#Faking confidence is supposed ti make me more confident

[thatonesherlocknerd]

I know I'm sick and yet I'm about to loose the rest of my sanity cause I'm so desperately wishing for my body to look like the way it did when I was 16

[the-kr8tor]

Mr and Mrs Smith AU: When Jane met John

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 9k

Summary: Joining a spy agency? Check ✓ Hired in said agency? Check ✓ Getting a new fancy house? Check ✓ An entire armoury of weapons at your disposal? Check ✓ A new Husband? Check ✓ wait, what?

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Hobie and R call each other by fake names (ie: John, Jane, Smith etc), spy AU, CW suggestive, CW food mentions, TW blood, CW violence, CW vomit mention, TW death.

A/N: Happy 1k! Happy reading!!!❤️

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The waiting room seems like it's designed to make you extra anxious. From the bright fluorescent lights that whir above, to the carpet that smells like a very harsh citrus soap. Add the metallic chairs that's incredibly cold under your slacks— It all makes you bounce your leg from the bundle of nerves inside your stomach. The people waiting around you don't help either, they all look like they came out of magazine covers. Hair all tied up in a perfect bun, pencil skirts that cinch their waist perfectly. Button ups that are ironed until there's no crease in sight.

You bite your lip, eyes glued on the steel door, to where your last resort is, to where your entire future depends on. Looking around the room full of models, it doesn't seem like you're applying for a security job.

Maybe you should've worn that pencil skirt that's gathering dust in your closet.

Even though you technically don't know what kind of job it is, you really need to get this one, or else. Your savings could only get you so far. An old ‘friend’ of yours recommended this ‘company’. It operates at the highest security, the risk is just as high, but the pay is higher. More than what you've ever earned in the five years you've worked anyway.

Flicking your eyes above the door, the light finally turns green from red, and a chiming sound can be heard as the door clicks open on its own. You still wonder where the applicant goes after their interview since you never saw them exit out the same door. A morbid thought passes by your mind: a gun plus a bullet to the head. The image makes you grab the rubber band on your wrist to slap it against your skin. It leaves the stinging pain for only a moment, but it's enough to throw away the vision from your brain.

An applicant enters and you look down at the piece of paper in your hand— you're next.

The number, 2715 is written in Times New Roman. You can recognize that font anywhere, for it's the same font used on newer gravestones, the same font on his— you slap the rubber band against your wrist again. This time harder than the last. The stinging stays for a minute more. Your heels tap against the carpet, the clock ticks, the fluorescent whirs, someone coughs and you want to punch them in the face— you slap the rubber band against your skin again.

Your ears perk up at the familiar chime like you've been Pavlov’d by the sound after waiting for three hours on that uncomfortable metal chair that has tiny holes that you've gotten your pinky finger stuck in on hour two.

With a deep breath, you saunter your way towards the creaking door, trying to summon all the confidence in your body. They may be watching so you do your best to not look as nervous as you feel like.

As you enter the room, the large screen in the center raises a curious brow. The light from the monitor shines a spotlight on the singular office chair right in front of it. The room is dim, save for the single light. The screen reminds you of one of those mall touch screens that shows you the map of the building. There's another door on the opposite wall, now you know where all the other candidates exit, and it's definitely not from a bullet judging from the clean floors.

With a tentative step, you cross the distance. Sitting down, the chair is a comfortable welcome from the last one you sat on.

“Am I supposed to push a button?” You roam your eyes over the circular shape up top. You surmise that it's the camera.

The calming sky blue screen flashes words,

> Hihi, welcome

“Hi?”

> Insert nail clippings

A box slides out below the screen, prompting you to take the ziplock with your nail clippings from your bag. It slides back in with a mechanic hiss once you place the plastic on the drawer, and the screen blinks to a couple of questions that you answer honestly.

> What's your ethnicity?

You don't falter. Answering it truthfully.

> Height?

You clear your throat, the lump is either from the nerves or how your voice faltered when you answered.

> Are you willing to relocate?

You wring your hands together on your lap. “Yes, absolutely. Nothing's holding me back.” Then the dreaded question pops up on the bright screen.

> Tell me about yourself

“Uh, I graduated top of my class.” You scratch the back of your neck. “MI6 agent for three–no, uh four years.” Chuckling shakily, you continue. “I got high merits…w-well until the thing— but I was on the road to promotion b-before it happened.” God, you hate interviews.

> Words that people would describe you with?

You blink, sucking in a breath. “Truthfully?” Joking, the screen doesn't appreciate your humour.

> Yes

“Oh, p-people would describe me as a… someone who has initiative. Cunning…” unfeeling— you slap the band on your wrist again. Sitting up right, you gaze at the camera like your eyes could see the person typing behind it. You guess it's a person at least. “Passed all my training with flying colours, infiltration, marksmanship, hand to hand, you name it. You tell me the job and I'll do it with no questions asked.”

> Are you okay with high risk?

“More than okay.” You answer quickly.

> With a team or alone?

“I'm alright with either, but I prefer alone.”

> Why did you get fired?

“You know why.” You say intensely, eyes boring holes into the screen. For a second you thought you flubbed it but the screen continues to flash a new question.

> Have you killed anyone?

> And why?

The question turns into what you're more accustomed to. “Yes, approximately…” you inhale sharply. “Forty three. Two unintentionally, the rest with various…weapons.” You mindlessly play with the loose thread of your blazer to get rid of the flashing images in your head. “As for why, that's confidential information.”

The robot or the person behind the screen seems to accept your vague answers for it moves on with the interview.

> Favourite food?

Your eyebrows knit at the sudden turn of question. “Uh, I have a sweet tooth, ice cream. I think. But I can't resist good popcorn.” Your tone wavers at the end.

> Have you been in love?

You laugh, but the question still flashes on screen, unchanged and unamused. Clamping up, you feel for the rubber on your wrist.

“I-I'm sorry but what is this part for?”

The screen remains the same.

“—No,” you remember that they've probably already known everything about you even before you applied. So you decide to answer vaguely, that seems to work out before. “Once, just once.”

> When was the last time you said ‘I love you?’

“A long time ago.”

> To whom?

“You know who.”

—

You're surprised that you got the job even after the disastrous interview. The suitcase is light in your tightly clasped hand. The belongings you've tossed inside are sparse, only packing the ones you only need.

The large wooden door looms in front of you, the street behind you is bustling and right across your new home is an expansive park. A park that looks like you need to pay just to get inside. The neighborhood that you're situated in can be described as exclusive, rich and very suburban. The kind of setting where parents would do anything to raise their kids in. Something you've never thought in your dangerous life to live in, more so even step foot in.

With an exhale, you unlock the door. It clicks open surprisingly, you doubted the company for a second when you pushed it in. Maybe they gave you the wrong address? Maybe something went wrong in their system and your name popped up instead of someone more worthy? Someone who's a better shot, someone who isn't as bat shit insane as you.

The long hallway greets you, the low warm light brings comfort to your rattling bones. Its carpet runner is soft beneath your sneakers, red and blue threads weaved around the thick cloth. Framed art is posted on the walls, the artist's name you recognize from some pretentious reality tv about selling mansions that you once drunkenly watched alone on a friday night.

You leave your baggage in the hallway. Opting to explore the cinnamon scented home. Its rich walls remind you of chocolate that you once got for your birthday. The furniture doesn't look like it came from Ikea, the oak is sturdy under your palm, no rough surface, no protruding nails that slashes your flesh.

You snap the rubber band on your wrist for the umpteenth time today.

There's an ornate door sitting on your right, robins and roses are carved on the wood. The biometric scanner is placed right next to the door, it’s a stark contrast to the traditional home. Flipping the cover open, you place your thumb on the smooth surface of the scanner. After a half second, the door clicks open, revealing a steel elevator. The bright light above it almost blinds you.

Your curiosity makes you enter the steel cage, roaming your eyes, you spot the buttons.

“Might as well.” You say to the emptiness of the house.

As the elevator door closes, the front door opens.

There's a lack of elevator music, perhaps that's the best since you always hated the cheery chiming of it. The second the door opens, you take a peek inside. The weird smell combination of chlorine and butter hits your nose.

“Holy shit,” you mumble in disbelief at the indoor pool and theatre. “A fucking pool under the house? And a fucking theatre screen in front? Which rich fuck decided that?” Your voice echoes, bouncing off the tiled walls of the pool.

Roaming the large room, eyes wide and strides small, you marvel at the high ceilings with the same warm tone lights hidden in the coves to soften the lights. You crouch down, letting the warm water lap at your hand.

There's a handful of sun loungers on the side, tables in between them for drinks and whatever rich people put on it. A projector hangs above the pool, an electrical hazard, you thought and an image of an entire pool party getting electrocuted lingers in your mind. You snap the rubber band against your wrist.

The popcorn machine helps distract you from the intrusive thought. Opening the machine, the popped kernels are still warm against your skin. You quickly scoop up a handful of it in your palm, the butter slicking your hand and your mouth as you eat it like how a baby deer eats grass.

You've had enough of the overly decorated basement, getting back on the elevator, you finish off your popcorn with one big bite. Still chewing, you wipe your hands on your trousers to press the shiny buttons on the elevator. The doors close as you chew loudly, eyes up on the screen showing the floors of the house, you don't notice the stranger standing outside of the opened doors.

Butter on your lips, you almost smack him on his pretty face.

“Christ!” You yelp, almost choking on a kernel.

“Close, but no.” He smirks, eyes flicking at the sheen on your lips.

Your husband, the title echoes in your popcorn filled head. His smile captures your attention, a ten megawatt grin that could power the entire posh neighborhood. His piercings glimmer in the warm light, and your eyes are glued to the ones on his eyebrows. Hazel eyes, the left one seems to be lighter than the other, watercolour eyes stare back at you, scanning your features. If you stare long enough you swear you can see patches of green and gray in those expressive eyes.

“John Smith.” He introduces himself, your husband, your partner. John doesn't raise his ringed hand for you to shake, instead he nods at you, waiting patiently for you to say your name. As if he doesn't know.

Clearing your kernel filled throat, you quickly run your tongue across your teeth (with your mouth closed of course) because you don't want to embarrass yourself further by having popcorn stuck in your teeth.

“Jane, Jane Smith.” You reach towards him to shake his hand, he raises a brow at you in turn.

“I don't do that, love, sorry.”

“Shake hands?”

“Yeah,” he looks to the left of your face, his eyebrow twitches slightly— a tell.

“Are you a germaphobe?” You ask before you could stop yourself.

“Not really, I've got issues…with intimacy.” John shrugs, the metals on his leather jacket clinks together. You think he'd rather be a model or a rock star instead of a spy with how he dresses and carries himself with confidence.

You smile knowingly, “We all do, but you don't have that issue. It's our first day of marriage and you decide to lie to your wife?” You click your tongue, eyebrow raised. “Not a very good first impression, John.”

He'll never get used to being called that basic name. ‘John’ takes your hand, it's warm, searing hot under your slippery hand. You'd thought his warmth would cook your flesh, you guess the butter on your palm would work wonders. You're starting to regret snacking. The calluses on his palm matches your own, a large scar across his palm tells you a story untold. Silver rings decorate his long fingers. There's a more simple silver bracelet on his wrist, a stark contrast to the ornate rings he sports on both hands.

He's handsome, you think, rightfully so. With his chiseled jaw that rivals any greek statue and eyes that could be mistaken for stars; he's tall too, so that's a plus. You lucked out on the fake husband department. Well, there's worse men to fake marry out there. Just judging from first impressions, you're glad he's the one you have on your side,

“How'd you know?” He asks, eyes narrowed.

“I'm very perceptive.”

“Trained?”

“Nope,” you hide your bundle of nerves with your casual tone. His hand is still clasped on your own, you don't notice it. “Just very good at reading people.”

“Did you have a stint at the BAU too?”

Too? You ignore it for now. “No,” chuckling, you finally notice the heat on your palm so you let him go. “Just…natural talent, I guess.”

“What’s under the house?” John asks, stepping aside so you could exit the elevator.

“A beating heart.” You curse yourself, fingers already reaching for the rubber band on your wrist.

To your surprise, John laughs. The sound is genuine, eyes crinkling in the corners. “I got the reference.”

“I figured.”

“I saw a black box in the office, you wanna check it out?” He points behind him with his thumb.

“Why? Do you think there's a beating heart in there too?”

“Maybe.” He plays along, walking beside you. “You never know with the company, for all we know there's a head in there.”

“Morbid.” You joke as he opens the door for you.

“Says you?” John keeps reminding himself of his real name whilst he memorizes the side of your face. He already wants to tell you his real name, not the one assigned to him by the suits behind the faceless screen he has grown familiar with. He says his name in his mind again, if he accidentally blurted it out, well, c'est la vie.

“Says me,” you shrug casually, trying to keep up with his wit and charm. You already think you're losing. You scrunch your face at the painting above the mantle. It's an art of two lovers doing the tango, if tango excludes clothes and includes intense snogging.

He chuckles right next to you, an airy laugh that has you smiling too. “A very brave choice. Not my taste, but whatever floats the company's boat. What's inside is a bit better though.” Your ‘husband’ reaches towards the frame of the painting, gently pressing down, it releases a metallic click as it reveals a secret compartment full of weapons.

You hide a snort behind your hand. The cabinet reminds you of your own. Unimpressed, you flick your eyes down at the office table, the large black box sitting on top of it is just begging to be opened.

Without a second thought, you open it. Taking out the bottle of expensive looking wine, you read the card that is tied in a neat ribbon around the neck.

“‘Good luck on your first day of marriage’” you look at the man beside you. He's incredibly close to you, his elbow grazing yours, lips slightly parted whilst he takes a peek at the wine. He smells of burgundy and leather, it calms your senses for some odd reason. “I prefer coke.” You practically shove the bottle in his hands. The glass clinks against his metal rings.

“The snorting variation or the fizzy one?” He asks, placing the bottle down on the narra table with an almost silent thud.

“The fizzy one.” You take his question at face value. He doesn't question why you don't prefer alcohol. Sitting down on the plush office chair, you open the laptop in front of you. It dings, needing a password to open it. “It needs a—”

Before you could even finish the question, he gives you a scrap of paper from the numerous envelopes inside the box. The password is printed on it with the same font as the one from the piece of paper you held a couple of weeks ago.

You type it whilst he rifles through the box. The home screen pops up, nothing too fancy or out of the ordinary. Except for the single application in the corner that's only labeled as ‘S’

Clicking it, a chat box appears.

> Hihi, follow man

John snakes up next to you, the harsh light from the laptop shines on his pensive face. You return your attention towards ‘your boss’. A picture of a young blond man pops up in the chat, there's a mole near his left eye, he sports dark eyebrows. And a look that says ‘daddy paid for my college!’

> 40.748817, -73.985428

“That's downtown I think.” John pipes up next to you, and you look at him like he just said the sky is green and the grass is blue.

> Take keys, take car. Bring car here

> 51.505554, -0.075278.

“A car?” You rhetorically ask.

“Must be a very expensive car, or an important one.” John answers back as he leans further down to take a better look at the monitor. His hand is on the back of your chair, his necklaces dangle on his neck like a pretty chandelier.

You both wait for more instructions but it doesn't come.

“Hihi isn't very talkative, huh?” Your voice echoes in the awkward silence.

“‘Hihi?’”

“Yeah, I thought I'd give it a nickname.” You think he's weirded out but with an amused laugh he pats your shoulder nonchalantly.

“Cute.” You don't know if he's referring to you, or to the nickname you dubbed your electronic boss. “I've separated our papers.” John says as you still contemplate his last comment. “Here's yours.”

“Thanks.” You scan the pile in your hands. Your own face greets you as you flip through it all.

“It has everything we need. Credit card, ID's, carry permit and a passport.”

“What's that one?” You point at the larger envelope next to John's pile. A smaller black leather envelope sits atop it.

He opens the large envelope, giving you the contents of it. “Marriage certificate. And this one…” shaking the leather envelope, whatever is inside of it clinks. Taking it out, he shows you the gold bands. “...our wedding rings.” Heat rises in your cheeks unavoidably once he says it softly. “May I?” Open palm reaching out, he beckons.

You try to remember which hand wears it. With a split second decision, you place your left hand atop his own. Carefully sliding the cold ring in your marriage finger, you stay locked in on his eyes that's concentrating like he's disarming a bomb.

John pats your hand and then inserts his own ring in his finger, mirroring yours.

“Guess we're married.” You shrug casually like your heart doesn't beat against your ribcage, like it's trying to escape its confines. “It feels kind of weird?”

“We are,” he flashes you his signature smirk. “And we'll get used to it, hm, wife?”

