group around her mumbles and chuckles in agreement.

You’re desperately grabbing at anything you can, wanting to leave as quickly as possible before you’re embarrassed further.

“Well, she does!” Namjoon replies loudly, annoyance written in his features. “I was actually going to ask her to dinner this weekend in private, but since everyone is so fucking interested in my love life, I have to do it publicly.”

The room falls silent, and your favorite mug falls out from your hands and shatters on the floor. All sets of eyes stare at you while yours widen with disbelief—you don't even care that you’re standing in a pool of old coffee and shattered ceramic. 

Namjoon stands and heads over to you, bending down to pick up the shards of your coffee mug. You take a few stunted breaths to kneel and help. 

His eyes peer into yours. They’re warm—a chocolate brown color that makes you feel safe.  

“What do you say?” He asks with a smile so gentle it nearly breaks your heart. “Will you let me take you out this weekend?” 

You’re gaping like a fish and the surrounding room is silent—bated breath waiting for your reply. 

“Yes, I would l-love that.” 

His smile turns even brighter, and he stands to throw the broken mug away. 

“I’ll email you the details, okay?”

Your head nods dumbly without thinking. His eyes sparkle as he smiles at you, and he extends his hand down to you to assist you off the floor. As your hand slips into his, you can’t help but feel how soft and strong he feels. You wonder what his hand would feel like caressing your face, smoothing down the expanse of your bare back, running down the length of your body.

The thoughts shake out of you as he winks and kisses your hand gently, causing the gossiping coworker to grunt her disapproval and for murmurs of shock to echo around the room.

“I’ll talk to you later, doll.” Namjoon winks at you before he grabs his sandwich and leaves the room, gesturing to his crew to follow along.

The place on your hand felt warm where his lips once lingered. You no longer cared about the angry glares from the rest of your coworkers. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, and you leave the kitchen nearly floating on cloud nine.

Email from: Kim Namjoon

Sent: 3:06 pm

Subject: Hey good lookin ;)

Hey! 

Just wanted to see how you are! I’m sorry about what happened at lunchtime. That was super petty and uncalled for. I really wanted to ask you out, and I hope I didn’t embarrass you too much by doing it in front of everyone.

I was wondering if you’d like to go out this Friday night after work? Say around 7? If you send me your address, I’ll pick you up.

Let me know!

Xoxo, Joon

You’re sure if you weren’t sitting in your tiny cubicle, you’d be screaming your lungs out.

The second the notification of the email came through, direct from the man of your desires himself, your body froze.

You re-read the message, over and over and over.  

The winky emoji, the xoxo, the nickname ‘joon’. It’s all so much and makes the grin on your face threaten to split your lips in half.

Your fingers press the “FWD” button and you quickly send the message to Jimin, before you stand demurely, attempting to give off an air of professional confidence. You need to talk to Jimin, now.

As soon as you’re out of the eyesight of suspicious coworkers, you bolt down the hallway towards Human Resources. Your high heels click loudly on the tiled floor, but the sound doesn’t even register in your mind. All you can think about is Namjoon, the email, the press of his lips on your hand, the way his smile made you feel as if you could fly.  

The door to HR swings open with your tight grip around the doorknob, and you open your mouth to call to Jimin, the lone employee, when you’re startled by the sight ahead of you.

Jimin sits on the edge of his expansive desk with his arms thrown around Jungkook’s neck and is clearly engaged in a deep, sensual kiss. At the sound of the door opening, they quickly break apart, with matching cherry red blushes on their cheeks and mused hair.

“Oh, shit,” you gasp. 

The men are silent and you can’t help but giggle after a moment passes. “I’ll take it you two made up?”

Jungkook flashes you a dopey grin, one that gives you an answer, while Jimin smirks haughtily.

“Jungkook and I were just discussing, umm… his 401k.”

Jungkook looks at the blonde boy for a moment, confused, before he gets it. “Yeah! Totally. Retirement. Love to t-talk about it?”

You laugh out loud and walk towards the couple.

“I’m sure it was a titillating discussion,” you tease. “I have good news though, if it’s okay to interrupt this retirement planning session.”

Jimin nods and Jungkook rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly. “I guess I should leave?”

“It’s okay,” you smile. “I trust you.”

Jungkook smiles as if he’s just won the lottery. He looks between you and Jimin, face pure and excited like a puppy.

“What’s up?” Jimin asks as he moves to sit down at his desk.

“I forwarded you an email. Read it.”

Jimin nods and logs on to his posh computer, scrolling and clicking before narrowing his eyes and reading.

“Oh, my god.” Jimin’s face is shocked—it's written all over his features. “Namjoon asked you out?!”

Jungkook’s child-like grin turns into one of shock himself. He runs around to stand behind Jimin, eyes seeking over the words of the email.

“Well, hot damn,” Jungkook whistles. “He asked her out.”

Jimin exchanges a look with Jungkook, one that you’re not sure you can read. It quickly slips your mind, however, as you’re more focused on the task at hand.

“Can you come over tonight after work and help me pick out something to wear?” You ask excitedly.

Jimin smiles at you, a touch of sadness in his eyes, before he nods.

“Of course, babe,” he assures. “We’ll make sure you look nice and hot for the date with Mr. Kim.”

“Thank you!” You squeal as you wrap your arms around your best friend. He hugs you back before you scurry out of the office and back to your cubicle, itching to reply to the message.

Jimin sighs as the door to his office closes behind you.

“Kook, please don’t tell me he’s going to break her heart. He’s asking her out to make himself feel better about this, isn’t he?” 

Jungkook slips his hand into Jimin’s and squeezes. 

“I’ll find out, baby.”

Jimin smiles and nods appreciatively at the boy, before leaning up and kissing him.

Jungkook smiles against his lips, and is determined to ensure the young HR specialist never hates him again, even if he has to go behind his hyung’s back to ensure his new boyfriend’s happiness.

Jungkook has one mission now, and that’s ensuring Namjoon takes you on the greatest date known to man.

He grills Jimin with questions about what you like over dinner one night. Jimin finds it endearing that Jungkook is so eager to rectify his mistakes, but he still can’t help but worry that Namjoon is doing this to save face—not because he actually likes you.

“So, what does she like doing?” Jungkook asks as he spins his pasta around his chopsticks idly.

Jimin smiles as he takes a bite of the ramen Jungkook has thoughtfully prepared for their stay-at-home date.  

“I’ve told you already! She’s easy to figure out.” Jimin pats Jungkook’s hand gently. “She loves cooking and baking, working out, daydreaming about Namjoon.” 

“Cooking, hm,” Jungkook looks thoughtful as he takes a bite. “I think Namjoon can work with that. I’ll let him know!”

Jimin tries to hide the anxiety brewing in his stomach. He’s had to plaster on a fake smile for you while you tried on different outfits, wondering which will be the one to finally convince Namjoon he is the one for you. It’s hard to fake it around his boyfriend, too—but something tugs in his stomach that flares the cynical side of him.

Namjoon went from not knowing of your existence, to watching you get publicly embarrassed in a matter of minutes. While Namjoon isn’t a terrible guy, Jimin knows he doesn’t like anything to tarnish the gentleman reputation he’s built in the office. And as much as Jimin likes him, and surely likes his friend Jungkook, he can’t help but feel skeptical.

Jungkook hurriedly pulls out his phone and types away, letting his elder friend know of what he’s found out. Jimin swallows his food, and his pride, and hopes to god his growing cynicism is wrong.

Friday comes slower than you’d like. You wake up every day during the week, one day closer, and your eagerness hits peak levels. Namjoon sees you in the hallways during the week and winks at you, hands shoved in his tight slacks that make you salivate.  

He emails you again Thursday afternoon, confirming things and getting your address. You reply in nanoseconds, uncaring how overeager you come off. 

By the time your alarm clock rings on Friday morning, you’ve already been awake for 4 hours.

All you can do is daydream about the date, the way his hand fits into yours, the warmth of his eyes when he smiles at you.

It’s what fuels you through work.

You hope to god the numbers you’re attempting to work during the day come out right, because your mind is elsewhere for more than most of the day. There isn’t enough coffee in the world, but also your body feels as if you’ve overdosed on caffeine already.

The clock eeks towards 5:00 pm and you’re bolting out the door at 4:56 to head home and get ready for your date.

Jimin attempts to meet you before you leave, but your desk is cold and empty by the time he gets there.  

He sighs and heads back towards his office to gather his things, waving bye to various coworkers as they file out of the corporate building.

He turns the corner towards his office but stops in his tracks as he sees Namjoon’s back to him, phone pressed to his ear.

“Baby, I’ll come over later tonight, okay?” Namjoon speaks into the phone.

Jimin feels his heart fall into the pit of his stomach. He retreats and hides behind a wall, ear carefully peeled to listen to the tall man’s conversation.

“I’m going on this date with that chick from work,” he sighs. “It won’t last more than a few hours. Poor girl has a crush on me and you know the usual assholes won’t leave her alone.”

Jimin bites his lip and clenches his fist. Namjoon thinks he means well, but he knows his suspicions have been confirmed, and he’s torn inside. He wants to tell you, to warn you not to get too invested in the man, but he also has no interest in popping the bubble you’ve been in since the day he asked you out.

Jimin lets it simmer for now. He decides he’ll monitor Namjoon and cut things off if it appears the man strings you along for fun.

Namjoon finishes his phone call with a promise to see whoever is on the other end of the phone later that night, and Jimin quickly pulls out his phone and fakes a conversation with no one when he hears the man approach.

“Oh, Kookie,” Jimin giggles, leaning against the wall casually. “I can’t wait to see you tonight, either, babe.”

Namjoon walks towards Jimin and makes eye contact with the HR specialist.

“Bye, Kook! See you tonight, baby.” Jimin finishes up the fake phone call as Namjoon arrives next to him, and he plasters on his best fake smile.

“Congrats on you and Jungkook,” he speaks sincerely.

Jimin hates how nice he is, hates that he’s a nice guy who gets too wrapped up in his own good looks and reputation.

“Thanks, Namjoon,” Jimin smiles uneasily. “You too! Have fun on your date tonight.”

Namjoon’s face lights up and Jimin desperately wishes he could go back in time to 30 seconds ago, before he heard the conversation, and believe that Namjoon truly wanted to date you.

“Thanks, should be fun, huh?” He winks and nudges Jimin, before he waves a goodbye and continues out the door.

Jimin pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials the number of his boyfriend.

“Hey, baby. We’ve got a problem.”

tag list! - @jimidol @aretha170 @dearbambideer​ 

[lady-literature]

Found Family

holy shit did this one get way out of hand. Don’t expect them all to be this long because hot damn this is a monster compared to literally everything else but it just wouldn’t stop

(should I have expected this? probably. we all know how I am about found family.)

anyway enjoy 4.5k words ig

based on this post | @maribatmarch-2k21 | find more here

***

When Marinette had been chosen to intern with Monsieur Wayne’s PA, she hadn’t been expecting anything special. Sure, the Waynes were an odd breed and generally considered strange, but Marinette hadn’t actually expected to have much contact with them—if any at all.

She was here to earn credit for her business degree.

Instead, she has… well. She thinks she’s been somehow inducted into the Wayne family, mostly on accident and kind of as a joke.

That is, until it very much wasn’t.

***

Her first mistake, she supposes, was being too good at her job.

Marinette is an old hand at keeping track of multiple moving parts and riding herd on stubborn people who’d otherwise be too distracted or goofing off. (She was the Court’s leader for more than just being the latest in a long line of Ladybugs, after all.)

After the first two days shadowing Selina—“please, darling. Ms Kyle is so formal”—and learning the broad strokes of the job, Marinette felt confident enough to dig her nails in and get to work. Selina spent most of her time dedicated to international tasks and arranging Monsieur Waynes’ private affairs—all of which was highly classified and not discussed with Marinette—so she turned her attention to inter-company affairs.

Her first order of business was personally meeting with as many people in managerial positions as she could get. Not a requirement for the job per se, but these were people she’d have to interact with often and Maman had always stressed the importance of building connections in the workplace.

“People,” she would say, “are far more willing to do what you want them to when you’ve endeared yourself to them.”

So Marinette takes that advice and spends her breaks and lunches charming employees and giving baked goods to security guards and learning the names of the cleaning crew. She doesn’t speak to the department heads, because Selina handles their correspondences, but everyone else is free game as far as she’s concerned.

She becomes a well-recognized face astoundingly quickly.

***

Marinette probably should’ve seen the rumors coming.

It’s common practice in not only the Wayne family, but in most business conglomerates, for the children to quickly rise through the ranks of their company—if not just handed a high position right off the bat.

It took barely a month before the eldest was all but running Human Resources, and the second was placed as Head of Security practically out of nowhere. Monsieur Drake is the youngest (and most terrifyingly calculated) CEO to ever hold Wayne Enterprises, even if he does share the title with his father.

The other three are still too young or have yet to express an interest in the company, but people say it’s only a matter of time.

The track record speaks for itself, even if Marinette wishes it didn’t.

As a girl who’d come mostly out of nowhere and found herself with far more divisive sway in the company than she had any right to, it’s no wonder everyone thinks she’s some sort of secret Wayne finally coming out of hiding.

Marinette had nearly choked on her coffee when Selina dropped the bomb of that particular tidbit of company gossip.

“Most think you’ve been unofficially adopted,” Selina tells her, looking far too amused for Marinette’s liking. “Seeing as you’re too old for official avenues now.”

Marinette looks up warily from the schedule she’s rearranging. Selina had all but shoved the thing at her a month ago when she started suggesting more efficient ways of managing the CEOs’ valuable time.

“Only most? Does that mean the rest have common sense?”

Selina’s grin widens even further, if that’s possible, and Marinette regrets her question even before the older woman starts speaking.

“Oh, of course not!” she laughs delightedly. “The rest are hoping to hear news of wedding bells. It’s high time someone swept a Wayne off the market, don’t you think?”

***

“So you’re the new little sister I keep hearing about.”

Marinette stares up through narrowed eyes at the brightly smiling Dick Grayson. In her stomach, there are already the beginnings of resignation starting to form. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you!”

This man is going to bring her nothing but trouble. She can tell.

***

Dick takes a liking to her. And she, against her better judgment, finds herself doing the same to him.

It’s a little hard not to, if she’s being honest. He’s bright and bubbly and brings her bagels during his morning break without her ever having asked.

It takes practically no time at all before Marinette considers him a friend, relaxing when he’s near and laughing openly at his ridiculous jokes. Despite being the head of HR, he’s not great at the whole ‘professional’ thing and often employees will walk by to find him draped across a chair or balancing precariously on the edge of her desk while she tries and fails to get some work done while he’s around.

It really doesn't help all of the ‘Marinette is a Wayne’ rumors running around. Especially when Dick starts pointedly calling her every variation of ‘little sister’ that he can think of just to annoy her (and, she knows, because he thinks the entire situation hilarious).

***

Three weeks after befriending Dick, Selina all but shoves her into Monsieur Drake’s office and, in no uncertain words, says, “He’s your problem now.”

Marinette blinks at what she can describe as nothing other than a disaster area and just… sighs.

Tim blinks back at her.

The motion is somehow both completely blank and filled with an uncomfortable amount of knowing at the same time. There is also, she notices, a frankly ludicrous amount of concealer caked beneath his eyes and more coffee cups scattered on every flat surface than Marinette has ever seen in her life.

She knows his schedule like the back of her hand seeing as she spends hours of her day pouring over it to make sure everything runs smoothly. He has no prior engagements for the next three hours.

“You’re not going to take a nap just because I ask, are you?”

He snorts. “Absolutely not.”

She nods, having expected the answer; her phone was already at her ear before he even finished speaking. “Hey, Dick!” she greets, sounding brighter than she feels at the moment, and watches as Tim stiffens in front of her. “Yeah, no. I was just wondering if you’re busy right now.” She pauses. “Oh, good! Can you come up to Tim’s office for me? Yeah, I need you to knock him out so I can fix his dumpster fire of an office.”

Tim has since started waving his hands frantically at her, panic setting in behind his eyes.

Marinette stares at him, unmoved. “Thanks, Dick! You’re the best!”

The silence after she hangs up is deafening.

“I don’t know if I should be impressed by the ease you’re manipulating me or pissed off that you’re doing it in the first place.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Does your decision have any bearing on my future employment?”

His eyes squint. “…No.”

Marinette shrugs, mind already whirling with what she’ll need to get done first and calculating how long she’ll likely have to get it done. “Then I think you should skip right over both of those and land on resignation as quickly as possible, Monsieur, because you’re going to have to get used to it regardless.”

It’s silent for a long moment, and she worries for just a second that she’s severely crossed some sort of line. Then Tim bursts out laughing instead of, you know, firing her like he probably should have.

“Oh, yeah. You’re going to fit right in here.”

Marinette doesn’t ask where the ‘here’ is. She’s pretty sure she already knows.

***

It takes ten days for Marinette to wrangle Tim’s life into something resembling order. His office is clean and organized to his liking. She’s developed a system of filing so that all paperwork goes through her and is quickly sorted into ‘can be handled by Marinette’, ‘forge his signature and tell him about it later’, and ‘actually important enough to have Tim read through’.

His schedule is the most efficient it’s ever been and Marinette is quickly honing the skill of getting him properly dressed and out of his office in under thirty minutes. (Dick is, thankfully, a great teacher and has little to no qualms about giving her the key to all his little brother’s weaknesses.)

Selina stares at her when Marinette all but drags Tim from his office, a folder tucked neatly under his arm and the sugary monstrosity of a caffeinated beverage she’s bribed him with in her own, with a whole ten minutes to spare before his meeting with the Board.

“My dear,” she says solemnly, “you are positively magic.”

She doesn’t even look up from where she’s simultaneously wrangling Tim’s hair into submission and laying his tie down flat. “You have no idea.”

***

She knows Tim is capable of professionality. She’s seen the cool facade he pulls up in front of the Board members and the kind but impersonal smile he uses on the employees of Wayne Enterprises. (He is not the Ice Prince of the Wayne family, but Marinette believes he should have some equally ruthless sounding title.) He is aloof and sharp and every inch the businessman people praise him to be.

She’s seen it. And yet… 

“Monsieur. Why are all the Lexcorp contracts I gave you done in crayon?”

Tim doesn’t stop messing with his Rubix cube or even look up at her when he says, “Cause deadbeat fathers don’t deserve the respect of a pen.”

Marinette is very tired. She does not have time for this. “What are you talking about?”

“Lex is a bitchass absentee dad and I live to inconvenience him.”

“What about inconveniencing me?” she all but whines. “I can’t hand him these!”

That does make Tim look up at her, eyes wide with false innocence and mouth pouting up at her. “But sister dearest, I’m your little brother. It’s my job to inconvenience you.”

Growling in frustration is probably an inappropriate reaction to the situation.

But, Marinette thinks, so is the fact that both of the Waynes she associates with regularly seem hellbent on convincing the world that she too, is a Wayne, so.

(Is this how Alya felt dealing with the twins? Cause if so, Marinette takes back every joke she ever made—little siblings are a bitch.)

***

She meets Damian without warning.

Honestly, she never really expected to meet him at all but, well.

She finds him in Monsieur Wayne’s office, sitting at his father’s desk and doing something that she thinks is vaguely illegal, but she’s not about to tell her Boss a dozen times over how to parent his children.

Damian is a near-perfect copy of his father with darker skin and calculating green eyes. There’s also a more potent aura of danger around the child than there is around his father, like Damian hasn’t yet learned how to hide behind his public persona as his father had.

Or, Marinette looks at the teen thoughtfully, perhaps he just chooses not to.

“Monsieur Wayne,” she greets. Children like to be treated like adults, she knows, and Marinette doesn’t think this one is any different. “Selina hadn’t told me you’d be in the office today.”

“I don’t run my schedule by her,” he says flatly. A response she expected considering Dick’s stories.

“Of course not,” she agrees.

He finally deigns to look up at her and something flits across his expression, too fast for her to pick up on it. “Are those for Father? Bring them here, I’ll deal with them in his absence.”

Marinette raises her eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s wise Monsieur.”

Damian scowls and sticks his hand out. “I’m perfectly capable of forging Father’s signature. Give them here.”

She does not move and, instead, lets her lips quirk up into the smile she’s been fighting since she stepped in here.

“I don’t doubt it,” she tells him, and she doesn't. Forgery seems exactly like the kind of skill a child who broke into the CEO’s office of a multi-billion dollar company would have. “But you’ll find that all forging of signatures has been finished for the day and that these,” she shakes the sheaf of papers lightly, “actually require your father’s attention.”

He snorts disbelievingly and it says a lot about Marinette’s life up until now that the blatant display of disrespect doesn’t piss her off but instead reminds her of Chloé and of the fact that she still needs to reschedule their spa day. It's been too long since they spent time together in person.

“Well,” she pauses and eyes the papers thoughtfully. “‘Requires’ in the sense that its information needed to trounce the Board when they start spouting off greedy bullshit about cutting corners on our humanitarian efforts. I’m not sure how much of it is actually useful for anything besides that.” She shrugs. “But homework is homework, yes?”

That gets her a thoughtful once-over. His hand lowers and he then turns back to whatever he’s messing with on his father’s computers.

“Very well,” he concedes. “Father will be back in approximately thirteen minutes. You can leave the papers and I’ll inform him of their… importance.” He smirks, but it’s more like he’s letting her in on a joke than anything else.

Marinette smiles back as she sets the folder on the desk, feeling, oddly, like she’s passed some sort of test.

***

The day after, both Dick and Tim are waiting for her with what looks like an entire bakery laid out in her workspace.

“Uh,” she says eloquently, setting her purse down on her chair because there’s not a single open space on her desk not filled with some kind of pastry. “What’s all this?”

She looks up to find neither Dick nor Tim has stopped staring at her since she walked in. “We heard you met Damian yesterday,” Dick starts warily, like he’s scared of her reaction.

The response does not abate her confusion. 

“Yes, I did,” she says slowly. “That does not explain all… this.” She waves a hand, trying to encompass them as well as the state her desk is in.

The two brothers share a look.

“It’s a bribe,” Tim tells her simply and Marinette is taken aback for all of a second before her eyes suddenly narrow.

Dick cuts in hastily before she can say anything. “It’s more of an apology, really. For Damian’s behavior.”

But Marinette is confused and frustrated and just a bit offended by the apparent not-bribe at this point. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, but it only does so much.

“Damain’s behavior was fine,” she tells them with measured neutrality. “You two, on the other hand, are being weird and it’s freaking me out.” She crosses her arms expectantly. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

Appearing from out of nowhere, Selina drapes herself along Marinette’s shoulders and snags a raspberry scone. “I do believe,” she says as if sharing a secret, “That they are trying to keep you from quitting, kitten.”

Marinette wrinkles her nose. “Why would I quit? I like this job.”

She also likes the Waynes (in general, if not right then) and she likes Selina. The woman was a good mentor who didn’t shy away from the dirtier parts of the job and taught Marinette all she knew. (Even the bits, she noticed, that had little to nothing to do with being a personal assistant and were more likely to be found in the repertoire of a thief.

But, Marinette is in possession of her own sticky fingers and knows how to not ask questions, so. You know—curiosity killed the cat and all.)

She doesn’t voice any of that, but Selina, at least, knows it anyway. Marinette isn’t quiet about her gratitude after all.

“First meetings with the youngest Wayne don’t often go well,” Selina tells her. “In fact, I think he has a habit of making the interns cry.”

Dick makes some kind of offended noise. “Hey! He hasn’t done that since he was twelve!”

Tim elbows him in the ribs and Marinette makes a vaguely skeptical face at all three of them before deciding it wasn’t worth it. She has actual work to get done today and pastries to get rid of before she can even start.

