#I landed on laser tag which I think is a good choice but it only comes with two lasers.

[badooney7]

We spendin'.

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Daddy Issues | Draco Malfoy

Wow I’m sorry I didn’t mean to disappear like that Lovelies! Sometimes I forget depression and writers block are a thing until they punch me in the face and force me to go MIA for a hundred years! I guess I’m back? I hope? Fingers crossed? Anyway, I’m sorry this isn’t a TVD fic but I figured Y’all would appreciate something over nothing. I missed you all more than I can say! I hope you enjoy, I love you all!

Description: Draco and y/n are best friends until Draco’s father threatens y/n. She avoids Draco until he confronts her.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: Like none, it’s kinda sad but not really, the only flaw is bad writing

Word count: 3.4k

Tags: Angst, FLUFF

(not my gif, I just love it lol)

Your heart stings from across the courtyard, the gap between you and the blonde boy tangible. For a second you don't know whether or not your heart is even in your chest anymore or if it’s in his hands. In that case your heart is sitting on a bench, sandwiched between Blaise Zabini and Vincent Crabbe. Maybe he isn’t holding your heart, though, maybe he is your heart, in which case you’re avoiding your heart’s piercing gaze. 

Your hands twitch at your sides, itching to grab his or to twist through his silky hair or do anything other than lay idle when he is only mere steps away from you. Your hands ache to touch him and usually you would be doing just that: clinging to his robes or twisting the rings around on his fingers or simply tangling your own fingers with his slender ones. Your hands feel painfully empty without him to hold on to. 

That makes sense though, he’s your best friend after all. You’re rarely ever spotted less than five feet away from each other. Everyone at Hogwarts can see how utterly entwined you are, every part of him wrapped around your finger and every part of you sitting precisely in the palm of his hand. You orbit each other, drawn in by a gravity that the rest of the student body can’t deny.

Right now, though, that gravity is being tested and everyone feels a little bit like they’re floating away. 

Draco sits exactly seventeen feet and four inches away from you. You can feel his eyes on the back of your head, like lasers, searing into your black and gold jumper and refusing to look away. It burns but you embrace it, taking any contact, even imagined, that you can get from him. Even if it hurts. You would gladly burn for the blonde Slytherin if it made him happy. This doesn’t make him happy, though, being ignored by the girl that commands his entire life. You know that, but you also know that it’s for the best. 

You run your hands through your hair, tugging on the strands relentlessly and closing your eyes. You see his father, the tall, grim man, and replay the conversation you had in your head. 

“He has a bright future ahead of him, y/n.” 

Lucious had backed you into a corner, both metaphorically and literally, the stone of the castle biting harshly into your skin, “I know that, sir.”

He stood tall, menacingly, like he was bigger than the castle itself, “he doesn’t have time for nonsense, y/n.”

Your hands trembled, the cold of the dungeon nipping at them fiercely, “he’s very bright, Mr. Malfoy, I don’t think I’m slowing him down.”

The neutral, if not cold, expression on his face switched then to one of red hot anger, “did I ask what you think? It’s time the two of you separate. He is to be married next year and not to some silly Hufflepuff girl.”

“We’re just friends, sir,” your eyes had long since found the floor.

“Don’t be daft, my son is infatuated with you. If I catch you near him from this day on I will not hesitate to destroy you, do you understand me? Do not speak to him again.”

That was two weeks ago and you haven’t dared to go near him since, spending every waking moment of your spare time in the Hufflepuff common room. You aren’t brave, you didn’t march up to your best friend and tell him that his father threatened to destroy you. You would be lying if you said you even thought about it. The reality of it is that you’re a coward and have iced Draco out in fear of having his father hurt either of you.  

His father’s words still ring in your head. Don’t be daft, my son is infatuated with you. Your heart flutters hard in your chest, your rib cage the only barrier keeping it from finding him across the courtyard. Draco is infatuated with you. Apparently. He hasn’t said so, only his father. Still, you can’t help but hope that it’s true.

But then that makes your chest burn and palms sting again. You aren’t allowed to hope that Draco wants you. You aren’t even allowed to hope that he wants to be your friend. You’re not allowed anywhere near him, let alone allowed to kiss him. Would he even kiss you? Probably not. You tug even harder on your hair, as if pulling each strand out will somehow take the pain away. Don’t be daft.

“Y/n,” gentle hands wrap around your tight fists, “you’re hurting yourself.��

You forgot Luna was there, sitting next to you on the bench, the bench that is seventeen feet and four inches away from Draco. You let the airy Ravenclaw unravel your fingers and hold one of your hands, rubbing circles on the back of your palm. It doesn’t feel the same, her grip is too soft, her fingers too short. Draco’s fingers are longer. 

You shake your head, trying to clear the fog of him from your senses, “sorry, I know I’m not the best company right now.”

Luna only smiles at you and rolls her eyes gently, “I know it’s hard for you right now.”

Of course you told her. You weren’t able to tell Draco so you turned to Luna, your other best friend. You nod your head at the blonde girl, too tired to speak. 

“I think you should tell him though, he looks bloody miserable without you,” your eyes widen as if on their own accord.

You feel dizzy at the thought and not the good kind like when Draco spins you around. No, this is the bad kind of ‘I’m definitely going to throw up’ dizzy. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears rapidly. Thump, thump, thump. It almost sounds like footsteps, angry ones, pounding towards you. That can’t be right.

“I can’t tell him, Luna, you know that.”

A hand lands on your shoulder, warmth spreading through your jumper. You open your mouth, ready to thank Luna for relentlessly comforting you, but close it quickly when a thought hits you. You glance down to your lap, just to double check. There, on your lap rests your hand carefully wrapped up in both of Luna’s. Crap. 

“What can’t you tell me?” It takes everything in you to not let his familiar voice curl around you and pull you further into his touch.

You shift out of his hold, not turning to look at him yet, afraid to see the expression on his face. Would it be anger? Sadness? Disgust? The last one makes your heart drop, the thought of the blonde boy being repulsed by you causing you to curl into yourself slightly. You would take anything from him but that.

