#I almost forgot to make myself new wallpapers for the desktop

[kirby-the-gorb]

[bex-la-get]

Pretty Bex! I bring you the questions for Nat and Ethan :D

Note: Once again, this week’s round focuses on photos! Dialogue is entirely optional, though for some of these, it’d be fun to know the story behind the pictures ;) Tumblr mobile only allows 10 picture uploads (there are 10 questions), so collages are highly encouraged! Otherwise, the non-beta version of Tumblr desktop will allow more than ten.

Have fun!

For MC

Favorite childhood photo of Ethan

What’s your phone wallpaper image?

Contact name and photo for Ethan

Top three photo results when you Google Ethan

First picture of or with him that you uploaded to social media

For Ethan

Favorite childhood photo of your spouse

What’s your phone wallpaper image?

Contact name and photo for your spouse

Top three photo results when you Google your spouse

First picture you ever took of or with your spouse

*Credit to the anon who sent me the first three questions!

Hi queen! Thank you for the wonderful questions!! I had to do some serious photo digging on the internet but I have what I was looking for and I'm ready to go! Enjoy!

For Nat:

Favorite childhood photo of Ethan:

Ethan: Please not the teddy bear one.

Nat: It's not the teddy bear one! Well, it is the teddy bear one but not the one that you think:

Ethan: Okay, that one is pretty cute.

Nat: Why do you think it's my favorite?

What’s your phone wallpaper image?

Nat: This gorgeous photo from our wedding! Hands down, one of my favorite photos of us of all time.

Ethan: Mine too.

Contact name and photo for Ethan:

Ethan: *smiles and rolls his eyes as Nat shows the contact name*

Top three photo results when you Google Ethan:

Nat: So, the first one is his Wiki page. An excellent photo, if I do say so, myself.

Ethan: That’s ‘cause you went in and changed the photo manually to one you took yourself.

Nat: Shh! Don’t tell them that, they’ll take it down!

Ethan: *laughs*

Nat: This one is from the interview he recently did with the New England Journal of Medicine. By the way, good interview, babe!

Ethan: Thank you.

Nat: And this one is from a NIH Medicine Plus article that was talking about the Diagnostics Team. I like this one especially because the author of the article straight up cropped another doctor out of the photo to better focus on Ethan! *she laughs*

First picture of or with him that you uploaded to social media:

Nat: This was from Naveen’s Christmas party. The first one we ever attended as a couple.

Ethan: But certainly not the last. *he kisses her hand*

For Ethan:

Favorite childhood photo of your spouse:

Nat: Awe! I love this photo! Look how cute Vic and I were! Oh man, and Dad’s hair was still brown! He’s been so gray for years, I almost forgot he wasn’t born that way.

Ethan: *laughs* You know, your smile hasn’t changed at all since then. It’s only grown to be more beautiful.

Nat: Aw, E! That was so sweet! *she cups his face and kisses his cheek*

Ethan: *smiles lovingly.*

What’s your phone wallpaper image?

Nat: Aw, Jenner!

Ethan: It’s one of my favorite pictures of you two.

Nat: He’s such a good boy.

Ethan: The best.

Contact name and photo for your spouse:

Nat: *laughs as Ethan rolls his eyes and shows the contact*

Ethan: She changed it the day after we got married. I never changed it back.

Nat: He looks annoyed but trust me: he secretly loves it.

Ethan: *smiles in agreement*

Top three photo results when you Google your spouse:

Nat: Ooh, this should be fun.

Ethan: This first one is from her Wikipedia page. She was very excited that they chose a good photo for her.

Nat: Have you seen some of the photos people have for their Wiki pages? This one was is great!

Ethan: This one is from our wedding. I guess our getting married was big news in the medical gossip realm.

Nat: You were a bachelor for a long time, love. So news of the great Ethan Ramsey finally settling down was bound to make some noise.

Ethan: *shrugs* If you say so.

Ethan: And this one is the author portrait of her brand new book that just came out.