She pats affectionately at Selina’s hand before grabbing as many boxes as she can hold. “Come on you two,” she says to the brothers. “You’re going to help me hand these out to the rest of the company.”

Dick immediately starts doing as told but Tim hesitates, humming thoughtfully. “You know that’s not going to help your whole ‘I’m not actually a Wayne’ thing, right?”

She glares at him. It doesn’t stop Tim from grinning like the utterly unrepentant little shit he is.

***

Things are quiet after the Damian Incident for a whole two weeks. It’s the longest lull Marinette has had since she first started and became somehow involved with the Waynes.

It ends because Dick finds out about the crush Marinette has been nursing on the Head of Security for three months now.

The Head of Security who is Jason Todd: second eldest Wayne sibling and Dick’s brother.

He takes it better than expected.

(Almost, she thinks later, a little too well.)

***

Despite her friendship with Dick and Tim—or perhaps because of it?—Jason had never seemed very interested in her. At first, Marinette had shrugged and counted it as a win; there was one Wayne, at least, who neither found her situation funny nor used it to poke fun at her.

They were on friendly terms, she supposed. Security has always been one of her more regular stops in the building, so she’d spoken to him often enough. He liked complaining that she spoiled his team rotten with all her treats.

But she also noticed that he likes her cherry danishes, so.

And then she noticed how crooked his grin was when he smiled. And how he seemed to have an arsenal of nicknames for everyone he knew. And the small collection of classic romance novels filled with sticky notes he tries and fails to hide in his desk. And, and, and.

It was around the time she began unconsciously memorizing his schedule based on when he was and was not there for her pastry deliveries, that she realized she may have made a misstep somewhere.

Jason was stubborn and passionate and flipped between overly proper and crass light a damn light switch. He was also, as stated, very much not interested in her.

Not that she would’ve pursued him anyway. He was a coworker as well as her friends’ brother.

Now if only one of said brothers could understand that.

“You should ask him out,” Dick suggests not for the first time and Marinette sighs, also not for the first time.

She loves Dick—she truly does—but he has been an aggravating level of unhelpful since he found out about Marinette’s latest romantic disaster.

“I’m definitely not doing that.”

Dick groans, like she’s being the unreasonable one. “Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

“Because I don’t like embarrassing myself?” she asks rhetorically. “Not everyone can have a fairy tale romance like you and Wally.”

He throws his coffee stirrer at her. “We are not a fairy tale.”

She shoots him a flat look. She’s heard Dick talk about Wally and Tim’s told her all the stories and she was there when he and Wally finally got their shit together. Dick was unbearable for an entire week with his gooey, lovestruck new lease on life.

“You two are the definition of fairy tale. You two make fairy tales look like trashy romance novels.”

He opens his mouth to argue the point before forcibly cutting himself off. “No. Stop distracting me. We’re not talking about that; we’re talking about you and Jason.”

“There is no ‘me and Jason’,” she reminds him through her clenched teeth.

“Not yet,” he says optimistically. Like it’s a fact, like he knows something she doesn’t.

He makes her want to slam her face into a wall. Truly, he does.

***

Dick stops running his HR papers up to her office. Instead, he’s somehow convinced Jason to play errand boy for him even though he literally never looks happy about it. What used to be a flimsy excuse for Dick to slack off for a few minutes and gossip with her has now turned into awkward silence as Jason drops off the papers and leaves without even a ‘hello’.

During their shared breaks, Dick takes to orchestrating ‘chance encounters’ between her and Jason, all but shoving them into each other (and even actually shoving that one time).  She catches Jason shooting dark looks at Dick every time he does it, and if she’d been holding any iota of hope at this point, it’s been smashed to dust. Jason obviously knows of his brother’s meddling and isn’t happy about it.

But Dick just can’t take the hint.

Every failed plan of his makes him steadily worse about it all—more frantic and frustrated and like he wants to strangle her for her stubbornness. (The last feeling being more than mutual.)

Dick’s meddling starts to make her and Jason’s previously friendly, if distant, relationship awkward and embarrassing. With every pointed comment, she gets closer to just punching Dick in the face. Or, maybe, she’ll just tell Wally who really ate all the chocolate strawberry macaroons she made; it’d certainly be more devastating.

***

It all comes to head on a Thursday, after most employees have left for the day. 

They run into each other in a breakroom, and she watches as Jason suddenly goes stiff, eyes flicking over her shoulder to no doubt scan for Dick. That single action makes her expression sour and she slams her empty mug down with more force than was necessary.

For Kwamis sake, he looks like a cornered animal. An image not helped by the way he jumps a foot in the air and stares at her like he’s worried she’ll suddenly lunge at him.

“Can we agree this is ridiculous?” she says abruptly. “I don’t know what Dick is trying to accomplish with his wingman schtick, but we both know it’s not going to work. Can we just… agree that he’s an idiot?”

A complicated look crosses Jason’s face before he snorts wryly. “Yeah, we can agree on that. Dickie-boy has always been a few sandwiches short a picnic.”

“I know things have been awkward between us lately, and I’m sorry about that, but I hope we can keep being friends?” she says hopefully.

“What in the world do you have to be sorry about?” he asks before she can start catastrophizing about the bewildered expression he makes at her words. “It’s not your fault.”

The smile she shoots him is rueful and she shakes her hand in an ‘ehh’ type gesture. “Kinda is. And I understand if the-” she makes a vague gesture between them that she hopes properly conveys ‘my giant, stupid crush on you’, “you know, is too much for you. Just say the word I’ll try and keep out of your way.”

She’s trying to be comforting or understanding or something like that, but all her words seem to do is make him upset. “Absolutely not,” he insists. “Sunshine, you are not going to change your routine just to make me feel better.”

Marinette crosses her arms, frowning up at him. “Why shouldn’t I? If I’m making you uncomfortable-”

He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Uncomfort- Marinette. ” She jolts a bit at the use of her name. She doesn’t think he’s used it since her second week at W.E. “I’m not sure who made you think otherwise—and if it was Dick just tell me cause I’ll kick his ass —but barring the fact that I still enjoy your friendship regardless of any… feelings-” Marinette concentrates very hard on not showing emotion when he says that, “-it’s not your responsibility to deal with it.”

Okay, but… that makes no sense. Of course her feelings were her responsibility, that’s the whole point of them being hers.

“If it’s not mine, then whose responsibility is it then?” she asks, wondering where the hell his train of thought is running.

“Mine, obviously.”

She gives him a look, complete with narrowed eyes and thinly veiled judgment. “What? Is this some kind of gentleman’s martyr complex? Is that what’s happening right now?”

Jason huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. “If me taking responsibility for my own damn feelings is a martyr complex then sure,” he snarks, not unkindly. More like he’s trying to protect himself by retreating behind a sour attitude.

Her mouth is halfway around a retort when his words catch up to her brain and she freezes.

“Your feelings?” she repeats. “Your feelings for… me?”

His voice is carefully neutral when he says, “Those would be the ones.”

Her mouth opens and closes and opens again. “You like me? Seriously?”

His face spasms at the question, starting at anger before he properly looks at her and the surprised expression on her face. He pales.

“You didn’t know?”

“No!” she squeaks, something she hasn’t done since she was fifteen. “Well Dick said but I didn’t believe him!”

And fuck, she thinks. This means Dick knew the whole damn time, didn’t he? Oh, she is so going to kill him the second she gets the chance.

Jason runs a hand down his face, covering his mouth as he gathers his bearings. Suddenly, his eyes shoot back open and land on her. “Wait. If you didn't know, then what the hell were you talking about just now?”

She blushes to the tips of her ears and buries her face in her hands so she doesn’t have to look at him. It was easy when she thought he’d figured it out himself. It’s harder now that she has to tell him. “I- I was talking about my crush on you.”

He’s quiet for so long that she gets antsy and peeks out from behind her fingers to see his expression. He’s still looking at her, but now there’s a wide, crooked smile on his face. The expression softens something in her chest and she lowers her hands.

“Really?” he asks, leaning closer.

Marinette nods, feeling a small smile spread across her lips.

He jolts forward, hands reaching for her before suddenly stopping just shy of touching. She startles a bit at the motion but doesn’t move away.

Jason licks his lips, smile smaller but no less bright. “I- can I?”

She blinks. “Can you what?”

“Kiss you.”

The blush returns full force, but with it also comes a smile, giddy and bright. She nods and no sooner than she does, is he swooping down to pull her into a toe-curling kiss. His hands cup her face with a tenderness that makes her smile, makes her giddy, and it’s not long before they’re both smiling too wide to actually kiss and are forced to break apart.

His hands fall to her back, practically engulfing her, and his chin drops onto her head. It’s warm and cozy and she thinks she could so very easily get used to this.

Later, they’re going to have to deal with Dick and Tim and Selina and the teasing they’ll no doubt have to endure—not to mention how much worse the rumors are going to get—but right now? Right now Marinette pulls Jason back down for another kiss and very pointedly doesn’t think about it.

[determinate-negation]

first off I want to say I really appreciate your posts, you’re super well read and articulate and your posts + excerpts are always interesting. re your post about leftists preparing for civil war, i’m planning on organizing when I go to college in the fall, but is there anything I can do individually to prepare? or what do you think effective large scale leftist preparation/organization would look like in this country? i appreciate ur posts about this topic, it’s really difficult to plan for my future when it feels like major developments are on the horizon and I have no clue what things will look like in 10 years, but it’s tough to talk about it without feeling like a crazy doomsday person

thank you. yeah it does really feel insane to plan for the future rn. im graduating college this year and am like... what. but anyways, i think a lot of what you can do individually will depend on who you’re organizing with, who are your trusted friends/comrades, and what they are willing to do, so that might be more clear when youre in college. i also think things will stabilize somewhat, like civil war could be on the horizon but well have time to organize. the right also will have time to organize lol. immediate things people can do are 1. read on security culture and surveillance technology 2. learn about arming yourself and self defense. try to do some irl if possible 3. stay informed on what the far right is doing

for large scale organization. idk, we are in a kind of grim situation and its unclear what course anything will take. this might sound totally deranged but i think people should be acting with a few things in mind

1. the american state is in a crisis and seems like it will only get worse. the current form of government will probably lose more appeal, pushing more people into radicalism or fascism. the liberal democratic state has traditionally enabled fascism and i expect that it will here too

2. the american empire, the thing keeping the united states running, will maintain, or do its best to maintain, relative stability within its own borders as long as it still has global economic, military, and political power. i dont think that an american version of fascism will take power until the united states is truly in an economic crisis that cuts off its imperial resources

3. global labor movements and anti-extraction movements, which have been growing, have the potential to impede u.s. imperial power. china’s position in the global economy also has that potential, and i think us-china relations will develop majorly although i cant predict in what way

4. labor in the united states has changed immensely since the late 70′s and the traditional labor struggle that applied to industrial workers does not entirely fit anymore. very little production occurs within the u.s, and most is done offshore in the third world. the labor struggle in the united states needs to be re-thought, and alliances or collaboration with third world workers and anti-imperialists from around the world should be emphasized. 

5. if most of the left wing parties keep going as they are right now they are doomed. that could change in the future tho. a lot of this is far off enough that we cant really prepare because conditions and people’s consciousness are gonna change a lot in the next few years. 

i really dont know what civil war would look like but i think the best thing people can do rn is keep working with above ground groups, start more covert networking, find people you trust now who are on the same page as you politically, stay involved in political actions/protests near you

[nomoregoldfish]

Imagine Pacho Sends You as a Gift to (Spy on) Amado 2/3

This is getting out of hand again, smh. (Not really) Warning: everyone loves Pacho. Un-betaed, I’ll post the entire thing on AO3 later. For now, you can find part 1 here.

Amado is occupied with all sorts of business affairs after you land in DF, leaving you to his younger brother Vicente. You quickly learn Vicente is in charge of security of all cartel business, that's something, you assume.

When asked why you don't go to Juárez directly, Vicente tells you Amado has several meetings with some important figures in DF. You have to figure out a way to infiltrate the plaza to learn more about Amado, staying at a luxury apartment owned by the narcos won't get you anything useful.

"She's crazy!" Vicente's whining when Amado finally shows up late that night, "She woke up at 5 in the morning for a fucking jog and dragged my ass to a wet market before it even opened. And that's not the end of it, she bought so much fish and my car still smells like a stinky fish tank right now."

Vicente is a bit exaggerating but you do have a fruitful trip to the local market. 

"Yet you finished everything she cooked." Amado points at the empty plates on the dining table, not annoyed at all.

"Do you have some leftovers?" The tall Mexican turns to you. Vicente interrupts, "No, we ate all salmon sashimi because Ryoko said salmon has to be served as fresh as possible, and I ate all wasabi. Oh man, that shit is hotter than serrano peppers. But don't worry, we have a lot of more fish in the jacuzzi." Right, it comes handy to have more than one bathtub in the luxury apartment.

Finally Amado sends away his bratty little brother. Then it's just the two of you. 

"I've got something for you." You remember to smile, which seems to work fine as Amado approaches. "All done?" He asks, you haven't figured it out what he's asking about, the dishes? Yes. Then the Mexican lowers your ponytail, running his fingers through your hair. 

"You don't wanna hair in your grilled pacific saury." You joke, bringing him another set of hot meal you specifically make for him.

"Tell me more about it." Amado takes a large bite, looking satisfied and more relaxed.

You two are chatting over some mezcal and a plate of edamame afterwards. Amado asks about your day, and trades some anecdotes about Vicente when you tentatively ask about his. The fucker is smart and vigilant. 

"I have to tell you something," Okay, you get his full attention, "The bluefin tuna you ate three days ago wasn't served in the best condition. Pacho wanted a show, everything grand and pretty, so I had to cut the red part of the fish and make a bright-colored akami plate right away. It's meaty and chewy, which should have been aged for three days in the fridge to allow the texture to soften and release more flavor," You opens the fridge, showing Amado several chunks of tuna you already cut out, "You can have friends over in three days, I bought enough for a full table."

"What about the pink ones?" He seems genuinely interested. You continue to explain that different parts of tuna offer variable tastes from super fatty pink otoro around the head and collar to chutoro, mixture of fat and meat from the back and belly.

To your surprise, Amado asks for a slice of the fat part, "You said it's the most expensive one. I shouldn't waste your hard-earned money, right?" Both of you laugh.

You take a really fat cut. When you're looking for a plate and the soy sauce, Amado just eats it from your hand. Your fingers are freezing from the tuna and when he swallows them with the slice, the hot and soft sensation around fucking turns you on like nothing else. The sashimi-hater even licks your fingers a few more times, "to clean the fat."

As he claimed, "It's better."

"Now you're gonna show me how you destroy my jacuzzi on day one."

You feel great sitting by the edge of the jacuzzi a.k.a. your temporary fish tank and checking out all the aquatic animals you bought earlier.

"It could've been us in it." What a tease. You laugh then get up, "I don't think it's a good idea to get naked with lobsters and octopuses." 

"Wait," Amado turns you around, still sitting by the edge, "Let me make it up for you."

When Amado decides to give you a head, you simply don't say no. It's like sitting on his face because you can barely stand still. He notices then pulls you closer. The lips used to wrap around your fingers now make you feel like in heaven, and God bless his fucking tongue. The Mexican is driving you mad.

"Shh, you wake up the octopus." You're at the tipping point and the fucker pauses. You open your eyes, an octopus is on the move, two tentacles approaching the edge of the jacuzzi, sucker rings very close to your bare legs.

Then imagine Amado gets up and pushes you up against the tiles in the shower, silencing you with a rough kiss. You taste yourself, and something raw, could be the tuna or the cigarettes he smokes. You get even more aroused by that. 

You're desperate for more of his touch. So you grab his big hand and put it between your thighs, and he's willing to comply. 

This is too much. You cum just after a few rubs against him.  

"I'm sorry for the other night. You're a genius." Amado's playing dirty, sweet-talking while he continues to rub against your oversensitive part, "Would you do me favor? I'm thinking about hosting a few guests, somewhere private, the tuna will be ready by Friday, right?"

You can't believe he falls for the trick. This could be an important business meeting and you're gonna be there.

"Sure. Can I ask something in return?" You already come to your senses while giving Amado a painfully slow handjob.

"Anything you want. Flowers? Jewelry? Cars? I have some better collections than Pacho's Corvette C4. Too flashy." Amado offers generously.

You can't help laughing, "Gosh, how could men make everything a dick comparison contest?"

"You saw his dick?" Amado bites your lower lips. He's rock hard, throbbing.

"I thought you did, too. You two seem very close. I mean, Pacho is a gorgeous man." You keep going, and teasing. You enjoy the fact that you just plant something really dirty in Amado's head. You bet he's having an imaginary threesome with you and Pacho. Not a bad idea though.

By the time you make him come, the Mexican almost forgets what you're asking.

"I ask 'Do you have some dumbbells?' I need my daily training and I don't have time to find a new gym here. What? How do you think I'm able to handle a 150lbs tuna in a line of work mostly for men?" You give Amado a little squeeze before licking it off.

You have a dream that night, being penetrated by Amado in some warm water while a giant octopus sucks you off. You wake up with wetness down there.

You visit several Japanese restaurants in town, unsurprisingly boring. You get the idea that local middle-class see Japanese cuisine as an exotic and cultural novelty. 

You even invite Amado to have lunch at one of those restaurants during his break. He frowns at the food after the first bite, "You can't do this to me."

What? "Asking me to eat this crap is inhumane. I'm spoiled." Amado makes it sound like you're the bad guy, but these smiling eyes give him away. He looks at you the way that makes you feel wanted.

You two end up eating cheap Mexican street food and that's where you find some early blossoms of jacarandas with excitement.

"You want those?" Amado asks, picking up some dried petals from the street. All you can think of is jacarandas flower could be an interesting alternative to sakura, which adds a domestic touch to the food you're gonna prepare for Friday. 

"Yes, please." Amado must find it weird but he just nods.

Once being brought to the outskirt location of the private meeting, you spend more time making rearrangement of the decor, trying to create an authentic Japanese ryotei experience. 

You call Amado once for extra resources. It's tricky because you don't know if you're in a position to ask anything when he's away, busy.

"I'm glad you called. I may not be an Asian culture fanatic like Pacho but I promise you will have anything you want. Whatever rare shit he's bought you, just name it. I'll have an entire Boeing 727 team ready to fly it in from every fucking corner of the world." Yeah, the dick measuring thing is still going on. 

What you don't mention is that you're also glad to hear his voice. "Will you come over?" You almost let it slip, "I mean, to see if you like everything."

"No. I trust you," Amado pauses, "I'll be an hour early."

"Mind the traffic." Bright laughter breaks from the other end of the line.

And thanks to the highly efficient Carrillo Air Express, stuff you request is brought to you the next day including a whole box of violet jacarandas petals.

You ask for a guest list before starting to set the table. "Just set tables for eight people." Vicente clearly has no idea of being a host. You explain that it's part of your job to make sure no one is allergic to seafood. "How the fuck do I know that?" The young man is still complaining.

"Don't worry. Give me a list. I'll look for their office numbers, call their secretaries and find out."

Vicente is easily convinced. You get what you want, a list of high-up politicians and business executives. Not sure how this is relevant but you memorize the names and companies anyway.

Amado makes his arrival almost cinematic. With a chopper still swirling outside, the man in black steps out from the driving seat on the right and waves to you like a king. 

"You're early." You can hide your smile this time.

"Because someone suggested I should 'mind the traffic.' It happens I've owned a few choppers." The fucker looks like a dashing pilot out Hollywood movies. 

You joke that he's nothing like what Pacho used to say, "Low-profile my ass." 

"Oh, Pacho talks about me?"

"Stop. I'm really not interested in which one of you has a bigger dick."

Later Amado hands you a wrapped frame. "I heard you're looking for some Japanese art for decoration. I don't know anything about art but..."

You can't believe he brings you a shunga, tradition Japanese erotic painting, depicting a giant octopus performing oral on a woman with pink tentacles all over her naked body. "You're ridiculous." You frown, it's too explicit you're not sure if it's appropriate for such an occasion.

"I saw something similar at Pacho's house. Well, minus the woman. Just boys." The cheeky bastard winks at you, "You're also serving octopus sashimi tonight? It's a fit then." That's how a print of the famous Octopus and Girl Diver ends up in the main room.

Dinner starts at 8 and everything is ready. You're asked to briefly introduce each dish to the guests when one's presented. Guests praise everything from the chopstick rest made of porcelain with traditional Mexican patterns, to the floral-shaped bream sashimi slices. The tuna sushi is a hit, everyone loves it. You give Amado a knowing smirk when you catch him taking a few himself. The octopus sashimi is a bit tricky but the guests are so "polite", they still pretend to enjoy the exotic food. 

The rest of the time you stay outside the room. You hear things but not in a coherent manner. Amado mentions NAFTA, export-oriented furniture and auto parts factories in Juárez, and two of them are head of the biggest tequila exporters of the country. Nothing makes sense for the drug business. Is the most successful Mexican drug trafficker gonna shift to other legitimate businesses? That might have an impact on Pacho's business.

When dessert is brought to the table, everyone wows — the improvised jacarandas mochi with dried petals is a nice surprise to end the dinner. You tell them the story that instead of the much-anticipated sakura which wasn't well-adjusted to the Mexican weather, how jacarandas was introduced to Mexico City by a Japanese gardener in the 1930s. All the guests finish their plates while giving you a few nods.

Amado seems very pleased with everything you've done. He lowers his voice to ask you to wait for him afterwards.

"Where are we going?" You ask through the headphones. Seems Amado is flying you back to downtown DF.

The Mexican smirks, "To the sky."

You finally land atop the roof of a skyscraper, "This is the tallest building in Mexico." Amado holds you tight when you exit the chopper. The wind at night in early January is insane, let alone you're 700ft above the ground.

It must be some five-star hotel but turns out it's an office building of Pemex, Mexico's state-owned oil company. WTAF? "Put it this way, the biggest exporters of the country hang out sometimes." Amado's sense of humor is something you didn't expect, "Well, I'm not saying they bring as many unattached US dollars as I do, not even close."

When you let the fact sink in — that the Juárez cartel probably earns twice as much as the biggest oil company in the country through exporting "goods," having access to a secret suite on the top floor of the Pemex Tower is not surprising at all.

"You bring people here often?" You ask when Amado pops a bottle of wine. The city view from the 54th floor is stunning.

"I didn't know you're the jealous type." He brings you a glass. You two stand in front the giant window, raising your glasses like you're celebrating. 

"You haven't asked what we're celebrating." Amado takes a step closer.

You put index finger on his lips, which are incredibly soft. Immediately remind you last time you kissed, "I don't want to get myself killed in a foreign country."

"Did Pacho teach you that? Not asking questions, just do your thing." Amado starts kissing your hand.

"Oh, my God. You're so obsessed with him, and it's kinda cute."

"Nonsense." The Mexican disagrees, and turns to the window. 

You sets both of your glasses aside, then leads Amado to the bed. You get undressed first, lying on the bed, waiting.

"You're sure this is something you want?" You ask, completely stripped. Amado stares at your flat-chested body like the first time he found out who you are. 

"You make it sound like I haven't sleep with supermodels. That funny?" The fucker tickles you, "You have no idea..."

Imagine Amado makes you feel adored, marking every inch of your body with his big hands and soft lips. He takes time, mapping your body till he finds the most sensitive spots and makes you moan, shivering.

"Let me warm you up." Amado probably thinks you're cold, so he spoons you. The long limbs of his are like tentacles wrapped around you, fuck, you can feel his erection grinding against you.

You're so wet for Amado. When he finally pushes in from behind, neither of you can resist the sensation.