You stand curtly, turning to face Draco, all too aware of the lack of space between you and him. Six inches at the most, every breath he takes makes his chest brush yours. You still don’t look up at him, not anywhere ready to meet the eyes of the boy you’ve been avoiding. 

You lock your eyes on his silver and green tie, mumbling to it instead of him, “What makes you think I was talking about you, Draco?”

You finally glance up at him and wish you hadn’t. His eyes, usually a bright blue, are dull and rimmed with red. The bruises under his eyes stand out against his cheeks. He’s always had dark circles but this is extreme. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, like he hasn’t eaten in days. It’s almost garish, but then again nothing could ever make the Slytherin Prince look anything less than perfect. He looks destroyed, almost as if his father had gotten to him too. You have to stop yourself from reaching out, choosing instead to look away again.

“Are you serious right now? Tell me this is all a joke y/n!” The courtyard goes silent when Draco raises his voice.

You squeeze your fists, the tone of his voice a punch in the gut. He never shouts at you. Draco is never anything but soft around you. Right now, however, he’s seething. No one around you dares to make a sound.

You close your eyes, trying desperately to stop a traitorous flood of tears, “Draco, please don’t do this right now.”

Draco takes a step back, as if your words had shoved him, “if not now then when? You’ve given me no choice! You run every time you see me, you don’t answer my notes. Do you even read them anymore? Can you just explain why you bloody hate me?”

His voice cracks when he says hate, like its acid in his mouth. In any way it’s acid to your ears. You could never hate Draco, it’s very much the opposite actually. You’re painfully in love with him.

“I don’t,” you have to pause to clear your throat, trying to rid the lump, “I could never hate you.”

His hand grasps you chin gently, his rings cold against your skin as he pulls your face up to meet his eyes, “then tell me what’s going on. Please.”

You squeeze your eyes close, sinking into the warmth of his palm for a moment. You can’t remember a time you’ve gone this long without the blonde boy touching you. You can’t stop the tears from trailing down your cheeks and into his palm. You can feel the hitch in his breath as if it had come from your own lungs. You wrap your own hands around his, squeezing his fingers gently before pulling them away from you.

“I can’t, Dra. We can’t do this anymore. I’m,” your voice trembles, your eyes still closed, his hand still locked in yours, “I’m not good for you. We can’t be friends.”

You release his hand, taking a few steps back from the love of your life. This time, though, he doesn’t let you get as far, taking two steps towards you for every step you take away from him. It doesn’t take him long before he’s in front of you again, closer and even more determined. His eyes burn into yours, his hands restless. You know he wants to touch you. At least, you hope he does. You want to.

“Don’t say that,” there’s a strength behind his words, one you have yet to hear until now, “don’t you dare say that! Tell me what’s going on y/n, you need to tell me! I can fix it. I can make it better whatever it is just please tell me. Please, love.”

Love. That’s new. Your heart cracks even more when he says it and maybe that’s because you know you won’t get to hear it again. You wish you could grab the word from his lips and hold on to it. You want to put it in your pocket so at least you can have a part of him, the very best part of him, for when he walked away. But you can’t, so there’s no use in trying. 

“You can’t fix it this time, Draco,” you take another step back and your back hits the rough surface of a tree.

He fills the space between the two of you once more and this time you’re stuck. Your palms continue to sting, reminding you relentlessly how much you need to touch him. You scrunch the hem of your jumper, trying desperately to quell the pain. Your wrists feel like they’re on fire, something you’ve come to realise that means you’re about to have a panic attack. He can't see that happen, you refuse to fall apart in front of him. 

Of course he notices, though. That’s your Draco, he notices everything about you. That’s his job. 

He grabs your face again, stopping you from frantically looking everywhere but him, “of course I can. When have I not fixed your problems? Remember when those Ravenclaws’ were messing with you? I took care of that, didn’t I? And Parkinson? Zabini? I took care of them too. Remember when Snape wouldn’t let you hand in your assignment because you had the flu? And the time you passed out in the stairwell? I fixed those too because I can. Because I wanted to and I do what I want. Now, all I’ve wanted for days is you so if someone said something to you I need you to tell me so I can sort them out and get my best friend back. Now.”

He stares into your eyes the entire time, daring you to turn away. You feel like you can’t breathe, your hands once again wrapped around his but this time clinging for dear life. You’ve been terrified for two weeks and the exhaustion hits you in one, whopping punch to your stomach, the second punch of the day. Without warning your legs give out, all of your weight falling into the blonde who seems to expect it. His arms wrap around you, holding you against his chest for the first time in what feels like ages.

You don’t realise that you’re sobbing until you try to speak, “Dra, I’m so scared. I’m tired,” you grip his robes in your fists, your head falling against his chest, “I don’t know how much longer I can do this, I feel like I’m falling apart.”

He pulls you closer to him, wrapping his arms around you and holding you against him. You can feel the sigh of relief he releases and his heartbeat slowing as if it’s your own. Maybe that’s because yours does the same. For the first time in weeks you’re engulfed in Draco and you cling to him, circling your arms around his waist and pulling yourself impossibly close. He wastes no time either, wrapping his cloak around you and burying his face in your neck. 

Your body shakes furiously in his arms, everything you’ve been bottling up comes pouring out in a torrent of sobs and hiccups. Draco presses closer to you, towering over you and shielding you from the rest of the world. You let his peppermint scent engulf you completely,

“For Salazar’s sake y/n I need you to tell me what’s wrong. I need to fix it, love. Please tell me,” his voice is low and choked.

He’s right, you know he’s right. You squeeze your eyes tighter and grip his back, savouring the muscles under his dress shirt for a few more seconds before you know you’ll have to let go.

“Your father told me we couldn’t see each other anymore. He told me,” you pull out of his arms, leaning back against the tree, “he said, well, it doesn’t matter what he said. We just can’t be together.” Draco’s eyes widen and your cheeks heat up, your words ringing through your ears, “I mean we can’t be friends.”

Draco steps closer to you, running a hand through his hair and closing his eyes. He mumbles something under his breath that you can’t hear but you’re almost positive that it’s a curse. When he opens his eyes, your heart stops. His blue eyes burn into yours, glassy and angry but with something else too, something hot and fierce. Your heart restarts when he places his arms against the tree, caging you between it and him. You can’t resist placing your hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat pick up as well.