Nat: I’ts called The Intern Blues. It’s a semi-autobiographical and semi-informative book about the ups and downs of medical internships and how they can really make or break a medical career.

Ethan: It’s an excellent read; though I might be biased considering I’m married to the author.

Nat: *laughs*

First picture you ever took of or with your spouse:

Ethan: This is one of my favorite photos of us.

Nat: *gasps* I love this one! We had just started dating when this was taken.

Ethan: *nods* We had. This was at a hospital fundraising event, I believe. 

Nat: It was. Oh man, we were so cute here!

Ethan: Are you saying we’re not cute, now?

Nat: We’ve graduated past cute, babe. Now we’re hot! Like power couple hot!

Ethan: *laughs* Oh, of course. How could I have forgotten?

Nat: Aren’t you glad I’m around to remind you of these things?

Ethan: *takes her hand and squeezes it tightly* Always.

Thank you for the fun questions, dear Bree! I hope you liked them!

Tag list under the cut: 

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added/removed):  @genevievemd @jamespotterthefirst @paulfwesley @ethansdique @openheartfanfics @perriewinklenerdie @little-flowers-on-heaven @stateofgracious @coffeeheartaddict @liaromancewriter @potionsprefect @mm2305 @gryffindordaughterofathena @actuallybored @writer-ish @queencarb @takeharryandgo @lsvdw-blog @itsjustwinter​ @imaneditorthankyouverymuch-deac @chaoticchopshopheart​ @ohchoices​ @maurine07​ @oldminniemcg​ @parisa-kh​ @shanzay44​ @uberamsey @izzyourresidentlawyer​ @adiehardfan​ @custaroonie​ @mia143​ @a-crepusculo​ @takemyopenheart​ @toadfrog26 @quixoticdreamer16 @barbean

[just-mirko]

BINARY  

BNHA HACKER AU - CHAPTER 4

MASTERLIST

Mirko x F!Reader

Warnings: HAWKS BEING A SUS BITCH 2.0 #peghawks2020 

WC: 2k 

(A/N: This is unedited! Please message me if you spot any annoying mistakes! I will probably have the edited version up in a day or two!)

__

 “Then with that I leave you, my students, sleep well!”

 He left for the doors and closed them behind him, effectively leaving 15 teenage criminals in a room together.

Hah.

__

            After principal Nezu left, the crowd dispersed. Many chose to scout out their dorms instead of interacting. Each person was a loaded gun. Aimed at their enemies or themselves did not matter, we were all afraid for when the first bullet would strike.

             That being said, most seemed overall relaxed. Students would try to start conversation and socialize, which was apparent by the mumble of voice within the school’s halls that returned from before Nezu gave his brief speech.

             I was turning towards the dorm hallway with my bags in hand. The gentle tap of my shoes along the hardwood floors could be heard in crisp, purposeful taps. Right as I walked through the threshold of the door connecting the dorm corridor and the main hall, I heard footsteps growing louder behind me.

             I kept walking forward and kept a close eye at the plaques on each room’s door that signified who was housed where.

             The footsteps continued getting closer until in my peripheral vision I could see a lock of white hair swaying.

             “You again?” I asked, feigning annoyance. Of course, her presence wasn’t exactly unwanted but it was unneeded.

             “Mmmhmm” Mirko hummed while gazing down at me.

             The image of her and Hawks pushed itself into the forefront of my mind, leaving residues of anger wherever it bounced in my brain.

             “So… you and Hawks?” I looking at the hallway door when I said it. I slowed my walking down to almost a complete stop before turning towards her.

             “Are you guys dati-“ I made the mistake of looking into her piercing red eyes and caught a glare, making me stop my sentence.

             I held my breath for a second, thinking I angered her in some way, but to my surprise she let out a laugh.

             “You got so scared! Look at you! You’re just a bottom little bunny” She relaxed and leaned her arm down to rest on my shoulder. The height difference was so obvious when she was standing this close.

             “C’mon (Y/N), lighten up, combat training is going to be a breeze! I bet the view from the floor will be nice.”