"Wanted to do this to you the whole week. You're such a fucking tease, aren't you? Dropped at my door in that kimono robe then left without letting me even touch you." Amado pounds into you, with hand reaching your little bean from behind, making you a total mess.

 "Why didn't you make me stay then?" You're nearly breathless, "Is it...because it's within Pacho's territory?" You obviously cross some line with that. The thrusts become harder, feels like Amado is gonna fuck you senseless.

You're not sure if Pacho wants to know you are talking about him when you reach orgasm. 

You decide to leave it out before you pass out.

[marinaaniseed]

Dark ‘n’ Stormy, Pt. 11

Summary: It’s the day after the stuffing chapter. New Asgard decides which system of government it wants. Not much smut, an awful lot of politics.

Length: 6.9k. A more sensible person than me might try to edit this down, but honestly, I feel like you’d all be horribly disappointed if I didn’t write all the words.

Warnings: Eh the usual. Kinky food stuff, smut, drinking, swearing, mental health wonkiness, Asgardian politics, body shaming, intrusive media, social media shittiness, uncomfortable family relationships, mentions of starting a family, mentions of dead characters, smutty pictures, some ridiculously long speeches that might give you feels. I think that’s it.

Notes: This chapter, quite literally, took months to write. Apologies, therefore, if it’s a bit disjointed or I contradict myself. This bad boy is now over 50k in total (!) It took a while, because I couldn’t quite decide how I wanted it to go. Also, writing a story a day for the entire year is quite time consuming and a really fucking terrible idea. Typos and errors are all my own but please alert me to anything spectacularly bad so I can fix. I’ve not given this any distance, so I am hella word-blind.

Also, one of you gets a mention :P

Need a reminder of what’s happened? Pt. 10 & the masterlist.

If you like what I do, please let me know.

It wasn’t the cockerels crowing that woke you, but the dogs excitedly greeting someone.

“Whuh time issit?” you mumbled into Thor’s hair, your hand resting on his still full tummy as you spooned the sleepy Thunder God.

“Too early.”

He wasn’t wrong. Groggily you pulled yourself away, rummaging around for something to throw on so you could investigate who your visitor was.

Opening the bedroom door, you spied the Valkyrie crouched down by the settee, rubbing Geri’s tummy.

“Why?” you asked, not really awake enough to form a proper question.

“Why what?” Valkyrie responded, continuing to fuss the dog at her feet.

“Why are you here? Now? At this godforsaken time?”

“Has Thor forsaken this time in particular?”

Your glare said it all.

“I jest, sorry. Have you been online? Checked your phone? Seen or heard the news?”

“For fuck’s sake, Brunnhilde,” you said, startling the dogs and finally rousing Thor, “I’ve literally just gotten up. Because of you. When would I have done any of that? And why does it matter?”

“I’ll make the coffee, you go get Thor.”

You’d barely turned and taken a step, when you collided with the solid mass that was your lover.

“What’s wrong? Why is the Valkyrie here?” he asked, holding you to his stomach.

“Not a fucking clue.”

You weren’t exactly a morning person. Even less so after a few cocktails, and when your awakening had been rude. Not the good kind of rude, either. Thor knew, from prior experience, that waking you unexpectedly was like deciding to disturb a wasp’s nest. Nothing good would come of it and it wasn’t something you’d likely repeat in a hurry. You were a surly, venomous grump, sure to sting whatever had disturbed you.

Either Brunnhilde was more foolhardy than he thought, or something was seriously wrong.

Brunnhilde returned to find you slouched on the settee, buried in Thor’s hoodie with the hood pulled up and over, almost to the point of covering your eyes, in a vain attempt at ignoring the world. The steaming mug of caffeine placed on the table next to you was met with a snort of derision, and it was with no small amount of trepidation that Thor sat next to you, before pulling you onto his lap. Maybe whatever had brought the Valkyrie would concern only him, and you could doze off against his chest.

“Did you enjoy your pizza last night?” Brunnhilde asked, breaking the frosty silence.

“Yes,” Thor smiled at the memory. “How did you know we had pizza?”

“That’s what brought me here. I’m sorry it’s so early.”

Why would pizza have brought her here, Thor wondered. Did she need a recipe? Did she have some left over? Was she planning to open a pizza place in New Asgard?

“Someone… someone, erm, they snapped some pictures of you. The two of you. In the restaurant. They must’ve recognised you.”

“So?” Thor queried softly, hoping that you had begun to return to sleep in his arms.

“Well, they sold them to some media people. You’re, erm, trending on Twitter. I wanted to tell you before you saw for yourselves, some of the reporting is… unflattering.”

Yeah. Thor could already picture it. Being fat and in the public eye was just a magnet for the worst kind of people.

“If they’ve worked out who Y/N is, it’s not been published yet, but it’s only a matter of time,” Brunnhilde continued.

“Ah, balls,” you said, finally joining the conversation.

“Indeed. A few months back, I asked some friends to do some digging on you. Don’t be alarmed, I just wanted to be prepared for the time when it eventually emerged that you and Thor were together. I didn’t find anything to be worried about in what they found on you, but I understand that there may be things that you’d prefer to stay private. The silence of those involved can be arranged, if you wish.”

There were certainly things in your past that you weren’t exactly proud of. You probably should’ve realised that you couldn’t stay under the radar forever.

“No, it’s ok. Don’t waste your resources, or those of your friends. I’ve been alive long enough to know that if the tabloid press thinks there’s a story, they’ll dig it up somehow. Or just make one up. I’ve done what I’ve done, and that’s the end of that. Anyone commenting on my life probably has stuff they’d rather keep secret,” you answered with a sigh.

“Very well. Do you want to read the dossier?”

“No, no. I’m sure it’s very thorough and accurate. Thor, do you want to read it?”

“Anything you wish to tell me about your past, you can tell me about yourself,” he answered, running his fingers through your hair. “Whatever you have done, it’s of no consequence. You’re here now, that’s all that matters. Some youthful follies could not reverse my love for you.”

You nuzzled your face into his chest hair to hide the tears you could feel beginning to sting your eyes.

“Is that all, Brunnhilde? May we return to bed?” Thor said.

“Yes, of course. Apologies once again for disturbing you. I just wanted you to hear it from a friend before you heard it elsewhere.”

You were fast asleep again by the time Thor gently laid you back on the bed. You must’ve been warm in his hoodie, the early rays of sunshine beginning to seep into the bedroom, but he didn’t want to disturb you. His mind was all over the place, so he decided to check the news on your tablet while you were tucked into his side.

Thor’s Hammered!

King of Ass-gard

Pizza Gut - Avenger destroys pizza buffet

Thor quickly put the tablet back down. It stung to read the words they wrote about him, but even worse was what they wrote about you. They didn’t know you, why did they get to judge you, speculate about who you were and why you were with him? You were just another name on the long list of loved ones he wasn’t able to protect.

Gingerly removing himself from your side, relieved when he didn’t wake you, Thor decided to sit back on the settee, letting Loki slither over him. The snake wasn’t as helpful as his brother, but he found it calming anyway.

15 minutes later, the sound of a message being received made him jump. Unlocking his old phone, he saw it was a message from Brunnhilde.

I know you said you didn’t want to know about Y/N’s past, but I think you might find this interesting…

There were several links at the bottom of the message. Thor didn’t want to pry, he really didn’t, but he couldn’t help but be curious as to what was that important that Brunnhilde had felt the need to send him a link.

Moving as quietly as he could, he returned to the bedroom to grab the tablet, before settling back down to see what had been sent.

Typing the address was a torturous process, his fingers weren’t quite dexterous enough to easily manipulate Midgardian devices, although he was becoming more careful with them. Still, he nearly dropped the tablet when he saw where the link took him to.

It was a gallery of pictures. Pictures of you, to be exact. You weren’t naked but it was obvious that these weren’t the kind of pictures you shared with friends or family. He’d heard about these kinds of sites, adult sites they were called. The model had a different name, but it was definitely you. No doubt about it.

Pictures of you in corsets that pushed up your breasts and cinched in your waist. Pictures of you with chokers around your throat. Some pictures where you wore clothing made of a strange material that seemed to fit you like a second skin. Some more where you wore beautiful lingerie in vibrant colours, brilliant blues and vivid violets.

The pictures on the next link were a little different. Leather gloves, ball gags, handcuffs. Fishnet stockings and knee-high leather boots. Why had he never seen any of these outfits? Carefully gripping the tablet with one hand, he moved the other inside the waistband of his pants, rubbing at the head of his excited cock.

For a split second, he considered what Brunnhilde had thought of these pictures. Had she shown them to Sif? What if they’d both enjoyed them?

His cock grew harder at the thought.

And he knew he should feel a little ashamed. You hadn’t mentioned these pictures, so it probably wasn’t something you were proud of, but he couldn’t help but look, hope that others had looked, and seen just how sexy you were.

He didn’t really understand the third link. That seemed to be a niche site. You were barely visible, clad in rain gear, and wrapped in heavy duty tape to secure you to a post.

But, Brunnhilde really had saved the best until last.

Bound, gagged, blindfolded. Eyes wide in another as you looked at the woman stroking your hair as you sat tied to the chair. If he had to be king, he’d insist on having a throne, just so he could recreate that image with you. Only, in his version, you’d be wearing a lot less clothes, his face between your thighs, eating you out until the only thing keeping you upright were the ropes that held you in your place.

It was funny. He’d not really enjoyed being in chains, in a cage, when he’d encountered Surtur. But the thought of you being bound, held captive while he pleasured you in all the different ways he knew how. Now, that was something he liked the idea of.

Freeing his cock, he began to stroke in earnest, the images he’d just seen and images of what he’d like to do to you fuelling his desire. The harder he thought of them, the harder he got, and the harder he pumped his fist.

His orgasm was explosive, and Loki hissed at him angrily. Geri and Freki perked up their ears to see what the fuss was about. He knew he should move and clean himself but he was comfy, he was relaxed, he could rest here for a moment or two.

***

Evidently it was more than a moment or two when he awoke to the sound of pans clanging around in the kitchen. There’s no way you couldn’t have seen him, and there’s no way he could pretend it was anything else. He’d fallen asleep with his cock out, the evidence crusted onto his tummy.

Tucking himself back into his pants, he approached the kitchen with caution.

“Good morning, my love,” he tried.

“Good afternoon,” you corrected. “Dare I ask?” you said, looking at his gut pointedly.

Nothing good would come of lying, so he tried his best to explain the truth.

“Ah, well, what happened was, you see, Brunnhilde sent me an electronic letter with some links on my phone. So I looked at them on the tablet,” he explained.

“Brunnhilde sent you porn?”

“Yes. I mean no. I mean maybe? The links were to pictures of you.”

“Ah,” you said, understanding. “Brunnhilde’s friends found those.”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed them. I enjoyed doing them.”

Thor doesn’t ask for an explanation, doesn’t press you, doesn’t tell you about his fantasies. You’ll tell him when you want to, if you want to. He’ll tell you when you’re not trying to cook avocado eggs Benedict.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he mumbles before walking off to the bathroom. He’s glad that you’re not angry or upset, but he’s still embarrassed that you caught him in that position.

The shower is cold, but not cold enough to cool him down from his thoughts. Thoughts of those photos, thoughts of last night, and thoughts of what he’d like to do with you in the future. He could probably roll around on Jötunheimr and still feel too hot.

He’s quiet during brunch, but you don’t press him. You just hold his hand, silently telling him that everything will be alright.

You’d briefly checked your phone before Thor had woken up. There were so many notifications, you were afraid it might crash, and you’d put it back down again. Today was an historic day for New Asgard, you didn’t want to overshadow it by worrying about what Twitter trolls had to say about you. It keeps buzzing on the table next to you, and you continue ignoring it.

“Are you going to check that?” Thor asked. “It might be something important.”

“I don’t really want to, I’m afraid of what I might see,” you said.

“I understand, but the longer you leave it, the worse it will be. Maybe just check if there is anything from your family. You don’t want it playing on your mind throughout the day.”

Thor’s right, and so with a resigned sigh, you picked up your phone and looked at your notifications, dismissing anything that wasn’t important.

A message from Sam on Skype that read I knew you had a thing for older men, didn’t realise you liked them THAT old ;-) now I know where you are, let me know when I can visit. Ignore the haters, they’re just jealous.

There was also an entire chain of emails from your mum, without a subject. She’d never quite gotten the hang of email.

Is this you/??>????? And then a link to a news website.

It is, isn’t it.

WHy didn’t you tell us. Where you were????

Your father is looking at flights.

He’s found some cheap ones with Ryanair, we’re coming over in a fortnight. Flying to Oslo. Charlie is coming too.

He can’t find anywhere to stay in New Asgard, are there no hotels????

Answer me.

“Ah, fuck,” you said, staring at down at your phone.

“What’s the matter?” Thor asked, worried that you’d seen something critical of you.

“My family knows where I am now, they’re coming to visit,” you mumbled. “In two weeks.”

“That’s wonderful news, I can’t wait to meet them,” Thor said, kissing your hand.

“Yeah,” you said doubtfully. You loved your family, but they could be tricky at times. They were hurt, of course, by your vagueness on the subject of your whereabouts. You already knew they were going to make some unintentionally hurtful comments, either about Thor, or about Alex, or both. They were also likely to do the same about you.

“Two weeks,” Thor mused, still enthusiastic about the prospect of meeting your family. “I think that gives me sufficient time to build a place for them to stay.”

It was lovely that he was excited by the prospect, but you groaned internally. Something told you that Thor was not going to have time for much if the vote went the way you thought it would.

“I’ll tell them we can accommodate them somewhere,” you said, firing off a quick email. “Now, let’s forget about this and focus on the task at hand. Brunnhilde wanted us there no later than two, that only gives us an hour.”

***

At 2:10 you arrived at the mead hall, Thor in his full regalia, you in the dress he’d gifted you for the May Day feast. Geri and Freki loping along behind you. You went to add the one remaining cake to the long table of food, while Brunnhilde intercepted Thor.

“Is everything alright, after this morning?” she asked him.

“Yes, I think so. Y/N is strong, although her family have elected to visit. That seems to have shaken her,” Thor sighed.

“It must be hard to face someone you thought was dead, even if you love them, once you’ve been through the grieving process,” Brunnhilde noted.

“It is.” Thor knows it’s hard, he went through it enough times with Loki, but he’d do anything to have his brother back. Or his mother, father.

There are flowers everywhere. Bouquets on tables, bunting hanging from the rafters, and people everywhere with flower crowns on their heads. Thor’s pleased with how well they’ve turned out. He makes a note to thank everyone involved, as well as to the plants for blooming so abundantly for him. There was something very satisfying about growing things and tending to them, becoming one with nature.

He’s not surprised when you return with a flower crown, plus one each around the dog’s necks. He doesn’t think they’ll last long, which is why he’d made sure to cultivate flowers that wouldn’t make the dogs sick when they inevitably tried to eat them. Thor particularly likes how you look with your flower crown. He’s seen you wear one before, of course, but they really do suit you. He hopes that if he has to be king, then perhaps one day you’ll wear a different kind of crown.

“Hello, Brunnhilde. Apologies for our lateness. I didn’t grab a crown for you but if Thor doesn’t want this one, I’m sure you can have it,” you offered, holding out the wreath.

“That’s quite alright, I’m not really one for crowns,” Valkyrie answered with a small shake of her head. “I’ll leave you two to mingle, just don’t be late for the vote announcement.”

“We won’t,” Thor assured her, knowing full well that they won’t start without him. “I fear this may not be the only crown I accept today,” he continues, taking the flowers from you and placing them on his head.

“I’m sorry,” you said, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’ll support you, no matter the outcome.”

Thor knows this, and he’s glad of it. He’s still not comfortable with being in charge, quite content with his life, building things, tending to the plants, and playing with his animals. But at least he doesn’t have to do it alone. After Loki died, he was so very alone. Korg and Miek were great, but there was something missing in his life, a much closer form of companionship that he’d finally found again.

“Let us mingle, I’m sure there are many children who will be glad to pet the dogs,” Thor said, looping his arm with yours at the elbow.

*** By the time it gets to the hour of the announcement, Geri and Freki have had their bellies rubbed by seemingly every child in New Asgard, much to their delight.

A little boy had brought you a small posy of flowers, and was extra pleased when Thor held him in his strong arms and let the child place the flowers in Thor’s beard. It’s very haphazard, and a little one-sided but Thor’s pleased with the end result, when you show him in your pocket mirror.

It makes him ache desperately to have a child - well, children - of his own. He thinks about what kind of uncle Loki would’ve been.

Hopefully he wouldn’t have stabbed them.

It’s too hot in the mead hall. Thor���s been trying to drink slowly, aware that he’s drinking out of nerves more than anything.

Dutch courage, you’d called it. Allegedly, Dutch soldiers had drunk jenever before going into battle. Thor considered that a little risky. Drinking was best done after battle, being clumsy while handling a weapon didn’t strike him as the best strategy. Then again, it seemed to work fine for Brunnhilde. It didn’t really happen to him, but supposed many people got nervous before a fight.

Thor knew you had a Dutch friend, a teacher. He wondered if they might bring jenever with them if they ever came to visit?

Bruce came over, crowds of Asgardians parting easily for his bulky frame.

“Hey buddy,” he said, hugging Thor. “Are you ready?”

“About as ready as I’ll ever be,” Thor answered. A few years ago, he’d thought he was ready. Had almost been crowned king.

He never thanked Loki for royally screwing that up. It was only now, with hindsight, that he could appreciate the favour his brother had inadvertently done him.

“It’s time,” Bruce told Thor, throwing an arm around his shoulders. Thor looks back at you, but you shake your head. This is an Asgardian matter. Your place is at the back with Geri and Freki, not onstage with Asgard’s elite.

“Do you know?” Thor asked Bruce, desperately.

“No Thor. Even if I did, I couldn’t tell you,” Bruce noted. “Whatever happens, you have people that care about you. It won’t be like it was before.”

Thor joins Valkyrie, Sif and several others onstage. Bruce waves his hands, dampening down the crowd that buzzes like a hornet’s nest. Despite all the assurances, this is still a volatile situation and Bruce says a silent prayer that everything works out for the best.

“Thank you all,” Bruce addressed the crowd. “Thank you for trusting in the process and for allowing us, as outside observers, to count all of your votes. No system will be perfect, but we hope that you will all respect the outcome, whatever it may be. It took three rounds of voting for an option to gain over 50% of the vote. I’ll now hand over to Captain America, who has the results.”

Bruce steps down, stands to the right hand side of the stage as Sam steps forward. Anticipation builds around the room, like static during a storm. Sif holds hands with both Thor and Valkyrie, holding in a breath as she waits to see which of the people she cares about most will draw the short straw of heading Asgard.

She fervently hopes that the people will have chosen another option, but she doubts it. Most Asgardians fell on one side of the divide or the other - traditionalists who wanted to continue the existing royal family, and those who felt that Brunnhilde was the best leader amongst those left.

“Thank you, Bruce,” Sam said, grateful that someone the Asgardians were familiar with had addressed them first. “The result is very close, but let me assure you, it is accurate. We counted every single ballot ten times, just to ensure there was no discrepancy. With 50.8% of the vote, the people of Asgard have chosen the option of an octarchy.”

The room erupted with people cheering, complaining, or otherwise chatting with people about what it all meant. Sam waited for the commotion to die down before continuing.”

“Furthermore, the proposed solution, as outlined within the election materials is that Thor, son of Odin.” Sam paused, Thor’s full title sounding odd coming out of his mouth, but that was what the piece of paper he was holding said. “Thor, son of Odin, shall rule as king, and head of state.”

Thor paled visibly and your heart went out to him, glad that Sif was holding his hand.

“Succession will be a matter of blood, as it has always been, unless Thor shall have no issue. In that event, the people of Asgard will once again convene to decide how they wish to be governed. Brunnhilde, of the Valkyrior, shall serve as his second in command. She will rule in his absence or if he is incapacitated, if Thor does not have an heir of legal age.”

Sam shook his head. He shouldn’t have let Bucky write the speech, he should’ve known his metal-armed partner would try to stitch him up with flowery Asgardian language. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Bucky smirking, standing next to Bruce. Sam makes a mental note to put on his suit later, pick Bucky up, and drop him in the North Sea.

“The other six members of the council will be chosen as follows. Thor, son of Odin, and Brunnhilde, of the Valkyrior, shall each choose one. Two more shall be elected by the people of Asgard. The final two shall be selected at random in a lottery of all citizens who have come of age. These positions shall be reviewed every ten years, unless circumstances, or the will of the people dictate otherwise.”

The place descends into chaos, even the dogs start barking at all the noise, and it only stops when the valkyrie gets to the front of the stage and lets out an ear-piercing screech. Everyone stops what they’re doing and looks at her, wincing.

“Settle down everyone, settle down,” she shouted. “I respect this result, just as I said I would, and I pledge to serve both Asgard and its king to the best of my ability, as long as I am able to do so. I would like to thank you for your trust and patience during the time in which I served as Asgard’s caretaker. I know that not all of you were happy with the situation, but I hope I served you well. There is one among us, who I would like to nominate for inclusion on the council. However, I am aware that some of you may feel it is a conflict of interests. As many of you are aware, the Lady Sif and I are in love. She is my nomination if you will accept her.”

Raucous applause erupts. Sif is well liked, and most people are pleased to have her helping to steer Asgard’s course, even if she’s a little too eager to head into battle at times.

“Very well, I thank you all for your trust,” the valkyrie continued. “While I have the floor, there is one more thing I wish to do. I was going to do it later, but I think now is best, to declare my love in front of all those I serve.”

This time it’s Sif’s turn to go pale, as the Valkyrie sinks to her knees, turning back to Sif.

“Lady Sif,” Brunnhilde began. “I have lived long and travelled far, and there is no beauty that can compare to yours. Your love shines brighter than any star, and I am a better person for you sharing it with me. I have no title or riches to give you. This is but a small trinket, for I have already given you the greatest gift I have to give, which is my heart. I would be honoured if you would accept this ring as a token of my love, as is the custom on much of Midgard, and agree to be my wife.”

Sif is openly sobbing, and Thor’s not sure he’s ever seen her cry before. Scores more around the room wipe away tears as Sif slowly moves forward, allowing the Valkyrie to slip the ring onto her finger. Once it’s in place, Sif takes Brunnhilde’s hands and pulls her up, embracing her tightly and kissing her fiercely to a chorus of cheers.

It’s a wonderful sight, and you’re glad that there’s something for Asgard to celebrate, even if the vote didn’t go everyone’s way. Your throat goes dry as Thor nervously makes his way to the front of the stage to speak.

“Hello everyone. Apologies if I seem nervous, it has been many years since I last addressed so many,” he said, fiddling with the hem of his cloak. It’s far too hot to be wearing it, but he’d insisted that this was an important occasion and that he should dress accordingly.

“My congratulations to the Lady Sif and the Lady Brunnhilde. Theirs is an excellent union, and I wish them an eternity of happiness together.”

Thor waits until the cheering dies down before continuing.

“I, too, respect and honour the results of this vote. No man can outrun his destiny, and it seems mine will always be to rule Asgard as its king, even though I feel ill-equipped to do so. Fate apparently wills it so. I have not led Asgard well these last few years, and I apologise for that from the bottom of my heart. I have been remiss in my duties. I know that some of you do not trust that I have changed, but I give you my solemn word that I have. That I will act for the good of Asgard, and the other eight realms, as long as there is life in my breast.”

The entire room draws a collective gasp as Thor sinks to one knee. Panic sets in. This can’t be happening. Surely he’s not about to propose as well?