“What did my father say, y/n.” He isn’t asking you, he’s telling you.

You lower your eyes, not bothering to fight him anymore, “he told me he would destroy me if I kept being friends with you. He said you were getting married and that you could never marry a Hufflepuff and that he would destroy me if he had to.”

He staggers back with each word, like each one shoves him more than the last. He squeezes his fists before straightening his fingers, shoving them once more through his hair. His shoulders are tense, his back straight. His eyes are screwed shut again. 

“Bloody hell,” he pulls at his hair, biting his lip, “he’s lost his damn mind.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, tugging at your jumper, suddenly hot all over. Now is not the time to be getting riled up over Draco but you can’t help it, he looks exquisite. Messy hair and an un-tucked shirt, the veins in his hand prominent and his rings glittering in the afternoon sun. He’s absolutely and undeniably perfect.

“It’s ok, Dra, you’ll be ok,” you try your best to comfort him but he snaps his eyes open, looking at you like you’ve gone mad as well.

“My dad threatened to kill you! No I am not okay!”

This time you walk to him, pulling him into your chest again and wrapping your arms around his neck. He sweeps his arms around your waist, pulling you so close that you have to stand on your tiptoes to keep your arms around him. His hands grasp your hips tight and you immediately know what he wants. You oblige, wanting it just as much if not more, jumping up and wrapping your legs around his stomach. You tuck your face into his neck this time, breathing in the slightest hint of apples, green ones. 

You don’t speak, practically feeling the words bubbling in his chest, “My dad told you he was going to kill you, love. He threatened you and he didn’t even tell me. I am definitely not okay. I need to do something. I need to talk to him. And he told you I was getting married? He’s lucky he isn’t here. I don’t care if he’s my father, nobody talks to my girl like that.”

He’s rambling, something he does when he’s at his end. His words wrap around you, tangling with every part of you and sinking into your skin. They lull you into a daze of sorts, almost nodding off on your best friends shoulder. You don’t realise how tired you are until you’re in his arms, safe. And then it hits you, and you’re wide awake again.

“Your girl?”

You cut him off mid sentence, squeezing your legs tighter around him to bring his attention back to you.

“What did you say, love?” Draco hikes you further up his body, readjusting his grip on you.

Your cheeks flame, your neck hot. His eyes bore into yours, searching for something that you’re not quite sure you’re ready to give. His lips are so close to yours, his breath hitting your lips with every exhale. The courtyard around you fades away and Hogwarts itself holds its breath.

“Did you call me your girl, Draco?”

He doesn’t blush like you thought he would, “yes, I did. That’s what you are. Mine. And Merlin help my father for trying to take you away from me.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, letting his words sink into your flesh. They curl around your bones, laying down a warmth that you’ve been craving for longer than you can remember. He’s right. Of course he’s right, he’s Draco. You are his and you always have been. His arm around your back tightens, jostling you enough to make you cling harder to him. Your fingers find their way to the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair. He leans his head back, giving in to your touch willingly. 

He holds your gaze as your fingers weave through his silky hair, capturing you with his eyes and refusing to let go, “I’m yours, Draco. Please don’t let me go.”

He leans his forehead against yours, “never, love.”

Hogwarts releases the breath it had been holding, the noise of the courtyard once more fluttering around you. You go to get down from Draco but he stops you, tightening his arms. You only shake your head and smile, letting the sunshine warm your face.

Your heart aches slightly still though, “what are we going to do about your father, Dra?

He starts walking, the sudden movement causing you to tug his hair a little harder.

His voice is strained when he finally answers, leaning down to rub his cheek against your head, “just let me handle that, ok?” 

You give in, for now, laying your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes for the final time, “where are we going, Dra?”

“We, my love, are going to take a very much needed nap.” 

[hesgunnalovethis]

Not That Bad

Leonard McCoy x Reader

Summary: You have the severity of your injuries in a twist sending Leonard McCoy’s blood pressure through the roof

TW: injury descriptions and strong language 

ft. bestie Jim Kirk <333

Masterlist!

Word Count: 1737

“Yes. No. I understand Mr Spock. Cuttings on your desk in 40 minutes. Got it.” You closed your comm and checked your watch. 

 You’d spent 16 hours Planetside and after a complication that had landed most crew in the MedBay, you agreed to help out botany to complete the mission report. Really you didn’t have a clue what you were doing but you concluded it couldn’t be that hard. 

 Cross referencing the plants in front of you to the list on your PADD, you picked up the plier looking utensil and began clipping the stems from the root. 

 “Maybe I should transfer to science.” You muttered to yourself after you’d successfully pressed the first few cuttings into their sample bags. 

Taking the next stem between your fingers you picked up the pliers and cut through the green and your fingertip, simultaneously. Blood shot upwards from your finger. You scoffed at the inconvenience. 

 You grabbed the first aid kit and examined the content that your Chief Medical Officer boyfriend had once talked you through and began to wish you’d listened. 

 Failing to remember anything, you wrapped a plaster around the top of your finger and watched it turn from white to red almost immediately. You tried layering another on top which bled through just as fast. After a failed third layer you took yourself from the lab and started towards the MedBay. 

 You stopped for a moment scouring your brain for which corridors to take. It had been so long since you’d actually journeyed to the MedBay by choice. You’d been utilising your doctor shared quarters. 

 Arriving at the desk you checked your watch again. 20 minutes before Spock was expecting you. You began to panic and turned to the receptionist. 

 “Could you ask Doctor McCoy to see me? It’s pretty urgent.” You said, grabbing a bundle of tissues from the display to contain the droplets falling from your finger. 

 The receptionist did as you asked and you heard Leonard through the comm.

 “On the bridge?” He asked. 

 “No, Sir. Here in the MedBay.” The receptionist in front of you responded. 

 “In the Med-“ You heard a fuss beginning through the comm and then a room number you were to be assigned. 

 No sooner had you arrived, a half scrubbed in Leonard burst through the door desperately searching for what heinous emergency had beckoned you to his MedBay. 

 “Are you being serious right now!?” Leonard asked ripping off the last of his scrub uniform. 