             Did she just- never mind.

             “Oh as if.” I rolled my eyes and started walking again towards my door that came into view. She followed me and watched as struggled with the door.

             The doorknob was plain and silver, with a  small black pad above it. I was more than confused.

             “Were we supposed to get a key or something?”

             I continued jamming the doorknob and pressing at the black pad in frustration. It was getting late, and being locked out of my room wasn’t on my list of things I can emotionally handle.

             One of Mirko’s hands came to rest at about my elbow from behind me. Delicately moving her hands up towards me wrist, she paused, before gently holding the back my hand, her nails ghosting against my palm.

             My heart was racing, none of her arm’s subtle movements went unnoticed. I feared that with how close she was, with her right behind me, and this, whatever this is, she could hear my heartbeat pounding in my chest.

             She guided my hand towards the black pad and brought my left pointer finger down on the sensor.

             With a small green light and a click, the door swung open. She kept her grasp on my hand for what felt like a moment too long yet still too short before stepping back and turning towards the door across from me room.

             “The doors are locked via fingerprint,” She stated matter-of-factly with a smirk.

             “Tell me if you have any more troubles (y/n), I’m right next door.” She seemed way too pleased with herself when she walked back into her room, not sparing a glance over towards me, standing in the door frame of my room when her’s closed.

             That night I laid awake staring at the ceiling, just as I had done last night. Though the only difference was last night I was contemplating to even go here, now I was contemplating how I would even survive here.

             The dorms were nice and decently sized for the whole ‘underground secret society’ thing. A bathroom with all the basics including a deep bathtub, a queen bed, a mini fridge, and coffee machine. What set t apart from average was two things. Color changing lights that were set under the bed and desk, giving everything a vibrant glow (A/N no reason for the lights they just look cool :))

               The last special thing in the room was a giant black desk, obviously set up for a giant desktop and even more hardware, but the surface with unscratched, unused, and empty. It sat in the corner of the room alone, unlike the other areas that had lamps, colored lights, or fake plants; the desk had nothing.

             I would still have to grow accustomed to the new and pristine room. It smelled clean. Like fresh disinfectant and fake lavender that is just slightly off from the real thing. I could not say I missed the cans of soda on the floor and random sticky notes everywhere.

             The old apartment was crammed with miscellaneous objects. All the things I was too attached to throw out, but not too attached to leave all together, I guess.

             I rolled over, suddenly very aware of my awakens. I checked my clock. A large sigh eased from my lungs. It was only 11pm. That meant I was not losing too much sleep on my first day. I could only imagine how screwed I would be if those led screen lights were showing 3am or any other blatantly early time.

              I guess since I was awake, it would not hurt to get a snack or something. From my recollection, I remember seeing a café like area in the common room, though I was too preoccupied to look at it for too long. They might have a granola bar or some snack I could eat. I was really craving chocolate milk right now.

             I was in the slightly delirious sleepy stage of consciousness. The point where I had no filter to what I said, and no self-preservation. In said state, I threw on some slippers, grabbed my phone and grudgingly walked out to the hallway.

             “choccy milk, choccy milk!” I whispered to myself in a singsong voice. The walk to the end of the hallway seemed to only last a split second before I was there, at the door to the common room.

             “choccy milk, choccy milk!” I reached towards the doorknob, shivering once the chilled metal touched my fingers. Right as I was about to pull the door with my weak and tired muscles, I heard shuffling from the other side of the door.

             I opened it slowly, and peering in through the crack in the door. Though dark, and his back was towards me, I could recognize the distinct frame of Hawks. The dirty bastard. Why he be actin lik- my thoughts were interrupted by two sharp clicks. On the floor he sat a suitcase and opened it up. It was the same one that had the red unidentified fluff in it. More fuzz was on it than before, apparent as it stood out among the black fabric casing.