“I kneel before you, as your humble servant,” Thor continued, and you sighed in relief. “Too long, the people of Asgard have knelt before the throne. No more. I kneel before you all, and ask for your forgiveness. I am not the man I was, but I hope with time, that I will become someone better, someone worthy of the position that I find myself in.

“Asgard is not a place, it is a people. My father told me that, and I see now how true it is. I thank each and every one of you for trusting and believing in Asgard, in each other, when I did not trust or believe in myself. Together, you have created something strong and beautiful. I thank you for sharing it with me. You have rebuilt, you have shown incredible strength and fortitude.

“I am sorry for abandoning you. It is the most dishonourable and cowardly thing I have ever done. I asked the Valkyrie to rule in my stead, because I felt she was the best person for the job. I am truly sorry for abandoning Asgard in her hour of need. Thank you, all of you. Thank you for preserving our traditions and stories. Thank you for building a new home for us all. Thank you to everyone who has helped today. Baking delicacies, creating flower crowns, playing music. All that you do, on this day and every day, to ensure that we survive, that our culture survives, is appreciated by me.

“I hope to be able to thank you all individually, but please understand, it may take me some time. I kneel before you, as your king, humbled by the faith you still place in me. I shall work to rule as a king of the people, not above them. The throne should not be an untouchable pedestal on which I am put.

“Although I do not have a crown, I kneel before you, ready to serve Asgard, completely and unreservedly.”

“About your crown,” a voice called from the stunned crowd, as all eyes turned to look at Lorelei. She walked slowly through them, people parting for her, before she stopped in front of the stage, directly in front of Thor.

“When Hela attacked, many of us realised that Asgard was in peril. As we fled the city, some of us gathered up important artefacts. I apologise for keeping this from you, your majesty, but there never seemed to be an opportune moment…” she trailed off, reaching into a leather satchel, slung low against her hip.

Several people fainted, as with trembling hands, she pulled a crown from it.

“My-my father’s crown,” Thor mumbled, stunned.

“Yes, your majesty,” Lorelei explained. “I apologise again for keeping it secret, but you had already lost so much, I did not wish to remind you of your father. I have kept it safe, all these years. I believed that one day, you would be restored to the throne. I believed that day would be today.”

With trembling fingers, she reaches out the crown as Thor lowered his head. Tears were running down his face, into his beard, for everyone to see as he sat back up, slowly rising to his feet.

A collective sense of shock reverberated around the room, and you anxiously stroked your two dogs, who sat flanked you on either side.

“Thank you, good Lady Lorelei. This truly is an extraordinary gift. I thought I would never see this again, let alone wear it. I do wonder, now, what else was saved from Asgard, but that is a matter for another time,” Thor advised. “I have but one more matter to discuss, before it is time to feast. There is much to celebrate this day, and I hope it is one that will long be remembered.”

Thor paused, taking a moment to look around the hall. His friends, his people looking up at him. It filled him with a tiny spark of confidence that everything would work out fine this time, unlike when he had told Loki it would, all those years ago, after Asgard was destroyed.

“Like the Lady Brunnhilde, I too have someone I wish to nominate to the council. Like her, this person is one who is very dear to me,” he noted, looking across the heads of everyone to look you in the eye.

Thousands of heads turned to face you as you froze, wishing the ground would swallow you up.

“I wish to nominate the Lady Y/N. She has done so much for Asgard, though her time with us has been short so far,” Thor admitted. “As an outsider, I believe she has much knowledge and wisdom to offer us about Midgard, its people, and their customs. Her counsel is invaluable to me, and I would like to offer her a place at this table, if there are no objections.”

Deathly silence descends, everyone waiting for someone to say something.

“A wise appointment, your majesty,” Leifr spoke up, and a chorus of cheers echoed around the room.

“It is settled then,” Thor exclaimed happily. “The other four positions shall be determined in due time, but now I say it is time to eat, drink, and dance our fill. There is much to celebrate as we enter into a proud new chapter in Asgard’s history.”

Everything was a blur for several hours as you try to process exactly what’s happened. Thor being king again was something you expected, and he seems to be taking it well. His speech was genuinely moving and you could see many Asgardians visibly softening to him as he spoke.

But appointing you to be one of Asgard’s eight rulers?

No. No no no. This could not be happening. You didn’t belong here, didn’t want that kind of responsibility.

Judging by the way people keep congratulating you, it definitely is happening. You barely have an appetite, pushing your food around, eating small amounts whenever Thor prompts you to try this dish or that.

It had been a productive few hours for the other three newly instated rulers. Between them, they’d managed to hash out a plan for getting the other council members appointed. They’d even found time to draft a press release with Pepper, covering the events of the day. The world media would be taken aback. New Asgard had never released any information before. Along with the details of the election, Pepper had made sure to note that the new rulers would be willing to engage with journalists going forward to ensure transparency about what the kingdom was doing, but that they would not interact with any outlet that did not respect Asgardian privacy or engaged in hurtful gossip about them.

Apparently, the prince of another country, and his wife, had done something similar a few years prior.

You sit completely zoned out, a zombie. Utterly alone while surrounded by people. Geri and Freki lie protectively at your feet, aware that something is wrong.

Even Thor can sense that something is amiss. You’re paying no attention to him eating increasingly absurd portions. He even mentioned that he was getting full and you just nodded politely, a slightly vacant smile plastered to your face. You didn’t even try to touch his stomach, where it sat pressed up against the table.

Eventually, Sam manages to make his way over, whispering in Thor’s ear. You’re dimly aware that they’re talking about you, by the way Thor keeps glancing nervously in your direction.

“Let us go for a walk,” he said, standing up and tugging at your elbow. “Young Sam said that you look like you could do with some fresh air.”

Moving on autopilot you follow him, Geri and Freki loping along behind you. He leads you down to the beach, the sun setting in the distance as Thor gently maneuvers you into sitting down on a driftwood log.

“Are you quite alright?” Thor asked, running his fingers up your bare arms as he crouched awkwardly in front of you. “You seem distant, distracted.”

“This is all just very overwhelming,” you said, looking at your hands where they rested in your lap.

“I agree, much has happened today. We can return home, if you wish?”

“Why did you appoint me to the council?” you whispered, voice shaking. “I don’t know if I’ll still be here in ten years. What if we split up? I don’t belong here, I’m not Asgardian. I don’t want this responsibility, I’m not qualified, I don’t want to do this.”

Thor’s heart sank and he let out a sad sigh, finally sitting on the soft sand, his hefty stomach making it hard to keep his balance while he crouched. He’d done it again. He’d thought only of what he wanted and hadn’t consulted you. He’d upset you, ruining your evening.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, tipping your chin up to make you look at him. “That was thoughtless and selfish of me, I should have consulted you before announcing my plan. Today has been trying for you, and you were already anxious and upset. I’m truly sorry for burdening you further.”

“I know you didn’t mean to Thor, but I’m so scared and sad.”

“Oh my love, no. I really am such an oaf,” Thor said sadly, pulling you into the small amount of lap he had left. If he kept on like this, he was going to really struggle to hold you like this soon.

He wants to kiss your lips, to kiss away all the hurt and worry he sees in your eyes, to kiss it better like his mother used to kiss his and Loki's scrapes and grazes. But he lets you bury your face in his shoulder. All he can do is cuddle you while you cry, chest heaving against his, while he rubs little circles onto your back, mumbling apologies all the while.

“I’m so sorry. I never meant to upset you, to make you scared or anxious. I can see that I was mistaken, even though I only meant it as a good thing, as a compliment to your character and your intelligence. I truly know of no other in the whole of Asgard more capable than you, not even Brunnhilde,” Thor explained. “You are wise for one so young, and far more learned than any of us when it comes to this land we find ourselves in. Please, allow me to apologise unreservedly for the hurt I’ve caused. Allow me to make it right, allow me to pick another to serve in your place.”

You're so silent, shaking in his arms. It hurts Thor in a way he’s not felt since his father banished him. What if he's finally gone too far? What if this is the thing that pushes you away from him?

It scares him more than the thought of Thanos returning once more.

“A trial,” you said softly, as you raise your head.

“Pardon?” Thor asked.

“Until the end of the year, I will serve for a trial period. But if at the end of that time, I still don’t want to do it, then you must replace me, without any reservations.”

“Of course, of course. Are you absolutely sure?”

“No,” you admit. “But I am willing to try. I trust you. I trust you not to force me into anything I can’t handle. I’m humbled that you and your people have accepted me, and are prepared to give me this chance. I know it’s a great honour. So I will try to repay that trust that you have, I will try to serve Asgard, even if it doesn’t come easily to me.”

“No one who seeks power or has it come easily to them should ever be allowed to wield it,” Thor noted, rubbing his nose against yours. “Thank you, my love for agreeing to try this. I will honour your request should you change your mind at any point. I admit, I was scared that I had lost you, that my foolishness had driven you away.”

“You’ll have to do more than that to get rid of me,” you laughed wetly, wiping your face on the back of your hand.

“That’s good news, although I hope never to test that theory,” Thor told you, relieved. “Do you wish to return to the hall? I’m sure you could persuade me to have some more wine and sweet treats. As you can see, I am not quite at capacity,” Thor teased, moving your hands under his tunic to touch his taut tummy.

“I think I would like to head home. I’m emotionally exhausted and I just want to faceplant into your tummy and go to sleep.”

“Also an excellent plan,” Thor admitted, standing up with your still in his arms.

“I’m not too tired to walk,” you tried to insist, looking down at your bemused dogs as they trailed alongside the gentle giant carrying you.

“I know that, I just wanted to hold onto you some more.”

Thor’s going to be extra affectionate for the next little while, still reeling from the feeling of almost losing you. Now he finally has something to lose again, he’s resolutely determined not to let it happen.

@innerpaperexpertcloud @morganhoran1671

[genuflectx]

4th Dimensional Being/OC - CH2

Full Length: 19,543

Chapter Length:  3,238

Main Themes: Other dimensions, tentacles, confinement, nsfw

Other Warnings: politics,  "godly" behaviors, vomit, feeling of loss of autonomy, comparison to a toy

(all images in aesthetic board are labeled for reuse with modification or are mine)

Remember the entire story (including downloads!) is up for Patrons wink wink.... enjoy CH2  (WILL BE NSFW IN LATER CHAPTERS)

The 4DB Chapter 2: Gabriel

One moment she'd been processing letters and packages for barely above minimum wage and then the next moment she'd been processed into a cold research facility. Her body was exhausted from the day-and-a-half trip. And her mind? She was still only partially sure this was truly happening. All she really understood for certain was that something had spoken to her, and that something was being called a '4DB.'

The white-coat in the heels asked to be called Gale, short for Nightingale. Chris knew this was not her actual name. Regardless, Gale was currently the nicest person she'd met so far and she was the one to finally brief her... after Chris gave her own story, of course. But when Gale did eventually explain the situation to her Chris found herself slowly sinking into awe.

The 4DB had begun speaking to seven humans on Saturday, a mere three and a half days ago. Gale had even gone so far as to give Chris the list of names, as if they would have some meaning to her: Chrysanthemum Sain, Aaron Boucher, Morgan Airhart, Cole Artrip, Nathan Hunter, John Barker, and lastly the president's name.

“And it really just wants to study us?” She'd asked.

Gale had smirked a little and folded her hands up. “Make no mistake. We are studying it, too.”

However, the 4DB did speak to the staff as well. Just in short, stern bouts of command. Do this, do that, prepare this, prepare that. It had no concern for the staff. It just wanted its six human subjects in a secure location. Seemed that the scientists being on site were a compromise.

Chris tilted her head minutely, eyes squinted. “Six? But there were seven humans?”

That made Gale chuckle. “The president will of course not be joining us.”

“...Right.”

Chris was then told a limited amount of information about the scientists' studies. Since they had so little time to re-locate on-site the facility was currently understaffed. That meant, unfortunately, no real research had begun. Though no experiments had been conducted the group was able to conclude that whatever the 4DB was it was not traceable. There were no changes in temperature nor air pressure in any of the rooms which it had spoken, neither during nor after. As far as they were able to gather with their limited resources the creature was... just not there. No one could see it. No one could feel it. All they could do was hear it and that wasn't even recordable either, as it gave no sound waves.

“Wait wait. But it touched me,” Chris had interrupted, confused.

The look of joy upon the scientist's face was genuine. “And that's why you are so interesting. It hasn't touched any of the other subjects. Well, unless they've lied to us. And we've one last subject yet to arrive as well. We will see.”

Gale continued. Though they'd yet to learn anything meaningful that would soon change. After all, the subjects were nearly gathered and her skeleton team had been diligently working to outline experiments. With the factor of the unknown it was going to be a challenge, but everyone was steeling themselves. Whatever this strange god-like creature had to say, whatever it wanted to do, her crew would be in wait ready to record it.

In short, the scientists hadn't learned shit yet. If Chris hadn't been so exhausted she'd have been frustrated. Instead she had slumped down into her chair, confusion stuck upon her features, and then promptly yawned.

The last thing Gale did was stand abruptly, finally gather Chris's cell phone up, and then open the door to the hall. “Come on, get some food. You can meet your peers and then be shown to your room.”

So here she was, sitting in a too-big cafeteria poking at strange rations upon her little plastic tray. It was like high school all over again. Chris nibbled at something green. She supposed it was meant to be peas, but it was mushed up. Like baby food. She shuttered.

Suddenly another tray clanked against the cold metal table and Chris looked up to find Cole settling in. He smiled at her, way too wired considering how little sleep they'd had. It was probably adrenaline.

“Guess they couldn't get real food in on such short notice?” He complained. “Gotta be a grocery store within driving distance right? Geez.”

It was at least nice to see him again. It had felt like hours in that dim room. Gale was kind but it did seem like she had been watching Chris way too closely.

“Feels like we're animals in a zoo,” Chris mumbled, tired. She tried to eat some more and made a face.

The older man shrugged. “Guess they told you everything too! Don't know about you but I'm looking forward to this. Doesn't it feel like something greater? Like a calling? Hey, maybe we ought to say hello to those fellas,” he gestured with a nod.

Three men sat at a further table chatting. They'd hardly glanced at Chris when she'd been shepherded in, though the youngest had smiled at her. “That's okay. I just want to eat then go to sleep. Why don't you go talk?”

Cole looked at her in thought. Then he smiled and patted her shoulder amicably. “Don't be a stranger, stranger!” He stood up and moved away.

He was a nice man. Chris wondered if he had any children. He certainly hadn't had any family photos at his house. She sighed, blinking sleepily, and hurried to try and finish her food.

They waited and waited. Chris had finished her food nearly half an hour ago. Finally Gale came into the cafeteria with another woman at her heels.

“Everyone's together now! Great! Someone will show you to your rooms shortly.”

It was like a dormitory, with two beds to a room. Everything was clean and tidy, the walls and floor a glaring white. There was at least a curtain for courtesy, which could be used to cut the room in two. Some quiet men brought their bags for them.

The woman who'd been with Gale turned out to be the final subject and was meant to share a room with Chris. She was relieved that she'd not need to sleep across from a strange man. As they unpacked and made the room more cozy Chris gave some pleasant small-talk, though the other wasn't that receptive.

“You can call me Chris. What's your name?” She asked.

The other woman, who was currently unpacking a teddy bear, answered. “Morgan.”

Chris nodded and folded some clothes away. She didn't think she could do much of this before she passed out, but it made things feel less weird. She could imagine she was back in college. Or that maybe she'd just moved. Yeah, she'd moved across country to somewhere small and warm. A cozy beach house rather than a cold, cramped dorm. She'd left her old job behind and settled into an early retirement. If only.

“So uh, where do you work Morgan?” Chris continued. “I was told everyone here is from the government.”

“The DMV,” she said curtly, frowning.

Chris chuckled awkwardly. “Oh, haha, yeah.” She didn't know why she laughed like that. For some reason it just felt tense. “I work for the post office so I know a little bit of how that must be. Lots of customer service.”

Morgan nodded. “Yeah...” She paused then moved to pull the courtesy curtain. “Well. Goodnight.”

Chris watched as the curtain cut the room, stranding her. She sighed. That was fine, she was pretty sleepy anyway. It was time for bed. She found sleep a difficult bear to wrestle. It was so cold and foreign, and no one ever really got a good night sleep somewhere cold and foreign. She could not for the life of her get her feet to warm up. When she did sleep she did not dream.

They were awoken by a knock, a metallic creak, and a “Rise and shine!”

The morning started with breakfast. And then, one by one, each member of the waiting group was taken away into another office where they were made to fill out paperwork. When they'd leave the room they'd have a lanyard and I.D. around their neck. Chris was fourth to go. She caught glimpses of the word liability as she flipped through a stack of documents. That wasn't frightening at all.

Once everyone was locked in as a member of the facility, and each had their clearance cards, they gathered before a bolted metal door. Soon a man who introduced himself as Jay began speaking, the features of his face void and controlled.

“Today the 4DB wants to talk to each of you. Individually,” he looked up over his glasses. “We will be monitoring everything. You will have a microphone attached to your chest. However, our studies have proven that we cannot hear the 4DB through the recording equipment-”

“How is that possible?” Interrupted a young man. Chris could see from his I.D. that his name was Nathan; he'd been the one to smile at her the night before.

Jay's expression flattened and wrinkled, as if he'd had to deal with this particular subject for too long already. “We have theories and those are currently classified. Now, you will go in alphabetical order and have thirty minutes each.”

Morgan cautiously rose her hand like this was a classroom. “And... what if something goes... wrong?” She questioned.

Jay blinked, Then he said: “Let's begin. Airhart Morgan, you're first,” he unlocked the great metal door.

Her eyes went wide and she froze like a rabbit on the road. Jay nearly had to force her in. After all, she was under contract now. She signed the papers like everyone else- as if they had a choice. She had to do this. Morgan took tiny bunny steps inside. When she left the room thirty minutes later her eyes were downcast and lips a tight line. She didn't want to talk.

“Artrip Cole,” Jay called.

Chris's kind older acquaintance just about skipped to the door. As everyone sat in wait for his thirty minutes to be up, Chris couldn't help but feel like she was in a doctor's office, which was of course the closest thing to purgatory one may get. She imagined the white-coat Jay as a gatekeeper, his voice calling forward those to be judged by a scrutinizing doctor's glare. Cole returned just as happy as he'd entered.

“Barker John,” Jay called.

“Boucher Aaron,” Jay called.

“Hunter Nathan,” Jay called.

Chris had been waiting for two and a half hours now. Everyone who had already spoken to the creature had left the waiting room so she remained alone. She'd had enough time to conjure up some good questions, and every time someone else came from the room with a strange expression she added a question more. Nathan came from the door and silently left the room.

“Sain Chrysanthemum,” Jay called. “Last one up.”

She stood. She slowly made way to the door. She stopped there a moment, thinking.

“Go on. Don't have all day,” Jay nudged her back.

“Right, sorry,” she nodded, entering.

Chris watched the door close gently behind her. Then there, in the center of the room, was a massive neon pink square twice her size. She gawked, speechless, and all the questions she'd accumulated leaked from her brain onto the white floor.

“Chrysanthemum,” came that loud, near mono-tone voice. It rushed into her head yet sounded from every direction at once. “Good to see you again, though I have been watching.”

She didn't register what had been said and instead stepped tentatively closer to the square. Chris was so distracted by it that she hadn't even been bothered when the 4DB called her by her full name. “What is this thing? Woah.” As she tried to walk around the square it followed. No matter what angle she took it remained a flat, consistent shape.

“It is equipment. You may only see a piece of its face or its inside, and it turns as you turn. It records your voice and your movement, just as that little equipment on your chest.”

She lifted her hand, her eyes following the plain to its high top. It felt...strangely textured. Like a giant sheet of paper, but more solid or plastic. She'd expected it to feel smooth.

The 4DB, on its other end, tilted themself curiously. “You are the only one who has touched it. Are you not still afraid, little creature?”

Chris dropped her hand and backed away. “I... guess I am a little. It's impossible not to be a little afraid of something that can bend reality. You, uuugh,” she shuttered, holding herself. “Touched my insides. It was like feeling an eel wriggle around in there.”

“Tell me about your government,” it asked abruptly, changing the subject.

She rose her brows and stared at the pink square like it was an eye. “What, the president wasn't good enough for that? Heard you talked to him.”

“You do not ask a government to judge itself. You ask those whom it affects. You work for this government and were chosen from a pool of many,” it explained. “So you will tell me.”

Chris paced slowly, looking at the ground. There was something between the lines with what it said and it bothered her. Finally, she said with no small amount of fear: “Or what?”

The 4DB was taken back. They had not expected that particular response, despite the rivers of possible time before them. “Or what?”

“I'll tell you... or what?” She waved a hand. “The scientists told us only so much, and Heaven knows they didn't give us time to read those lengthy contracts and legal documents. I'm not an idiot. We're being forced here against our will, right? There really wasn't a choice for us to come here or stay. We can't leave,” Chris stopped pacing. “If one of us doesn't cooperate like you want, will you kill us, Gabriel?”

“My name is not Gabriel.”

Chris blanked. Then she nearly doubled over with laughter, tears budding at her eyes. “That- that- all that and you only get one thing from it?”

“...I am... for once... confused,” the 4DB admitted sheepishly. “Why are you laughing? You didn't answer my question.”

She wiped the water from her eyes and caught her breath, feeling somewhat less tense. Really, of all she had just asked the thing only heard Gabriel. It reminded Chris of herself. This creature did not understand the people it was studying at all, and she supposed that was why it wanted to so badly.

“You didn't answer mine either!” She shook her head and leaned on the wall, feeling much lighter.

The 4DB's many, many tentacles twirled absentmindedly, again and again around themselves like a pool of snakes. “Your planet, your universe, your dimension, is of some interest to retain. However... you are small. And there are billions more to see.”

She felt sort of dizzy now, as if the absurdity of the situation was hitting her all over again. Just like when the creature first spoke to her in that parking lot. Chris had to let her mind slow down before speaking, though Gabriel didn't seem to care.

“So you mean yes. Yes, if we don't cooperate you'll kill us. Maybe the whole planet too,” she sighed and rubbed a hand down her cheek. “What do you want from us so badly that you'd hold us hostage for a little information?”

“We are deciding if you are worth the space you occupy, little creature,” the 4DB explained, though there was far more to it than that. After the ranting Chris had done they nearly felt too guilty to admit that playing with tiny insignificant things was just fun. Like an ant farm. One could nurture the ants or one could drown then. Were the ants of the Earth worth nurturing? That was yet to be determined.

She drummed her fingers on her forearm. So, she'd have to prove her worth. That scared her. All she could think about was that dream she'd had when she'd passed out. Those tiny, tiny shapes jittering on a plain below her feet. How they screamed in confusion. How she'd crushed a building by accident as she fell through the world. Chris looked up at the pink eye sullenly.

“Well. I guess you answered my questions, so. Our government is a business. It didn't used to be, but it is now. I mean, well it was always sort of a business, but it also sorta used to mean more than that,” she stared off in thought.

“Continue.”

She sighed and drummed her fingers on an arm some more. “There used to be more trust in it I think. But it's gotten so inflated, so... off from what it should be that even more 'traditional' thinkers are thinking twice. I guess I'm not helping my people's cause am I?” She asked sadly.

The 4DB leaned in close, keeping their body just inches from crossing the plain. “So that is how you see your leaders. Now Chris, how do they see you?”

She furrowed her brows and chewed her cheek for a moment. Then she shrugged. “Well I work for them, technically. They give me benefits. They keep the lights on. But just like any other business if I were to, for whatever reason, lose that job, I would automatically lose those benefits.”

“Explain further,” coaxed the 4DB curiously.