 “Always good to see you too, Lee.” You responded, smiling. 

 Sighing softly he shot you an apologetic look and planted a kiss on your cheek. 

 “Hi, darlin’” He whispered letting down his doctor guard and allowing his southern drawl back in. He began to look you over again, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” 

 You lifted your hand removing the tissue to reveal your slightly bloodied finger. Leonard took a step back rubbing his temples. 

 “Y/N, darlin’. PUT A PLASTER ON IT?!”

 “I tried that! It keeps bleeding though!” You whined. 

 “There are people DYING in here, Y/N.” 

 “Oh go on, please. I have lab work due in 15 minutes and I can’t work with this bleeding all over the samples!” 

 Leonard sighed and moved to the other side of the room to collect the dermal regenerator. Taking your hand in his he kissed the cut before placing it under the machine.

 He caught your eyes with his. “I left a 6 hour surgery for this.” 

 - 

 The next day you took your healed finger with you on your next mission where your team successfully released several hostages and transported their authoritative grasp to Enterprise Security.  

 “All clear, Jim.” You said to your comm after clearing the last room on your final check. 

 “Received. Take the turbolift to the bridge and let’s get out of here.” 

 Stepping into the foreign tube you found it very similar to Starfleet’s and got it moving towards the bridge. You began to hear Jim’s voice on the other side before the lift stumbled to a halt. 

 “Um, Jim?” You shouted through the metal. 

 “Great.” Jim said clocking the flashing error sign on the lift. “Don’t worry Lieutenant. We’ll... pry it open.” 

 “Full proof.” You said to yourself, getting ready to pull from your side. 

 After a brief plan outline and a countdown you began to pull. A small gap opened to the side and you managed to squeeze your body through before the door clattered closed on your newly regenerated finger. 

 “Again?! Why is it always you?” You asked your finger, pulling it from the metals grip and eying the purple residue left on it. 

 “Me?” Jim asked, doubled over from the effort he’d just exerted, before being distracted by his comm, “Bones! Yes, just calling to let you know of the ZERO injuries incoming to the MedBay!”

 “Zero injuries?” You cut him off. “This is a broken bone for sure.” 

 “Oh my god.” Jim said in disgust looking at the weird purple oil all over the metal, your finger and subsequently his uniform. “Why is it that colour?!” 

 “Dammit, Jim.” You heard through the comm before Leonard hung up and Jim reconnected to the transporter room. 

 You arrived back on the transporter pad to Leonard’s eyes burning a hole in you and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

 “Broken bone?” He said walking towards you.

 “This bastard finger.” You said and Leonard took your wrist to examine it.  

 “THIS-“ He stopped abruptly and calmed himself. “This is a finger, Y/N. BARELY a bone.” He examined it further, “I’m not even convinced that’s broken?” 

 “Tell you what though, it really fucking hurts.” You petted your lip at him. 

 Slipping an arm around your waist he led you out of the transporter room and towards the MedBay. “Let’s get you patched up sweetheart, but we really have to talk about your hyperbole.” 

 -

 It was a few days before you were due to arrive at your next destination and Jim had roped you into helping with his ensign combat training. 

 “It’s basically target practice.” Jim said in conclusion to a confused looking group of redshirts. “The phasers I’ve given you won’t shoot, but will read on the side if you’ve hit your target. It’s like laser tag! You’ve all played laser tag, right?” The room was silent. “And that’s another added to the list of shore leave activities.” 

 “Captain Kirk and I will be over here as moving targets.” You started, taking over from Jim. “Try and shoot me without hitting the Captain. Got it?” 

 You and Jim moved over to the course beginning the same choreographed fight you’d been using for years. You heard the pathetic fake phaser shots over and over and were beginning to question almost all of your life choices as a deafening shot fired and struck your side. 

 “Y/N!” Jim fell to your side, “PHASERS DOWN!” He shouted to the group briefly trying to determine which one hadn’t followed his only instruction ‘Do not bring your own phaser.’ 

 There was a small commotion before you heard Jim’s voice again. “Kirk to MedBay I need a team to training room 1 immediately.” 

 You found yourself back in the same biobed you’d frequented for past 3 days consecutively and tried to keep up with the nurses’ quick conversations. 

 “Someone page McCoy now.” You heard one of them say. 

 “Not Leonard-“ You interrupted, “He’ll jus- is there anyone else?”

 “Not anyone who could patch you up like Doctor McCoy.” One of the nurses stated opening their comm. “Doctor McCoy to room 6. On the double. It’s-“ 

 “Lieutenant Y/L/N?” Leonard cut off the nurse. 

 “Yes.” She replied. 

 “For once I’m not even surprised.” 

 The nurses continued fussing around you and your biobed beeps became angrier. 

 You watched the door open and Leonard’s face turn from passiveness to urgency in a millisecond. 

 “My god!” He shouted, dropping his board and beginning to order nurses to different machines connected to your bed. 

 “Listen, Leonard it’s not THAT bad.” 

 “NOT THAT BAD?! YOU’VE BEEN SHOT?!”  Leonard flicked his eyes between you and your vitals. 

 “Yeah, but, shot in a controlled environment.” 

 “You’ve been in here with a cut and a stave, guns blazing, and now you’ve been shot it’s ‘NOT THAT BAD?!’” 

 “Granted this doesn’t look-“ You were cut off by a wave of pain that sent you wincing. 

 “Hell.” Leonard turned to his own station briefly. “You’re not gonna like this sweetheart but you can tell me all about it when you’re back in one piece.” Leonard planted a kiss on your head and a hypo in your neck, sending you into sleep. 

-

Coming back to, you heard your biobed beeping at a normal rhythm and a strong accent beside you. 

 “I don’t care what his test scores are, he shot a Lieutenant I want him gone.” 

 “Leonard.” You scolded. 

 “Darlin’” He moved to you instantly closing his comm without a word. “How are you feeling?”