“Yeah, I'll adapt.” You say just barely above a whisper, hands suddenly clammy.

“That's my girl.” Throwing you a wink, he walks away from a flustered you.

Yeah, you got lucky.

—

Morning comes and you had the best sleep you've had in years. Even if you slept on an empty stomach last night, you still slept like a baby on the eight hundred thread count Egyptian cotton blanket. You stare blankly at the beige ceiling, hands roaming around the soft bed sheet like you're making a snow angel. Sleep ridden eyes roam around the expansive master bedroom to which your new husband has graciously let you take.

Speaking of ‘John’, his bedroom is just across your own. Surprisingly enough, he hasn't woken up yet based on the silence in the hallway outside, you hadn't pegged him as a late riser.

Breakfast calls for you when your stomach rumbles loudly, but you're too comfortable to even move from your spot. Something taps from your window that's facing the foot of your bed. A soft tippy tap of something hitting the glass that has you sitting up. Eyes blinking rapidly, you stare off a pigeon perched outside. Its iridescent feathers shine in the early morning sun, its beak tapping rhythmically at the window.

Sliding your hand behind you, blindly grasping at a pillow, you fling it across the room to scare off the bird. The pillow hits your mark and out flies away the annoying pigeon. With a sigh, you get off your ass to get ready for the day ahead. You don't want to be late to your first day out in the field, no use in rotting in your luxurious bed if you can't keep it after you get fired for being late.

You dress for the day and for the cool weather. Spring has come but the freezing temperature has decided to stay for a little while. With a cozy turtleneck and comfy slacks, you forgo the torturous device called ‘heels’ for a pair of trainers. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you shrug with a huff. And you snap the rubber against your skin once again.

Taking the chair off the doorknob and then unlocking the door, you exit your sanctuary. Closing your door softly, you find yourself in front of John's room. Judging from the soft snores, you notice that he’s still sleeping. You might be his fake wife but it's not your job to wake him up. So you continue down the hallway and into the kitchen to fix yourself a bowl of cereal.

Bowl in hand, you chew as you walk up to the rooftop. Unlocking it, the sun greets you with a comfortable heat, and you frown at it. You keep eating whilst you explore the space. There's a bountiful garden in the corner, raised garden beds full of fresh vegetables and fruit that is ripe for the taking. An outside dining area sits in the middle, you recognize the long table from a catalog you once read to pass the time at the dentist. You remember that it doubles as a grill and leg warmer in the winter.

“Fancy,” you murmur with your mouth full of grainy goodness. Sipping the leftover milk in the bowl, you place it on the expensive table to crouch down next to a bushel of strawberries to sniff. “Almost ripe,” you figure from the softness of the fruit.

A bird flies above you, it's shadow casting over you. With the sound of fluttering wings, the bird perches on the table, black orbs staring at you, head tilting like it's observing your presence.

“Are you the same fucking bird?” You question the pigeon. It coos at you, and then pecks at the ceramic of your discarded bowl. “Motherfucker—” standing up, you have the look of someone ready to square up with the feathered creature.

“Why are you fighting an innocent bird?” John appears with a mug of tea in his hand. You forgot to make tea.

“I wasn't fighting with it.”

“He,” your partner crosses the distance, the bird doesn't fly away from the close proximity. You raise an eyebrow at that. “might be hungry.” He gestures towards the strawberries behind you with his chin. “Think you can grab us one, lovie?” You're gonna need some time to get used to that term.

“It's not ripe.”

“I don't think he's picky.”

“It's too sour, it might upset his stomach.”

“He's a pigeon, he's used to eating shit off the pavement. I think that's fine, love.”

With an awkward nod, you pick the one that's redder than the rest. Throwing it towards John, he catches it with a practiced hand. He sits down before laying the fruit in front of the bird. You watch it unfold, the pigeon hops on the table, beak pecking at the seeds. You're intrigued at their interaction.

John sips at his drink, still in his sleep clothes. Toned arms in full display from the loose tank top he sports. Pajama pants hanging low on his hips, silk bonnet on his head. He only has one sock on his feet, you tilt your head.

“What happened to your sock?” You point at his bare foot curiously.

“Hmm?” He looks down, and he chuckles like he just realized the missing article of clothing. “Don't know, probably kicked it off while I was sleepin’”

“Oh,” you blink, “you should get ready, we might miss our target.”

He fakes salutes at you, drinking casually from his mug as you leave the rooftop. He doesn't miss how you didn't take your dish with you. Sighing, he watches the pigeon eat his fill.

—

You and John arrive at a pub. It's dim inside with only a few miserable patrons sitting sparsely at different corners of the musty establishment. They all look miserable, all having expressions from different points of the human emotion. But there's only one face you're observing— your target.

He sits alone on the bar stool, back hunched, eyes red and nursing a half filled pint of beer. Holding his face in his hand, blond hair raked in between his fingers, bomber jacket hanging loosely on his form, bags under his sagging eyes. He's the picture of someone who's on the bottom of the barrel.

John guides you with his hand hovering on your back. Not touching, at the same time still close, you are supposed to be a couple after all. You slide into a booth that has the perfect view of the target, but still out of his sight and out of earshot. The leather seat is worn down, tiny bits of it are ripped, at least it's not sticky. He orders for you, and you observe how he slyly roams his eyes towards the man, looking out for the keys.

He comes back with a plate of chips and dip. “Thought it would be weird not to order anythin’”

“Good call,” you take a chip whilst your eyes only briefly leave the target's back. “Thought you'd buy me a pint.”

“Did you want a pint? This early? Do you want to talk about it?” He half jokes as he takes a smaller chip.

“No,” you scoff, “and no. I just thought you'd order it instead of this.”

“You're not the only perceptive one in this relationship.” John looks over his shoulder to quickly do a once over at the forlorn man.

“Did you see where he's keeping it?”

“Inside his jacket, right side.”

You nod, “Is he carrying?”

“Not that I can tell.” He shrugs, licking the salt off his finger. “So, why'd you join?”

“Really? We're doing that?” You watch as the man gulps down his remaining drink and then orders a new one immediately.

“Yes, we're doin' that. Won't that make us work better together? To get to know each other a bit more?”

“Fine,” you silently huff. “No one else would take me, this is a last resort, I guess?”

“Bullshit, love, I think anyone would be happy to have you in their…agency?”

“Flattery won't get you anywhere, birdman.” A small smile appears on your lips, he beams at you. “Besides, who else is hiring for someone with the specific skill set that I have?”

He hums, while turning subtly to take a peek at the target. Returning his attention to you after seeing the blonde man still hunched in his stool, John takes another chip. “True, did you get kicked out from the last one?”

“Not really,” you stare at the crack on the wooden table. “You?”

“Not really,” he shrugs and you roll your eyes.

“You MI6?” He asks casually. “This your first time in London?”

“I'm not answering either of those questions.”

“C’mon,” he wiggles his left hand, the wedding band shines in the pub light. “Husband, remember? ‘sides, I won't tell anyone.”

You place your elbows on the table, smiling sarcastically at him. After a beat for his anticipation, you grin wider. “No.”

His shoulders fall, a chortle escaping his lips. “Cheeky.” Pointing an accusing finger at you, he quickly looks behind him, only to find the target sluggishly exiting the pub. “He's on the move.”

You both follow the drunk man like gravity is pulling you towards him. Walking the streets of busy downtown London, stranger's faces whizz past you. John has his hands casually in his pockets, yet he stays close to you, eyes flicking in the corners to check on you.

“Why don't you ask me a question? Y’know tit for tat?” He waits patiently for you to answer back, hell he'll even take a grunt at this point.

“Okay,” you surprisingly start the conversation on his behalf. “Have you killed anyone?” The passing pedestrians don't seem to notice you and the morbid subject.

Your partner snorts, nose scrunched up, eyes glued on the staggering target. “Nah. Have you?”

“I call bullshit,” you dodge a distracted woman scrolling on her phone. “Anyway, I have. I'm not exactly proud of it or flaunting it if you're thinking that I'm doing that.”

“Good, once you start flaunting it like a bloody trophy, you've lost it.”

You hum in agreement, the sound of a deep rumble in your chest as you two turn a corner. “Why do you think hihi needs us to nick the car?”

“Hihi” he chuckles, you turn to him with a serious face. “There's probably a stash of confidential information in the trunk or somethin’”

“Maybe a stash of weapons?” The man in front of you stumbles. “I don't see him as the type to harbor secret documents.”

John nods, “a highly infectious disease then?”

“Christ, we better drive carefully once we get a hold of it.” You turn to him briefly. “Maybe it's a really expensive sports car and he's all sad and mopey because he's gone broke after buying it?”

“Got a whole story now, huh?” He pushes you lightly with his leather clad shoulder, and you smile softly. “You good at pickpocketing him?” Your partner gestures with his chin, said target is walking into traffic. He seems unbothered by the oncoming vehicles. John curses under his breath.

“We should do that now before he kills himself.” You speed walk across the crossing, grabbing the drunk man before a car hits him.

Arms enveloping around his bomber jacket, swiping him away and quickly carrying him to the footpath, you save him before an suv hits you both. The car honks loudly and angrily as your target groans in your arms like he's about to hurl the contents of his stomach.

John punches the hood of the car, pointing at the driver accusingly. A distraction for you to take the keys hidden in the man's jacket.

“You almost hit my fuckin' wife, you wanker!” Your partner yells, covering the sound of jingling keys in your expert hand. He plays the part well.

Surprisingly, the target straightens up in your hold, a split second after you pocketed the car keys inside your own coat.

“Y-you,” he slurs, feet struggling to keep himself upright. “Dickhead!” Slamming his fists on the hood with a loud *thunk, he joins John who gives you a look and a shrug. The drunken yelling gets louder and the driver now exits his car with an equally angry look.

John takes this opportunity to come back to your side, hand holding your elbow, he leads you away from the screaming match as more and more people try to intervene.

“Got it?” He whispers closely to the shell of your ear, sending goosebumps to rise in your arms.

“‘course I did.” You jingle the keys inside your pocket. “I'm not an amateur.”

Playing along, he laughs, hand still holding your elbow softly. “Good job, missus.”

With an awkward chuckle, you lean away from him. “Just so you know, I'm not in this for…the romance.” You bite the inside of your cheek. “I'm not looking to date my co-worker.”

John raises his hands in mock surrender. “Fine by me. if the situation calls for us to actually act as a couple—”

“We'll act as a couple, I won't fuss if that's what you're saying.”

“Good, now let's get this bloody car.”

—

“A fucking ‘99 toyota corolla?” You stare in disbelief at the rusting metal. “At least it's one of the good models.” Kicking the wheel, you expect it to tumble over like in an old timey cartoon.

John is crouched way down to check the bottom of the car. “It's clear.” He stands up fully, cleaning his hands on his jeans. You wince at his movements. “What?”

“Nothing.” You open the driver's side, the smell of alcohol and something musty hits your nose. “Nasty.” Coughing, you air it out by opening another door.

“You know your cars?”

“A little bit.” You say with your nose pinched. Sparing him a look, he stands in the parking lot like he's still waiting for the rest of the story. “What?”

“Throw me a bone here, love.” You roll your eyes. “Why do you know so much about cars?”

“I said I know a little bit.” You place your hands on your hips like an exasperated mother whose son keeps asking weird questions about dinosaurs. “I dated a mechanic.” You say flatly.

“Really? Did you date a pickpocket too? Or do you date people so you could absorb their skills like kirby?”

“Are you jealous?” You tease him with a comment you didn't have the foresight that it would backfire.

“We are married.” He says matter-of-fact with a killer smirk and eyes glinting with mischief. “And this is technically our honeymoon so—”

“Get in the fucking car, birdman.”

—

The wheel is sticky under your hands, you have an intense urge to wash your hands or to at least grab a sanitizer. Apparently your disgust shows on your face, for John chortles next to you.

“What?” You say through gritted teeth.

“Nothin’, you just look like someone shat in your tea.”

“The wheel is sticky.”

“I have a handkerchief with me, d’you want me to?” Taking out the dark green cloth from his jean pockets, he's already twisting in his seat to wipe it clean.

“Please,” you ask softly, hands sliding down to make space for him.

Your hand never left the wheel while he cleans it for you. John's seatbelt is unclasped so he could have more movement, his face is close to your vision, warmth blanketing over you. He's so close that you can smell his cologne, it's a different one from yesterday, it's more flowery with a hint of mint. You spot a hidden mole under his ear. A tiny dot that is just begging to be poked.

Without thinking, you press softly with the pad of your finger. He yelps, flinching away instinctively. Looking at you with wide eyes and mouth agape, you're ready to be called a nasty nickname, or be cussed out with a loud voice. Instead of what you're anticipating, a laugh bellows out, a rumbly laugh that makes you smile and let out an almost silent chortle.

“I think you found my mole.” John holds the side of his neck with a grin. “You let your urges get to you, love.”

“Sorry,” you keep your eyes on the road to hide your embarrassment.

“It's fine, your hand was just cold. Ask me next time, I have a few more cute moles on me.”

“Nevermind, you ruined it.” With a roll of your eyes and a smile, you park at the coordinates. “Nice acting back there, I see an Emmy nomination for you in the future.”

“Thanks, I barely remember what I said. You sure this is the place?” John peeks at the map pulled up on your phone. “Shit, we're here.”

The entire street is suburban, large colonial houses lining the sides, tall pine trees decorate the sidewalks. There's not a lot of people walking by, save for a couple pedestrians walking their dogs, the place is devoid of people.

“What now?” You unclasp your seatbelt to twist around in your seat so you could observe the neighborhood.

“Hihi told us to bring it here, so maybe we should—?” John lets out a high pitched scream that also has you yelling in surprise, not from whatever made him shriek but from the sound that escaped him. “What the fuck!”

Leaning slightly to look at what had his knickers in a bunch, you stare blankly at a bespectacled man in a bespoke suit. The man gives you and your partner an apologetic look, he points for John to open the window.

He turns towards you with an eyebrow raised. “Should I?”

“Yeah, I think you should.”

“What if he's got a gun?” He whispers.

“We also have guns, John. I'll cover you, don't worry. Maybe this is what hihi asked us to do.”

“Easy for you to say, you're not the one opening it.” He gives you a glare before rolling the window down an inch. “Hi, mate. What can we do for you?”

“The car,” the stranger points a lengthy finger at the wheel. His voice is crackly and gravelly, like he just smoked a pack of cigarettes before he went up to the car. “You're late, but that doesn't matter. How much do I owe you, folks?”

“Uh, the usual.” You say with fake confidence.

“Good,” the lean man straightens up, “mind gettin’ out of the car then?”

“Right, sorry, bruv.” John, gives you one look before exiting the car. He's nervous and so are you.

As the doors shut, the man flexes his open palms expectantly for the keys, to which you hand off immediately. He gives you bad vibes, maybe your intuition tells you to run for the hills.

“Thank you, sweetheart. I'll wire the money to the usual account.” The nickname sends shivers down your spine.

He closes the door and starts up the car. With a splutter of the exhaust, he slowly drives away. You and John watch, standing side by side in the middle of the street in confusion.

“He was weird, right? Not to mention it was too easy.” You turn your head to look at him. “Maybe they're trying to ease us in?”

“It was all weird, not just him—” A blast coming from the car interrupts him, the sheer force of it sends you two down on the rough pavement.

Your cheeks are incredibly warm from the searing heat of the bomb. The light from it blinds the two of you.

Palms skinned, trousers slashed at the knees, your ears ring loudly like an annoying buzz from a broken microphone. Coughing loudly, smoke fills your lungs, debris is scattered around the once pristine neighborhood. There's blood on the concrete, you can't hear John calling for you, your vision is blurred by the cloud of smoke. His hand reaches for you, and your instincts tell you to run.

“Fuck!” He yells, running beside you at full speed. “What the fuck!”

“Keep running!” You yell as he turns around to check on a woozy you. “I'm fine!”

Someone behind you screams for you to stop so you and your partner run faster. Knees aching, thighs burning, you don't stick around to look who's running after you. The unmistakable click of a gun’s safety is loud in your eardrums, even if your lungs threaten to give out, you sprint right next to John as he turns a corner and into a carwash.

The smell of soap and heavy pine scented car freshener hits your bloody nose. He tugs you towards the plastic curtains and inside what you presume as the employee lounge, someone yells after you but it falls on deaf ears as you and John continue your escape.

Exiting the establishment, the metal doors open to a messy alleyway. Boxes upon boxes of trash and god knows what are littered all around. The pungent smell makes you want to hurl, or maybe that's the adrenaline having a weird effect on your stomach.