She liked complaining about the government as much as the next guy but it was just way too much to unravel. Hell, it wasn't like she was an expert. Chris tried, but the 4DB always had just one more question. She'd explain what 'benefits' were and then suddenly the creature wanted to know why benefits were necessary at all.

“So if your government takes your job away your health is no longer provided for?” They scrutinized.

Chris felt like these questions were just digging her in a deeper and deeper ditch. She wanted the encounter to end already. “It's not like that everywhere. Most governments don't treat their people like that.”

“That is for the others to decide,” they said.

“Others?”

They nodded invisibly. “We work to gauge your species around the planet. As a whole. I am not the only one.”

Chris stayed quiet, thinking that over. So maybe she didn't just get the world marked for destruction. Even if she thought her own government was pretty shit most of the time, the other countries around the world would surely help humanity's cause. Maybe, on average, humanity wouldn't look so bad. Maybe the 4DBs would show mercy.

“Your time is up, the workers would like you to leave the chamber. We will talk again soon, Chris.”

She drummed her fingers on her arm and stared at the tall pink square. It gave her weird mixed feelings. Finally she straightened herself and gave a small smile. “Hey, you said my name right. Too bad, you're still Gabriel,” she winked and made for the door.

Though annoyed, Gabriel replied as the door shut: “If you wish.”

Go see chapter 3 (and the rest of the story) on Patreon, otherwise stick around and wait for it to go public :}

[twdeadfanfic]

It’s a dog’s life Pt.14

*Summary: The reader is new and alone at the quarry’s camp, the only one she has is her dog, who seems to be best friends with Daryl Dixon, a not so friendly man, but that friendship will bring the reader closer to Daryl, finding that there’s more to Daryl than what you can see at first glance…besides, he’s pretty hot at first glance, isn’t him?

*Slow burn, both reader and Daryl’s pov, violence and language twd style.Follows the events of season 1 and 2.

*4282 words

*Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Chapters: 12/14

*Link to my masterlist with my other works can be found on the description of this blog. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but tumblr doesn’t show posts with links in the tags

Last chapter ... Daryl and reader got together!!!

This is the last chapter...I can’t believe it. I hope you have ejoyed this story as much as I did, because I love it, it’s my favourite thing I’ve ever written. I can’t believe 14 weeks have passed, I remember being so excited about posting it...I’m emotional. I don’t think it has ever been as hard to say goodbye to a story for me as if it’s to his. Please, let me know what you have thought of this whole thing if you have time. 

Thank you all who had been supporting this, I can’t believe the ammount of love this story got, thank you all so much, for every reblog, every like and every comment, it means the world.

........................................................................................

Securing the farm was indeed proving to be a hard job, but it was worth.

It was past lunchtime but you kept working, nailing wooden planks into the windows of the main floor of the house. It was a pity to lose the view and the light, but it was better than a bunch of walkers breaking them and getting in.

“I thought you must be hungry.” You looked up from the spare nails you were sorting into boxes when you heard Carol’s voice and saw her bringing you a plate with a couple of sandwiches. The Greene’s still had sliced bread, unbelievable.

“I’m starving, actually, thank you.” Your stomach growled and your mouth watered as you looked at the yummy looking sandwiches. Carol was just the best.  She had brought some food for Cole too, who waggled his tail happily while Carol patted his head.

“I was going to bring this one to Daryl, or else he won’t eat,” Carol said and you nodded, when Daryl got too focused on whatever he was doing, he could go all day without eating and starve himself, much to your dismay. “But I thought you might want to bring it to him yourself, have late lunch together.” Carol winked at you.

“I think you just gave me a wonderful idea.” You laughed, giving her a grateful smile. “Thank you, really, I mean it.”

You went looking for Daryl who was at the top of the stable, reinforcing the weakened parts and making sure a lookout could be built there. When you called his name he stopped hammering to look at you, a couple of nails held between his lips.

“Looking cute!” You giggled and Daryl rolled his eyes. “Come here, I brought lunch.”

You both sat down to eat at the outside of the stable, and you hummed in delight as you munched on your sandwich. “Can you believe they still have sliced bread?”

Daryl chuckled quietly at that. “It ain’t gonna last forever.”

“I know.” You sighed. “My mom knew how to homemade bread, I should have paid more attention. We’ll need wheat, but we are in a farm after all, there’s so many stuff we could plant, and we have the chickens and cows…this could work, you know, this place. We could survive here.” You were working on it, it would be safer than the quarry and with more resources. You were beginning to feel hopeful again.

Daryl just hummed, half his sandwich already gone. Cole shifted to sat down even closer to him, looking at him.  “Don’t let him fool you, he already ate.” You warned, though Daryl was already passing him a piece of his sandwich. Softie.

“You’re right, we could make this place work.” He said out of nowhere and you smiled, leaning to press a kiss to his arm, you had thought maybe he considered that what you had said was silly.

Daryl finished his sandwich and you couldn’t help but stare as he licked his fingers clean. Damn tease, and he didn’t even know it.

“What?” He raised an eyebrow, confused, when he caught you staring.

“Nothing, keep going, I’m just enjoying the show.” You giggled quietly, loving how he blushed when he realized what you were talking about. “Have I told you that you’re pretty hot?”

“Stop.” He grumbled, averting his eyes.

“Why, it’s true. Besides I love it when you blush like this.” You teased softly, cupping his face to make him look at you, brushing your thumbs over his pink cheeks before kissing his lips. You shifted until you could sit on his lap, straddling him, and you leaned back so you could look at him, running your fingers through his short hair at the back of his neck.

“Remember I told you I was used to making out in front of a dog?” You asked and Daryl hummed, closing his eyes as he leaned into your touch. “You know what other animals I’m used to making out in front of? Horses.”

“You were all day making out in front of animals or what?”

“You make it sound like I’m a pervert or something.” You laughed. “Well, you see, I was this teen living in the middle of nowhere, and when families with teen kids came to stay in my parents’ bed & breakfasts, who can blame us for having a little fun at the barn or the stable.”

“I see,” Daryl smirked.

“And…there’s a stable right behind us.”

“Really? You want to…there?” Daryl raised an eyebrow at you.

“Well, the barn would be better but it’s currently occupied…” You hoped Rick and Daryl would drive Randal away soon, you wanted that barn free, with all of you living inside the house you didn’t think you could get much privacy there. You pecked his lips again before going for his neck, kissing and nibbling. “But if you don’t want to it’s okay, darling.” You whispered.

With a quiet moan, Daryl tilted his head back to give you better access. You kept working on his neck, sucking to leave a mark, you wanted to show it off, until Daryl grunted and hooked his arms under your thighs, getting up and pulling you with him.

You laughed, wrapping your legs around his waist and holding onto his shoulders as he walked you both to the stable. You reached back to open the door and once inside Daryl kicked it close, leaving a very offended Cole outside.  You looked around at the stable, it wasn’t an ideal place but it could be worse, and at least it was clean, you’d been tending to the horses every day, it was your favorite way to contribute to the farm.

Daryl’s lips caught yours and you laughed against his lips, breathlessly, when he pushed you against the wall, memories of the CDC coming back to you, but oh so much better. Your laugh turned into a moan when he left your lips to kiss your neck as you had done to him.

You had your eyes closed, a blissful smile on your face, and you opened them when Daryl pulled back. He was looking to the side, frown on his face. “What’s wrong?” You whispered into his ear, nipping at his earlobe, but not even that made the frown disappear.

“That’s the horse that threw me,” Daryl grumbled and you followed his gaze to find Nervous Nelly looking at you both. “She’s staring.”

You couldn’t help your snort at that. “Well, she doesn’t have anything better to do.” You reached up one of your hands to cup Daryl’s cheek, making him look at you again. “Ignore her.” You told him before kissing him. When your lips parted you noticed him glancing again at the horse awkwardly, and you chuckled, biting your lip to stop you from calling him Nervous Daryl.

You broke free off his arms, jumping back onto the ground, and Daryl’s eyes snapped back at you, seeming confused as for why were you pulling away from him. “Come here, love, let’s get away from curious, horse eyes,” you said, amused, taking his hand to walk him further into the stable, to where you had stacked the fresh hay. “Not show for you, Nelly.”

*

“Alright, hay is more scratchy than I remembered.” You giggled, reaching out to brush off some straws from Daryl’s shirt.

“You telling me, darlin’,” Daryl grumbled, brushing off a straw you’d missed, but he smiled as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, walking you towards the door of the stable at the same time that the door opened and Maggie and Glenn walked in, hand in hand. You locked eyes with Maggie and knew she had’d your same idea.

“Uh…hi…” Glenn greeted awkwardly when he noticed Daryl and you were there too. “We came to tend to the horses, right, that is.”

“Yeah? Same that us, right?” You replied, looking at Daryl who seemed almost as awkward as Glenn. “So they don’t need anything else, you can go work on something else.” You blinked innocently, enjoying this way too much.

“Right…” Glenn seemed at a loss of words and he looked at Maggie as if waiting for instruction, and you almost giggled aloud.

“I think we’ll make sure they don’t need anything else anyway.” She rolled her eyes when you winked at her.

“Okay, we’ll leave you to it.” You tugged at Daryl’s hand, who was still silent and awkward. “Come on.”

“By the way, Rick was looking for you, Daryl,” Glenn said before you left.

“But of course, his radar must have been tingling or something.” You chuckled, closing the door of the stable and patting Cole’s head when he ran to greet you.

“I’m going to see what Rick wants,” Daryl said, crouching down to pet Cole. “Probably make plans for driving away Randal, we should be going soon or we’ll lose the light.

“Or you could do it tomorrow.” You didn’t like the idea of them being out of the farm late.

“Up to Rick.” Daryl leaned to press a soft kiss to your cheek.

*

You were sitting on the stairs of the porch looking at Daryl and Rick getting the car ready when you saw Maggie approaching and sitting down next to you.

“You have hay on your hair.” You joked, laughing quietly when Maggie began brushing her fingers through her hair only to find you were messing with her.

“Don’t pretend you weren’t doing the same right before we arrived.” She nudged you with her shoulder.

“I’m not going to deny something I’m not ashamed of.” You replied, and you both chuckled.

“I don’t know if I’m getting old or what, but the stable doesn’t seem as appealing as it did when I was seventeen.” Maggie snorted.

“Yeah…but once the barn is free, you and I are going to make a schedule to take shifts.” You half-joked.

“No way, it’s my barn, you’re in my property, join the queue.”

“Why you’d want to go the stable or the barn anyway, you have your own room…with a bed and all!”

“Yes, and with my family and all of you in the house…and my sister’s bedroom next to mine…and my father’s down the corridor…”

“Hey, sounds like a good challenge!”

Maggie opened her mouth but she didn’t get to say anything before you both saw T-Dog running to Rick and Daryl.

“Come on, there’s something wrong!”

T-Dog had gone to the barn to take Randal and brought him to Rick, only to find the man was missing, he seemed to have broken free and run away, even though the door of the barn was still locked.

Rick was already giving instructions about what to do when Shane showed up, nose bleeding, saying how Randal had attacked him, took his gun, and ran away. It was the worst scenario, Randal could find his worse than bad news group and bring them to the farm, or sneak on any of you and attack you, and now he was armed. You had to find him. Rick would go looking for him with Shane, and he wanted Glenn and Daryl to go looking for Randal together too.

“I’m going with you too, Cole and I.” You told Daryl but he shook his head.

“No, get into the house, both of you.”

“What, no, no way, I-” Daryl cut you off midsentence, grabbing your arms and pulling you slightly away from the others, who were distracted still making plans. “Daryl!”

“I don’t know what’s going on, but Shane’s lying.” He told you quietly and you nodded, his story didn’t make sense, you weren’t sure Rick was buying it either. “I don’t like this, go back the house.”

“I don’t like it either, which is why I’m going with you.” You insisted. “So we can waste time talking or we can go, because you aren’t changing my mind, I’m not watching you go, I’m going to help you so-“

Daryl cut you off mid-rant again, this time by pressing his lips to yours. “You’re infuriating,” he said quietly, gently nipping at your lower lip before pulling away. “Damn stubborn. But not this time, Y/N.”

“Daryl!” Rick’s voice called for him. “Come on!”

You turned around and began walking towards Rick, ignoring Daryl when he let out an exasperated huff. No matter he was going with Glenn, you had to go with him too, made sure nothing happened to him and try to help with whatever was going on.

“Keep an eye out, we don’t know if Randal may head back here before we find him.” Glenn was instructing Maggie. “Be careful.”

“You too.”

You three headed into the woods, and you ignored Daryl when he told you again to stay and when he complained when you ignored him. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Glenn, you did, but you wanted to help and you didn’t want to be worried about Daryl all the time, you wanted to be there if he and Glenn needed help. The woods were dangerous at night and now besides the walkers, there were also Randal wandering with a gun.

You walked for a while in silence, following Daryl as he tracked, until you found Randal turned into a walker. Glenn put him down and when Daryl examined the body, it hadn’t been bitten. It was all too strange. According to Daryl, Randal had died of a broken neck.

“Let’s go back to the house…” Glenn said, looking as weirded out as you.

“Shane did this, I’m sure,” Daryl told you quietly while you walked back and you nodded. It was too horrible, but Shane hadn’t been himself lately and he just seemed to have been getting worse and worse.

“But how did he turned?” You asked and Daryl just shrugged. “Rick’s alone with him…Shane’s not going to do anything to him, right?” Daryl said nothing, chewing on his lower lip.

Back in the house, nobody could make sense of your discovery, but there was not much time to talk before a gunshot pierced through the air. Lori began panicking, afraid Rick and Shane were in trouble. You were afraid of that too, but probably for a very different reason than her. Daryl and Glenn were going out again to find Rick and Shane, and you followed them again.

“No, no way, not this time, no,” Daryl told you hushedly, stopping in front of you. “Stay here, Y/N. If this is Shane’s doing, it could be dangerous, stay here!”

“It would be dangerous for you too!” You stood your ground. “I want to be with you.”

“No, stay here, listen to me for this one time!” He seemed he was going to keep going, but as he noticed your eyes opening wide in terror, he turned back to see what had you seen.

A massive herd of walkers was approaching the farm, they were so many they probably had torn through all the fences. You had never seen so many together. You felt yourself panic, not even Daryl’s arm around you as he pulled you to his side could reassure you. They were too many, you couldn’t fight them, you weren’t even sure you could outrun them. What were you going to do?

Daryl told you all you had to leave, the herd was too big, they’d tear through the house, but Hershel didn’t want to, saying he wasn’t leaving his farm, he’d die there if he had to. Okay, he could do whatever he wanted to, but you weren’t dying there, neither were you letting Daryl or Cole die that night because of the stubborn Greene.

“Come on, people, we’re leaving!” You shouted, reaching out to grab Cole’s collar with one hand and Daryl’s hand with the other, ready to pull them away from there in whatever means necessary.

“No! I can’t leave my father here!” Maggie retorted, while Lori announced she couldn’t find Carl, getting back into the house to look for him, followed by Carol, Patricia and Beth. You groaned in frustration, tempted to just drag Cole and Daryl with you and leave everyone else there, but Daryl wasn’t moving.

New plan, you’d jump into the vehicles to shoot as many walkers as possible and try to lure the others away from the farm. It was reckless, it was desperate, there were too many, but you didn’t have anything else.

“This is not going to work.” You muttered, taking a shotgun that Andrea passed you.

“Y/N.” Daryl reached out to take your hand, his grip tight. “Get in a car with the dog, follow the plan, but if the farm is about to get overrun, if there’s any problem, if they’re too many, you leave, okay? Keep an eye on Carol, take her with you, and keep the dog safe, you can do it.” He instructed, his eyes looking wilder and more scared than you had ever seen him. “If this place falls, we meet at the intersection.”

“No, no, I’m going with you!” You weren’t going to split, no with the biggest herd of walkers you had ever seen approaching, not when you both could get separated, or hurt, or worse so easily.

“I’m taking the bike, Y/N, I’ll move faster.” He squeezed your hand, trying to reassure you. “Can’t take de dog on it, so you have to get in a car with him, okay?” You shook your head, biting your lip as you tried not to cry.

The herd was closing and you could only see all the things that could go wrong, and all the things that had already gone wrong, like guests eating other guests, like your father eating your dead mother, the day you lost your home and your family. You could see all the horrible things that could happen to Daryl, you’d lose your home and your family again.

Daryl pulled you closer to kiss your forehead. “It’s going to be fine, I’m not leaving you, girl, we’re going to be fine.” He whispered to you, rubbing your arms up and down softly.

You tried to calm down and get a hold of yourself, embarrassed of been behaving like that, of being panicking so much, you didn’t want to be useless. “Okay…Okay…” You nodded, taking a deep breath. He was right, you had to keep Cole safe, he was your responsibility.

“Come on, we have to move,” Daryl told you gently, pulling away from you, but you leaned closer again to kiss his lips.

“Be careful, please.” You told him, trying not to break down.

“You too, don’t do anything stupid.”

“Anything stupid? It’s you who got himself impaled with his own arrow.” You joked weakly and Daryl snorted quietly, giving you a tiny smile, kissing you again before turning and leave.

*

You were on the backseat of a pickup, Beth sat down next to you, Lori on the passenger seat while T-Dog drove. You held Cole close and you had your face hidden in his fur, doing your best not to break down.

Everything had gone wrong, the only good thing you had managed to do was to keep Cole safe and with you. The farm had fallen under a sea of endless walkers. Carol had disappeared in front of your eyes, right before Andrea fell down under the attack of a walker. You had lost sight of Daryl and his bike. You didn’t know where anyone else besides you four was.

You were trying hard not to sob, Beth was scared and traumatized enough after having seen her home like that, Patricia devoured in front of her, her father, sister and boyfriend missing. Poor girl.

“It’s going to be okay.” You felt Beth’s hand on your back, rubbing softly. “Daryl told you to meet at the intersection, right? You have to trust we all meet there.”

You had to admire the little girl for talking like that after everything she had gone through, for keeping hope. You gave her a weak, grateful smile. If she could be strong like that then you could too, you had to.

You had told them about meeting at the intersection when T-Dog had tried to drive away, saying the others were lost like the farm. You had almost taken out your gun to threaten him if he didn’t turn the car and drove to the intersection, when Lori had said if he didn’t, then she’ll throw herself out of the car to go walking.

You had been surprised, you hadn’t expected that from Lori, but you’d do the same if necessary. It had worked, T-Dog had turned the car and now you were headed back to the highway.

“Look!”

Beth excited voice had you looking up from your dog again and you saw you were approaching the car Glenn and Maggie had taken. Now you could hear a motorbike too…it had to be Daryl! You could almost cry of relief, feeling like just jumping out of the car to go to him.

Soon you could see him too, driving his motorbike ahead of Glenn and Maggie’s car, Carol behind him…she was okay too, you couldn’t believe it.

As soon as you reached the intersection, finding Rick, Carl, and Hershel already there, and the car stopped, you jumped out of it to run to Daryl. He was still on his bike, looking around as if he searching for you. When he found you, he rushed to dismount and ran to you, pulling you into his arms tightly when you both met midrun.

“You’re okay…” You sobbed quietly, couldn’t help your tears of relief.

Daryl said nothing, he lifted you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms around his shoulders, holding him as close as you could. Daryl nuzzled at your neck and you could feel his tears. You placed a hand on the back of his head, fingers running through his hair.

The others around you were greeting each other too, you were beyond happy they were okay too, but you couldn’t pay attention to anyone who wasn’t Daryl. He looked from your neck to kiss your lips and then he leaned his forehead onto yours.

“I didn’t know if you were okay or not, I was scared, I was so worried, darling.” You whispered.

“Me too.” Daryl pulled away just enough to look at you, keeping his tight hold on you, and you cupped his face, wiping his tears with your thumbs, knowing he’d be embarrassed crying in front of the others, though he didn’t seem to care, looking only at you.

“I love you.” He blurted out, taking you by surprise, stunning you into silence, and Daryl’s gaze fell down for a second. You kicked yourself into saying something, he had just told you he loved you and you were silent, he must be berating himself.

“I love you too.” You whispered, a smile tugging at your lips…Daryl loved you. And you loved him, you had no doubt about it, the realization made you so exultant that you almost giggled. He looked up at you, giving you a small, soft smile, and kissed your forehead. You had the impression he didn’t believe you or that he might think you were saying it just because he had done it, as if you thought it was what he wanted to hear.

“Hey, I do.” You cupped his face again. “I love you.” You repeated, pecking his lips. “I love you almost as much as you love Cole.” Daryl snorted at that but he gave you one of those bright smiles that were so rare to see on him and that took your breath away.

“I love you more.” He whispered into your ear, so quietly you barely heard him, and you caught a glimpse of his bright red cheeks before he nuzzled at your neck again.

“Speaking of the devil.” You chuckled when you heard a bark next to you. Cole had gotten out of the car and seemed tired of not having you or Daryl saying anything to him. Daryl looked up from your neck, smiling at the dog.

Carefully, he lowered you onto the ground, kissing you again before kneeling down to snuggle Cole, and you could just smile like an idiot in love looking at them. You looked around, your smile faltering as you took in the people missing and how exhausted the others looked, the realization that you had lost the farm, that safe heaven, suddenly hitting you.

But looking down at Daryl and Cole, you could only be grateful you had them there with you, safe and sound. Daryl got up and wrapped his arms around you again, pulling you to him.

“What are we going to do now?” You whispered quietly to him.

“I don’t know.” He whispered back, kissing your cheek and pulling at you until your back hit his chest, his arms firmly wrapped around you, and you all looked at Rick as he began to talk. “But we’re going to be okay. Promise.”

You believed him. No matter you had lost people, a safe place that was becoming a home, no matter you had nothing, nowhere to go, no plan, you believed Daryl when he told you that you were going to be okay. You trusted him. You felt like you had trusted him since forever.

You were going to keep him and Cole safe, no matter what, and you knew he’d do the same for you. Whatever might happen now, you had each other, you would protect and take care of each other, and you would be okay.

You were together, and so everything was going to be okay.

....................................................................................................................

And...that is, this is the end. I feel like crying, even though it was a good one. It’d never been that hard to say goodbye to a story and some characters as it was for this one. I was so tempted to just keep writing their life forever even though I always felt I wanted to end it fater season 2, I don’t want to say godbye, but I didn’t want the story to became dull and there’re new stories to come. But this one brought me some much joy, it’s the one I loved the most and the best I’ve written in my opinion.

Thank you all for being with me on this journey, but all the support you’ve given me, I loved reading all your comments, I loved seeing that people were enjoyed this too. It’d brought me so much joy. It’s embarrassing but I’m actually tearing up a  bit...

As always, if you have a moment  please, let me know your thoughts about this.

Also...new mini-series is coming on Monday, you can check it on the mastelist...so see you all soon, I hope! It’d be quite different, all from teen Daryl’s pov.

Thank you all again!! I’m so emotional!

As always, English is not my first language so sorry if there are mistakes.

If you want to be tagged (or removed from the tags) let me know!