 “I’m fine. Sore neck.” You said rubbing where he’d hypo’d you. His eyes were still racked with worry. “It was an accident. That’s why we train them we-“ 

 “Darlin’ if he isn’t removed from this ship the only accident will be me prescribing him with cyanid capsules instead of his iron tablets.” He looked over your vitals again before picking up his clipboard, “But you let me worry about that. You can worry about this.” He handed you a laminated sheet entitled ‘Doctor McCoy’s Guide to a Serious Injury.’ 

 You shot him an annoyed look. 

 “Just so there’s no more confusion.” He winked at you. You glanced over the ‘Serious Injury: To Be Reported’ column. 

 “I hardly think ‘A sudden cough’ is a serious injury, Leonard.” You scoffed. 

 “Oh sure. Let’s just let your DNA de-evolve into non humane codes exterminating crucial pairings.” 

 “Noted.” You said admiring the doctor’s bedside manner, “Is there a second page?” You said spotting another sheet in his hand. 

 “No. This is Jim’s copy.” Leonard replied. 

 “Of course.” 

 Leonard brushed your hair behind your ears and smoothed your forehead. “I’m glad you’re finally visiting the MedBay doll, but I would prefer if you kept your trips to mandatory immunisations and essential check-ups.” 

 “I wouldn’t hold your breath, Doctor.” You said brushing your lips against his. 

“And somehow I still wouldn’t change you for the world.” Leonard said quietly before closing the space left between you.

[kelieah]

flowers (din djarin x reader)

summary: din attempts to show his gratitude to the one person who’s been by his side all along

word count: 1.5k

warnings: fluff

edited: also pls go easy on me lmao, i’m not following the plot bc it’s just a quick fluffy blurb w a lil bit of background! allsssooo please refill out or let me know if you want to be tagged for my star wars / din djarin fics

a/n: sdjhbfdsfb yay! first star wars fic (not technically but let’s go w it), i’ve been wanting to write for their characters for the longest time and idk what’s stopping me ?? so here we goo

main masterlist | din djarin masterlist

You worked all your life as a mechanic, studied different droids and ships yet here you are now, taking care of a child. The child of a Mandolorian who constantly came to you to have his ship fixed. 

It all began when the two of you first met, he landed in your hangar with his busted up Razor Crest and asked for repairs. You told him you could do it for him with the help of your droids. Although, he was quick to reject your droids and asked for only you to work on it. You obliged in the end when he offered more credits, five hundred credits to be specific, for his request. 

While you were repairing his ship, you had to take a look in the interior as well because of how grave the damages were. But while you were fixing the inside, a faint noise startled you. That’s when you discovered the child, who is also known as Grogu. You and Mando, or who you now call Din, found out not too long ago. 

Your relationship with Grogu came naturally and easily. He grew attached to you immediately as did you. Although with Din, that was an entirely different story. After countless visits to your hangar and getting to know you, he fought with himself to make the decision to ask you to come along. He knew only so much about you but knew about your strong crave for adventure. It was a conflicting decision for him to make, he felt his odd sense of responsibility for you but he also emphasized with your past living and hardships. Eventually he asked you and to his little surprise, you agreed to come along with no hesitations.

Now, here are the three of you on a typical day of resting. Din lets you know that him and Grogu are going to the market. You find it odd that he doesn’t ask you to come along like usually would due to his overprotectiveness and slight trust issues but decide to brush it off. “We won’t be long,” he says while putting Grogu into his side.

“Whatever you say, tin head,” you yawn and turn back to your tinkering. 

He rolls his eyes beneath his beskar helmet at your comment and walks off towards the coordinates of the nearest village. Even though it annoys him, he had to admit he never got tired of your insults and nicknames for him. 

The village wasn’t too far from the ship and besides, he wasn’t really planning to get anything new. If you check now you’d realize you all didn’t need any more food or supplies for another week. He’s actually on the search for a gift. Din’s not one to express himself properly so after a short catch up with Cara Dune, he realizes he should be thanking you more. Not that he doesn’t thank you after you help him all the time, but bigger acts of gratitude. Though what would he know? 

“You really don’t know a thing, don’t you? Look, maybe get the girl some flowers and give her a nice big kiss to show her how thankful you are,” Cara chortled while chugging down the rest of her soup. Din pursed his lips and scoffed in response. “You got something good for you here, Mando. I wouldn’t let it pass,” she teased and patted the table, before dismissing herself. As he watched her walk off, her words remained in his mind for quite some time.

“Do you see flowers anywhere, kid?” he mutters while striding through the busy village. Grogu coos in response and reaches out to an area. Din turns around and glances in the direction he reaches out toward only to see a stand full of flowers. He walks towards the stand and looks around the selection, uneasiness settling inside of him like before when Cara told him to get you flowers. He huffs in annoyance. Why were there so many different types? And colors? And scents? 

This is a waste of time, he briefly thought to himself about to turn around until the merchant speaks up. “A Mandolorian buying flowers? Never thought I’d see that day, special someone?”

He lets out a quiet sigh and turns back around, nodding at her. Special is one way to describe it. He thinks deeply for a moment and stares at the variety of choices, debating which one would suit you best. He shakes his head due to being unable to make up his mind and turns away. He picks up Grogu who was beginning to walk off toward a frog and heads toward the other stands to clear his conscious. Not too long after, he purchases a snack for the kid and you. He eventually comes back to the flower stand and tosses the previous merchant a decent amount of credits. “I want it all,” he says firmly. The merchant gapes at the currency in her hands and glances up at him with a shocked expression. She nods quickly and hurries herself to gather all the flowers.

You start to wonder what is taking the two so long until you hear a series of short grunts and noises of, dragging? You place down your tools and press a button to open the back gate. You walk down to see Din dragging along a floating cart full of a ton of something covered high. Grogu reaches out from his bag and smiles at you. You walk over and scoop him up in your arms, pulling him close. Din turns his head towards you as you raise an eyebrow at him. “What is it?” you hesitantly ask and stare at him oddly.

His lips curl into a slight smile at your confused expression. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your face is a bit flushed from the work you were doing. Your lips are molded into a pout and the quirk of your eyebrow amuses him. He realizes soon enough that he’s staring and curses himself. “See for yourself,” he steps aside from the cart and fails to keep his eyes off of you. 