You two find reprieve for a second, huffing, trying to get oxygen back in. Hands on your aching thighs, the concrete below you slowly turns crimson as your mysterious injury drips precious blood on the messy ground.

“You're bleedin’” He says in between inhales. There's rustling of fabric next to you, and you feel the warm cloth placed on your forehead.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Waving the drenched cloth away, you scoff lightly. “Don't.”

“What am I supposed to do? Let you bleed?”

You stand up straight, blood coating your lashes as you stare at him. “I've got a better idea.” Placing your palms on the source of the pain, you let your blood coat it.

“What—?” You roughly smudge the warm ichor all over his face and shirt, the plain white of his t-shirt turns a dark pink shade with your touch. Leaning away, he gives you a slow nod of understanding. “Ease us in, huh?”

“I'm rarely wrong and this is one of the rare instances.”

“Let's hope you're right about this one.”

—

You kick the backdoor open with ferocity. It bangs loud against the wall, getting the restaurant staff's attention.

“Help please! My husband!” John's limp arm is around your shoulders, your hand gripping on to his waist to add that one detail that would convince them of your innocence. “There was a bomb!” You don't let the bystanders touch you or John whilst you quickly lumber through their dinghy bathroom. There's murmurs and chairs scraping on the tiled floors as you lock the door behind you.

The bathroom is small, tiles yellowed from the years, the stench of bleach itching your nose. The lightbulb above you whirs like it's about to burst out. He leaves your side to take off his bloodied jacket, tossing it outside from the window— his exit, you presume.

“Your phone.” He holds his empty hand out to you, when you only raise an eyebrow at him, he sighs, eyes turning soft, adrenaline melting out of his system. “Please, c’mon, love, you got me sayin’ please and shit.”

“What for?” You try desperately to wipe the blood off your face.

“To contact you, just in case you need help.”

“I can handle it.”

“I know you can, how else did you get the job then? Just let me,” his voice wavers a bit but he corrects himself with a timed clear of his smoke filled throat. “Please, Jane.”

After pausing, you take your phone out from your pocket to give it to him. He enters his number after seeing your home screen of a basic mountain range.

“There.” Giving the phone back, you expected him to give his too, but he doesn't as he's already halfway out of the window. “I'll see you at home?”

You let out a chuckle, “yeah, I'll see you at home.” He gives you one last smile as he exits the small bathroom and into the streets where numerous sirens go off from ambulances and fire trucks.

—

It was a blur the entire trip home, you bought a loose hoodie from a thrift store and then promptly discarded your blood soaked coat in the bottom of a dumpster. It was a shame though, you liked that coat, it had real wool in the lining. The uber drive was thankfully uneventful, if the driver noticed the remnants of dried blood on your skin he didn't mention it. You gave him five stars for it.

An empty house greets you, John's shoes are nowhere to be seen in the hallway, nor his jacket. You worry for a second, mind rushing through possibilities. The rubber band burns as you pull it back and release it with a harsh thwack against your skin.

The water is cool as you shower, your blood mixing in and pooling around your feet and into the drain like a macabre whirlpool. You don't let your mind wonder about the man that you turned into a street pancake. Instead, you focus on yourself in the mirror.

You stare at the gash near your hairline, the skin around it is angry, leaving a throbbing sensation. There's also a few scratches on your face, especially around your chin. Your main concern is the large gash. It doesn't look like it needs to be stitched together though, which is a good thing since you don't have the energy to even tend to the tiny scratches on your palms. Cleaning and bandaging the wound, you put on clean pajamas and head to bed.

You stop in your tracks when you see John lying face down on your bed. Still in his iron soaked clothes, save for the jacket. You glare at his boot, it's off the bed but you still grit your teeth at the thought of it grazing your bedsheets.

He senses your presence, and he lifts his head up, chin helping prop himself up. “Your bed is better than mine.” His multi coloured eyes are laced with exhaustion, dull yet there's still a spark when he looks at your annoyed gaze.

“Who are you? Goldilocks?”

“Yeah, I ate your porridge too.”

“Damn, not my porridge.” Too tired to fight him, you slither into bed next to him, an arm's length away from his equally tired body. Staring at the ceiling, you feel his eyes on you. “What's up with your eyes?”

“It's called heterochromia—”

“I know what it is, I'm asking why you're staring at me like you're about to devour me.”

“I could devour you if you want.” He says nonchalantly but with the charisma of a man who knows what he's talking about.

“Maybe next time.” You blindly pat his shoulder which ended up with you patting his cheek. He hums at your touch, a deep rumble that you felt through the mattress. “Not bad for our first day huh?” Lifting your hand away, he twists on the bed to mirror your position. Now you're both gazing at the beige ceiling like it owes you money.

You're tired but for some reason you're fighting off the sandman from sprinkling sand in your heavy eyes.

“I lied back there, I've killed before.” His voice is merely above a whisper but you heard it as loud as a trumpet blaring in your ears.

“I know, you wouldn't be here if you haven't.” You answer with empathy. “If it makes you feel better, I've been to London before. Twice, on a family trip and a decade later…on vacation.”

“Glad to know.” He taps the inside of your elbow as a thank you for trusting him. “You CIA?” He blurts out above the comfortable silence.

“God no.” You truthfully say.

“And here I thought you're an alumni of the culinary institute of America.”

For the first time in years, you let out the loudest laugh you could muster. Snort and all.

Your ‘husband’ joins in with his own rambunctious laughter, the bed shakes at the loud guffaws. The happy sound fills the room, and your heart feels like it isn't as heavy as before. It's still there, the heaviness, but it isn't as cumbersome. You now realize that you've only snapped the rubber band on your wrist a couple times today.

An annoying tapping sound interrupts you both. Simultaneously sitting up by the elbows, you two tilt your head at the intruder.

“It's that pigeon again.” You actually smile at the thought of the same bird coming back to your house like a white strand of hair that keeps growing even after you've pulled it out. “I think we should name him. Something like Terry or Flanders.” You chuckle softly.

“Jeff.”

You shake your head. “Nope, doesn't suit him, what if it's a she?”

“His name is Jeff.” John turns to look at you, eyes full of certainty.

You turn to him, blinking rapidly in realization. “He's yours. He's your bird, isn't he?”

“You are insightful.” He smiles, a soft one that fills you with endearment that you haven't felt in years. “Met him a few months ago, fed him once and now he wouldn't leave me alone. I guess he followed me here too.”

“Y’know, pigeons are really smart, kinda like crows. He probably thinks you're his daddy.”

“Does that make you Jeff's mummy?”

“I don't want to be Jeff's mom.” Said bird taps on your window again, like he senses that you're currently talking about him.

“Too bad,” he raises his marriage finger, showing you the gold band. “He's our kid, love.”

You smile, hiding it with a huff and by laying back down with a gentle thump.

“Can I tell you somethin’?” His face pops up in your vision, you nod in place. “My real name is—”

“Let me stop you right there.” You sit back up, almost hitting his head with your own at how fast you sat. “There's a reason why they gave us fake names. Whether we like it or not, It's John,” You point at him. “And Jane Smith.” You point at yourself. “Until they dismiss us, that's our names. Not whatever you were about to tell me.”

“But you know it's not our names, right?”

“Of course I do. You don't look like a John, John.”

“And you don't look like a Jane. I just…” He sighs. “Just want someone to know my real name. We almost died back there, what if we stayed a minute longer inside that car? What then? I don't want to die with someone else's name written on my grave.” His words are genuine, but it sounds like he has said these words before.

Still, you sympathize with him. You've gone undercover before, taken someone’s name instead of yours for months. Those missions were so long and tiring that you almost forgot your own name. But it was…survivable because he was with you. John has no one, and this time you have no one. No one that calls your real name, no one that can identify your body if you suddenly croak in the middle of a mission.

No one else but John and Jane Smith.

So with bated breath, you give him the go ahead. “Okay, tell me. But I can't promise that I'll call you by that name.”

“Don't want to get in trouble with hihi?”

“No,” you scoff. “I don't give a shit what that robot says. I just don't want to die with a stranger's name. So fuck it, tell me yours and I'll mine.”

He smiles the same smile that he gave you before he went out of that dinky bathroom window. The smile that reassures you, a smile that tells you everything will be alright.

“It's Hobie,” Hobie finally says. “Hobie Brown.”

“It suits you better. Thought it was Jeff.” You whisper, and you give him your real name. The same name you were born with, not the fabricated ones your former agency has given you, not the ones your new company has given you.

He whispers back your name, tongue rolling off it like honey. Then, Hobie smiles again, nodding and those heterochromatic eyes bore into you comfortably like the sun's rays kissing your skin in the summer.

“You look like one. Definitely suits you better than Jane.” You smile shyly as you lose the fight against sandman.

In Hobie's mind, he hopes that knowing your real name is enough, enough to keep you alive, enough of an incentive for him to keep you safe, since you're not just a typical Jane anymore that the company randomly selected for him, no, you're Y/N L/N, and he'll do anything to protect you better. Because maybe, just maybe, knowing your real name this early would work, and you'll outlive all the Janes that he himself has outlived.

As you fall asleep next to him, he stares at Jeff the third. In that luxurious house, within those bulletproof walls, and in your room lies a deep anger in him. An anger that keeps him sane in all those years trying to pay his debt. He needs to end the cycle, not just for him but for all the agents that are in the same shoes as him. For now he lets you sleep soundly, for now, he plots the demise of the people behind the screen.

The laptop flashes a new message from the company.

> Mission complete: 3 fails remaining

> Good job, next mission?

Support banner by @cafekitsune ❤️

A/N: thank you for reading!!! Please consider reblogging if you liked it ❤️❤️❤️

[florenceafternoon]

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

Because I will never get tired of them, here are some more fic recs. These fics are set in the wizarding world but aren’t necessarily canon complaints.

For reference, anything in italics is an extract from the summaries on ao3.

Never Quite Awake by @sunshinemarauder 

“Endings are nothing unfamiliar to Lily Evans; she’s seen the ends of sisterhood, friendship, and innocence, all from miles away. But this is an end unlike any other. An end that was never supposed to happen.”

If to love someone once is to break their heart, to love them twice is to break yours.

Lily falls for James in her seventh year. But the couple are sent onto two diverging paths when a life-shattering altercation halts their burgeoning relationship. Five years later, she's a curse breaker and he is a soldier.

When they meet again, it feels like coming home.

All the angst that comes with a jily second chance romance that takes place during wartime. A fake dating subplot, cursebreaker!Lily, pining!James. What more could you want. France (country) - a relevant tag

Through The Rain by @bookeatingbean

James and Lily's first kiss, and the story behind it. There's some fluff, some character study, and some good old-fashioned angst.

If you're looking for a character study that shows how they grew up through their school years. This fic shows you that Lily was not a perfect person and James was a bully for the sake of it but he grew to understand that the world does not revolve around him and strives to do better. Or Lily is stubborn and James is the definition of a ride-or-die

It's been a long time by writtenbyfreckles (on ao3)

It's been ten years since Lily left Hogwarts. She's returned to England to work as a Healer on the "ward of the wacky", only to find home isn't as safe as she thought it was. An attack leaves her locked in a ward with her patients, a bunch of Death Eaters and an Auror she hasn't seen for a long time.

I need more cannon divergence Auror!James and Healer!Lily

The Guide To Becoming A Better Man For Lily Evans by @padfootswhiskers

prompt: I decided to walk outside shirtless (accidentally) but I forgot it's winter and why're you screaming at me like that? And oh gosh, you're very pretty.

lingering days, short-lived nights by letthebookbegin (on ao3)

The summer before seventh year, James is desperately trying to think of anything but Lily, who's burrowed her way into his mind and looks quite comfortable there.

The summer before seventh year, Lily is craving a distraction. Avoiding her sister, she picks an ice cream shop for shelter.

At the end of a long summer day, their paths cross - and the rest, as they say, is history.

Ties That Bind by @charmsandtealeaves

Lily Evans grew up with old wives tales about soul mates, but she'd never put much stock in the idea. Not until after she learned about the world of magic and the fact that soul bonds were a thing that actually existed. Which makes these strange new feelings and experiences that much more difficult to manage.

So I read this a while ago but stupidly forgot to bookmark it and then I spent nearly an hour trying to find it again. Needless to say, I ADORE this fic and you should all go read it. Like, right now. Then come back here to talk to me about it.

Lily Evans Doesn't Believe In I Love You's also by @/ charmsandtealeaves

“Did you hear Lily Evans doesn’t believe in I love you's?”

It wasn’t exactly a secret. But no one knew why, until she decided to share a bottle of fire whiskey in the astronomy tower with James Potter.

Same Lily, same

Meet Me At The River also by @/ charmsandtealeaves

A chance encounter with a misplaced owl leads to a correspondence between pen pals. Lily confides in her mysterious Flea and finds herself falling along the way.

I can't remember if I've recommended this one already, but even if I have I'll rec it again because I love it so much!!

Your Friend, James by @thelighthousestale

It is the summer before their 7th year, and Lily and James spend the entire holiday writing letters to each other as their relationship slowly changes from friends to something more.

Just the ending of this one is everything. James and Sirius are never beating the codependent allegations

Castling by @missgryffin

When they were still very young, Remus Lupin’s dad married Lily Evans’ mum. It changes everything.

Lily and Remus are like the little brother who got bullied and then found friends except he invited them over for the first time and they all act weird because they're mildly terrified of his older sister. Friends to lovers jily is only rivaled by academic rivals jily.

Just the Two of Us by @arianatwycross

Head Students James and Lily face a perilous twist when a malicious potion surfaces in hate mail directed at Lily. Dumbledore orders a week-long quarantine in the Head Students' suite. With unspoken crushes lingering, the duo navigates close quarters, leading to unexpected revelations, lingering looks and forehead kisses.

silence and patience, pining in anticipation by @kay-elle-cee

Lily’s been hung up on James for years; a tipsy conversation might be the push she needs to do something about it.

DRESS IS A JILY SONG FOREVER AND ALWAYS

The Devil in the Cloak Room by @chiechie97

Getting your heart broken when you’re 17 seems to alter your brain chemistry more than you would think. Which is the precise reason why Lily has no intention of reconnecting with the friends she lost at the end of school.

And besides, she has no chance of knowing anyone at the masked Halloween party her friend drags her to. Especially not the guy in the devil mask. Right?

Usually I rec complete works but this one is so good I had to include it

Deception and other ways to find love by @annasghosts

“I’ll be your fake girlfriend, Potter.” And this is how Lily Evans embarks on the adventure of (fake) dating her former Hogwarts nemesis (and crush, but ssssh, it’s a secret). Will she be able to keep her cool? Will he?

Class of '78 by @emeralddoeadeer

Class of 1978 Five Year Reunion - July 29th, 1983

Now is the time to look upon our shared experience, our similarities must unite us rather than letting our differences divide us. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry invites the Graduating Class of 1978 to return to the castle for a weekend of reconnecting, reminiscing and recreation. We hope the passage of time has been kind to you all and look forward to welcoming you soon.

Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster, Order of Merlin First Class, Grand Sorc, DWiz, X.J sorc, S of Mag Q

It's been five years since graduation, and while many things have changed, some things never will.

James Potter Won't Go Quietly by la_plus_heureuse (on ao3)

Lily Evans remembers plenty about James Potter from Hogwarts. But an assignment from Mojo Magazine to profile the Quidditch star turned activist makes her realize what she remembered was all wrong.

canon divergence staring quidditch player James and journalist Lily

On A Scale of One to Ten (requires an ao3 account) by @petalsinwoodvale

Lily starts falling for an insecure, yet charming auror named James who is recovering from injury in her ward. No one else on staff will sit and talk to him, mostly due to septic skin covering most of his upper torso. Lily, however, finds him charming and funny. Naturally, when James' injuries start healing, he grows more and more handsome. The other healers suddenly take interest in James, romantically ...

foxy by lizpaige (on ao3)

Lily joins the boys at the shrieking shack on a particularly difficult moon in her new animagus form.

Lily & Remus friendship is so special to me

[nyrasbloodyclover]

a real fucking legacy (a. k. vornsky)

a/n: stop asking why because i REALLY DON'T KNOW. my fav book, my fav fictional man, i am literally an anna karenina bible

I entered the ballroom that glittered with golden lights from the crystal chandeliers. I felt dizzy from all the excitement that was following me throughout the whole day, making sure my posture was perfect, dress unwrinkled and smile bright, just as everybody expected.

It was my third year after I came out into society, and no matter how many balls I attended, each one of them held a special place in my almost empty heart. Especially the ones I went to in the last 3 months.

All because he looked at me. He danced with me. And then decided to sneak out and find a place where no one would see us. We spent hours together on some deserted balcony. He was a good man and as much as I wanted to, he wouldn't lay a finger on me let alone, touch me the way he was wasn't supposed to.