@momc95​​​  @jodiereedus22​​​ @osweetdevilo​​​ @sapphire1727​​​ @coffeebooksandfandom​​​ @crustyrose​​​ @checkintoreality​​ @daddys-little-princess67​ @sesshomaru-lover​​​ @crossbowking​​​ @coltcas @feartheendlesssummer @izumi37 @gruffle1 @cutiepiemimi13 @drina365 @kuolematkorjaavat @daeshaunex2 @twdeadlysins​​​ @stressed-lasagna​​​ @teenyforestfairy​​​ @yenne-yen-illustrations​​​ @mychemicalimagines​​​ @nikkipea​​​ @crazycatladyalustriel @miniprz @wolfkg @paybackbarnes @haleypearce @nikki082489 @dotslabyrinth @mtngirlforever @superflannel @blckbuttler @deanervs   @linktheloveabledork @sourwolf-sterek32 @iminlokisarmysofi @traveleraroundsworld @deliciousassafrasssandwich @angelontheinside @friendly-black-cat @firehoopinmama @d0ntfitin @mblaqgi @lxdyred @a-dlv @elysijin @gabriels-pornstashe @marie-is-in-the-dark @lonewolf471 @hedakylo @wnygirl2012 @j-a-val @gabidarkage @dashesoflipstick @hopplessdreamer @of-storms-and-sadness

[volturialice]

Spork Haven chapter 21: pea fucking green

welcome to spork haven, where I spork the EL James fic you’ve never heard of

previous chapter | next chapter | contents

previously on Spork Haven:

actor!Edward and cello playing murder witness hotel maid!Bella had sex a bunch and it was boring! finite resources were wasted! one of the finite resources was my time!

what’s the opposite of a content warning? I feel I should probably warn you about this chapter's lack of content.

things this chapter doesn’t contain:

a mafia murder attempt

anything else of note

things this chapter does contain:

????

yeah, this chapter should not exist. nothing happens in it. I will endeavor to summarize it anyway but I will be tapping my foot the whole time because WHERE is my mafia murder attempt ERIKA

Edward wakes up next to Bella. he goes outside in the hallway and says good morning to Jasper, who he notes is

you know, lest we forget this is an el james fic, in which every character is contractually obligated to be jealous of the protagonists and I am not allowed to have a single moment’s peace.

Edward thinks about how Jasper has been basically living with Bella for the last six months and the idea “fucks [Edward] off big time.” who’s pea-fucking-green now, bitch

then Edward heads to work, stopping on the way to take pictures and sign autographs with the “rabid teens” in his hotel lobby, who surprise him by being polite and respectful after he has (internally) insulted them for a paragraph. then he calls Emmett.

how is Emmett answering his phone the single hottest thing that has happened in this entire 70,000-word work of erotica? probably because it’s the only hot thing that has happened in this entire 70,000-word work of erotica.

mmm, that’s right. answer that phone you giant sexy laconic sasquatch

anyway, Edward asks Emmett to coordinate Bella’s security with his security for the awards show that evening, and puts Emmett in touch with his people. then he calls Taylor to tell him to coordinate with Emmett. Taylor isn’t happy that Ed is taking Bella to the show, so Edward yells at him to “make it happen.”

there’s a knock at Edward’s trailer door and it’s Eric (hi Eric!) and Bella. Bella is 100% fooled by the fake bruise the makeup department has painted on Edward’s cheek, and rushes to his aid in a flurry of concern. has Little Orphan Dumbass never seen a movie? I’d call Edward a morosexual but he is, by his own admission last chapter, a “fucking moron” himself, too. I guess it’s erika who’s morosexual.

much like in canon, Edward doesn’t like that Bella seems to be getting along with Eric.

remember guys, if your gf is nice to another man it means she’s cheating with him. all women are skanks, especially when they are dating you.

it doesn’t help that Bella is dressed extremely provocatively:

so fuckable. where are your khakis you wh*re

Edward asks Bella where Emmett and Jasper are

no!! I thought we decided they were the Chuckle Brothers!!!

Bella tells Edward she has to confess something to him. he, being a decent, confident, self-assured man who is secure in their relationship, reacts in a totally chill, normal manner.

ugh, tell me about it Edward. I can’t tell you how many times a day the same thing happens to me. we should start a support group. stay strong. ✊😔💭🤠

but all Bella confesses is that she hasn’t seen any of Edward’s movies. this is a huge turn-on for Edward, because as he likes to remind us 15,000 times per chapter, he hates his fans.

he shows her around the set and they go see Laurent, the wardrobe guy, who in this fic is Camp Gay. he and Bella have a conversation in first-semester high school French which Edward immediately shuts down because not even gay men are allowed to speak to Bella. 

then he orders Laurent to find something for Bella to wear to the awards show.

um. do I need to point out that “obtain perfectly fitting designer dress for lead actor’s rando gf mere hours before an awards ceremony” is absolutely not in the job description of a given film’s wardrobe department? I’ll go ahead and point that out just in case. Edward also needs a tuxedo, something he has not informed Laurent of until this very minute

then Edward is called back to do more filming, and excuses himself in an extremely naturalistic and well-constructed sentence

by the time Edward is done filming, Bella has gotten her hair and makeup done and he waxes poetic about how hot she is or whatever but I’m literally too tired to tell you about it.

then they eat lunch with Emmett, Jasper, and Eric. Edward notes that Bella is very quiet and doesn’t voice any opinions, and she tells him she has had zero say in where she goes or what she does for the last six months while in witness protection. as a rich and famous actor, Edward can totally relate.

Edward asks Bella how she managed to take him on their picnic date to the lake a few weeks ago (oh so NOW we’re acknowledging that they’ve already been on a date? oKaY) and Bella tells him that actually Jasper was there the whole time, watching them.

I’m suddenly understanding why Bella didn’t want to have outdoor sex on that date.

Edward asks Bella why she’s bothering to testify when it’s put her in so much danger. um. she witnessed a murder, buddy. she was already in danger.

Bella tells him she’s the perfect witness because she’s insignificant, has no family, and no one will miss her if the mafia decide to off her. ah yes. totally normal things to say. luckily, she has a kind, gentle, supportive bf there to help her through these self-esteem issues with grace and eloquence

Bella points out that if she hadn’t been in hiding, they never would have met. Eric interrupts to tell them it’s time to get ready for the awards show, and as he changes, Edward reflects on his mistakes:

oh, come on! girls love flowers and shit! I thought we learned that lesson back in chapter 5!

anyway they get ready, Edward has ten thousand orgasms at the sight of Bella in formalwear, blah blah et cetera. the chapter ends with Bella smiling at Edward until he feels it “all the way to the end of his favourite organ.” then they walk toward their ride and that’s it, that’s the entire chapter.

...

.....what an absolutely DISGRACEFUL waste of space

best “fucks”

“fucking breakfast”

“girly fucking grin”

“pillar to fucking post”

“a large Edward fucking Cullen shaped space”

“fucking voyeur” (jasper)

“grinning like fuck” (edward)

“all fucking officious” (emmett)

“so fucking matter of fact” (bella)

“fucking depressed” (bella)

“feminine as fuck” (a skirt)

“a fucking sulky teenager” (edward)

next chapter: outlandish fucking statue

[sebthesnipe]

The Dreamer by Whatwashernameagin an Analysis? (Part 1 cuz it was a lot longer than expected)

All portions:

Chapter 1: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Chapter 2: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Okay so first off… I get asked a lot what I can do with a forty-thousand-dollar degree in Literature when the job economy is so crap… Answer: Lay awake at 2AM analyzing your favorite fanfic authors. So, here we are. Before I begin however, I wanted to make a few things clear: First, if you have not read any of @whatwashernameagain’s work I highly recommend you do so. She is very talented. You can find her on archiveofourown here; and The Dreamer Chapter 1 here. Secondly, I realize that most authors don’t look into their work as deeply as the reader does when writing an analysis and that a red door may simply be a red door… but where is the fun in that? And Lastly, there will be spoilers… So… Beware! (Also it is a Sanders Sides fanfic so check out Sanders Sides by Thomas Sanders on youtube as well if you haven’t already)

WARNING: Spoilers under cut!!

I’m not sure how many of you are familiar with the literary theory of Reader Response (its pretty much exactly what it sounds like) but I’ll probably be addressing it throughout this post. In fact here and here great introductions to the literary theory; which can be defined in its most broad sense, as a criticism that “considers readers’ reaction to literature as vital to interpreting the meaning of the text” (Purdue Writing Lab). Not very clear is it? Basically, Reader Response is the concept that readers have just as much say in what the work means as the author does. In other words, “readers do not passively consume the meaning present to them by an objective literary text; rather they actively make the meaning they find in literature” (Purdue Writing Lab). Without the author there is no reader and without the reader there is no author.

           That’s probably a lot of mumbo jumbo to take in but I’ve studied so many literary approaches that it is merely a glimpse into the stuff rattling around in my brain when I read any type of work. I don’t tell you any of this to flex or show how smart I am… …. Well… not really anyways lol. I am explaining this now because it will be important later in the post. Now! Onto the really fun stuff!

CHAPTER 1 (Again spoilers!)

Okay, going into the work I knew the premise: Superhero vs. Villain eventually becoming friends and even lovers. I’m totes down! However, Eva (the author (Whatwashernameagain) never ceases to pull in the reader from the first line!

“He’d chosen to call himself the Utilitarianist, the etymology of which was clearly derived from the Latin word ‘utilis’, meaning ‘useful’” (Whatwashernameagain).

First off! The italics are beautiful! They pull attention to the fact that whoever it is that is naming himself (*cough* Logan *cough*) has already shunned the outer world. He doesn’t care what others have to say. He is deciding this for himself. The sheer amount of strength in a single word because she used italics is stunning and I’m certain she doesn’t even realize what she has done.

Moving on to the actual name is another thing entirely. I know that ‘Utilitarianism’ is defined as “the ethical doctrine that virtue is based on utility, and that conduct should be directed toward promoting the greatest happiness of the greatest number of persons” (“Utilitarianism”). So first, this screams Logan, secondly there is a lot to be said for the name choice. While, the hero/villain’s goal is obvious by the name (doing acts that are for the ‘greater good’) there is a lot to be said for personality here. Obviously, it can be taken that whoever chose this name is insecure in a way; only taking value of themselves by how useful they are. The man no doubts feels as if he is only as valuable as the contributions he makes, which is certainly relatable. So, within the first sentence we learn quite a lot about a single individual and are already drawn in… then again, that’s Eva for you.

Within the next paragraph we learn that the he is in fact a ‘villain’ though I like to think of him more as a… misguided vigilante… but Logan is my bea… so… yeah. Once again, we see italics: “They called him a villain” (Whatwashernameagain). It pulls the reader’s attention to the separation the Utilitarianist is making between himself and the outside world. The feeling of loneliness just from the two italicized words is almost suffocating, at least to me (hence Reader-Response theory). Eva always has such a way with capturing emotions so subtly its breath taking. It certainly is one of her biggest strengths. I mean, here we are not even two sentences in and I’m already moved by the isolation of the villain.

Moving on down the line, we see that the Utilitarianist feels he is doing good for the world… sees himself as a hero rather than the villain the world sees him as. Eva also begins to apply descriptors to the not-villain. “Cold and infallible logic” is used to describe his work. Knowing Sanders Sides as I do its obvious that at this point, I have an assumption as to which character the Utilitarian is (and I’ve already read the work once or twice) but this practically cements it. The reason I bring these four little words to your attention however is the simplicity of them and the giant impact they have. Just as the italics spoke volumes so does this small excerpt. The loneliness I mentioned before only grows with these words, becoming an image of shivering, icy fingers reaching out for someone who isn’t there, the only thing keeping him warm is his own logical calculations…. Its… so heartbreaking… Damn it Eva!!! T.T

Within the next paragraph however we’re moving on to a more light-hearted tone as the Utilitarianist calls the world small minded and unable to understand his ‘superior logic’ (Whatwashername). That, in and of itself, gives way to more personality, breathing more life into the previously abstract character and making him more human… though far less humble lol.  

I feel as if I really need to move a bit more quickly through this work to keep this post from getting to long but… Eva’s work with emotional subtext is so stunning I can’t help myself. We’ve moved from the first sentence drawing attention to the separation of the Utilitarianist from the public’s view of him, to the lonely cool logic behind his actions and now within the next few sentences were pulled into a whirlwind of frustration and all of it is so seamless. It may seem like something small and inconsequential but there are published best-selling authors that struggle with it regularly and she manages it so flawlessly (and if I had to guess, without even really thinking about it.

The frustration I mention above is visible through the way the Utilitarianist uses descriptors pulling attention to names like ‘whistleblower’, ‘eco-terrorist’, ‘extremist’, and the way he points out more than one, obviously frustrated. He also insults the world once again pointing out their ‘small minds’ and ‘hypocrisy’; the media calling him ‘cruel’. Again, it’s the subtle things that really make a work shine and as usual Eva’s work is almost blinding.

“His enemies were clear to him, chosen not by his own selfish passions or greed, but by pure, beautiful logic” (Whatwashernameagain).

This line…. Oh, this line…. -sighs dreamily at the words-

So, Reader-Response theory can be interpreted in a number of ways but basically what you need to know is that everyone reads things in different ways due to their own life-experiences, interests, backgrounds, opinions, etc. So, this tiny line that most wouldn’t think twice of is one of my absolute favorites. Why? Well… Lets just say that I have four copies of every Sherlock Homes book (Sir Arthur Connan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes) (Leather bound, hard cover, soft cover, and children’s versions). Which means I’m a bit of fan. Why is that important here? Well, Logan’s (the Utilitarian’s) thought here, pulls me straight back to Doyle’s work. It is so Holmes-esc that it makes me all warm inside and brings a smile to my face. Not to mention it is another shift in the emotional tone of the work, pulling the reader from frustration to an almost affection as Logan addresses his work. This provides the character with even more complexity making him more tangible than ever. There is already so much depth to this character in the first half of this chapter than it astounds me… I am never disappointed in the woman’s writing.

As I read about some of Logan’s target, I have to pause because of just how real some of these issues are. “Fast food chains that ate away the natural resources with their disgusting wastefulness, earning money on the back of animals starved of space and clean air. Government funded projects poisoning the water of people dependent on it. Radioactive plants secured so badly the surrounding hospitals were filled to the brim with cancer patients. Presidents who criminalized people for their skin, their sex, their religion or orientation” (Whatwashernameagain). It makes we want to bring attention to New Culturism and New Historicism but that’s a whole different can of worms. For now, I’ll just say that in today political and environmental climate these are some real issues and she knows that. She knows her audience, for sure! I feel as if this could be a real power play, not in any bad way but in the sense that she can pull at the concerns of so many readers at once with Logan addressing these issues, submerging them in support of his unconventional solutions. How else do you make a reader fall in love with a villain but with sympathy and support? Brilliant… just bloody brilliant.

“Public acts of violence threatened to cause a brutalization of the human mind and thus cause more violence due to normalizing it by prolonged exposure” (Whatwashernameagain).

I won’t spend too much time on this but… Holmes-esc… just saying… I love it so much!

“Despite any attempts to paint him as a ruthless monster, the people were his ultimate ally… Ultimately, he believed the world would come to understand his superior philosophy” (Whatwashernameagain).

Okay, lets pause for a moment. We get some conflicting information here (not in a bad way). Up until now Logan has isolated himself from the world but now, we find out that the people work with him. This is conflicting not because it goes against what has been said but simply what the reader has assumed (reader-response theory). When we really consider it, of course there would be support for his tactics. Trump has supporters… I don’t see why but he does… It’s only logical that someone who is actually making change for the better (even if his methods are extreme) would have them too…. Wait… Did I just compare Logan to Trump?! I’m going to go cry in a corner now… T.T No, but seriously Eva is making her readers think and ask questions that they have to fill in the blanks for, themselves. Its fantastic! The truth of the matter is, the best works have the readers read between the lines, fill in the blanks, help mold the story to their own liking, and she does this so Wonderfully I am jealous and awed by it all. As for bringing the world around to his philosophy we as a reader know that’s probably not going to happen but that might not be the point of the sentence. Perhaps, its to bring a small sense of eccentric tendencies in a far less subtle manner to Logan or just determination. I feel that it does both whether intended or not and does it beautifully. It makes it obvious that Logan is still lonely and determined to bring others in on his work while deluding himself that they will. I think most of us have been lonely enough that we went just a little crazy at one point or another… Which makes Logan more relatable.

Unfortunately, I have to go to work; but I will be back with a Part 2 of this. I have a lot more to say so be warned! And yes, I realize there’s going to be a lot of TLDR’s but it’s a good thing I’m writing this more for myself than anyone XP so… until next time…

 Purdue Writing Lab. “Reader-Response Criticism // Purdue Writing Lab.” Purdue Writing Lab, https://owl.purdue.edu/owl/subject_specific_writing/writing_in_literature/literary_theory_and_schools_of_criticism/reader_response_criticism.html.

“Utilitarianism.” Dictionary.com, Dictionary.com, https://www.dictionary.com/browse/utilitarianism.

Whatwashernameagain. “The Dreamer - Chapter 1.” Hello Guys Gals And Non Binary Friends, 8 Sept. 2019, https://whatwashernameagain.tumblr.com/post/187581477262/the-dreamer-chapter-1.

[zabine-1138]

Fantasy Au - Birdflash

Okay so Talon-Grayson posted the fantasy au of dick (witch) and Wally (phoenix) and like it, so I decided writting a little shot that ended way to big. It was originally based on this Post and the original AU idea is from mandalababble.

Plot: Dick getting in trouble and is going to be burned alive by the villagers

Rating: All ages.

Word acount: 1447 words.

Killing the witch

“He is the witch boy”

“Quick take him.”

I kept running trying to find a way out, but I knew it was too late. I just heard the people shouting for me to come back. I could see just the torches and knives the people were holding, and for my luck they had tricked me into running to the town hall. There was a way out wasn’t it, it had to be one. No, there wasn’t.

I stumble upon the place a priest came out that was following the judge of the town. Maybe I could still gather some time, it would grant an escape. As the judge started approaching and the priest was praying people stopped talking and stared the scene. He stopped some meters away from me. “My people are in distress since they claim you have doing witchcraft; do you know what they are talking about peasant.”

“I do not sir, I was minding my business when they started chasing me. I run or what could I have done against your men?” I know this was already losing, but the second I got to escape, this would be just a bad dream. “So you will not mind getting into a court, just to secure the facts. – The judge said in a coldhearted tone. – Take him, do not feel attacked is just a security measure.”

After that I got scoured into the town council while the people just kept staring at me. As the judge turned around he called some people six normal villagers who also enter the council. Once there I kneeled before them the six rounded the place and only guards and the priest entered, everyone took place, and the court begun. “Grayson, is that your name?”

“Yes sir.”

“These six folks have affirmed they saw you performing witchcraft outside the town, is there anything you can declare before listening to them.”

“I was not doing anything like that else I was practicing my trade, - Well and my trade is being a magic, but no. – I come as a priest trying to spread the old knowledge, those are ignorant afraid of the true power of Christ.”

Did he believe that.

“Our first testimony, Jerome what did you witness?”

One of the idiots there started talking, “Well I was searching for a rabbit to kill when I passed and saw him playing with a blue fire.”

“Yeah, also he chanted by reading a satanic book. It was on his cloak.” Please no

“Grayson can you give me the cloak, it just for the revision.” Please no, I cannot, but if I refuse they will not believe and this can get worse, I took it out and gave it to one guard, as soon in the hands of the judge he started searching for anything on it. He found by spell book, this is not going well for me. He started skimming it and his white face turned even more pale, was that possible. In horror all the audience gasped, even an old woman started sobbing. “You said you came from god’s path, this is a book handwritten by the devil, you have lied here.”

Of course.

“You don’t understand sir this are the commands of Isus Hristos, I am a firmly follower that knows the truly way to get too him is to pray in the ancient language of the religion. What you are holding is not a bible but it is all the devotions we have to realize to be a disciple of his mind.”

Everyone started muttering but the judge quickly recovered. “So you are saying you speak Romanian only to communicate with god.”

“More than that sir, Romania is my home, since I was a young child I have Isus and open my heart with to him. Not so long ago my studies as a priest were finally over and decide to go outside to the world to teach gods steps. I always leave on fear that one day you will contempt me for this and I was right.”

I had to stay with my head down for the insult I just gave, but anyways everyone seemed to be buying my lies and soon I would be out of this, only is matter of time. The people were so tense and some even crying. I saw the priest run out of the court now without this would be more easily to finish. I was feeling tired and started losing the track of time.

It was until the priest came back but now he companied with an older woman. “Sir, this is the mother Talia, - The priest announced. – She is the last one known in this town that also can speak the Romanian dialect.” Please no. The judge lends her my book. I am now dead.

“Ohhh father please forgive this people. Please just punish the sinner… Please just punish the sinner… Please just punish the sinner…” She kept respiting those words it was until they calmed her down she started talking. Everyone was impatient, yes I was too. “That book was created by Lucifer and his demons, everyone who read even one passage now is cursed. But maybe our father can save us.

Please no. I do not want to die, please no. Let me go.

“It has been declared, you are guilty. – The judge stated the testimonies gave a cold look, and nodded together. – You have practice witchcraft, cursed nine innocent humans, and lied in the court. The witch-demon will be punished.”

“PLEASE NO!!! LET ME GO!!! THAT IS NOT TRUE!!! LET ME GO!!!”

This cannot end like this; I need to go. I cannot die, please, I do not want to die. I could just keep screaming, I need to scape but how, how… Please help, I cannot die. I felt my voice cracking. Let me go. Please. Let me go.

The next thing I knew was getting knocked by a guard, I could not even have heard the sentence, but I know how witches are punished.

When I woke up, realized I was moored into a pole, I was right, they were going to burn me. Logs of wood were being put by my feet and people were just gathered screaming. That was all I was going to die here, all because I was bored and wanted to play a little bit. I couldn’t cast a spell they put cloth in my mouthed that stopped me from talking.

“Today we are getting revenge on the demon who lived within us, he has tried to kill us, he even cursed the ones who brought it to justice. - While he was talking I had to do something. Quick. I didn’t have my cloak so I couldn’t tele transport. I cannot escape. - But now we will see it a demon can stand the fire from hell.” As soon as the judge ended this he threw his torch into the logs and it started setting on fire. I tried my last resource and tried screaming trough the rag a simple spell

Cof asrepsid

The flames attacked some villagers, hopefully they would live it would not shut them down but give me at least more time. If I got to scape nobody will see because they might be backing off. By now everyone had escaped away from the fire, I could not see anyone near, this was my opportunity but did it matter I would not be able to escape.

“Remember Richard, never try to play near normal people.”

“Why? Mommy.”

“They are too afraid from us. If they find you they will hurt, you. Promise?”

“Promise.”

“I am sorry mom…” That was it I already felt my lungs filled with the smoked. Not even a change to breath. The fire was going to kill me slowly and quick at the same time. Witch was good and bad. I did not even want to think about anything, I will just have asked why did I show them my ability. I did not hurt them why I deserved this.

Then when I gave my last glance to the world I saw an angel. One made of fire, with beautiful wings and a hair with the fierce fire. My time was to go, I felt a warm touch when he laid a hand on me and gave me a smile. That was when I wondered, if angels were real or it was the oxygen going away from me.

I lost the track of what happened but the angel took me away from the furious flames before I could give my last breath. Maybe now I was safe.

Thank you very much for reading this, I know i should improve my writting but I wanted to contribute the thing.

THANK YOU

[today-only-happens-once]

deleted scene from Strength from Which to Speak

A/N: So maybe this is weird?? I kinda went back and forth about doing this. When I was first writing Strength from Which to Speak, I was originally thinking that it would be cutting between Remy asking the three brothers. But I decided, ultimately, that it would get much too repetitive and I’d rather explore Roman and Remy’s dynamic in more depth instead. However, before I arrived at that decision, I had written the first section of Logan’s scenes. And I did like how it turned out, so I thought maybe it would be fun to post this “deleted scene” anyway? Hope it’s not too unsual of a thing to do. ^u^

Special thanks, as always, to @justisaisfine for letting me play in their wheelhouse of an AU. If you don’t know, this is in connection to their Sanders Bro AU. 

Warnings: None that I know of. 