You glare at him warningly and hand him Grogu, reaching out toward the cloth. He smirks slyly and holds the child, nodding for you to continue. You mutter incoherent insults that he easily picks up and chuckles inaudibly. You grasp it and begin to pull it down until Din startles you by yelling just to scare you. Grogu giggles at your reaction. “Dank Farrik! Din! Don’t- don’t do that!” you swat at him and huff, finally pulling off the cloth. He chuckles quietly and waits for reaction. Your eyes widen at the crate full of flowers, the scent overwhelming your nose and the vibrant colors blinding your sight. “Oh, stars,” you mutter and reach out for a bunch, gently caressing one of the petals. “What are these for?”

He shrugs dismissively and looks at Grogu to avoid your adoring gaze. “For you,” he states and bounces the little creature in his arms. You smile widely and look back at the flowers with pure joy, sniffing once again to enjoy the blissful aroma. Grogu squeaks to be let down and Din listens, placing him down. Uncertain of what else to say, he only stands back up and observes you taking in his gift.

“Why though? It’s not my bornday,” you bite your lip attempting to contain your excitement due to receiving such a thing from Din Djarin himself. Over the course of months you’ve got to know this stubborn Mandolorian, you knew expressing himself was one of the hardest things for him to do.

“I know.”

“Then?” you take a step towards him and avert your eyes toward the flowers once more.

He exhales and purses his lips, searching his mind for words to put together. “To thank you,” he trails off and notices your look of encouragement for him to keep going. “For everything you’ve done for Grogu and I. For me,” he adds and cringes at his weak explanation. “Look, you mean a lot to the kid, and me. Besides giving you some of my credits, my sleeping quarters, food and—” he begins to list off things he provides you with which should be a given, especially since he asked you to come along. You raise both your eyebrows in unamusement and cross your arms, tilting your head at him. He couldn’t hold back a grin at your sudden attitude and shakes his head. “I wanted to thank you for everything you do, with flowers. Because, they’re. Uh, flowers.”

You press your lips together and nod in acknowledgement, restraining yourself from insulting him like you usually did. For once, you believed this wasn’t the time to. You briefly avert your eyes back and forth between him and the flowers and decide to show him your thanks as well. You jump into his arms and hug him tightly, or at least attempt to hug him with his bulky clad of armor on. 

“Oof,” he mutters and freezes up at your unexpected actions, unsure of what to do.

“Hug me back, laser brain,” you grumble.

He feels an unfamiliar discomfort in his stomach, his heart beginning to quicken and his cheeks starting to warm up. In disbelief of this feeling, something he begins to remember he hasn’t felt in a long time, he smiles at the thought. He hugs you back, pulls you close and rests his chin upon your shoulder while wrapping his arms around your waist gingerly. “Thank you,” he mumbles softly.

taglist + inbox link under the cut! thanks for reading ツ

leave a comment, give me some feedback pls! it’s greatly appreciated mwah

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tagging some mutuals! @sunsetholland @opheliacult @greenorangevioletgrass @poestardust @buckysbeloved @dcisyquakes @florenepughs @marvelinsanity @hollandcrush @spideyspeaches @calltothewild-blog @eusuntgroot @emmastarz​ @peterbenjiparker​ @earthlyholland​ @etherealsanakin​​​

@musicalkeys-blog  @angelsvoice1love @wdwsworld @uvedoneitagainqueen @awesomefanficlover @theliterarymess @lillucyandthejets @smiithys @shadowdixon27 @thehumanistsdiary @thegirlintheswivelchair @magicalxdaydream @twinklingholland @pxnkseason @you-aremy-sunshine @shmaptainshada​ @mandosbitches​ @theutterlyboredwriter​

[deeranger]

Fic Writer Questions!

@oddsocksandstuff tagged me in this, thank you so much, sweetie!  ❤️

 1) How many works do you have on AO3? I’ve got 40 so far (of which 25 are SPN fics). There’s more to come! 

2) What’s your total AO3 word count? 486,667, apparently. That tells me each of my fics has an average wordcount of 12,166.675… Seems about right. I was never any good at keeping things short.

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they? Uhh… On AO3 I’ve written for Supernatural, Supernatural RPF, X-men (Cherik) and McFassy (James McAvoy/Michael Fassbender). But I’ve written a lot when I was younger that has never made it online, including NCIS, Pirates of the Caribbean, and lots of weird one-shorts starring everyone from Michael J. Fox to Kevin Sorbo from “Hercules: The Legendary Journeys”. 🤨  

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos? “A Lesson to be Taught” – an SPN Wincest pwp fic where a dominant Dean fucks (and spanks) Sam and they discover that Dean apparently has a daddy!kink. Comes with a photo manipulation too! There be dick.    

“Taking Game” – a semi-dark medieval Cherik (Charles Xavier/Erik Lehnsherr from X-men) AU. Basically, Charles is a poacher hunting on king Erik’s land to his great dismay. And so, he’s captured and gets the choice between losing his life or serving the king for a bit… Dubcon and smut ensues.   “Only Like This” – a little SPN Wincest dub-con fic about hopelessly pining Dean doping Sam just so he can touch and kiss his oblivious little brother. It’s okay. Sam won’t remember when he comes to.   “It’s Only Carnal” – A dark SPN Wincest noncon fic where soulless!Sam needs to blow off some steam. And when it comes to carnal activities his brother isn’t exactly a novice – so why not use Dean’s body to make them both feel good?   “Demonized” – a long and dark af SPN noncon fic written in collaboration with the awesome @palishere. Sam is captured by some nasty demons who use him to lure in his brother. At first it seems the demonic scumbags are just really perverted and have a weakness for sexual torture, but they turn out to have ulterior motives…  

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not? Yes, always. I think it can be a bit demotivating for a reader to leave a comment and get zero response – and so, they might not bother to comment on the next fic. At least, that’s how I feel personally. And besides, I really want to let readers know that I appreciate them taking the time and effort to actually tell me what they think.  