Count Vronsky had many qualities that made him different from other gentlemen I've met, but the one I loved the most was that he was an amazing storyteller. He's seen so much, he's been everywhere and as a girl who practically did nothing my whole youth I was a great listener. He painted landscapes to me with his words and even when he thought some things he said didn't make any sense, I understood it all.

As he was older and much more mature, I made myself remember the way he formed his sentences and try to use it while telling the story of us.

I wore a maroon dress, not wanting to stand out, though the patterns on it were granular.Black lace was covering the edges while the corset was tied enough to make my breathing almost painful. My hair was pinned up, making my scalp hurt, but I somehow got used to all of it.

I saw some of my friends not too far from me, but a tall figure appeared before I could approach them. A younger man. I knew him. His name was Ivan-something and my mother would be delighted if  I decided to marry him. I fake smiled at him as he asked me for a dance. He absolutely blended in with all the other men I knew. I had to say yes. They couldn't suspect me and Vronsky, It was never going to happen, so why make fool of myself?

I inhaled sharply as he took my gloved hand and led me to the center of the ballroom. I loved to dance, but with an awful partner, even life could be miserable. I felt despondent as he spun me around and stepped on my feet continuously. Music ringed in my ears.

Even if I adored this piece, I couldn't stand it at the moment. I looked around and I felt like my gown was blood-soaked. My lungs were bleeding. I needed air. I wanted to go away, far, far away. Everyone was either dancing or talking and smiling, having much better time than me. Everyone except one person. And that person was approaching us right now. His pace was fast and strong and confident, everything I wasn't right now. He looked resplendent. I was counting seconds and begging him silently to end this torment.

He heard and answered my prayers.

Ivan suddenly stopped and I couldn't be more grateful. I wanted to hug my savior and thank him properly, but the only thing I could do right now was smile and slightly nod. Enough for him to understand. Vronsky's eyes went over my figure. His expression was flat but he tried to act polite. 

Ivan and I separated and Vronsky took a chance to whisper something to him. I couldn't make out any of the words, but I could see Ivan't expression change immediately. He tried to act friendly but miserably failed and excused himself. I tried not to laugh at him and couldn't stop wondering what had Vronsky said to him to make him leave without any protest. Vronsky turned to me.

"Good evening," he smiled,  "It looked like he was bothering you?" Did we actually look that bad? I thought I put on a great performance. 

"I don't think it was that miserable. He only stepped on my shoes three times."

Vronsky let out a rich laugh that I adored and It reminded me how much I miss him. I wanted us to sneak out like before. And I wanted to listen to him talk. But most of all, I wanted to dance with him, and feel his touch even if it was minimal. It was the most I'm ever going to get from him.

I took a step closer and he noticed. I wanted him to read my mind and do the right thing. He looked hesitant. Too hesitant. I looked up at him through my lashes and he tilted his head backwards. Not too much, it was the smallest movement but I noticed. 

"I should g—" 

"Ask me to dance," I blurted out.

He practically whipped his head in my direction and I felt blood rushing into my cheeks. If he refuses I'll leave. I'll leave immediately. And die of embarrassment, while we're at that.

He looked like he was fighting with himself, trying to do what he wanted and what was expected of him. But what I said was painfully forward and I should be ashamed of that. And I would be if it was someone else. With him I felt completely different. A moment passed.

"Very well," he said as he reached for my hand.

I tried to hide my face from him because I swear it was the color of my gown. Scarlet — practically maroon.

He placed one hand on my hip as his other took mine and I forgot everything else. 

His touch burned on me as Vronsky held my gaze. His eyes were mesmerizing and I ached to be closer to him in any possible way. He led me through the ballroom as we moved to the rythm of the soft music that was not so irritating now.

His fingers traced the laces on my back, toying with them. I inhaled sharply and he smirked at me, but we didn't stop dancing. I felt like we were the only ones in the entire room—I couldn't see anything except him. And I wanted it to stay that way.

I was dazed for a couple of seconds before he let go of me and stepped away.

I felt empty and for some reason exposed without his body shielding me from the people in the room.

"I'll bring us something to drink." It was a simple offer and it made me realize how thirsty I actually was. I nodded and moved to the side, so I don't bother anyone. My face was burning. Because of him.

Vronsky appeared seconds later with two wine glasses. Smiling up at him, I reached for one glass but instead of taking it like a normal person I managed to spill it all over my dress. I wanted to cry but he didn't look like it bothered him that I was practically ruined now. I tried to not cause a scene but it was hard. That was my favorite dress.

Tears prickled my eyes, but he didn't let me roll in self pity. "Don't worry. We just need to go somewhere more...private and I'll fix this. But look, now the dress completely matches your face." And he left without letting me respond to his comment. I wanted to crawl in a hole and die, but instead I waited for him.

He came with napkins and took my hand looking awfully suspicious. But I wasn't sure why. 

He looked around and saw that nobody was paying attention to us, though that was unexpected. Alexei smiled like he won the biggest prize and quickly led us through the backdoor of the ballroom. The rest of the house was empty and I swear he could hear my rapid heartbeat along with pulsing in my ears.

I knew what he wanted and where he was going. I was glad I knew his mind so well that he became predictable to me. I knew his desires and dreams and I couldn't help but wish I was one of them.

His white uniform matched perfectly with my much darker dress. Though Alexei was perfectly put together, while I was...the opposite.

We entered some dark room I didn't recognize. It was large but almost empty. It looked like someone's personal gallery. There was a desk in the corner along with some bookshelves. He closed the door. Then locked it. 

My head immediately turned to him, "There is no reason to lock the door, Alexei," I smiled innocently. "We aren't doing anything wrong." 

A moment passed between us. I scanned the shelves and touched the hard spines with golden embroidery. I tried to act like a fool, but I knew.

"We are about to."

And that did it. It made me completely lose my self control as I was throwing away the last pieces of dignity I had tonight. He practically marched towards me and grabbed my neck as he gently placed his mouth on mine. He knew I had absolutely no experience with men, so he was going easy on me. For now.

My whole body was on fire while he almost unnoticeably squeezed my neck. I moaned into his mouth and Vronsky towered over me, leading me back with his body. I was going backwards until I hit the large shelves. 

"Stop me before it's too late," he gasped into my neck. It was intoxicating. Everything about him, about the way he moved to the way he touched me was addicting I wasn't sure I would be able to stop.

"I won't," was all I said, but it made him aware that I was willing to give myself to him completely.

"You said you will take care of my dress," I added, still playing innocent, even if what we were doing was far from that. 

"And I'm planning to do just that," he said as he turned me. I was now facing shelves, my back to him. It gave him complete access to my corset. Which he began to untie immediately. He was skilled with his hands, I realized just now. It made my stomach turn in very unfamiliar way. I didn't know what kind of influence he actually had on me, but I liked it. It made me careless and stupid, but I was in control my whole life. It was nice to give it to someone else now.

Corset was down and my whole body felt hypersensitive for whatever reason. I wanted him to do so many things but I didn't know how to ask or if I was supposed to anyway. So I let him play with me.

"Turn, dorogaya," he whispered from behind and I obeyed. The nickname made me want to grab him and kiss his whole face. Then he went down. "I'm going to make you see stars." 

That was the last thing he said before taking down my skirt and the rest of the undergarments until I was stripped bare in front of him. But I was surprised I wasn't the least bit ashamed. Somehow, this felt completely ordinary with him. I was scared to move. I didn't know what or how to do anything. 

He naturally noticed and smiled, but not in a mocking way. His smile was so sweet I melted. 

"Touch me wherever you want. And however you want. Don't be afraid." That gave me a bit of confidence, so I looked down at him, on his knees. The image before me made me feel things I didn't know I was capable of feeling. I ran my hand through his hair and he closed his eyes, while his eyelids fluttered. 

It seemed like I had the same effect on him. Then I did something that made me question myself. I led his head down, in between my legs and I saw him smirk, but he knew what to do. 

The first time I felt his tongue on me was the closest I'll be to setting myself on fire. I gripped his hair on instinct. 

His mouth was doing wonders to me. I felt every sensation of it through my entire body. My head fell on the shelves and I had to press down a moan. Was this supposed to be this intense? He stopped using his mouth and continued with fingers while continuously kissing my lower stomach.

Vronsky did everything with patience and commitment. I didn't know why I thought this would be any different. I made a noise that sounded painful, but only because he was moving so slowly and torturedmewith his fingers. He shot me a concerned look, "Should I stop?"

"No, no, nonono," I cried out. I felt hard pressure building in my lower stomach and I grew dizzy. He went faster but then stopped and my hips buckled, while I was fighting the urge to do something myself. "Please continue," I pleaded.

"How could I not when you beg me so pretty?" He cocked his head and continued working me much faster this time, but still gentle. He took his time with me, looking at my reactions to certain movements, the sounds I was trying not to make, my face expressions. He knew what he was doing and he did it so well that It actually made me see stars. I choked on a scream as I was trying to catch a breath. My knees buckled and I felt I was closer to the edge.

He switched to his mouth again and Alexei's tongue finished the job. He put my leg over his shoulder to get better access and that completely pushed me.

I finished on his mouth and seconds later went down with him. He held me as I was trying to even out my breathing. "Can we do it again?" I surprised myself by asking.

He smiled down at me, "When you become countess, yes."

[doctorcrowleywho]

December 5. “Seriously, I told you that you would get sick going out like that.” (Crowley x reader)

25 Days of Ficmas - Day 5

“Seriously, I told you that you would get sick going out like that.” (Crowley x reader)

Word count -   1366  

Warnings - None!

Pairing(s) - Crowley x Gn! Reader

Summary - A confident demon gets sick and you have to take care of him

“Crowley, are you ready?” you called from the front entrance of his flat. Trying to best to busy yourself, you couldn’t help but check your watch a couple of extra times. You were going to be late for your boss's holiday party, and it was going to be his fault.

You could have just gone on your own, sure, but he insisted on meeting your friends now that you two were ‘serious’. Crowley was your first real serious boyfriend. It was nice to have someone that treated you right. When it came to romantic partners in the past, you always seemed to get the short end of the stick. To be fair, you weren’t totally sure what a good, healthy relationship was supposed to look like.

Then you met Crowley, and everything changed. He swept you off your feet and made sure you never forgot just how much he cared about you. Crowley was such a good boyfriend that sometimes you wondered if he was actually real. There was no way a man was this perfect. Well, no human man was.

“Coming darling!” he called from his bedroom and you rolled your eyes, hearing a small crash. Confident footsteps could be heard behind you as he took your hand and spun you around. “Angel, may I say you look absolutely stunning in that outfit,” he whispered, letting his eyes take their sweet time taking you in.

At his words, you could practically feel your insides turn to jelly. You turned as red as your Christmas sweater as you gave him a quick glance over. “Is that what you’re wearing?” you asked, crossing your arms. This man was seriously wearing a long sleeve black sheer shirt that had a large snake slithering its way up his back and his classic black leather trousers to top it all off. His shoulder-length hair was tied up in its normal half-up, half-down look, which always tempted you to run your hands through it. Nothing about his outfit said Christmas. In fact, it screamed “flashy bastard” more than anything. But that wasn’t the point. The point was he wasn’t wearing anything else.

“What you don’t like it?” he asked, sounding like a wounded animal as he gave you a small twirl. He wanted to make sure you got the full view of the outfit.

“No no I do, it's just… aren’t you wearing a jacket? It’s currently snowing and we’re walking to the party.” You reminded him as you tugged on your jacket, buttoning it up as tight as it could go.

He gave you a fake pout as he shook his head. "Meh don’t need one, I have hellfire running through my veins.” he said proudly taking your hand in his.

There were times when you enjoyed Crowley's dramatics. It was honestly quite cute to see him get this worked up about something small. Usually, you’d even playfully fight with him until you typically won, but you were already late to the party. So, off you two went trudging through the snow.

A few minutes passed and you could feel your demon boyfriend shivering right next to you. A smug smile tugged at your lips, but you tried your best to fight it. A couple more seconds went by and you could hear quiet little sniffles now.

 “Is someone cold?” You asked, not hiding your smirk anymore.

“Me? Cold? How dare you even insist on-demons never get cold, love! Remember the hellfire?” he stumbled over his words, trying to fight every shiver that ran through his body. How was it his fault that your boss choose the coldest night of the year to have their Christmas party?

You let out a giggle as you shook your head. As you two reached the building, you could feel him sigh in relief. “Right, well don’t complain to me if you get sick.” you kissed his nose as he held the door open for you.

 -two days later-

 The party actually went well. A few people commented on Crowley’s outfit being more confused than anything else. But, he’d always proudly respond that he was ‘Doing Christmas with style!’ which, in all fairness, he absolutely was doing just that. That comment usually got you a small pat on the back with a small ‘Well, he’s defiantly different’ remark.

You were getting ready to leave to see if Crowley wanted to do anything for dinner. You weren’t hoping for anything special, maybe just a small night in while you force him to watch one of your favorite movies. The ones where he pretends he hates, but deep down you know he absolutely loves. When you got a text for him.

‘Be a dear and pick up some soup and maybe some tea? - C x’

Reading this twice over, you still didn’t exactly understand. First of all, demons didn’t have to eat. This was extremely apparent to you on your first date as he simply watched you eat everything. It wasn’t exactly creepy, but it made much more sense after he told you he was a demon. Second off, when did Crowley ever enjoy tea? He reminded you almost every day that he took his coffee as dark as his soul. In fact, you still remember the glare he gave you when you ordered him a glass of milk once.

Why on earth would Crowley ever need you to-suddenly it hit you. Quickly, you rushed to the local cafe right across from Aziraphale's bookshop and headed to your partner's flat.

 “Oh, Crowley my snowflake, I have your things!” You called out as you entered his place. You raised your eyebrows as you were met with silence, which was extremely odd. Usually, he practically tackled you with a kiss the moment you stepped foot into the place.

“Crow-”

“In here-ACHOO” he finally sniffled out from the bedroom, and you felt that same smug feeling you felt on the walk to the party.

 As you shuffled into his bedroom, you couldn’t hide the smirk that crawled its way onto your face. The sight that lay before you was one you hoped you never would forget. Your confident, bold, and proud partner was tangled up in about five different blankets and surrounded by a sea of crumpled-up tissues. He looked absolutely miserable with his glasses off, revealing a pair of exhausted golden eyes with the reddest nose you’ve ever seen.

 “Hi,” he made out before he had to blow his nose again, which made you giggle softly. “, hey don’t you dare make fun of a sick demon! You want me to rein hellfire down upon you? Cause I-I'll-ACHOO…..do it.” he gripped onto the cup of tea that you gave him as if it was his lifeline.

 You gave him a fake pout as you placed the cup of soup by his bed. Quickly, you got to work cleaning up all the tissues around him throwing them in the trashcan next to his bed. “I told you that you would get sick going out like that.” you tsked, running your fingers gently through his hair.

 “Seriously, you’re really going to ‘I told you so’ me right now??” he hissed before sipping his tea. It was hard to find him threatening when he was all cuddled up in different colored fuzzy blankets.

You rolled your eyes at his comment as you lightly tapped his leg, indicating for him to scoot over, which he happily did so. As you got under the blankets, he automatically wrapped himself around you, pulling you as close as he possibly could.

“I thought demons couldn’t get sick? I thought you had ‘hellfire flowing through your veins’?” You mused, smiling to yourself as he flicked his head up in offense.

 “I’m no ordinary demon dear.” he tried his best to wink at you but failed. Slowly, he picked his head up and leaned in to kiss you, but you put a finger to his lips.

“Nope, sorry love, I’m not kissing Crowley the red-nose reindeer.” You teased as he grumbled and nuzzled his head back into your neck. 

[bainofjustice]

Kitty's Notes On Episode 2 Of The Payday Web Series

It is really funny to me that they made a “previously on” part for a web show and to recap a episode that clocks in at 6 minutes 

It's funny that Dallas & Houston have time for a very small argument. Also helps set up the insane amount of tension the web show portrays them having

The editing/camrea is so choppy like this isn't a review but omg I had to write that down

Okay it looks like Wolf keeps zip ties on his belt, makes sense both for the game stuff of tying up civis and also is probably helpful for his mechines

Chains and Houston demask INSIDE A FUCKING VAULT post running out of ammo and while they do tell the civis present to not look this is just such a bad idea especially because the vault is basically surrounded by cops 

But also the bromance between Houston & Chains is real, like they're in a bad situation and they plan it out

Also it seems like Dallas and Wolf are the main movers of goods within this heist, I'm not sure they're the best picks but with the limits the gang had at the time I suppose they aren't the worst, it just feels like in general the plan doesn't cater to the real talents of the gang. Which tbh is probably because the web show is meant to be a ad, so they wanted more action which required mostly gun fights and they didn't do fight scenes in a intelligental way 

Also I just realized for some reason Chains is using a damn hand gun meanwhile it's Houston with a assault rifle, which really doesn't seem catered to their skills

I just remembered a little later after writing the above that Chains mentioned being out of ammo for his own assault rifle so not as bad as I thought, still wonder why they didn't switch at any point, like it worked out but yeah

One thing I do like about the action scenes is that the gang uses more than juet guns and use melee attacks as well

Houston is able to flat out flip a guy over and steal his gun, I feel pretty confident in saying Houston has probably taken some hand to hand combat lessons.