“…It’s a perfectly valid question,” Logan is saying at the front of the lecture hall. “But remember that Friston believes that the limitation of variational free energy explains embodied perception as it pertains to neuroscience.”

Behind him, equations, notes, and charts are written neatly across the blackboard. The room is filled with the sounds of pencils scratching on paper, the typing on keyboards for students who’d elected to bring their laptops for notes, and Logan’s crisp, clear voice. Remy leans her chin in her hand, impressed at Logan’s apparent ease at the front of the class. She remembers hearing about how quiet Logan was when he was younger, but she thinks of her boyfriend and realizes that maybe it was a Sanders thing. To be surprisingly comfortable in front of lots of people.

Remy glances at the clock above the blackboard as Logan continues to lecture, turning around to scratch something else into one of the graphs he’d drawn on the board. He’s explaining something that a student had asked, but Remy had slipped in through the back door a quarter of the way into the lecture. She’d missed the introduction. That, and neuroscience isn’t exactly an area of study that Remy had much experience in.

Nevertheless, she doesn’t mind listening. She knows Virgil sometimes will drop by and just listen to his brother lecture. A part of her thinks she understands it now. There’s something soothing about Logan’s calm, calculated approach to the subject. His evident patience with his students. Besides, Virgil had always found a sense of comfort and security in his brothers.

Remy can’t help the way her mouth quirks up in a faint smile at the thought of her boyfriend.

“You are all welcome, as always, to drop by my office hours this week if you desire additional support prior to your test. The study guide is online, as well as a few additional resources that may help clarify some things,” Logan is saying towards the end of his lecture. There’s two minutes left in class.

“Your homework aside from your preparation for the test,” he continues, and Remy notices that half the class tenses and the other half seems to sag in a kind of bleak resignation. Logan smiles faintly. “Is to tweet at my brother with Disney facts or lyrics.”

There’s scattered laughter. Remy smiles. She’d seen Virgil tweet out to his followers to tweet at Logan with science facts this morning, and figures this is Logan’s ‘payback’. A young man calls from the back row, “Mr. Sanders, which brother?”

Logan lifts a shoulder and walks towards the counter in the front of the room, sliding his papers into a folder. A silent signal that class is officially over. “Any of them.”

Remy sees students pulling out their phones as they shove things into their backpack and rush off. Remy stays in the back, studiously avoiding the curious glances from Logan’s students that bother to look towards the back of the room. She stays in her seat as students linger behind to ask Logan questions.

Slowly but surely, the lecture hall empties out and Remy stands up. She tries to ignore the sudden weight in the pit of her stomach. Logan busies himself with shuffling papers around, jotting down a note or two in the margins of a page as Remy slowly makes her way down the steps towards the front of the room.

“Remy,” he greets cordially. “I must admit, when I noticed I had an extra student today, you were not who I would have expected.”

Remy’s mouth quirks in something that would have been a smile if she’d been able to ignore her sudden rush of nervousness. “Yeah.”

Logan’s eyebrow quirks up at the lack of sass in the reply. “Is everything all right?”

Remy takes in a deep, steadying breath. “Yeah. Just… I wanted to ask you about something. If you have minute.”

Logan glances up at the clock on the wall behind him. “Indeed. I have approximately half an hour before my next lecture, and this room is vacant until then to the best of my knowledge.”

Remy nods, mostly to herself, and sucks in a deep breath. “Well—”

The door opens and Remy’s mouth snaps shut. “Hey, Logan.” A person in a backwards baseball cap and plaid shirt pokes their head in. Remy remembers meeting them a couple times before. Kai. “Elliot and I wanted to know if you wanted to get coffee.”

Remy doesn’t miss the fondness that alights in Logan’s dark eyes. But the professor takes one look Remy before he looks back at Kai. “I’m afraid I must attend to something. If you and Elliot are both still on campus following my lecture at 2:10, perhaps we can reschedule?” There’s a note of hope underneath the clinical phrasing.

Kai looks curiously at Remy before shooting Logan a finger gun. “You got it. Elliot and I can wreak some havoc until then.” Remy notices Logan arching an eyebrow. Kai throws up their hands. “Nothing stupid, I promise.”

Logan smiles faintly. “Excellent.”

Kai backs out of the doorway. “You worry too much!” They call right before the door swings shut.

Logan looks at the door, still with that soft kind of affection in his eyes. “Runs in the family, I suppose,” he remarks, as if to himself. He pulls his gaze back to Remy. “I apologize for the interruption.”

Remy shakes her head. “It’s cool.” She can feel Logan’s careful, studying gaze boring into her.

“What was it that you wished to discuss?”

Remy shifts her weight from one foot to the other, then back. She rubs the back of her neck.

“I… wanted to get your opinion on something.”

[gg-astrology]

🌊

Hello!❤️💙🖤 Dropping in a little bit today bc I had? some stray thoughts about scorpios ;; ❤️💙🖤 

Scorpios and the idea of ‘black and white’ ⬇️

- adapting, personal identity and 'open-mindedness’ 

Alternatively NOT for scorpios, but for anyone who struggles to be ‘open-minded’ enough.

Or struggle with ‘accepting’ things right now ( ‘want to be better’ )  

🚫long post 🚫

y know.. ive just been thinking about -- well, myself. And how i AM a black and white kind of person. As most people are? 

Most of us tend to think of ‘black and white’ as connotation for being bad nowadays, we don’t usually like to admit it. Rather, we usually go ‘no no im not -- im not like that im open-minded and trying to be understanding’ - which isn’t exactly what black and white might be like to the person? 

I’m black and white in a way that I know who I am, and I know what I’m comfortable with. My space is big and small at the same time -- it’s not just me, but others as well. The people and the circumstances, the environment around me in my space and what i consider to be spaces i’m into. 

I think that within this space - I’m comfortable with getting to know new things, of accepting it, or being good and nice and comforting around it. Anything that pops into my stream of comfortability - of course I’d be wary of it at first -because this is a safe space. But it can integrate, assimilate into my space. It can be loved and it can be accepted. It doesn’t mean that you stay stuck in your own head - to me - black and white just means I have a flow for myself and I have to integrate it into me before I push it out into the stream.

It’s kind of like a stream with a flow of it’s own - water rushing, one direction, sometimes it gets big or small. It’s just the general idea of being comfortable in the different spaces of that stream because it’s your stream. 

I get uncomfortable if this space co-joins with another stream - another group of consciousness or people. It’s the different water temperature that gets me - sometimes maybe this new stream is cold - so cold that when it meets my stream (the one I’m familiar with) - I need to adjust to the new temperatures. It rucks up my sedimentary banks as well, things beneath the grounds, it ruffles the little organisms, treasures, things and brings it up. Evaluate it, turn it into a new leaf that I’m not prepared for/don’t know what they’re going to do with it. 

It’s very human to need time to adjust. Since your body doesn’t do well if you’re suddenly pulled into freezing cold temperature and a flow of water is moving in a different direction. Gut-reactions, impulses. These things (knowing you’re not prepared/used to it) keeps you safe and on your feet (as well as being pretty Scorpio and Martian as well). 

Motion exists - this new stream might be pulling in a different direction, you can’t stop your body from being pulled to a different rotation. You get dizzy if you’re the flow of the water. That’s just - how we can’t control certain things and how we have to adapt to it. How our biological body adapts but it needs time to do so (cool down/warm up). 

Sometimes it’s the expectations that we have to accept something immediately, when we don’t understand the meaningfulness of the purpose, of the concept to the other person. 

Most of the time, we have some pre-conceived ideas and concepts, we’ve assimilated we have to break down in order to get through to accept new ones. 

I don’t think having it is not not being open-minded? I think it’s very? what? consumerism? fast-consumerism? to expect things to happen just like that. 

Like oh just accept it (which can be good! and what is needed !) - but sometimes, the meaning behind it gets lost. Those who does this can still act out of ignorance because they don’t understand the true significance behind it. And they end up hurting the person after they accepted it, because they don’t actually understand it or stand by it- hesitance and not knowing yourself, sometimes kinda sucks to feel about your own person.

Adapting to things always takes time. Maybe this stream is slower than our stream - things that we aren’t used to or isn’t a part of us yet.  

Imagine a different case/scenario. If we didn’t have this - like, if we just expect people to adapt to different streams intersection into our lives all the time. We’d be totally dizzy and ill-prepared, we’d be off our footing all the time. 

With no idea of who we are, our own sense of identity and assimilation of the goal behind it into our core-values. How are we supposed to integrate into being a better person, if we never actually commit to understanding the concept + adding it into what we value/sense of identity? 

Sometimes it’s harder to not know our own identity, because we’re swayed by so many motions. Than it is to just think about swimming in different pulls of streams all the time.

Some people do well when they ARE prepared to jump into different streams, different intersectionality. But thats because 1) they’re prepared and 2) that’s inherently a part of who they are and learning about things, gathering stuff. More yang-signature than yin of nature to me.  

If I were to say who I am - I’m more prepared to go ‘ok, i’m dizzy.’ and set my foot down. To open up and make the stream settle into one, cohesive lake. Where there is a pull and language, understanding for it all (for the different intersectionality) and mediate from there instead.

Everybody wants to love, and to comfort and accept. I hope nobody actually wants to keep good things out of their lives if they can’t help it (well, healthily anyways). 

But rather than just gobbling up and saying ‘i accept’ over and over, in order to be ‘open-minded’ without truly understanding the significance behind it (the whole story) - sometimes we need time to understand something, to adjust, to look out and tread cautiously so we don’t get hypothermia or burnt. And that’s sometimes a part of self-preservation and/or attack or defenses.  

Does this make sense? Next time you think about Scorpios - try thinking about water flowing in a direction. Streams can help, whether some part of it is big or small. Things live in streams, micro-organism, fishes, etc. It curves and it follows, it’s a strong current that has it’s own path. 

Bending that path by man-made effort, requires understanding and respect - mostly of its original stream. The significance of the stream’s original responsibility - to other organism, to things it dutifully carries over its waters towards, nourishing trees and it’s resources, animals that are too nervous to be around humans. There’s more to it than what we see - or what we want it for our immediate benefit personally. Rather than jumping into the fray and seeing it from our own perspective/wants/needs only, some sights and consideration for what it does might help to aggravate them a little less. 

Black and white doesn’t mean it’s automatically unaccepting. Black and white can also mean there needs to be some understanding in-between, takes time to adapt, to seek out/find resources, some clearing of space, to make room for the new things to come in. Things when they are secured (like a lake/pond - Scorpio fixed sign) are cohesive and uniformed. Sometimes it requires pausing in order to be accepted, to settle and to see where things land. 

Adapting sometimes doesn’t happen like a snap of your fingers for everyone, and we probably shouldn’t expect it cold water to clash with hot water and there not to be steam coming off from it. But that doesn’t ultimately mean that there won’t be changes - whether its done by the person or those who evoke those changes themselves. 

Sometimes it’s saying one thing - but then going through to evaluate the thought, the turmoil inside - and then coming out the other end accepting it. I think that’s what it’s like for me - I’m not an all-accepting, open-minded person either - but that’s because I’m human and I need to adapt. 

I need time, and to make space inside myself, to evaluate things inside of me in order to do so. And I think that’s something most people can do. Or should do? in their life maybe.

The archetype of Scorpios.. I’ve been thinking alot about as well. How Scorpio’s greatest attack is their defenses, the resilience that makes them seem almost impossible to stop. 

In their gift of realizing deception, rejecting hollowness and seeing through shallow facades, Scorpios are not afraid to expose realty for what it is; they are the emissaries of a more complete sense of truth than many of us are prepared to contemplate, the penetrating aspects of it often being too painfully sharp for comfort. 

There’s a part where Scorpio and Virgos are very similar. And I think I’m mostly gathering my understanding about this from a very Virgo Mars perspective. 

I do think the idea of Scorpios being black and white + sediments being rucked up when soil underwater is disturbed, can talk a lot about being protective of things that shouldn’t be quickly consumed. We can sometimes be too impatient, so quick to want others to explain things or be/communicate or understand things just like us. But people aren’t always - not all are the same. 

Some people needs time, hot meeting cold water, water flowing in different directions. These things takes time, especially if you think about the body of water actually housing banks of organism underneath it’s watery body. If you walk in - even if it’s well-intended- trying to pull the stream towards yourself, sometimes you don’t know what significance it has, this is just asking for everyone involved, to put in the consideration and thoughtfulness for the nature (of others) around them as well.

Anyways! Yeah, this is some thoughts. ;; I tried to go over it a couple of times. Here’s more about Scorpio and it’s qualities, archetype if you’re interested. It’s where the above excerpt came from as well. I hope this comes across well, and give you some kind of hope, peace or calmness if that’s what it comes down to. 

In conclusion for those who feels like they are struggling: know yourself first, before you learn to know/accept/learn about others. Sometimes the struggle is just us being pulled taunt in different streams, different temperature and we’re reacting to it. Let our bodies adapt and let our mind (gut or feelings) assimilate the idea on our own terms. 

Sometimes we’re putting up a struggle because we’re trying to 1) assimilate the idea in and 2) know ourselves as well. Those two things can be at odds, and cause up a reaction (just like steam when temperatures met). 

If there’s things we need more time on, or things we don’t brush off, we struggle to work through. There’s more chances of coming out of this much more self-loving, accepting and understanding the significance much better processed. It takes time, but know yourself. Whether you’re stuck in a rut and you’re more of a jumping stream person, or whether you’re a calm-water person and is stuck in between water flow that’s different. Let’s learn to know ourselves a little better and adapt as we’re prepared for it.  

[nitewrighter]

Sorry if this is rude, but do you think you could do (maybe just a bit? of) that pre-fall ow camping trip title idea, it sounds like it’d be hilarious!

Yeah! It’s not rude at all!!

I realized the tone isn’t going to work as well if it’s post-retribution, so this is pre-Retribution.

…this was meant to be short but turned out longer. Whoops.

—-

The Derringer Nature Reserve was one of Overwatch’s prouder yet less sung-of accomplishments. Initially the site of massive devastation due to its proximity to the Detroit Omnium, Overwatch’s victory in the Omnic crisis and the efforts of its ecological division in the years after had rendered the once war and pollution-ravaged area into a pristine forest and lake area, which the US government has graciously donated to Overwatch as a both a research area for its ecological division, and a training area for its more militant wings.

It was not being used for either of those purposes right now though.

Genji sat on the bough in a meditative position. The sun shined through the  leaves and he breathed in. “Rin. Byō. Tō. Sha. Kai. Jin. Retsu. Zai. Zen.” The words left him in a breath. Three heads of the Shimada Clan’s elder council down, 4 to go. And they would likely be calling in sons-in-laws, business partners, promoting runners from the lower gangs. He wracked his brain over old family acquaintances. He needed to get in contact with Morrison and Reyes again, get back to Hanamura. Every minute he wasn’t fighting the Shimada clan they were rebuilding, re-organizing, consolidating their resources, making themselves harder to get to.

 He breathed in, “Rin. Byō. Tō. Sha. Kai. Jin. Retsu. Zai. Zen.” He breathed in. “Rin. Byō. Tō. Sha—” An oriole chirped loudly and he scowled beneath his metal faceplate. His eyes flicked to the little orange and black bird and glared hard. The bird pecked at the branch it was on with indifference before flying off. Genji drew a breath again. “Rin. Byō. Tō. Sha. Kai. J–”

“Oh there you are!” Mercy’s voice broke against the soft rustle of leaves and Genji flailed his arms for a few seconds to keep from falling off the branch.

“…Doctor Ziegler,” he said her name in greeting.

She looked like she had just walked out of a scout manual or a tent catalogue. High waisted umber shorts (complete with fanny pack), hiking boots, and a slightly oversized orange cotton collared shirt. Her hair was back in that high, fluffy ponytail. Genji on the other hand, only donned one of the official orange and gray training jumpsuits of Overwatch.

“So that’s your plan for the weekend?” Mercy put her hands on her hips, “Just… stay in a tree all day?”

“This is a waste of time,” muttered Genji, “We’re also not nearly as fortified as we should be. Someone should—”

“I think you’re missing the point of a ‘retreat,’” said Mercy,

Genji scoffed.

“He still brooding?” McCree sidled up alongside Mercy. 

“I am not brooding,” muttered Genji.

“You’re brooding,” said McCree, “C’mon, Genji, this is the first chance in forever we’ve had to unwind and you’re still all… coiled.”

“I am relaxed, this is me relaxing,” said Genji, folding his arms.

“Suuure it is,” said McCree, tossing a small beanbag up and down, “Look, Reyes and the commander took one of the canoes to ‘enjoy nature’s beauty’ or whatever euphemism they’re using this week, Ana’s off doing the mom thing with Fareeha, Rein insisted on an 11 mile hike–No thank you–and Torb is passed out in a canvas chair. So it’s down to us.”

“And what do you suggest we do to unwind?” said Genji with an eye roll.

“Cornhole,” said McCree.

“Pardon?” said Mercy.

“Cornhole,” McCree said again, holding up the beanbag, “They got a board set up on one of the little lake beaches. Bet I can beat you.”

“Cornho–You mean bean bags?” said Mercy.

“The official name is cornhole,” said McCree.

“I have no interest in silly bean bags,” muttered Genji.

 “C’mooon it’s a classic camp game! You two’ve never–?” he looked between Genji and Mercy, immediately remembered both of their family backgrounds, and cleared his throat, “Well… I guess both of you are long overdue for a good cornholin,’ then.”

“Please never use ‘cornhole’ as a verb again,” said Mercy.

“Can we please stop saying ‘cornhole?!’” said Genji before he got smacked in the faceplate with the beanbag.

“McCree!” he seethed.

“Jesse!” Mercy chided.

“See if your face was a hole in a wooden board, that would be worth three points right there,” said McCree, tilting his hat brim back with his thumb.

“Why would it be three points? Why not just one point?” said Mercy.

“Same reason a basketball basket’s two points, I guess. There’s actually a whole lot of terms and rules–you got your backstops, your sliders, your—” McCree noticed Mercy was slowly backing away from him, “What?”

McCree’s eyes flicked in the direction of Mercy’s line of sight, where Genji was positioning himself against the bough, muscles tensed, ready to launch off.

“Oh sh–” 

Genji tackled him.

—–

“Well now I know you’re getting old,” said Gabe.

“What can I say?” said Jack, casting his line again, “It’s relaxing.”

“You know it’s not relaxing because you know I’m going to be sitting here giving you shit for every fish you’re not catching,” said Gabe, readjusting where he was sitting and opening his book, the canoe rocking slightly as he did so.

“…hope we didn’t forget your glasses on the shore,” said Jack with a wry smile. 

“You’re hilarious,” said Gabe, “I don’t need glasses.”

“That’s a large-print book.”

“Shut up.”

“What’s this one about?” asked Jack, reeling his line in to find the bait gone.

Gabe glanced up from the book incredulously. “Count of Monte Cristo,” he said flatly, gesturing at the cover, “Just the first volume, though.”

“Yeah, what’s it about?” asked Jack, hooking another worm on the line.

“Are you seri–It’s part of the canon, Jack,” 

“Hey, we weren’t all lit and theater nerds back in high school,” said Jack. He squinted at the cover. “So… the guy’s like marooned by pirates or something?”

“Wow,” said Gabe, “No–I mean, it’s dense but you’d like it. So this guy Dantes-”

They were cut off by a string of Swiss German curses and glanced over at the distant shore of the lake to see Mercy furiously chasing after both Genji and McCree, who were chasing after each other and pelting each other with bean bags.

“Y’know, it’s times like this where I feel very secure in the fact that that the UN trusted us with safeguarding peace and progress for all of humanity,” said Jack, re-casting his line.

Gabe snorted. “Yeah. Suckers.”

—–

“Admit it. You had fun,” McCree was holding a cold beer can over his still-swelling black eye as they sat around the campfire that night. Gabe and Jack had turned in early, ever the soldiers. 

“I threw a sack of beans into a hole,” said Genji, “I don’t understand why it means so much to you.” 

“My friends!” Reinhardt handed them sticks, “Let us partake in that most glorious of campfire traditions!”

“Oh now we’re talking!” said McCree as Reinhardt tossed him a bag of marshmallows. Genji watched as the others skewered their marshmallows on sticks and did the same, putting his marshmallow over the fire.

“I mean… you’ve camped, right?” said McCree.

“Some aspects of ninja training involved wilderness survival, yes,” said Genji, “Father took Hanzo and I to Shirakami-Sanchi for that… it was more about finding direction, foraging, and building temporary shelters, not bean bags and marshmallows.”

“It’s good to try something new, though,” said McCree, “Y’know, get out of your head.”

“Mm,” Genji wasn’t sure how to respond to that. 

“Hey Merce!” McCree called, “Come on, get over here! Roast your marshmallow!”

“Yes, Angela!” Reinhardt called as well, “And Torbjörn, my friend! Join us!”

“In a minute!” Mercy was standing next to Torbjörn and both of them were fussing over a telescope while Mercy held a flashlight over it. 

“What I wouldn’t give to have an astrophysicist on the team,” Mercy sighed, switching arms for the flashlight.

“Well it’s not as if one’s going to just drop out of the sky,” said Torbjorn, putting his eye to the eyepiece and readjusting it.

Genji huffed a little–It wasn’t like she needed the flashlight that badly anyways, it was a pretty bright night as it was. The light of the campfire splashed yellow on her, while the moonlight outlined her hair in silver. Why was light always catching on her like that? She would be a terrible ninja. Sticking out like a sore thumb. She suddenly slapped her leg and the motion gave him a slight start. Mosquito, he realized. She and Torbjörn were probably being eaten alive by them that far from the fire.

“Ang–” he nearly called and then caught himself, “Doctor Ziegler–”

“In a minute!” Mercy said again, slapping a mosquito off her arm.

Genji felt eyes on him and he glanced over at McCree, who managed to still have an insufferable smirk while holding a beer can over his black eye.

“What?” said Genji.

McCree pointed to Genji’s marshmallow, which was now flaming and blackened.

“Good to get out of your head, right?” said McCree.

[my-one-love-is-music]

To Be Or Not To Be?

Summary: Jason gets sent to the future where he comes into contact with his future self and Tim. It shouldn't be that big of a deal except it is when he realizes he has a romantic relationship with Tim in the future. The choice he has to make now is if he wants that too. 

A/N: My first post for JayTimWeek that fills the time travel prompt! I was excited to take this in a different direction and send Jason into the future to deal with something he wasn't expecting. I had a lot of fun writing this and the rest of my prompts for jaytimweek so enjoy!

Also on AO3!

A flash of blue light and a burst of warmth was all Jason experienced before he was tumbling onto the roof of some building in Gotham. His shoulder jarred against the rooftop and he sat up, rubbing at the sore spot as it throbbed with a bit of pain.

He looked around and got to his feet, trying to reorient himself. He was on a different rooftop than the one he’d come from, not recognizing the immediate buildings surrounding him. He walked to the edge of the roof and peered over the edge into an empty alley.

Whatever the criminal he was fighting had done, it had moved him somewhere else in Gotham that’s for sure. He’d just have to track him down later. He was too tired to try and go on another run across the city to pull the rat out of whatever hole he’d crawled into.

Jason sighed and fired his grapple, jumping from the roof when it caught and swung across the street. He took up a light jog across the rooftops, searching for a street sign.

When he reached the edge of the block, he peered down at the crossed signs below, orienting himself on the opposite side of Gotham from where he’d been. He was several streets over from where his current safehouse was and could make it there in a couple minutes.

“Jason?”

He whirled around, drawing his guns and pointing them at the man who’d come up behind him. He sneered when he found Red Robin standing behind him. His costume looked different, but they’d gotten into a bad fight the day before, so it could be an old design while his current uniform got fixed up.