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? Oufff… Seriously? How can I possibly pick just one when 99.8 percent of my fics are not only dark af but have gut-wrenching ambiguous endings as well? I, err… I’m gonna have to think really hard about this one, hold on… *Insert buzzing cicada sound*… Uhh… Well, I guess it might be… “Play or Pay” – a dark female!reader-insert Wincest fic where demon!Dean has you and Sam trapped somewhere underground. Sam ends up being on the receiving end of the demon’s cruelty when he tries to save you. Using Dean’s body the demon ends up raping Sam while the reader tries to escape to get help... There’s a little twist in the end. Loads of dead dove here, including death (not Dean or Sam).     “The Orange Hour” – where undercover inmate!Dean has to rape CO!Sam in order to save both of their lives and get them out of the jail in one piece. It doesn’t go completely as planned. (Comes with an nsfw photo manipulation).  “Demonized” – loads of bottom!Sam torture, full of hurt and absolutely no comfort... It’s just… I dunno, I think I and @palishere had a collective meltdown in the noncon and angst department. Sorrynotsorry.      

8) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written? Nope, I’ve never in my life written a crossover. Usually, I’m too laser-focused on 1 obsession at a time. I can’t multitask, okay?   

9) Have you ever received hate on a fic? Yes, the fandom purity police has visited me on AO3. The usual self-proclaimed know-it-alls vomiting their bullshit all over the comment section about how “problematic” noncon is and how “sick” I must be. I thought about moderating comments for a while, actually – but I just deleted their follow-up comments until they left me alone. 😤

10) Do you write smut? If so what kind? Yes!! Gimme! Usually, I write noncon smut or just good ol’ pwps that feature some sort of dominance. That’s it. That’s my jam. In general, the only smut I don’t write is the cute, fluffy, feel-good, cuddly stuff… My smut’s usually pretty rough and/or some sort of dub/noncon.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen? Yes. Someone stole “It’s Only Carnal” and posted it as her own on some Portuguese fanfiction site. She even replied to comments, answered questions and talked about how much she loved writing it, etc… Luckily a sweet mutual on Tumblr let me know about it and I reported her for plagiarism. The stolen fic was taken down shortly after and the account deleted. Goddamn thief. 😡  

12) Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes. Honestly, I can’t remember which fic(s). But people have contacted me on AO3 and asked for permission to translate my stuff into Chinese. I have - of course - happily allowed them to. It’s such an awesome compliment to get, I think!  

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes, 2. “Demonized” and the fluffy Ficfacers prompt fic “The Masks We Wear” starring Sam and Dean taking their pranks a step too far. Basically, the brothers get angry with each other and they need to talk it out… No smut in this one, can you believe it?!! But that was kinda the prompt we received. The prompt was literally: “Sam and fluff”. Anyways, both fics are co-written with the lovely @palishere. You can find her AO3 here. 😊

14) What’s your all time favorite ship? Wincest!!! Definitely. Gimme all the brotherfucking, please. No contest. And coming in on second place I guess there’s Samifer – never paired consensually, though. I just love Lucifer messing with Sam’s head and torturing him in all kinds of cruel ways.    

15) What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? Oh, that’s a mean question… I have a noncon WIP where Sam and Dean are in prison. I wrote a whole story outline, gathered my own little dictionary of prison slang, etc… But I never made it past page 10 or something. Sam was supposed to get jumped by a gang of inmates and then Dean was supposed to helplessly watch from the sideline, offering to trade places if they’d just leave his little brother alone… And after that it’s all about a mix of healing and vengeance… But the story has been lying on the shelf for more than a year and I doubt I’ll ever continue it. Oh, wait! I almost forgot – I have a long Cherik WIP sequel to “To Have and to Hold”! Just checked, its wordcount is 18,729! Holy crap…. What a waste, huh? But I honestly don’t think I’ll ever finish it, because I’m not into Cherik anymore. That ship has kinda sunk for me…. So, now I’m hyperfixating on Supernatural, yeah?     

16) What are your writing strengths? Description, I think. I just love details and setting the mood. I like to think I’m pretty good at writing in English too even though it isn’t my native language… I wish to be better and expand my vocabulary but I’m doing okay nonetheless.

17) What are your writing weaknesses? Description, I think. Yes, you read correctly. I often describe things TOO much. Sometimes to the extent where the pacing gets so slowed down that I feel like the scene loses its ‘feel’. I don’t know if it’s just in my head, but that’s my major concern about my writing. That and my signature ambiguous endings, lol.

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? Love it. It can be difficult to pull off, but if you get it right it can be magical. Just don’t overdo it and make sure that the reader can follow. I don’t think I have any fics online where I do it, but I’m not a complete stranger to it either.

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for? Ack, my poor brain trying to go back to when I was friggin’ 13… You know how many years ago that was?! 25!!! Okay!? *Huffs*…. Anyway, I THINK it might’ve been Keanu Reeves’ character in “Johnny Mnemonic”. Or maybe David James Elliott’s character as Harmon Rabb in the early seasons of “JAG”. I dunno. Either way this question makes me feel really old and I don’t appreciate it. Don’t @ me. 😅   

20) What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? That’s probably a tie between “The Orange Hour” and “It’s Only Carnal”. They’ve both got nice pacing and that’s my biggest challenge, I think. Also, I love the whole Morse code thing in “The Orange Hour”. I don’t even know what happened or how I came up with it, but hey, I can surprise myself if I want to, I guess! And of course there’s the smutty noncon and all of the hurt… So, those two fics are my personal faves.��😏  

I’ll tag @jackandthesoulmates, @pinkoptics, @palishere, @wrenseroticlibrary, @decadent-prince, @negans-lucille-tblr, @juinae and @impala-dreamer and everyone else who feels like doing it! Feel free to ignore, of course. 

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Whisky Secrets (sequel)

Here's something different. Before I ever thought about posting fanfic here, I used to write things inspired by fanfic I found by some of the incredible writers I found on tumblr. I've never posted any of them but I've really felt like writing something for Aleister Black/ Tommy End lately.

So I reached out to one of my original favourites on this site, @ghostofviperwrites and asked her if she'd mind if I published this sequel I wrote to her story Whisky Secrets. She gave me the ok (for which I thank her very much).

You absolutely have to read her piece first or this won't make any sense. It picks up literally at the point where hers leaves off and the entire premise is based on what she wrote. I think this goes in a very different direction than what she had in mind, though.