Also it appears that both Dallas and Wolf are using assault rifles which makes sense given their roles in the heist.

WE GOT A WILHELM SCREAM!!!

In better lighting it seems Wolf actually has a shotgun which is even better for him actually 

We see the escape driver when Dallas and Wolf are ambushed at the escape van, he appears to be at most middle age, white, brown hair, slightly fatter build and wears a black hoodie with a band or event tee-shirt under the hoodie, grabbing a pic to see if I can locate the shirt later.

We see several of Vlad's men during the ambush including who we later learn seems to be his right hand / personal bodyguard

Vlad's intro is so funny to me, like he holds the gang at gunpoint and stalls their escape and this actually manages to end with him getting the gang to work with him, like I am sure that Bain or Vlad carefully planned this part but it could have easily gone wrong if for example Wolf shoot someone without thinking it through, or if a officer managed to follow them to the van, especially since everyone unmasks!

Houston Vc: Do you know these guys?.    Dallas, who is being held at gunpoint vc: does it look like I know these guys?

1. Vlad decides to shout “Bain” while explaining he is a ally, 2. He calls Bain in this instance “Mr Bain” which I find to be a fun detail of characterization and also to how at the time the only people sorta comfortable enough around Bain to be confident when saying his name and such is the core members of the Payday gan

Ah and then Dallas has to go back uncover which requires faking a injury, which he lets Houston do the honors of punching him, only adding to the family feud they seem to have in the web series. Also this one punch is enough to knock Dallas to the ground.

Also funnily Dallas or should I say, “Nathen Steele” is the one to call in the first world bank heist

Bain vapes! We see him vape, we also hear him in game talk about smoking cigars, so either he does both or in my opinion more likely he lies about the details of his smoking habits even to the gang.

We can see that Bain wears a leather jacket with a design on the back & front when in his lair, the design most looks like fire to me but it's very dark, I would love to someday see some behind the scenes footage or something with the costume.

[siremasterlawrence]

The DA’s Last Stand

Mayor Chris is at my disposal for whateverI want, whenever I want without question and soon I will rule over all that live in my city and so much more when I take over the country my future empire.That is until that shit for brains asshole of a District Attorney starts mounting a plan that is some poorly I’ll conceived and a campaign that can’t even be supported with no proof to back up his claims. I should have never left the office in our safe home to meet him for some impromptu fake meeting where he hired a hit man to end my existence and eviscerate any proof of me to this world. Unfortunately! I see the shadow in my rear view mirror but before I can react a needle goes in to my neck and my lights go out only to wake up tied to some random chair.I can see the man The District Attorney Jake in the flesh himself an air of confidence and cockiness composes him and I can sense that that will be fun or at least interesting time of my life at the moment because imagine to loosen the rope. He is undone watching me to rise to my feet stretching in his face, completely ignoring the face he is staring me down in disrespect because I can no longer care.

“What did you think would happen Jake? “

“You need to help me take down Chris “

“Or what? He is none of your concern “

“You work for him…name names “

“Even if I could…that’s a no go”

“Give me what I want”

“What is that exactly?”

“Everything you have on him”

“Let me guess you plan to kill me “

“You are too involved “

“Call of your sniper “

“Not possible”

“Fine, take him out motherfucker “

“No! My body is stuck”

“Punch yourself Jake”

“Wait! How?”

“Stop hitting yourself “

“Who is in charge?”

“Fuck you !”

“Language! Approach me properly “

“Yes Master…that’s how you did it”

“You mean corrupted him”

“Oh Poor Baby! Such a childish thought “

“I merely re-educated him”

“You belong to me, your hit man does too “

“You will obey me and love me like Chris”

“Why would I fight? How could I resist?”

The Mayor Chris is in frantic mode worrying about me his Master as he sent people out to hunt for me, he is so madly in love with me the idea of any harm coming to me is train me out, and he took his time to call

out all the people he believes might of kidnap me. Ian is in a deep sweat pondering what the hell is wrong with him that he got caught up in my dramatic assault of his mind, he fell for me driving into the deepest, farthest, and darkest winds of the woods surrounding us and he kisses me sweetly

as he protects me from the Hit Man he hired not four hours ago. The man angry at him

as he takes nose dive over the metal rails doing a superhero lands then goes on the offensive attacking me head on, the man happily shoves him to the ground in a major efforts sits on him than he feels the major affects of my power radiates form me. I have a feeling some sort of power shoots in to the air glowing around me with a beauty aura encircling my body as Sebastian the supposed Hit Man is about to meet me for life and I lift up from the ground as he hugs me tights as the scent off me flow in to his air mixing his emotions and feeling playing with him. Ian obediently stood upward onto the wall propped up to serve me as I please

no questions asked watching Sebastian join him as my puppet and neither could resist or fight me for the longterm because he loves me now.

“Oh Master! Do you love me?”

“You know I do Ian”

“I am attending to you “

“Ian and Sebastian “

“Yes Master!”

“Kneel before me and swear”

“Who am I? Answer me”

“You are my God! My love”

“The universe can’t compare to me”

“You are the love of my life babe”

“Don’t call me babe”

“Sorry Master”

“Can I do anything?”

“For you my king?”

“I’ll kill for you “

“Can I go after the Mayor?”

“Eviscerate him”

“Make him sweat”

“Are you mine?”

“Naturally! Only right “

“My what?”

“I am your pussy “

“Say it”

“Pussy boi”

“I love you “

“Drive me back to the office “

“Why do we have to share you ?”

“Because I will it “

“I say so”

“You understand me”

The end

[storiesabouthumanandthings]

The Punk and The Suit 6

“So what type of clothes were you planning on getting?”

Kristoph shrugs, “Not really sure. Never really had too much of a choice so not sure what will fit right?”

Kieran scoffs, “It’s not about fitting right, that’s easy. Just grab clothes in your size, grab a belt if needed. It’s more about style. What kind of look do you want?”

“Look?”

“Do you want just your basic skate clothes? Loose shirt and shorts? Or did you want to try and branch out in a genre? Like punk and get you some patches and spikes? Goth and get you some makeup? Gangster and get you something with Lil Wayne or Run DMC on the shirt?”

Kristoph was shocked, “Oh, I hadn’t really thought about all that. I was just thinking of getting a shirt, shorts, and shoes. And a bunch of padding.” He gets a bit bashful, “Um, but if we are looking for a style then, I do like your clothes. It gives off an air of confidence without you saying anything.”

“You want in my clothes?” Kieran teases, “The confidence is from the person, not the clothes but we can definitely get you something that might fit you.”

They head over to the mall and into a skate shop. “This will be a good enough place for you to get a basic board that’s better than a mass produced board. Plus we can get you the pads you want and get you out of that suit and into some normal clothes. Tired of looking like I’m with my lawyer.”

Kristoph nodded and looked around and saw disassembled boards on the wall next to the counters and clothing racks, “But the boards are in pieces? How am I supposed to pick?”

Kieran waves over to the boards, “Just pick an art style you like. I’ll worry about the the rest.”

Kristoph walks over and stares at the boards. There were so many. Quickly there was some he liked and hated. Many he felt no opinion over as they were just brand logos. Kristoph accidentally mutters aloud as he is looking, “There is all these sexy women on these boards but where are the sexy men?”

Kieran snorts trying not to giggle, “Um, I am usually riding the board.”

Kristoph looks over a Kieran who is laughing now, quite embarrassed, but tries to fire back, “I never said I thought you were sexy.”

Kieran looks fake offended but before he could offer a rebuttal, Kristoph pulls down a board, “I think this one will suit me perfectly.”

Kieran looks at the board and is now genuinely offended, “You have got to be fucking kidding me?”

Kristoph laughs and hands him the board, “You tease me so much about always being in a suit and tie. I am not sure that you would recognized me without one. At least this way, my board will have one if I don’t.”

On the board it says ‘CORPORATE’ and above that is a folded button up long sleeve shirt with 2 ties tied, both with a base of yellow with stripes, one with blue and one with red.

Kristoph leaves Kieran looking at the board, who is still shaking his head, and calling over the sales clerk to get access to the other pieces he’ll need for the board.

Kristoph quickly grabs a pair of shorts that are in his size with a pair of shoes. Then he looks over and sees a shirt he has to have. He grabs it quickly with a couple of others in his size, hiding the first underneath.

Once done, he walks back to Kieran as the sales person hands him the completed board.

The employee looks over at Kristoph, “Oh! Now it makes sense.”

Kieran sighs and nods his head before he asks “Can we use the dressing room?”

The employee says “Of course, follow me.” and walks to the back and unlocks the door.

“What? You want me try this on now?!” Kristoph flushes.

“Need to make sure it fits right and feels nice before you buy. Don’t want to get home just for you to have to come back to return it.”

Kristoph hesitated, he wanted to try them on at home where he was comfortable (and alone) but knew Kieran wouldn’t let it go.

A few minutes later, Kristoph walked out in shorts and a loose shirt.

“Looks like you’re ready to skate but how does it feel?”

Kristoph couldn’t lie, “Weird.” He softly wiggled his arms and shoulders, “The armholes, neck, and waist all fit fine but I’m not used to the clothes being so loose.”

Kieran nodded, “Supposedly helps to keep you cool with air flow. But otherwise good?”

“Yeah but there is something else I wanted to try.”

He goes back in and quickly comes back out, this time in a loose tank top.

Kieran claps as he comes out, “Nice, showing off those guns. Didn’t know you had such large arms under the suit.”

Kristoph nods and blushes, “Thanks. Uh there is still one more thing I want to try. Really not sure about this.”

This time it takes a good moment before the door starts to open and Kristoph calls out, “Kieran, you still there?”

“Yeah, I have no where else to go, hurry up and come out.”

“Okay,” Kristoph squeaks out. This time it’s a fish net shirt that would have matched Kieran’s the first night they met, “How’s this?”

Kieran coughs, “A long way from the suit now. How does it make you feel?”

Kristoph, “I’m not sure. I feel a bit exposed. Not sure if I like it.”

“Well you are exposed. Not making fun but I can see your nipple poking though a hole. I can’t help but to stare at it. Your belly and happy trail are on display. I will say I am enjoying the view but the real question is do you mind being viewed because there is no hiding in this.”

Kristoph nervously covers his stomach and chest with his arms and hands, “So that sounds like you think it looks good on me? Seriously?”

Kieran nods, “Hell yeah man. You wear that, get some swag in your walk like you do when you wear your suit, you’ll have the ladies and lads lined up. I just wouldn’t wear it when you skate.”

“But you do?!”

“Yeah but I know how to skate. And more importantly, how to fall. You don’t yet, so if you fall in that you are getting some nasty skid rash. For now, I would stick with a regular T for coverage. It’s not much better honestly but you won’t also destroy your shirt in the process.”

Kristoph nodded and changed back to the suit.

While waiting, the sales clerk came over to Kieran, “Now I see why you are trying to get him out of that suit. Woof.”

Kieran blushed and awkwardly chuckled, “Thanks, got lucky with that one.”

Kristoph came out with the pile of clothes and set it on the counter with the board. It was all paid for and placed in a bag.

As they walked out, Kristoph turned gleefully to Kieran “Now it’s your turn.”

First Previous Next

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/716061146519633920/please-please-report-people-who-put-their-ko-fi

Is kicking and screaming about how "there’s literally no argument that can win when popular blog says you’re wrong," a cute way of saying, "I've realized how many people disagree with me, and I have learnt new information that makes me nervous about insisting that AO3 is *checks notes* run by cops, but backing down humiliates me so I'm going to pretend I'm losing this argument because I'm a victim being bullied by a BNF"?

--

Oh, it could be a million different things.

But it for sure is pretending that somebody with a few thousand tumblr followers is categorically different from somebody with... a few hundred? A few dozen? It's not like one can tell on Tumblr! Nobody would even know how many followers I have if I didn't say now and then, and I've had people whining about my supposed popularity way back to when I had few followers but had a rash of asks in a row. ("Waaah, people interact with you, so you're more popular than meee!!" Jesus.)

This idea that ~BNFs~ are soooo different goes back decades, and it's poison.

And I don't even mean that you're making some rando's life suck by treating them like some fake internet micro-celebrity (though most people branded "BNF" do have a worse fandom experience after they get popular). I mean that it's bad for oneself to perceive categorically different Celebrities or Authorities in people who are actually peers.

You're not lesser than those other people just because you don't have a hit fanfic. You're not even necessarily less popular.

Yeah, sometimes, if you shit on so-and-so's objectively awful fanfic, their legions of annoying fans will show up to yell at you, and that's annoying. Fandom and tumblr fame are still on a long sliding scale. This isn't BNFs vs. Regular Joes: It's a bunch of people with constantly fluctuating social ties interacting in a thousand directions with a thousand power dynamics every moment.

"I'm less popular so no one will listen to me" is a cop out people use when they aren't confident in their own arguments.

I've been tumblr popular for, what, two years? Three years? I was just as willing to argue with people about things I believed in before that. It's only the number of reblogs agreeing with me that has changed.

If you make a good point and you argue it well, some of the bystanders will agree with you.

If you make transparently idiotic points, many of them will not.

This is what it means to be in an intellectual society that values discussion.

And if you don't like coming to the salon to argue with the other nerds intellectuals... then why on earth are you interacting with the kinds of posts I make?

It's particularly true for my own posts because I read my entire activity list and notice commentary, including tag commentary, but I'd have this assumption for any post that gave off Metafilter/Reddit/LJ's Metafandom type vibes. Come to the discussion place, signal that you're open to discussion, expect discussion to ensue.

[phefics]

i love seeing all the pornstar!aus y’all write and this is not me calling anyone out saying y’all did anything wrong but as someone who has done online sw/been in porn, here are some little tips to make your fics more industry-accurate!! (or don’t, fanfic is for fun and doesn’t have to be realistic!!)

so i worked with a small indie producer who wrote, filmed, edited, and posted all his own shit so i don’t know how big porn sites do their stuff. i also did fetish porn so i’m not familiar with condom/sti testing protocol since i never had sex with anyone on camera!!

normally, i’d show up in comfy clothes and light makeup and change my clothes/touch up my makeup and hair there and i always brought multiple outfit choices to see what worked best (i.e. if my clothes needed to be easily removable, if there was a plot i needed to adhere to)

i personally got paid $200/video but bigger name companies pay better AND if you are a desirable model with a big following, you can charge more - i was a nobody when i started and never felt a need to charge more

lots of paperwork!! you have to show your i.d. and basically sign papers saying that you consented to all acts performed, you consented to being filmed, and that you were properly compensated

90% of models never use their real name in videos, but fellow models usually know one another’s real names, because you usually only use that fake name when the camera is rolling

before a shoot, the director will usually refresh you on the “plot” (if there is one) and what is supposed to happen in the video, remind you and the other model(s) to use stage names, and remind you of one another’s boundaries before hitting record

when the camera is off, you’re covered — even if you’re tied up, someone will usually drape a blanket or towel over you so that you aren’t unnecessarily nude to prevent discomfort — being naked on camera is different than just being awkwardly naked in a room full of people lol

the producer i worked with is like, my friend, and i consider most of the models i worked with as friends/acquaintances so it really isn’t weird to be close with people you meet in the industry, or even date/fuck them (although i haven’t done that personally but i’ve seen it happen!!)

so, that’s all that comes to mind!! if you wanna write pornstar!aus i think they can be so fun, so i hope this post can help inspire you or just feel more confident tackling a topic you might not be familiar with and feel weird googling questions about, lol.