“What the fuck do you want, Replacement?”

Between one blink and the next, Tim had his bo staff in his hand, the tip pressed against Jason’s neck. “Who the hell are you?” he growled, scowl twisting his lips into something ugly.

Jason scoffed. “I’m pretty sure that you just said it yourself. I thought you were supposed to be smarter than that.”

Tim raised a hand to his ear and pressed his comm, opening a line. “Red Hood this is Red Robin. I need you to report in on your location immediately.”

Jason froze. “What the hell are you talking about?” he growled, stepping forward.

Tim didn’t give an inch. He pressed the end of his bo into Jason’s neck sharply and he reeled back, coughing at the impact.

“Come to the corner of twenty-second and Ernest as soon as you can,” Tim continued.

“What the hell was that for?” he swore.

“Are you really asking me that?”

“When did you get sassy?” he asked, rubbing at his neck.

“I’ve always been sassy,” Tim said, stepping forward to press the bo against his neck again. “You just never had a civil conversation with me.”

“Red Robin what…the hell?”

Jason’s head snapped up at the sound of his own voice. He was standing on the opposite side of the roof except his helmet looked different and he could see more body armor on him. The clothes weren’t so ragged and seemed to fit him better like he wasn’t having to shop at thrift stores so much.

“It’s you. I just don’t know what kind of you,” Tim answered.

“Yeah, I can see it’s me. Is it a copy? An android?” he asked, walking closer.

A muscle in Jason’s jaw ticked as he ground his teeth together. “I’m not a fucking robot,” he growled.

“He called me ‘Replacement.’” Tim added, ignoring his outburst.

His other self hummed. “What year do you think it is?” he asked curiously.

Jason stopped. “What?” he asked.

“Just answer the question,” he sighed.

“It’s 2018. Why?”

“Time travel then,” Tim said before Jason had fully registered what he was answering.

“Yeah, has to be,” the future Jason agreed.

“How can it be time travel?” Jason asked, feeling like the ground was shifting under him.

“Because you’re currently in the year 2028,” the future Jason said without sparing him a glance.

Jason took a step back. “What?” he asked.

“How did you end up here anyway?” Tim asked, planting the end of his bo on the roof and his other hand on his hip. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“There was a flash of light and something warm and then I landed on a roof further down the street. It wasn’t the one I’d come from though…”

“Yup, definitely time travel,” Tim said with a nod. “Let’s go angry boy. You’re coming with us.”

“Why the hell would I come with you?” Jason asked as Tim turned on his heel to walk away.

Tim looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Because you’re currently in a future Gotham and have no resources or way to return to your own time. We sure as hell aren’t about to let you run around our Gotham. So, you can either make this easy and come with us, or we can drug you and take you somewhere secure ourselves.”

“Please pick the first option,” future-Jason added. “I’d rather not have to lug your heavy ass across Gotham.”

“Hey,” Jason snapped. “My heavy ass is your heavy ass.”

Future-Jason just shrugged and crossed his arms.

“Stop being so damn stubborn and just come with us,” Tim sighed and continued forward. “I forgot how pig-headed you used to be,” he added, smacking future-Jason on the arm.

“What can I say, it’s part of my charm?”

Tim snorted, and Jason felt like he was reeling. The dynamic between Tim and his future self was so different than what he was used to. It would probably prove to be a steeper learning curve than any advancements in technology that had happened.

He blindly followed them, in no mood to argue if it would get him out of the goddamn Twilight Zone and back home where things still made sense.

Jason was expecting a safehouse or even the Manor, but they ended up at a nicely furnished apartment with a balcony that looked over the city.

“I should have some spare clothes if you want to get showered and change out of your uniform,” future-Jason said as Jason stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room.

“Uh…sure,” Jason said, pulling off his helmet.

“I can make some tea if you’d like some,” Tim said, peeling off his domino as he walked into the kitchen.

“Yeah, thanks.” Jason’s usual anger at Tim just…wasn’t there. Maybe it was because this Tim was different or maybe it was seeing his future self on good terms with Tim. Or maybe because this wasn’t his time and he didn’t have any right to mess with it.

Whatever it was, it almost unnerved him how comfortable Tim was around him. His future self or otherwise.

Future-Jason walked back into the living room carrying a small pile of clothes. “Here you go,” he said, handing the clothes to Jason. “You can go ahead and take the bathroom.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he muttered, avoiding his own eyes. He slipped past his older self and walked down the hallway to where the bathroom door had been left open. He pressed it closed behind him, squeezing the clothes in his gloved hands.

He sighed and let them go, setting them on the counter as he started pulling the pieces of his uniform off. He turned on the shower, not giving it time to warm up before he stepped inside. Maybe the cold shock would be enough to wake him up from whatever dream or nightmare this was.

He washed quickly, only caring to get the top layer of grime off his skin than actually taking the time to wash properly. He shut off the water and braced his hands against the wall, shoulders dropping on a sigh. He stepped from the shower and toweled off, jerking on the clothes he’d been given. They were a little big which meant he must’ve put on a little more muscle over the past few years.

Jason rolled up his uniform and tucking it under his arm. He walked down the hallway back towards the living room and froze. Future-Jason and Tim were in the kitchen. Jason had an arm around Tim’s waist and was pressing a kiss to the side of Tim’s head. His face was turned to the side and Jason could see where a content smile pulled at his lips, his eyes closed in bliss.

Future-Jason pulled back and offered Tim a smile. One which he returned.

“I’m gonna go get changed, okay?” future-Jason said, stepping back from Tim.

“Sure. You want anything to eat or…” he trailed off when he turned to watch future-Jason go and saw Jason standing at the edge of the living room. Tim’s eyes widened. “Jason!”

Jason cleared his throat and turned to the side. “Don’t mind me,” he said walking over to the coffee table. He set down his uniform and took the armchair in the corner, giving himself a full view of the room.

He watched his future self and Tim share a look before future-Jason walked out of the room towards the bedroom.

“I have the tea ready if you’d like some,” Tim said. “Do you take milk or sugar?” he asked, hovering a few feet away with two mugs in his hands.

Jason shook his head and held out a hand, accepting the mug Tim passed to him. Tim sat down on the couch, clutching the mug in his hands and pulling his legs up on the cushions even though he was still in his uniform minus his belts, equipment, and cape.

“So how long have you two been together?” he asked when the silence stretched on too long.

He nearly spilled his coffee when a wistful look came over Tim’s face and he smiled, looking back on something Jason had no context for.

“A few years now, I think,” he said, biting his lip as he stared down into his mug of tea.

Jason gaped. He was used to seeing Tim scowl at him and fight him. He was used to seeing the ugly side of him because that’s the only side that he gave to him. Jason swallowed and took a large gulp of his tea, burning his throat as it went down. But the pain helped to pull him from his thoughts.

“Oh,” he said, quietly, staring down at his drink.

“You save a cup of that for me?” future-Jason asked when he stepped back into the room, his eyes only on Tim who smiled back at him.

“Still steeping on the counter.”

Future-Jason returned a moment later, not giving any thought to sitting down next to Tim and pressing against his side as he curled an arm around his shoulders. Jason looked away, feeling like he was seeing something too intimate. It wasn’t a sight that he should be able to see. He wasn’t privy to it. Not when he was still hurting Tim in the past.

It made a phantom pain stab through his chest.

“Has time travel technology improved at all over the past ten years?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“Steps have been made, but it’s still kept under pretty tight wraps because we don’t want people messing with the time stream and trying to fix problems in the past since we have no way to understand what the consequences of those would be on the present day,” Tim explained.

“What’s my…timeline looking like I guess?” Jason hedged. “How soon can you get me back to the past?”

Tim and Jason shared a look and future-Jason sat forward. “We can go to the Cave tomorrow and talk to Bruce about getting something set up. I suspect it won’t be more than a few days at most and you’ll be back in your own time.”

Jason nodded, unable to meet his own eyes.

“It’s been a long night,” Tim cut in. “We should all get some rest so we can get to work tomorrow.”

He stood up and took future-Jason’s mug from him before holding his hand out for Jason’s.

“I can clean up. You don’t need to bother,” he started, feeling his old habits of not wanting to be a burden resurfacing along with his old attitudes and habits.

Tim smiled. “It’s no problem, I promise,” Tim said, prying the cup from his fingers. He walked into the kitchen, leaving Jason alone with his future self who was watching him closely.

“I’ll fix you up a place to sleep,” future-Jason said, getting up from the couch.

“Sure, thanks…” Jason said.

He watched him go, glancing at the kitchen where he saw Tim’s back standing at the sink as he washed. When future-Jason walked in with sheets and a blanket. Jason stood.

“I can help with that-“

Future-Jason shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s the least I can do.”

Jason sighed, standing awkwardly as future-Jason fixed up the coach for him to sleep. Tim finished the dishes before he was done and walked past to the bedroom.

“If you need anything from us during the night, don’t be afraid to come knock on the door. You know how all of us are light sleepers so it won’t be a problem.”

“Sure,” Jason said.

His future-self offered him one last smile before he turned on his heel and followed Tim back to his room, shutting off the main light as he went. The blinds were still open so some of the light from the city filtered in and gave him light to see. Not that he couldn’t have just as easily moved around in the dark.

He sat down on the couch, splaying his legs out on the cushions, a heavy sigh leaving him. He closed his eyes and listened to his unfamiliar surroundings. The apartment was on the top floor so there was no one above them unless one of the other vigilantes decided to pay them a visit.

He heard movement from the bedroom further in and a breathy chuckle that sounded like Tim.

“I’m perfectly fine getting changed myself, Jason,” he said, voice low.

“Aw come on,” his future-self pleaded.

“No, you can go and get in bed,” Tim shot back.

He didn’t hear what future-Jason grumbled under his breath, but Tim’s request must’ve been enough to redirect Jason’s attention. It wasn’t long before he heard blankets ruffle and Tim’s chuckle again.

Jason squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his hands over his face. Something ached in his chest and he fought to convince himself that it was only because there was a perfectly healthy relationship in front of him. He longed for nothing more than the kind of contact and closeness that came from it.

It had nothing to do with the fact that it was his possible future and it was with Tim.

He rolled onto his side and pulled the blanket down over him, tucking it around his side. If he was lucky, sleep could force the thoughts from his mind and offer him some peace.

~~

Jason managed to doze at best and was constantly waking up in the middle of the night at the smallest sounds. When the sun was fully up and lighting Gotham’s morning, he was completely awake and settled against the arm rest, staring out at what other buildings he could see from the window.

“Jason, stop,” Tim laughed, sounding breathless.

Jason’s head snapped up at the sound coming from their bedroom.

“I really need to make coffee and you should make breakfast.” His voice got louder, coming through clearly when Jason heard the bedroom door pulled open.

“But Tim,” future-Jason whined.

Tim laughed as they swung around the corner and Jason’s throat tightened at seeing Tim wrapped up in his future self’s arms, face buried in his neck as he planted warm kisses there, a wide grin pulling at his lips.

“Jason,” Tim said, clearing his throat and straightening.

Future-Jason straightened and let his arms fall away from Tim’s waist. Jason felt himself missing the contact, almost as though he was the one feeling Tim’s warmth and not another version of himself.

“Don’t mind me,” he said, holding up his hands. He saw his future-self catch hold of Tim’s hand out of the corner of his eye and link their fingers together.

“Do you want some coffee or breakfast?” Tim continued, pulling future-Jason into the kitchen by his hand.

“Both would be nice, thank you,” he said. His nerves started to crawl under his skin with the need to do something. He stood from the couch and collected the blankets, folding them into a small pile as he tried to ignore the hushed conversation Tim was holding in the kitchen as he made coffee and his future-self made breakfast.

Jason turned to ask where they kept their blankets and the words died in his throat. Jason had an arm around Tim’s waist and was kissing him gently on the lips, Tim completely relaxed next to him and pressed against his side. They pulled apart and Jason felt himself break into a million pieces. The look they shared was tender and full of open love and care that it left Jason feeling dizzy.

“How did you do it?” he blurted.

Tim stiffened and looked at future-Jason guiltily before he turned to face him. “How did I do what?” he asked.

Future-Jason looked over his shoulder at him and raised an eyebrow before he lifted the frying pan from the stove and started dividing scrambled eggs between the three plates that had slices of bacon and toast on them.

“The two of you. How did you…do this?” he asked, floundering for the right word. “How did you stop fighting and start dating?”

Tim shifted and looked away from Jason. He cleared his throat and busied himself with pulling three mugs from the cabinet to fill with coffee. “I’m not sure that’s the best thing to talk about-“

“Please tell me,” Jason whispered. “You don’t have to go into detail about everything, but…I’d like to know.”

“Let’s talk about this over breakfast,” future-Jason said, setting the three plates at the table as he took his seat.

“Jay…” Tim started.

He smiled at Tim. “Nothing bad is going to happen. I know you’re worried about spoilers and the time stream, but it’ll be fine.”

Tim pursed his lips and nodded, setting a mug of coffee next to each of the plates.

“Have a seat,” his future-self said, gesturing towards the chair across from him as Tim sat next to him.

Jason stepped around the couch and sat down in the chair. He stared at himself across the table, not giving any mind to the food in front of him. His own, older face smiled back and sighed, taking a bite from his toast.

“It started when I apologized,” he started.

Tim reached out and covered future-Jason’s hand with his own. He smiled at him and turned his hand over, linking their fingers together on the table.

“We were both tired of fighting, but I had to be the one to give ground because every time we fought Tim was just defending himself. I was the instigator and I needed to make up for that. So I apologized and we stopped fighting. Things were rocky for a while. We had to figure out how to get along and be around each other. And I had to make the effort. I had to be nice and keep my distance and be as nonthreatening as possible around him.

“It was slow and took a long time, but we made it. Became friends and then when we realized just how much we enjoyed being around each other, things progressed naturally into a romantic relationship. Now…I can’t even imagine what it used to be like. I don’t know how I ever could’ve hated him so much,” he said softly.

Jason’s heart clenched, and he swallowed, looking at the soft gaze they shared. “Thanks for telling me,” he whispered, picking up his fork to finally pick at the food on his plate. He didn’t have much of an appetite, his mind going over what he’d just been told, but he needed something to keep his hands busy as he worked through everything.

It wasn’t surprising that he’d have to make the first move. He fucked everything up in the beginning and if it was going to be fixed, then he’d have to be the one to do it. He wasn’t sure when he’d gone from hating Tim with his entire being to hating being stuck in the loop of fighting and chasing him at every turn and seeking a way to break it and get out.

But now that he had answers, he might just be able to break the cycle and give them both time to recover from Jason’s mistakes. He’d caused more pain than a person ever deserved in their lifetime and it would be a miracle if they could ever work past that, but he could hope. His future-self was proof enough that it was possible.

Jason barely tasted the food that he ate as he mentally walked through every encounter he’d had with Tim since he’d come back. He tallied up the injuries he’d given him and many of them weren’t pretty. A couple could’ve been deadly if there hadn’t been help nearby and Jason swallowed, the food going down his throat harshly and nearly sticking.

He took a long swig of coffee and cleared his throat, trying not to cough. Future-Jason glanced up, eyes roving over him and Jason knew he knew what he was thinking about. There was no hiding it.

“Babe, you want to call the Manor and let Alfred know we’ll be stopping by?” future-Jason asked Tim as he stood to collect the dirty dishes.

Tim nodded. “Sure. Give me one second and then we can get changed and grab the car. Jason if you want to change back into the less conspicuous parts of your uniform you can take the bathroom.”

He nodded and pushed his chair back. “Sure.”

~~

Jason stared out the car window as they wove through the streets of Gotham. Most of it was the same, but other buildings had been redone, or maybe rebuilt depending on the antics of the villains that tended to pop up. But all of it was still Gotham and he was sure the scum that came out at night was the same as it was back in his own time.

The Manor looked the same too, although the gates around the property seemed a little bigger and more secure than he remembered, but even back in his own time he hadn’t really been back to the Manor after coming back from the dead.

The gates swung open as their car approached and future-Jason drove up to the double doors.

After they pulled to a stop and his future-self and Tim climbed out he hesitated. He didn’t know what to expect and he never expected his first visit to the Manor after coming back from the dead to happen in the future. But maybe that would keep things from being a total disaster and he could make it through in one piece.

“You going to be okay?” Tim asked, pulling his door open.

“Yeah…” he murmured, grabbing the strap of the backpack that held the rest of his gear as he climbed out.

The double doors creaked as they opened inward to reveal Alfred. He looked older and more haggard than Jason remembered, the wrinkles thick around his eyes and Jason swallowed, feeling his heart clench at the sight and the reminder of how much time he’d missed with the butler.

“Master Timothy, Master Jason, and…Master Jason,” he said, only faltering momentarily.

Jason smiled and nodded. “Hi Alfred. It’s nice to see you again.”

“And you as well Master Jason. Please come inside. If you haven’t eaten breakfast yet I can prepare you something to eat.”

“That won’t be necessary Alfred,” Tim said. “We ate before we came. Where’s Bruce?”

“Master Bruce is downstairs working on the computer,” he said, stepping to the side to let them inside.

Jason stepped in awkwardly after them, trying not to fidget in the entryway that used to be so familiar. Alfred shut the door behind them and Tim and future-Jason walked through the Manor towards the stairs that would lead up to the study with the grandfather clock.

Jason kept his head down, feeling the weight of the memories and his old life pressing in on him. It wasn’t as bad as he would’ve expected, but maybe that was because he had the distance of time on his side and being out of place let him stand back from the pain that should have crippled him from returning after so many years.

The stairwell leading down to the Cave felt a little more claustrophobic than he remembered, the darkness pressing in even though his feet remembered the path well.

The sound of the waterfall and the bats screeching high above their heads was a nostalgic hum that brought back memories of his early days of training as Robin when everything seemed so much bigger. The Cave was no less daunting, but the allure was gone. It wasn’t quite as impressive as it used to be. Maybe because he didn’t hold the same golden light for Batman as he once did.

Bruce was seated at the computer, having managed to change out of his uniform this time and into something more appropriate. Not that that excused the cups stacked at his elbow that hadn’t been picked up by Alfred yet.

He spotted a coffee maker on a separate table and blinked, wondering if Bruce had finally managed to learn how to make his own coffee.

“Bruce,” Tim said as they walked over, Jason hanging back a bit.

He turned to look at them, his eyes immediately zeroing in on Jason. He pushed his chair back and walked over to him. Jason fought to tamp down the anger at seeing him. This wasn’t his time and it wasn’t the place. He could fight with the Bruce from the past all he wanted when he made it back to his own time.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, not taking his eyes off Jason.

“This Jason got sent into the future,” Tim explained. “We need to get him back to his own time and I know you still have that tech locked away that can get him there.”

“Who’s seen him?” he asked.

“Just us,” Tim answered. “He’s from ten years in the past. Got zapped onto a rooftop in the middle of Gotham last night.”

“What have you told him?”

“Barely anything,” future-Jason said. “He was curious about some things, but we took care of it.”

“I’m standing right here,” Jason snapped. “You’ll have plenty of time to talk about me once I’m gone. So let’s get going and get me gone.”

They all looked at Jason and Bruce sighed. “I’ll go down to the storage level and get the transporter,” he said, turning towards the stairs.

Jason crossed his arms even as Tim and his future-self gave him a disapproving look. He knew he was being petulant and childish, but he couldn’t help himself. It always seemed like the worst in him came out when he was around Bruce.

His simmering anger dissipated when he realized he had the same way of thinking when it came to Tim. And if he was going to stop fighting him, then he needed to be able to make the change and control his bitterness. He couldn’t let it rule him anymore. He had to be better. He could do better.

“Here it is,” Bruce said, crossing the floor towards them with a large circular tube in his hands. “We can use this to send you back to the correct time.”

“Where is it going to drop me off?” he asked. “Because if it’s the same location I can’t exactly pop up in the Cave.”

Future-Jason and Tim shared a look.

“We better take this into the city,” Tim sighed.

“Go to the top floor of W.E.,” Bruce said, passing the gun over. “You’ve got roof access and that’s one of the best places to drop in on, day or night.”

“Thanks Bruce,” future-Jason said. “We’ll be back within the hour.”

“Sure,” he said, waving them off. “Alfred will probably want you to stay for lunch when you get back.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Tim said as they climbed back up the stairs, Jason leading the group to get as much distance as possible.

~~

“Are you sure you don’t mind letting me take this bag?” Jason asked, shifting in place where he stood in the middle of W.E.’s roof.

Tim waved away his comment. “Not at all. It’s just a bag and you can’t exactly show up in full uniform in the middle of the day. You’re going to need some cover.”

“Yeah, okay…” he said. “Wait…can’t you pick the exact time you send me back?” he asked.

Tim looked up. “Duh!” he said with a big grin. “I can just send you back right after you left so it’s like you missed no time at all.” He turned several dials on the machine and punched in something on the keypad. “You ready to go?”

“Wait,” Jason said and held up his hand. “If I’m going back in the middle of the night I really should get my uniform back on.” He dropped the bag and pulled open the zipper, taking out the pieces of body armor to strap onto his chest. He slipped his arms through the sleeves of his leather jacket and put on a domino, leaving his weapons and helmet in the bag that he gripped tightly in his hand. “Okay, ready,” he announced. “Thanks for everything.”

“No problem,” future-Jason said with a smile.

Tim grinned and raised the gun, pressing the discharge button as a familiar ray of blue light and warmth enveloped Jason. He squeezed his eyes shut against the light, hoping he wouldn’t be blinded on his second, and what would hopefully be his last, stint of time travel.

When the warmth disappeared and the light shining behind his eyelids reduced to a few spots of color, Jason hesitantly opened his eyes. He was standing on top of W.E. and the sky was dark. Jason waited a few moments for his eyes to adjust, listening to the sounds of the city around him.

He took a deep breath of the polluted Gotham air and pulled a few guns from the bag to strap to his legs. There was only one thing he wanted to do before heading in and he didn’t need his weapons for it.

Jason sprinted across the rooftop and jumped out into open air. He shot his grapple and swung across the street, landing on the other buildings. He wasn’t sure where Tim was on his patrol at this time of night, but he new the route and would find him soon enough.

He was surprised almost none of the other Bats intercepted his path since he was out of his own marked territory, but the skies were quiet. Oracle would know his path. Her mind was fast enough to piece together the different routes and destinations he could be aiming for.

Jason saw a flash of red and slowed his pace, not wanting to scare Tim off before he even got close. This conversation was going to be awkward as all hell, but it was a first step and that’s all that mattered.

He landed on the roof opposite Tim who whirled around, bo at the ready. Jason raised his hands.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” he said calmly.

“Bullshit,” Tim hissed, taking a step back. “You always come to fight.”

“I’m serious,” he said with a sigh. “I wanted…to apologize. For everything I did. I attacked you over things that weren’t your fault and took my anger out on you. It wasn’t right and nothing I did was justified. And I want to end it.”

“You can’t be serious?” Tim scoffed. “You seriously want me to believe that out of the blue you’re just coming to do what? Establish a truce?”

“Yes. And I know there’s no reason for you to believe me, but…I’m tired of fighting. I don’t want to fight with you anymore. It’s exhausting, and I want to get past it.”

Tim stared at him for a moment and Jason halfway expected him to either attack or run away. “You do realize that I’m not going to trust you right now, right?” he asked.

Jason blinked, lips twisting into an ugly smile. “I’d be concerned if you did.”

Tim snorted, and Jason saw the corner of his mouth tick up into a smile. “You might want to get out of here before B or Nightwing shows up.”

Jason nodded and turned. “See you around?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Tim agreed, voice soft.

Jason jumped from the building, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.

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