             He moved in front of the suit case and blocked my view, but I could watch as he crouched down an opened it up. Suddenly, a flurry of red came spiraling out and circling around hawks. He stood up and the shapes were revealed to be feathers, each one different than the next. The continued to storm around like he was standing in the eye of a hurricane surrounded. Feather by feather they collected by his shoulders, forming broad wings that’s wingspan was around 10 ft.

             He ruffled the wings around, spreading them out and even doing a test flap, which sent a gust of air in all directions. While he was… adjusting them? Stretching them?

             This had to have been his quirk. And it was an amazing one at that. This was my rival? How was I supposed to beat that?

             “Woah” I silently whispered. His wings twitched at the sound, and it appeared all the feathers stood up straight. He quickly turned around, his wings taking on a defensive position and each feather spiking outward like tiny knives. I quickly hid behind the door, hoping he didn’t see me, though he definitely heard me.

             My heart pounded in my chest, and I held my breath, knowing now that whatever his quirk was, it enhanced his hearing.

             I slightly turned my head to my ear was pressed up against the wall and I could hear anything he did. I cringed at the slight scratch of one of my earrings against wooden door and paused again.

             Through the polished wood and all the space between us, I  made out his footsteps beginning again as he walked away from the door. The breath I held in my lungs released shakily. My eyes darted across the hallway, which suddenly seemed so much longer. The expanse of parallel lines from the crown molding and the wallpaper and everything made me feel like caving in.

             I had barely dodged that encounter, and I know it would not have been good if he found me snooping. I was not my intention, but it did give me a slight advantage. I knew his quirk.

             I knew his quirk.

             Unlike someone’s fake name or hacker alias, quirks were something you can change. They stuck with you the rest of your life, one of very few constants we could have. And because quirks, especially unique ones like Hawks’, were specific to each person they not only would let me find his real identity quickly, but also gain information on his past, something most people in this life tried to forget.

             I had no intention of using this information maliciously, it was more or less self-defense. If he was out for me, its only fair that I get to build a shield. I was just evening the playing fields.

             My brain was vacant of all prior need for choccy milk, now, all I wanted was answers, though for now those would have to wait. My smartphone said it was almost midnight, and I already started things at this academy on the wrong foot, I don’t want that to repeat with my teachers.

             I guess it was foolish of me to believe I was always one step ahead of everyone. I was untouchable, invisible, I had power. I forgot that people don’t get into this school on daddy’s money or luck, they’re here for a reason.

             But at that time I didn’t care, of course I didn’t, I just narrowly avoided my current rival, and walked away unnoticed. Untouchable.    

             I went to sleep quickly. I woke up early. I slept well. The next day started good. I made coffee and pondered over the empty desk once more. I was ignorant.

[inhumcn]

❛ parabola end - chapter four ❜

I am not oblivious to my sister's whereabouts. She was still safely in the hands of Leo as far as I could tell. I am watchful, considerate. At first, six years ago, I would receive small, yellowed envelopes still smelling like dust and cigar smoke. I would pry open the flap and slip out the scrap of paper, tiny, frightened handwriting scrawled across it. "Dear Caleb..." they would always begin. At first I was amused - Abigail still believed, after all this time, I would come back to her. What a child. She had never really known who I was - then again, she had never looked into my eyes as I snuffed the life out of her, like her mother had. To her, I was her loving, doting brother. I tossed the envelope into the drawer of my desk and forgot about it. The second letter was a bit more aggravating. She was still insistently writing to me? And that man, Leo, seemed to humor her, actually delivering the letters. Clutching the envelope in my hands, fingering it. And I would write her back with empty promises. Telling her that I was working very hard to be able to come get her. “Very soon”, I’d say.

It would be three years before I finally encountered Leo again, as I strode through the dusky streets of New Jersey. I was checking my watch - the numbers read that it was near midnight, certainly not the time to be taking a stroll, but I had no fear. I suddenly felt a firm hand grasp me by the elbow, stopping me. I turned slowly, hand poised on the hilt of my pocket knife. "Easy, easy," the voice grunted hoarsely. "I's me, Leo! Remember me?!" I look at him in the face - it is mottled and falling apart like a decaying corpse - the tell-tale signs of drug abuse. I am disgusted. "I see your getting to be a powerful man, sir," he chuckles, groping my coat collar. I raise my knife to his throat. "Easssy!" He seems taken aback, almost offended. He steps backwards, hand raised. "Sorry, pal. Just wanted to see if you were wondering about you sissy." 