[crisalidaseason]

Mad Guerrila and Irritatingly Logical Commander

Part two of my Commander and Guerrila story. Corrections were made because Tumblr hates me

Summary: Armin comes back half a year after the encounter with the guerrilla. He misses them, but not the only one who does. Tags: mentions of political persecution, mostly light hearted and attempt to be funny, just a sprinkle of angst, Armin fakes confidence a lot, Armin is a little sassy, reader is chaos, reader is conflicted, reader has a fake name (Kai), Arthur is a father figure for everyone, you love the braus family. Jean and Connie (they are TW)

Armin watched as the ship docked and the eager passengers started to leave in a chaotic hurry. Eldia was never crowded with visitors, but the amount of ships was still bizarre for such a small and extremely vigilant island. Armin could never really say that he missed that place, it had lost the sense of home years ago, when all the ties to that land left him wounded. The only reason he was still stepping foot there had to do with Mikasa, to check on her safety and well being. Of course, he also had the agreements to fulfill and the endless reports to narrate to the army. He hated that every visit had his neck on a rope, but there was nothing he could do about that.

“Hey, we should hurry” Jean stopped beside him “the sooner we report, the faster we get to visit Mikasa”

Armin nodded, sighing deeply. He went to his private and small room on the ship to collect his luggage and walked towards the ship’s disembarkation spot. Jean was already waiting for him, alongside Reiner and Connie.

“Pieck and Annie?” the blond asked.

Connie pointed to the pier area, where the two women waited for them. Armin could not blame them, crossing the ocean for so long was taking a tool on all of them. That three month trip back to Eldia was the longest they ever went through. Armin joined his comrades, leaving the ship and heading towards the two women. A few employees of the small harbor were beside them and soon the workers were offering to put their belongings in a relatively new auto.

“Queen Historia’s guests, am I right?” one of the men asked “we were requested to take you to the main headquarters”

Armin tried not to grunt out of frustration and let go of his luggage so the man could take it. He was hoping that the army would not ask for more than a few hours of his attention, but Armin guessed that luck was never on his side. He motioned for Annie and Pieck to approach and the group divided themselves into two autos. The trip was short, about 15 minutes, but enough to irritate the former commander since the engine was too warm and noisy. Also, the driver seemed to make everything on their power to shake the auto around and hit every bump on the street.

“Here we are” the driver said, with a strange voice.

Armin left the car, adjusting his clothes. He turned to take his luggage and almost had a heart attack once he glanced at the driver’s profile. Whatever noise of surprise he was about to let out was strongly drowned.

What are they doing here?!

“Thank you” Jean said to the driver, oblivious to Armin’s sudden frozen frame.

The driver had a thick beret and a standard harbor staff uniform. But Armin could recognize that profile in an instant, never able to forget that face.

“Armin, you’re okay?” Jean touched his shoulder.

Snapping back to reality, he took his luggage, eyes deviating from the not-really-stranger.

“Thank you” he said to the driver.

Armin wanted to scream. How was he supposed to concentrate on anything knowing that the guerrilla was his driver?

He saw the small and discreet smirk on their face before they restarted the engine and left. Armin shook his head and entered the building, feeling like his feet were made of clouds, the companions giving him concerned looks but not asking anything. The army greeted them and directed their belongings to the many rooms in the headquarters. Soon, they were locked in a meeting room, where everyone spent the afternoon giving a report. Armin had to focus really hard not to be incoherent, mind still on the driver, while Jean gave his report of the latest agreement with the south meridian countries. Armin could only think about how to find the guerrilla again.

Did they work as a driver or…was that just for Armin? He wanted to believe the latter, but there was no way they knew his party would arrive today.

Were they insane? Probably yes. Parading themselves into military territory as if they were not a political enemy, one that almost died from a bullet wound months ago.

“Mr. Arlert” a voice brought him back. The eldian army’s commander looked at him as if he was a stupid little insect on his way.

Armin had memorized the auto’s appearance, maybe he could find them by searching for the machine? He had to. Now that fate gave him a sight of their face, Armin had to see them again.

“Yes, sir” Armin replied, trying to play the usual composure.

“We must have a response from the east islands as soon as possible, look into that”

Armin nodded. Holding his tongue to not insult the man in front of him. Finally, the meeting was declared finished when the last sun rays were already leaving.

“We should eat something” Pieck suggested “maybe going out for a homemade meal nearby, I genuinely don’t want to have dinner with the soldiers”

Armin nodded, the other ones also agreeing. A few minutes later, the group of six were sharing a meal in a small inn, where a young girl was singing and playing some percussion instrument that Armin was not familiar with. The ambience was calm and the group could almost forget about their tiring day and heavy burden of duty. The former commander could say he was finally enjoying a meal for the first time in ages, watching as Annie and Pieck made fun of Connie’s lack of table manners, even if they were both just as bad. Jean was calmly eating, Reiner laughing at Connie’s antics but also keeping a calmer stance. Armin never grew close to Reiner or Pieck, but he could recognize their effort. Mostly, he was closer to Jean and maybe Annie, when she was not being insufferable with him. Looking at his comrades, he imagined if the mad-guerrilla had moments like these.

Did they have occasional dinners with their comrades?

Are their friends still alive?

Are they able to just be publicly laughing and enjoying music like Armin was?

He imagined many of those answers were a dry and sad No. He looked around, hoping that any moment he would see that familiar face come inside the inn, sit beside him and talk the night away. A delusional part of Armin wanted to take them to dinner, only the two of them, sharing things about themselves and laughing. Armin wanted to know their favorite food, the books they liked the most, their saddest moments, the happy memories. That was so stupid, he should not be so attached to someone that still remained unnamed to him.

“Come on, let’s head back” Jeans voice brought him back “You’re getting too wild, Connie”

Their journey back to the headquarters was filled with Connie and Jean’s bickering. Armin could not help but remember a third person in between them, a sad reminder that things were incomplete. He accompanied Pieck and Annie to their room for safety measures, wishing them a good night and rest, and after making sure the others were safe in their rooms he finally headed to his own. It was small with no windows, probably nothing more than a regular captain’s room, which Armin was not upset about but he could see the mockery the military made of him. Every time he came to this forsaken island, the extremists made sure to humiliate his revoked status. Armin shook his head, choosing not to dwell into those thoughts, he opened his bag to fetch some sleeping clothes and found a piece of paper inside.

You look very handsome in tailored clothing. It was nice seeing you again. Don’t look for me!!

When did this happen? How did they even slip a paper inside his bag? And how dare they just appear in Armin’s life, completely spin his world, and just say “don’t look for me”?

Armin changed his clothes and laid in bed, taking the piece of paper with him. He looked at the handwriting, not dainty but not bad either, just a common handwriting. The ink had horrible quality, which made Armin fear that the message would not last much longer on the paper. He wanted to keep it forever. Turning the paper, he almost missed a faint scribble mark on the back. Now, his years sending small letters to Mikasa during cadet training were enough to teach him some things. He took a small piece of charcoal from his writing kit, softly gliding it on the surface of the paper, revealing a hidden message.

What’s the dumbest place to die?

He smiled, too big of a smile for his own good. That guerrilla might be mad, but he was the one losing his mind.

---

You were feeding Pots when the young boy called you.

“Dad told me to warn you that they arrived”

Ivan left just as quickly as he came, leaving you an anxious mess.

“Wish me luck, roommate” you said to the horse.

You closed the horse stall, slowly making your way to the front of the stable. You did not come often to Arthur’s farm, but when you did he always left the horse feeding duties to you.

“payment for the blood I had to clean” he told you when you visited him after the incident.

You gladly did it. Whatever payment you could give Arthur would never compare to the mercy he offered not only to you, but to many other people. He had a long history of harboring runaways there and he had been doing so for a while. You tried to visit him as much as you could, warning the Braus family of any attacks your people were elaborating, making sure they were not harmed. His big family never asked about your alliance with the rioters, but you knew they were aware of it.

“You grow taller every time I see you” Arthur’s voice could be heard from the stable.

He was speaking to a tall man, with dark blond hair and a rather sparse beard. He was indeed very tall. Beside him, there was another tall and large man, with lighter blonde hair. You did not recognize them at all, but they had the physique of soldiers. You were never enlisted in the corps back in the day, but you saw their training enough to understand how hard it shaped them.

“You’re probably shrinking, old man” the tall dark blond man said.

From the auto parked in front of the house, two beautiful women left alongside a buzzed headed man. The women were on the shorter side, one blonde and the other brunette. You recognized the blond woman, she was one of the reasons your district was ruined years ago during a titan fight. Such a small person and that much damage. You always found it odd how she roamed free amongst her enemies, but you had your fair share of ‘working with the devil’.

“Commander, it’s been a while” Arthur’s voice was excited.

The man that haunted your thoughts was there. Pretty as ever, and handsome at the same time, he stood in an elegant and casual outfit. He looked good in blue, too good for your focus to work properly. You observed as he greeted Arthur, speaking something you could not concentrate on enough. The group entered the home, but Arthur stopped Armin from going inside, whispering something to him. Armin looked in the direction of the stables, nodding to the older man and quickly walking over.

You felt like your heart would give up any moment. Arthur, you son of a-

Trying to calm your drumming heart, you waited for the man to enter the stable. Your eyes refused to leave his beautiful frame while he got closer and closer. He finally opened the wooden gate, looking around and spotting you leaning on the wall.

“Hello, Commander. Good to see you alive” you said.

He just stood there, looking at you as if you were a ghost. Was he always that awkward?

“Did you unlearn how to speak?” you said again.

His surprised expression soon turned upset.

“Are you completely and utterly mad?” he finally replied.

Excuse me? What the actual fuck?

“Excuse me?”

“You are literally a target and the first time I see you again is when your mad self drives me directly into army territory?”

“Oh, that? I do that all the time. How do you think I gather information?”

He threw his hands in the air, flabbergasted.

“You do this often!” he exclaimed.

“Um, yes! That’s exactly how I am able to watch them without being noticed. People don’t look at their drivers” you explained.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, but the smile betrayed his upset feelings.

“This is exactly why you end up bleeding in stables” he mocked you “I received your note, by the way. How did you even slip that into my bag?”

“I have my ways” you said “Did you like my note?”

You could see his cheeks and nose get progressively more red. For someone as handsome and seemingly confident you did not imagine him being so shy regarding compliments, especially when he was so quick to scold you for doing your literal job!

“It’s good to see you well” he said “how’s the wound?”

You lifted your shirt a little, showing him the faint and jagged line that adorned your skin.

“It’s ugly, I filed a formal complaint about the nurse”

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Formal complaints require a name and, if I recall well, you don’t have a name, Guerrilla”

“I do have one, and stop calling me that!” you complained.

“When you give me a name” he replied “even a-”

“Even a fake one” you completed “not happening, Commander. Besides, I am hungry and Arthur owes me food”

You walked past Armin, making an effort to bump into him, smiling annoyingly once he complained. He soon followed you into the farm house.

“You’re visiting him often?”

“Not really, I still keep a good distance between my visits” you said “just to make sure nobody is on my shadow”

“You had any troubles with the soldiers lately?”

“Not really, I was laying low for a few months. I returned to my duties a few weeks ago” you replied “and what about you? It’s been almost half a year since I saw my personal nurse”

“Diplomatic trips. Always takes too long and the ship trips are endless” he complained, rubbing his neck as if the tiredness still clung to him.

Even in your feverish state a few months ago, you could see he was a very tired man. A tiredness that was not only physical. You knew he was only one or two years older than you, but he acted as if he lived so much more. You guessed it was understandable, sometimes you also felt like you lived too long.

“That seems awful” you were not certain of what to say “but at least you’re back”

“Yes”

He was about to open the front door to you when you stopped him.

“Um, your friends are there. Let’s not mention my…political status?” you said “me and Arthur have a lie made up. I’m his occasional employee”

“Oh, alright” he said “I assume I should keep my nurse activities in secret as well”

“Yes”

He nodded and you let him open the door.

“Excuse me for a moment. I’ll be right back” he said, disappearing into the home.

Odd. You thought. You went to the backyard, where Arthur was preparing the table for dinner, Nicollo nowhere in sight, probably still cooking in the kitchen. You greeted a few of his kids, whose names you never remembered well, but they were nice enough.

“So you decided to join us for dinner this time? I wonder why” Arthur said to you, a stupid grin on his face.

“Shut up” you mouthed to him.

He laughed. You helped him prepare the table by placing all the plates and cutlery. You never stayed for dinner and usually ate whatever plate Arthur gave you on the stables or front porch. He would always invite you to join the table, but you were scared of getting even more attached and always declined. Your gratitude towards the Braus family, Arthur in particular, was already more than enough. The old man seemed to never take it personally though, which you appreciated.

“All done” Arthur said “let's bring the food and call everyone”

Soon enough, dinner was fully set and everyone was already taking their seat. You saw as the other new faces arrived, their eyes focusing on you. Looking at your plate, you avoided looking up and tried to remain as invisible as possible. Joining for dinner was a mistake, all for a boy you were stupidly infatuated with. You had a complicated enough life, adding strange romantic feelings was stupid.

“How rude of me” Arthur’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts “everyone, this is Kai, my helper from time to time”

He put a hand on your shoulder, patting it slightly. He pointed at the new faces, presenting their names to you. Knowing your wonderful memory, you would probably forget or mix them up soon enough.

“Nice to meet you” Armin said “Kai”

He had a very innocent and warm expression. Piece of shit, you were going to slap that pretty face when opportunity came.

---

Armin had a hard time keeping his attention on other people. He wanted to speak openly with one specific person, ask them many questions and sit by them. He could not do it, of course, not without raising any suspicion. Glancing at them from across the table, he noticed that they seemed shy, which was not something Armin expected from them.

Kai. Was it their real name? It did not matter, he thought it fit them even if it was fake.

Mikasa kicked him softly under the table. He looked at his longtime friend, her face questioning and her eyes slightly moving to Kai. Was he that obvious? or just enough for Mika to notice? He just shrugged, turning his attention back to Jean and Connie’s bickering with Ivan.

“Kai, right?” Mikasa’s voice was low, but clear “I saw you around a few times, but I never presented myself. Mikasa”

Armin tried not to choke on his food. He had the sensation Mikasa would make him pay for all the teasing regarding her and Annie’s situationship.

“Pleasure to meet you” they shook Mikasa’s hand, face a little stunned.

Thankfully, their initial conversation was ordinary. He noticed Kai would give many vague answers, probably to preserve their identity, but enough to engage Mikasa. He was slowly dragged into conversation.

“So, are all of you old comrades?” Kai asked at some point.

“Most of us” Armin replied “we all joined in the same year. Although me and Mikasa know one another the longest, about…twelve or thirteen years”

“Wow” Kai replied, face slightly thoughtful.

“A blessing and a curse” Mikasa broke the momentaneous silence “he can be irritatingly logical sometimes”

Kai laughed, agreeing. Anyone outside would not read too much into it, but Armin knew they were recalling their first meeting on the horse stall.

“I also happen to be a very good friend” he replied to Mikasa, slightly kicking her under the table.

Dinner lasted for a few hours, Arthur sent his kids to the main home to prepare for bed while the older ones carried all the dishes back to the outside kitchen. Armin saw as Kai took washing duties. Arthur tried to argue that it was his turn to do it, but they shooed him away.

“Leave, old man” they said “they’re my dishes now”

“Dishes are not a part of your labor contract” he argued.

“We don’t have a contract, besides I’ll be nice and do it for free” Kai replied “to relieve your old knee articulations”

Armin smiled watching the interaction, already aware of the stubborn behavior they sported. He soon took place beside them, with a cloth in hands.

“Let me dry and put the dishes away” Armin whispered, already taking a few plates.

Kai nodded and Armin was the happiest man on earth at that moment. The two stood there, one washing and the other drying the dishes. The kitchen was getting empty, with the others going inside the house, most likely taking their catch up conversations to the living room. Mikasa was still there though, stacking the last dirty dishes next to you.

“Can you two handle it? I’m a little tired today from all the errands” she said.

“Yes” Armin replied “have good night, Mika. Make sure Annie sleeps or else she gets insufferable in the morning”

She pinched him on the side, with enough strength to bend him a little. He could not help tease her about Annie, though. He smiled at her in an apologetic way, wishing her a good night.

“Hi” he said once Mikasa left.

“Hey” Kai replied.

The only sound was the water flowing from the tap and the laughter in the distance. Occasionally, Armin’s elbows would brush on their arms, sending stupid warm sensations to his body. Once the dishes were done, he leaned on the counter, not sure of what to do.

“We should go back to the house” Kai said.

“I know” he said.

None of them moved. He was looking at his shoes and glancing at Kai from time to time. Everything was so stupid and awkward and pretty. He hated it.

“It was fun” he finally said “to be able to talk to you again”

“Yes” they said.

He stood straight, slightly bouncing on his feet and thinking about getting closer. Kai seemed to read that and spared him the decision, stepping in his direction.

“Are you…staying?” they asked.

“A few weeks probably” he said “I'll leave for some representative meetings but I’m always coming back here whenever I can. To check on Mikasa”

“You two are very close. That’s nice of you, visiting her”

“I suppose, but considering that she is too distracted flirting with my team mate I kinda feel left out” He said “jokes aside, I’ll be around more often”

He wanted Kai to know how much he longed to see them more often.

“Then you’ll probably see me a few more times” Kai said.

“I am counting on that”

The two fell silent again. Armin wondered if he said too much, if he crossed any limits with that. He was not dumb, he was confident that they at least had a small interest in him, but doubts were always a presence in his life.

“Armin…” they paused, looking down at their feet. Their hands moved strangely, as if they did not know what to do with them.

He encouraged them to speak. Kai lifted their head, looking Armin in the eyes and stepping closer again. He felt his breath trap within his chest, his heart drumming.

“I never properly expressed my gratitude the first time. I know I called your sewing abilities ugly, and they are, but I am genuinely thankful for what you did”

He smiled. He wondered if they did that on purpose or if brutal honesty was just their personality. It did not seem intentional sometimes.

“Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I would be glad to…know you more”

“So do I” he said “as long as you want to, of course”

A few long moments passed, where both just stood there facing one another.

“We should get inside, It’s getting colder” they said.

“We should” he agreed.

Nobody moved. Armin had been much physically closer to Kai before, when they were injured, but that moment felt too intimate. He felt a strange trance that would not let him move away, but only push them closer.

“Wow. You’re very close” Kai said.

Armin immediately took a step back. Feeling like he did something wrong.

“I’m so sorry-”

“No, No, you idiot. I didn’t mean-” Kai sighed loudly, stepping closer again “How many more signs I’ll have to send you?”

Signs? Were they thinking the same he was thinking? Or was Armin foolishly delusional and thinking something completely inaccurate?

“Do you know what a kiss is or you’ve been too long in the military?” Kai spat, crossing their arms.

Armin held no single coherent thought in his head. They were thinking what he was thinking, but what would happen then? He had never daydreamed this far. He was not stupid, he had a few romantic interactions before, but none had the same connection he was building with Kai. Armin lacked any substantial flirting abilities.

“I think I broke him” they said again, waving their hand in front of Armin’s face.

“Sorry, I just…” Armin stuttered “Um. You’re just very bold and I’m so lost”

“Mikasa said you were irritatingly logical” they replied “what would the next irritatingly logical step now?”

He was a disaster. The chance to woo gracefully was already destroyed, he might as well be awkward.

“I would ask you politely if I can give you a kiss”

Kai grinned, trying to hide it behind their hand.

“You’re so stupid, but so so adorable” they said “I demand a kiss on the lips, Commander. Now”

He chuckled, cooling his warm and red face with his hands. It did not help and his face was still very much red when he softly kissed that absolutely mad guerrilla under the orange lamp of the outside kitchen.

[fandom-trash-xl]

Hit and Frost Headcanons (Kinda Angsty in Bits) Set (What's the Occasion? IDK)

(Okay, back to the old grind, note to self, NEVER Ctrl-Z on a Tumblr post. Decided to do a headcanon set here with Frost and Hit. Don't know why I decided all of a sudden- might be the Frit resurgence brainrot... and the Puss in Boots brainrot. Anyway, here we are, some may be shippy (Frabba/Shattered Ice isn't going anywhere don't worry) but mostly just character focus here. A bit angsty/whumpy in some spots, so let me know if I need to tag anything.)

FROST

Frost can inject himself with his own needles if need be. Just one stab to the thigh Epipen style and he can use the stun variety to numb his wounds.

For a time, on the lam, Frost's usual poison needles were swapped out for a sleep brew (kind of like a very strong liquid melatonin), basically to help him knock out foes less suspiciously than with poisons, which would leave more obvious traces. Once he finds a suitable hiding place and still finds himself restless, he may inflict it on himself.

When uneased, Frost will try to give himself his motivational mantra (the "No matter what happens, never give up, get back on your feet" one from episode 33) to settle his nerves. Often he can't get through it without panting harder.

Before he trusts that Hit is sparing him for the time, encounters with the assassin can put Frost on the verge of or into a full-blown panic attack. All senses on edge, hard to breathe, heightened pulse, trembles all over. He often mislabels the symptoms as simply restlessness from being on the run.

Even as he starts to develop trust with Hit... he can say "I trust you" with his mouth, but his residual fight or flight and panic disorder say otherwise. When you get into the shippy side, he brushes it off as giddiness, "my heart's supposed to speed up when I'm with you", but Hit is attentive enough to know that something here isn't healthy.

Despite there being no fur or anything similar there, Frost's tail will still "bristle" and straighten when startled or fear-paralyzed, almost like a tiny rush of trembles. Almost like when the hair on your arms stands up.

Frost has a distinct shaky choked laugh, making it easy to tell when he's faking confidence.

Frost will attempt to tug the hood of his cloak closer to his face when trying to ground himself.

As a little Frabba bonus, Cabba can bounty hunt Frost, as a treat. A bit of Puss & Kitty-esque pettiness. However, Cabba, as he attempts to sever ties with Frost, will learn that he can try, oh but "I love you" means he's never ever ever getting rid of him~

HIT

Hit can whistle REAL ominously. Think the wolf from Puss in Boots.

He often never has a need to, but Hit is well-trained in a variety of weapons and blades. He can effortless spin a knife in his hand without nicking himself- often it plays off as a reflex in response to simply holding the hilt.

Hit tends to play the caretaker role in a caretaker-whumpee scenario, but he often forgets to put his own health first sometimes and may brush off his own injuries if they're not dire. Even if there isn't a whumpee he has to take care of, he's still neglectful. If it's not critical, the blood can dry.

Lighter subject but, Hit is a fidgeter and will often stim by rustling his hands in his pockets. He has learned to artfully mask this on the job, however, and will only do so if the situation has settled enough that he can unclench his jaw.

Hit has several medical matters memorized to the letter from anatomy to pressure points to wound dressing. He can very precisely sew closed gashes, including his own.

Hit can very easily pick up the slightest traces of blood scent in the air, more precise than a bloodhound.

Hearing Hit's voice turn genuinely soft and concerned is such a drastic contrast that it's almost scarier than hearing his stone cold gruff voice.

[acacia-may]

Faulty Wires and Empty Spaces [YTTD Fanfic]

Description: Finding Kai sparks a malfunction in Ranger's AI, drudging up a puzzling memory of two brothers and leaving Ranger questioning whether there really is a certain break in his circuitry--faulty wires misfiring into empty spaces. Could there really be something...missing?

Fandom: Your Turn To Die [MAJOR YTTD SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 2 AND THE KAI MINISODE]

Genre: Heavy Angst, Tragedy, Extremely Dark Themes, Family Angst, Problematic/Complicated Fictional Sibling Relationship, Childhood Trauma, Some Sibling Hurt/Comfort in a Flashback but This Story Is Mostly Hurt With Very Little Comfort, Mid-Canon, Possibly(?) Canon Divergent, Character Study, Dark Character, Tragic Character, Unreliable Narrator, No Happy Endings.

Platonic Relationships: Rio Ranger & Kai Satou. Kai & Sei (*cries*).

Characters: Rio Ranger (POV Character). Kai Satou. Sei.

Rating: T for Language and Extremely Dark Themes (Please see "Warnings" below for more details).

Warnings: Language. Character Death. Implied/Referenced Suicide. Implied/Referenced Character Death. Implied/Referenced Murder. Implied/Referenced Death Game. Implied/Referenced Child Abuse. Childhood Trauma. Blood and Injury. No depicted graphic violence but many references to it. RANGER is the POV character (Seriously. The POV character is a deranged sociopathic murder doll. An extremely tragic deranged and sociopathic murder doll and one of my favorite villains of all time, but still... Goes without saying this is a DARK story. Please proceed with caution, friends). Mid-Canon. Possibly(?) Canon Divergent. Pain and Suffering. No Happy Endings. MAJOR SPOILERS for Chapter 2 and the Kai Minisode.

Word Count: 2338

Link to original post on AO3. Please do not repost to another site, but reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated. Thank you!

Note: Many thanks to @repo-net the great for generously offering to read the draft of this story and for providing very helpful notes and feedback as well as the confidence to actually post this. (I couldn't have done it with you!) Another special word of thanks to my sister who played YTTD with me and who loves Kai very, very much--this story is dedicated to her. 💕

Story below the cut. Thank you so much for reading!

Click. The snaps of the hairclip are clasped around my hair now. Without a mirror, I can’t tell exactly how it looks, but I pinned it to the exact same spot as that dead human so it must look just as good in my hair as it did in his. Better actually, seeing as he looked pretty pathetic. They always do—especially when they’re dead. 

My head tilts as I stand over the body. There are small tears all over the clothes from those mechanical leeches. Death by exsanguination is fun, sure, but messy and… 

My hands quickly shuffle through my expression cards. Frustration. The etched face glares down at those ripped clothes. Blood stains are fine. I’ve no problem with those. They add character. And besides, Safalin can always clean it off if I want. But tears and rips? Nothing doing! Guess, the hairpin’s all I’ll get out of this one. 

With a huff and shrug of my shoulders, I switch expressions until my mouth is all cutesy like a little kitten that makes you want to throw up. Luckily there’s another one with clothes intact from the looks of it. Some cheeky bastard Miley couldn’t shut up about because he had the audacity to off himself or something. Where’s the fun in that? 

My hands twitch—shuffling through mouths again until I’m grinning down at the second body. Not so cheeky now that he’s lying face down in his own blood. All that fake bravado and resistance only got him so much, huh? Humans are so stupid. Such pathetic and worthless creatures. Though this one’s not completely worthless, I suppose. At least his clothes aren’t all ripped up, and what’s that tied around his waist? 

I flip the body. 

It’s an apron. 

My hands stop, and my head tilts curiously at the corpse. Have I seen this person somewhere before? 

Sparks of electricity interrupt my train of thought. A malfunction perhaps? Faulty wiring? No good. 

My vision goes suddenly blurry. There’s a whirring sound—a pounding and sparking sensation of misfiring circuitry. 

I forget to change my expression. What is it right now? And what should it be? A grin? A frown? A—? 

My head throbs. I have no choice but to stop thinking. All that’s left is the deafening whirring sound. The spinning room. Electric impulses to nowhere but a dark empty space. Broken wires. And a noise—a…a voice… You… You protected me. 

I clutch my hair in clumps. My hands curling around that hairpin. Stop it. Dad will be so angry when he finds out about this. I’m his prized doll. His favorite— 

The whirring finally stops. I can see something now. A…A dark crammed room. A cot in the corner. Two shadowy figures. 

“What are you doing here, dumbass?” grunts the figure on the cot slowly coming into focus. He is curled around his stomach—wrapped with bandages soaked red with blood. Pathetic. Humans are always so easily injured.  

“Sei, you’re okay.” The other figure has an expression not unlike the one many humans have right before they’re filled with crushing despair—as if they truly believe something better is waiting for them out there. I’ve seen it plenty of times, but there’s something especially familiar about this one. Have I seen this face before? Is this—? 

I stop. That person…that boy. It’s that body with the apron. 

I clutch my head as that whirring noise starts again. Electric sparks fire off into nowhere. I’ll have to talk to Safalin about this faulty wiring before Dad finds out. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” huffs the other figure, Sei, I guess. Humans and their stupid names I suppose. 

“You’ve been unconscious for two days. I thought you were…” 

Sei huffs and runs a hand through his matted orange hair. “It’s going to take more than a stupid stab wound to kill me, Kai.” He frowns—blinking at Kai with narrowed amber eyes. I think about reaching for one of my own expressions, but I can’t seem to move. What is this bullshit? Why does this tiny, weak human look so much like…? 

“It was a deep wound,” argues Kai though his face and voice betray no emotions. “I asked Father to get you stitches. He eventually agreed. They were kind of crude though, so I’ve been trying to keep the wound clean.” 

Sei frowns again. More sparks. More wires. I can hear his voice even though his mouth doesn’t move: “I bet Father would’ve made sure you got stitches, Kai.” My mouth twitches. He’s jealous of the little dumbass. Of course, he is. Humans are so predictable. 

“You’ve always been Father’s favorite.” I hear Sei clear as day—that envy, that bitterness in his voice despite him not speaking any words at all. Can I read minds now? Not bad for a malfunction. Maybe I’ll keep that—if it’s not connected to that damn whirring sound and those shocks from live wires firing off into empty space, that is. There’s that throbbing in my head again. Clearly the circuit is interrupted or something. 

“I was worried the wound might go septic so I’ve been replacing the bandages,” Kai says aloud. I guess I can’t read his mind, though I wouldn’t be surprised if it was just empty. He seems like the type. “I’ve also been making soup, but you haven’t been able to eat anything…” 

“You made soup? Are you trying to poison me?” quips Sei, quirking an eyebrow. My head aches. 

“No.” Kai blinks before fumbling around for a bowl and holding it out to Sei. Show off, I hear Sei think. My head whirls again. Can I only read Sei’s mind? And why in the hell does he look so much like—? 

“Look at you, Kai,” Sei’s speaking voice cuts me off. Kai holds out a spoonful of soup to him, and as Sei reaches for it, he writhes in pain—coiling around that wound in his stomach in a way that’s clearly imperceptible to Kai but… I glance down at my hand clutching that exact spot on my own body on some kind of reflex. I can almost feel that wound throbbing in my side. What the hell? “You’re basically a house husband now. All you’re missing is an apron.”  

Apron? My head tilts. Didn’t that body have an…? 

That infernal whirring noise cuts off my thoughts. This has to be the strangest malfunction in history. Am I somehow seeing that cheeky dumbass’s life flashing before his eyes? 

No. Something immediately clicks somewhere amidst the misfiring wires. Not Kai. Sei. This is Sei’s memory. 

My head spins, and I start to lose my balance. I can’t believe it has taken me so long to realize it. No wonder that pathetic little human looks so much like me. He must have been the basis for my AI. 

Unable to reach for my expression cards, my own mouth curves into a frown. I am definitely malfunctioning. I’m a perfected version of a human—the superior Sei, I suppose you could say. I shouldn’t see his memories like this so why—? 

“You think so?” asks Kai, cutting me off. I can’t remember what he and Sei were even talking about, but Sei must have found it amusing seeing as he snorted a dry chuckle. 

“Yeah, but you don’t need to do anything else. I’m fine now.” 

My head burns with the sparks of live wires in busted circuitry again. What the hell’s going on? 

“Sei…” 

“What’d you even want to take care of me for anyway?” he snaps jerking away from Kai. He slumps over, and his whole body seems to twist around his injury. The dumbass human. That wound is probably throbbing with pain from the sudden movement, and my own side pangs—as if I can feel the sting of his wounds just like I can feel his jealousy. His frustration. His anger. His… His… 

My head tilts, and I blink at him. There is something else there, but I don’t have a clue what it is. Before I can even begin to think of it, however, I hear those same words from when I first started malfunctioning. 

“You…You protected me.” 

Sei huffs. “Why would I do that, airhead?”

“You protected me,” Kai repeats matter-of-factly. “You didn’t have to, and if you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been injured.” 

“I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nothing doing,” Sei insists, but his words are laced with indignance and—fear? What could he possibly be afraid of?  

Kai just blinks at him—for far too long, in my opinion, and then he says exactly the kind of dumbass comment you’d expect from a human: “Thank you, Sei.” 

As I wait for Sei to rage or argue or tell him off, my head starts throbbing again marking the return of that unbearable whirring noise. 

“Forget about it,” Sei grunts. “We’re even now—since you looked after me or whatever. Don’t make this a big deal.” 

Kai shakes his head—the infuriating little bastard, but I don’t pick up on much anger or frustration from Sei. Stupid human… 

“It’s not about getting even, Sei. I didn’t take care of you for that.” 

“Then why…?” Sei only mumbles, but Kai must have understood. He meets his eyes.  

“Because we’re brothers.” 

Immediately, Sei rolls over on the cot so he’s facing away from Kai, his brother apparently though they don’t look a thing alike. He groans clutching his wound which he must’ve forgotten about for a moment. Tears well in his eyes—the pathetic little human. Their tolerance for pain is always so low. But it’s strange… I don’t feel much of that pang in my side this time. 

My brow furrows. Sei must be utterly tortured by his wound given how red and puffy his eyes suddenly became. How agonizingly painful it must be. I wonder why I don’t feel it anymore—I don’t feel anything of his anymore. No anger. No inferiority. No fear. No jealousy. He’s feeling—my head throbs again—something else? Something more? Something deeper…?  