"Right," I say, adjusting my shirt sleeve, my voice obviously disinterested. "How is she?" Leo chuckles, spits on the cobbles. "Jeez, you really are as heartless as they say," he snorts, spinning on his heel, departing. "Good night, Leo," I murmur, eyes following him as he disappears in the dark.

It is one year later.

I have purchased a few girls from a reputable (well, as reputable as they come) dealer. Their previous owner had either died or moved on to other ambitions, the former being the more likely choice. Most of the girls I accept; those who are inadequate I press a gun to their heads and pull the trigger. What else can I do? Let them roam free? The empty parking lot behind my whorehouse is full of unmarked graves. The girls sometimes whisper that when the wind whistles past, you can hear the voices of their fallen comrades, crying. I don't encourage such fantasies. I want to keep my women as refined as I can make them - I teach those who don't know how to read and write, give them sewing and knitting to occupy their free time, show them how to cook and clean properly. They can seem educated, at least. If I am caught with one of them at my arm, they can pretend to be someone worth being seen with. Besides, I cannot stand being pleasured by someone who cannot even recite the alphabet. It is deplorable.

I am sitting in my "office" - a windowless room with peeling wallpaper and oil paintings tacked on the walls, worn carpeting, an oak desk and a futon. I don't conduct much real business here - very few people have even had reason to speak with me. They leave my brothel satisfied. One of the women who works part time as my assistant knocks on the door lightly. "Sir, one of the new girls," she whispers softly into the room. "Yes, thank you. Send her in, please." The woman ducks her head swiftly out, almost flinching as I turn in my seat. The door opens wider and a small, skinny girl waltzes in. She seems...vaguely familiar. I think that I've seen her face before, but has been lost in my usually sharp memory. She is nothing special to look at, I think. Perhaps attractive in a cute, spritely way, and though she is small she seems to be able to handle a few hard knocks. 

I touch the tips of my fingers together and stand, towering over her short frame. I ask her for her name, though she shakes off the question with a look of hard resolve. My eyes become colder, more menacing. "Tell me. Now." She peers back up at me; for a moment a look of innocence and fear flashes across her face. It dissolves as rapidly as it appeared. "Abigail. I don’t know my surname." She approaches; her voice reminds me of something. I can't quite put my finger on it. "What’s your name? Michael? Henry? If you don’t tell me I’ll just call you Hannah." 

She strides up to me, runs a hand through my hair. I remain unresponsive, my eyes scouring hers. "They tell me I’m supposed to blow you but I don’t have me a name to call you to turn you on." She purrs, pressing her lips against mine. She seems experienced - her touches are seductive, and to anyone who hadn't been in the business as long as I had, she almost seems genuine. She was short, though, and strained to reach me. I didn't bother to attempt to ease her suffering. No, my job is to increase it, not relieve it from the shoulders of my whores. “Gonna tell me now, Hannah?” The name disconcerts me slightly, bringing forth memories of a plain woman with brown hair and brown eyes that I had hoped had been banished from my memories forever. But I don't let this unease taint my features; instead, I run my hand across her body, starting from her inner thigh and slowly working my way up her smooth, warm skin. Then I feel something peculiar. A rough patch of skin, extending down her...I hiss quietly, "Your name is Abigail?" I find myself suddenly revolted. I have an overwhelming desire to vomit, despite not feeling in the least bit nauseous. I push her aside, slamming a hand down on the desktop with a loud thud. "There is a burn on your side," I say quietly. Though my voice is controlled, albeit tense, my eyes are flaming. "Your last name is Thompson."

My sister is here. The very woman in the world I had meant to never see again. She was here in my office, a dirty whore.

I want to vomit.