Those sparks of electricity dart through my mind as it whirls and pounds—probably trying to complete its busted-up circuit but winding up dead in empty space. Empty space? 

“Sei?” asks Kai rushing over to the other side of the cot. When he sees Sei’s bloodshot eyes, his own eyes widen. 

Huffing, Sei covers his face with his hands. “Dammit, Kai!” 

“I didn’t want you to see that,” I can hear his thoughts clear as day. “I didn’t want you to know…” 

Know? Know what? 

Kai blinks at him for a long time. My head spins. Sei wipes his eyes. Broken wires fire at random—sparks flying everywhere as if they’re darting into dark and empty corners of my mind I didn’t know I had. What? 

Bullshit! If I’m following his brain patterns mine should be even better than his—not filled with faulty wires and empty spaces.

“Kai!” Sei’s startled gasp distracts me once again from my own malfunctioning mind. Kai has his arms draped around him. I shake my head. What a stupid thing—especially seeing as he’ll probably just end up bumping, poking, or aggravating that injury. Sei, however, doesn’t seem to care. His whole, tense body seems to relax as he shifts in his seat so he can wrap an arm around Kai shoulders. 

I hear Sei’s thoughts loud, clear, and determined as his brother grips onto him tightly and pulls him close. “I’d do it again—if that’s what it took to protect you.” 

That whirring noise. That pounding in my head. The little sparks and burns of misfired electric currents. If I could move, I would clutch my aching head, but I can’t move. I can barely even think. I can only watch, growing more and more painfully aware of a glaring break in my malfunctioning circuit—of my faulty wires and empty spaces. 

I clench my fist. Does Sei have something…I don’t? 

Surely not. After all, I am his perfected version—his superior version. Dad’s greatest creation. There’s nothing a filthy, worthless human could have that I don’t already possess in its most perfect form. 

But then—what? What is he—? 

“I’m just… I’m glad you’re okay…” Sei mumbles quickly before pulling away from Kai as I wrack my brain with bits and pieces of unanswered questions. Feeling those electric currents in dark synapses to nowhere—as if something is…missing. 

Faulty wires. Empty spaces. 

Something burns in my mind. Am I really that…broken? 

My head pounds and so does my circuitry—pulsing with rage as I grit my teeth, clench my fists, then tear and swipe at the memory. I shouldn’t have dark and empty corners. I shouldn’t have busted up circuits or faulty wiring. My circuitry is perfect. My programming is perfect. I am perfect. Superior to this flawed prototype. I am not broken! 

I rip that worthless human’s memory apart until it’s as torn and bedraggled as the clothes on the body of the Sacrifice. Now that even the phantom of that memory is in shreds, I can see that body and its ripped up clothes again—weak, pathetic, and useless, slumped over in a worthless dead heap. Just like Kai’s. 

I tower over what’s left of him—staring at it until I can see nothing else. Nothing except his long, matted strands of hair, his pale, sallow skin, and wrinkled, bloodstained apron. My head throbs and burns with live wires of broken circuits. I can still hear his voice.  You…You protected me. 

I pound at my head with clenched fists. Tugging at clumps of my hair. Pulling at that hairpin until…it all finally ends. 

… 

My head tilts as I stare down at his body. I shuffle through my expression cards until I’m grinning once again. No more faulty wires. No more empty spaces. 

With a swift flourish, I take his apron. It’s mine now. 

[nemirutami]

hi i was curious what fic you were refering to in your minato/akechi art :>??

It's a fic i've been writing on and off for a year now but i havent posted it anywhere yet haha.... unless?

In summary: It's about Akechi finding new work at a company called R.E.I (reliable, experienced, innovative) where Minato is the CEO (and widower) with a child Akechi comes to know as Rei (yep Minato named the company after his daughter). The fic focuses on all 3 influencing each other and helping each other cope/grow from their traumas but is also my biggest excuse to write cute scenes where Akechi gets to have an adopted daughter and be the dad he never got to be (he's terrible at it). If you're wondering "why would Minato hire Akechi" then don't worry. He has a very good reason. Minato hired Akechi because Akechi gave him shitty customer service and Minato took one look at him and said "I can adjust his attitude." now Akechi works for Minato bc he's an idiot. Most the fic is also me writing them comedically stupid and sad and very stupid. Oh, and I guess they kiss maybe. But really it's about broken people building a family w/o knowing. I made the fic as a joke and that's why it can't be named anything other than "Is it wrong to hit on my boss?" I've made a ton of art for it (some which I guess i've already posted alluding to the fic). I did make a cover sketch for it tho! There's a bunch of foreshadowing in the items on display (but it's too sketchy to make out I'm sure).

The 100k part of this fic is already up on patreon but I'm writing/editing the other 100K. So like, uh... 200+ pages of text and 29 chapters so far. In theory, the fic is already finished/has an ending, but I just need to fill in the gaps and tie plot points together.

If you're interested, I'll add the prelude/first chapter below the cut lmfao. It pretty much sets up the premise as tightly as possible in under 2K words. It has not been edited at all so take this abhorrently constructed first draft with no shame. You can judge my noodle words all you want but remember if you say a mean thing I will die.

Title: Is it wrong to hit on my boss?

Pair: Minake

Ch 1: That's not how this was supposed to go.

10 AM on the dot, to no one's surprise, he was flawlessly punctual as usual. Today was too important for missteps, and Akechi had carefully calculated each and every word he was going to use to land this job opportunity with one of Japan's biggest corporations in web development and online advertisement. Having worked at a low paying job for the most part (one with a boss that relentlessly attacked him and tried to convince him that he would amount to nothing, no less) didn’t prepare him for the call he received from R.E.I's founder about a new job opportunity. 

Cocky with confidence, he quit his job before the interview. 

After all, if this founder somehow went out of his way to request him, he must have done so with good reason.

With his hair tied back neatly into a ponytail and his shirt tucked beneath a more-than-a-little expensive looking business suit, he walked into the lobby, checked in, and got told to take the elevator up to the 3rd floor. He cocked his head curiously at the attendant before turning his gaze towards the elevator. Next to the elevator was a fire extinguisher for emergencies, and a metal plate outlining over 100 floors for the building. Naturally, there had to be some mistake. Floor 1 was considered the lobby, floor 2 was a storage for supplies and spare parts, and floor 3 was where their call center started. Their web developers were a fair bit higher up in the company, which made his directions only more confusing. What was a web developer supposed to do at a call center? While the thought of not having to fake a smile over the phone was comforting, the very image of having to do customer support 7 hours a day for the rest of his life put the fear of God in him.

"Pardon my rudeness, but there m-" Must be some mistake. The old lady at the counter was one step ahead of him and delivered her message with a sharp tone that left Akechi speechless.

"The founder's office is on the third floor," she interrupted her sentence with a huff, "-treat yourself to the coffee upstairs, you're gonna need it." and punctuated it with a dismissive wave of her hand. If more people hadn't entered the building and tried to take care of their own business, Akechi would have asked her to elaborate. But since he now for sure knew he was going to meet the founder, he decided not to make a scene.

"I… see. Thank you for the offer, but I must decline. I'm sure everything will go smoothly." But if they put him in a call center to provide customer support around the clock he was prepared to personally wire that black coffee maker into a homemade bomb and take down the whole building with him. While that thought crossed his mind, he smiled politely at the woman and took the elevator ride up.

Never in his life had he been so confused by a layout. He was aware of the building's size, but this was beyond ridiculous. The hallways almost looked like a maze, with paintings scribbled from wall to wall. Upon closer inspection, they looked like kids drawings. Either this was part of some PR stunt, or the founder was really into bright neon colors. If Akechi didn't hear the man on the other line himself and came here looking for a job, he'd expect to find a kindergarten at the other side of the many doors down the hall. His confidence was dwindling more and more with each step.

Once he reached the door he assumed would take him into the workplace where the founder was seated, he grasped at the handle only to find it locked. He blinked, and twisted the doorknob again, hoping it would open the door. When it didn't, he pulled a little harder until he heard a click from the other side, and noticed that the plate beneath the handle had the word "push" written in caps. Without thinking, he put far too much swing into his movement, and ended up smacking the poor sap on the other side that kindly unlocked the door for him, and the man's coffee poured right onto his suit and onto the floor in a loud mess.

"Ah, sorry!" He would have stayed and apologized properly if he wasn't at risk of running late. "If you give me a minute, I'll be right back and help you clean up!" and he was gone. He could have stayed and helped but chose to prioritize the meeting. In the end, that guy was out one cup of coffee and still had a stable income, whereas missing out on this interview might cost Akechi not only his career, but his livelihood. If this went south, he could wind up homeless. Unless he begged for his old job back.

No, the chill of winter would be less humiliating than going back on his hands and knees to the boss that not only demeaned him, but continuously plagiarized his work for his own benefit.

"Hewoo," In the midst of his early mid-twenties crisis, a soft voice spoke to him, but the only people he spotted were already head-deep in work. Another faint cry, this one, a bit more shy.

"Heo…" he turned his head down, and spotted a tiny girl hiding beneath a desk with her fist against her lips and her knees up to her chest. She looked about four years old, short curly hair with a clip-on to keep her bangs out of her eyes. Really, if she hadn't called out to him, he never would have spotted her in those shadows. He stared at her stupidly before turning his head up and asking if anyone brought their daughter to work. The girl shushed him, and got his attention once again.

"M, hidin…" 

"Ah," It was too early for a break, but he supposed someone might have taken some time off to call a responsible adult to come pick up their child from work. Still, he couldn't help but smile and crouch next to her, putting one finger over his lips with a whisper. "It's ok, I won't tell anyone." The little girl smiled so wide she was practically squinting. 

"Who r u…" He cocked his head slightly. Did she know most of the people on this floor? She spoke as if she knew he was a stranger. He shrugged it off. That can't be right. Must have been childish curiosity. 

"I'm Akechi Goro, and you?"

"Ake...ak...e...Aket…" She struggled and fumbled over her words, before she furrowed her brows with confidence and looked upset she couldn't yet pronounce his name.

"Gowo." He couldn't hold back a smile, and the little girl, now forgetting she's supposed to be hiding, shouts at him.

"Don't laff! That's mean!"

"Sorry!" His words said sorry, but his smile told her differently. At least, until his phone began beeping. It was now exactly 10 am.

"Sh-!" Too much in a hurry, he rushed to stand up quickly, and banged the back of his head against the table. He fell to his knees again, pushed down by the tabletop, and grabbed the back of his neck. The little girl, to no fault of her own, laughed at him without a shred of sympathy. Before he could get up on his feet, an arm patted him on the back.

"Hey, you ok?" He couldn't tell with his eyes closed, but the little girl mimicked the man's movements and reached her tiny hand out to pat Akechi's knee as if to comfort him. Before he could respond, he heard the man say "There you are!" followed by a tiny high pitched scream that honest to God was only giving Akechi a headache.

Still better than his old job, despite the abuse and trauma he's had to endure thus far.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the man that he accidentally slammed into squishing the little girl's cheeks, possibly as punishment.

"What did I tell you? You can't win."

"Mmmrmmmrrrr"

"Do you give up?" The child stubbornly stared him in the eye and only repeated her mumbling louder. The man sighed, but with the hint of a smile.

"Alright, go hide again." The joy in that little girl's eyes could part the skies on a cloudy day. She beamed and quickly ran off to hide elsewhere while the man covered his eyes and began counting. As soon as she was gone and he no longer heard the tip tap of feet, he got up and extended his hand towards Akechi.

"You look lost. Do you need any help?" This was humiliating. A kid laughing at him, he could handle, but a future coworker extending him his aid this early in their partnership was shameful. Especially since this was the same guy he left high and dry just moments ago.

"No, no, I'll be alr-" His voice was now much less sympathetic.

"Just take my hand." So much for debate. He didn't appreciate how everyone in this company cut him off mid-sentence, but took the other man's hand to get back up on his feet. As soon as he did, he got looked over rather thoroughly, a little too intensely to his liking.

"Doesn't look like you're bleeding, but if you're feeling dizzy, there's a nurse just two doors down to the left. She can examine you in case you've suffered any severe damage." His concern was flattering but unnecessary and sadly a waste of time.

"Haha, no worries. Actually... I need to get to the founder's office. Do you know where that is?" 

"Yes, but I wouldn't worry about t- Rei, don't climb the bookshelf! Junpei, will you-" 

"Aye, aye, boss! Come here you trouble bunny! How about you hop hop into bed and take a long looong nap? Man, uncle Junpei could use one too. I'll show you how it's done, like a pro!"

"Iori, sleep on the job and you're fired."

"Come on Philei, your dad is scary when he's talking to people that are not you!"

So much happened in the span of just a couple of seconds.

"...Rei?" He felt his blood run cold. "Her name is… Rei?" The man, somewhat confused that he was still standing there with a dumb look on his face, spoke as if this was basic knowledge Akechi should have known before stepping into the building.

"Of course, that's my daughter," he holds out his hand again, this time, expecting Akechi to shake it. "-and I'm the founder, Minato Arisato. And you are?"

Absolutely screwed.

[risingsouls]

📺 + Turles, do you truly believe you can create and maintain an empire with all the competition you face? 📺 + Nabooru, if you could bring back your planet, but at the cost of forsaking the planet Earth and the people you've made relationships with, would you even consider it?

What Lurks in the Shadows || Open!

The Saiyan conqueror stared, the confident spark in his night-black eyes and smug smirk troublingly absent. Instead, a thoughtful grimace replaced it. His fingers twitched against his knee and he shifted in his seat. Once. Twice.

" I have my...concerns, " he admitted at last, gaze shifting instead to a window and the stars whizzing by beyond it. " Cleverness can only get you so far in this game and my physical power...has its limits in comparison to at least a few would-be usurpers. I have the fruit but...even that might not be enough. "

A pause, his hand balling into a fist. " But, in true Saiyan fashion I suppose, I would much rather die in my pursuits than run with my tail between my legs. " Despite his words, his usual pride remained absent. " I came this far, from a sniveling brat who used his brains and brawn to fake his death and escape Frieza's clutches to building something grand. Thus, come what may. I have far too much to prove. "

" Yes. "

The Gerudo hesitated none, the word leaving her painted lips with unfaltering conviction. Her ties to Earth had grown significant in her time there, the few people she allowed close enough and their relationships to her invaluable. But...despite it all--the fun, the danger of protecting it, the sorrows, and the trials overcome--it was not home. The Gerudo Desert was her home. Her people were her home. The planet, the Gerudo...all of it was ripped from her and she spent years not even knowing it. The moment she set foot on the ship, she never saw it again.

It was unfair. To her. To her people. And perhaps some would argue about making deals with devils, but she would spit in their face for their ignorance. Their privilege of never being so desperate to save themselves that they had no other choice.

" Earth has had enough do-overs, I think, " she continued, gold eyes darkening. " Call me selfish. You can even call me a hypocrite. But considering how many times this planet has been saved because its lucky enough to have warriors powerful enough to protect or, more fortunate still, magical, wish-granting artifacts to bring it and it's people back from destruction...I don't think it's to horrific of me to think my people and planet deserve a second chance, too. "

[jonathanvair]

LINEFEEL: Home

LINEFEEL is about taking difficult experiences and reducing them to the simplest visual communication I can muster. This becomes a valuable skill when a situation costs so much energy that I can barely imagine creating more than a doodle. From the LINEFEEL series comes an image considerably more involved. Today's image, Home, is about how it feels when God—a shorthand of which I'm still figuring out the specifics— speaks to me. The following artist statement was submitted to Gender Unbound, an art festival exclusively for trans and/or intersex creators. Gender Unbound commissioned my artistic response to the theme "Home", in whatever shape it took, and I'm honoured to now share it with you all. -- To render an image of home, I must reckon with many dichotomies:

My blood family is not my found family. Following tradition is not always following my heart. Suburban cohesion is not an ancient bond. Childhood survival tactics won’t serve me well into adulthood.

Home, to me, is its own dichotomy. In my mind, I experience a feeling of what Home looked like, what I thought it was supposed to look like. This wasn’t the truest and deepest portrayal of the concept. As an adult, I found that Home is about feeling respected and trusted. Those deemed as Other or Less-than understand: Home is not a white upper middle class Nuclear Family. Home is not getting high marks in school. It’s not even getting your parents to like you. Home is to be yourself, unabashedly, to explore the uncertainties of your core without needing to fake confidence, and to have people that make you grateful to be on your own journey.

The dichotomy of my Home is my past and my present, the lies and the truth. Church steeples and template suburban homes force their way into the composition. In the foreground, a family affronts this hellish sprawl and thrives in spite of the chaos. They are tied by ancient bonds far greater than any social scripting.

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