Since this is an old story, some of the characters are very different than they are now. It was set at around the time I wrote it. Based on events in the story, it's pretty clear when that was.

It's a bit dated but I hope you enjoy.

Pairing: Aleister Black x OFC (hints of Roman Reigns x OFC)

Word count: 7,031

Content advisory: graphic sexual content, language, incidental roughness that some might find stressful

You rested on the sofa for too long, knowing that you had to get to work, that you were already behind on an assignment that was due that afternoon. As much as you desperately wanted to cling to the scent and the feeling of him being there with you and the idea that he might someday want to be there with you for longer, you knew that you were only wasting time by indulging in a fantasy. Once again, you reminded yourself, he saw you as a friend, a landing pad after he was finished his adventures. And so you dragged yourself to the computer and tried to focus.

It was a fluff piece you’d been hired to write: places for new residents of Orlando to meet people. You’d accepted it because the pay was good and it had seemed easy. But what the hell did you know about meeting people? You’d barely met anyone and the only ones that you’d call friends were the ones you met when you’d done an in-depth profile on the WWE and their development territory NXT. Of those, only Aleister had remained close and even then, you couldn’t say that the two of you had ever properly opened up to each other. Nevertheless, you’d stayed in touch with a number of them, occasionally meeting for coffee or drinks. None of this was in any way useful when it came to recommending locations to connect with strangers.

You’d tried to start the article the day before but now when you opened the file, you discovered that you’d only come up with a half a dozen corny titles and one word of text:

When?

The word was too painfully appropriate.

When were you going to run out of luck and be unable to find further work as a journalist?

When were you going to admit that what kept you here, rather than moving to another state and pursuing more secure work, was the fact that you were in love with a man who was only interested in your capacity as a friend and caregiver?

When was your hopeless love going to break you beyond repair?

Annoyed with yourself, you deleted the word and tried to start again. You could meet people at the gym classes that were ubiquitous in this city. You could meet people at get-togethers for shared hobbies like hiking or pottery or basically anything. No one had to meet people by getting thrown into their orbit and being unable to extricate themselves.

About half an hour into your resentful hammering on the keyboard, you were startled by your doorbell. For one sweet instant, you imagined that it was Aleister dropping by to pass some time with you. Then you realized that he never came to you without an invitation unless it was dead drunk in the middle of the night. Even when you invited him, it was only every fourth or fifth time that you asked that he agreed to come over and watch a movie or go for a walk in the nearby park. There was no way it was him at your door at eleven o’clock in the morning.

In fact, the person at your door was Bayley, chipper and warm as always, returning the spare laptop you’d lent her a few weeks before.

“Thank you so much,” she beamed, thrusting the computer into your hands. “You are a lifesaver. I’d have lost my goddamn mind if I hadn’t had this while mine was in the shop.”

“It was nothing,” you insist, smiling at her unconstrained warmth even though you didn’t feel very positive about your life at that moment. “Do you want to come in for a minute?”

She nodded cheerily and stepped across the foyer. You never really knew how you fit in with the women of WWE, even though you’d spoken to many of them in depth. Bayley stood out because she was determined to be your friend despite your introvert’s reluctance. And, indeed, she was irresistible. Much like her in-ring character, she cast sunshine wherever she went and her glow was contagious, even in your darkest and lowest moments.

You motioned her into the kitchen, offering her a choice of lemonade, iced tea or water. Her eyes immediately fell on the empty whiskey bottle you’d left on the counter, her expression growing more serious as she focused on it.

“Getting started early?” she cajoled.

“A friend left that here,” you replied guiltily.

She narrowed her dark eyes as she looked at you. Sweet and optimistic as she was, Bayley was not naïve. She knew exactly what friend had left the bottle behind and she knew how you felt about him.

“I’ll have a glass of lemonade,” she said, the smile slowly returning to her face.

You joined her and the two of you jokingly touched glasses before drinking.

“So, a few of us are getting together tonight,” she said hesitantly. “I thought you might like to join us.”

Your first instinct was to ask if Aleister would be there, but you thought better of it. Instead, you responded, “Well, I have an article I need to finish.”

Of course, your article was due by the end of the afternoon, which meant that your evening was free regardless, but part of you wanted to be at home in case Aleister came staggering over again.

Bayley’s jaw set in a determined expression you’d only seen from her in the ring. “We’re having a party for Roman, to celebrate him going into remission.”

Well now you felt like a bit of a bitch for making excuses and didn’t know what to say.

“It won’t just be wrestlers there. Some other journalists are even coming. And I know that it would mean a lot to him if you were there.”

When you’d done your article on the WWE, you’d interviewed Roman Reigns and he’d been incredibly generous with his time. He’d even contacted you after your interviews to confirm that you had all the detail you needed. He was the face of the company and had done everything possible to make sure that the company had provided what you required. He’d clearly wanted to make sure they’d left a good impression and you couldn’t help but be impressed by his PR skills. Although you knew it wasn’t true that it “would mean a lot to him”, you were touched by the idea that he remembered you and might like you to be there to celebrate his great news. At the same time… you needed to be there for Aleister.

“Look,” Bayley insisted, “I’m going to text you the details for the bar where we’ll be. It’s not a big deal, just a bunch of us getting together to be happy for our friend.”

There was no way that you could refuse that, so you shyly thanked her as she gulped the rest of her lemonade and made for the door.

“I’m serious,” she said as she departed. “You work so damn hard you deserve a night off. Finish what you’re doing and come have fun with us.”

As soon as she’d left, you once again sat down at your computer. Before you could return your attention to your work, however, you couldn’t resist checking Instagram.

Someone had tagged Aleister in a photo on Instagram.

Yes, you were that pathetic that you always checked.

With trepidation, you clicked the link to look at what was there. As it too often did, the notification came from an airbrushed-looking woman, her collagen-enhanced lips pressed against his. She looked arrogant and proud, while he looked smug and inebriated.

“Guess who I got to hang with last night?” the caption gloated.

You knew damn well what “hang” was a euphemism for. He never cared that the Barbie dolls he hooked up with advertised their conquest on social media. He was single and hot. Why should he care if people knew that he always scored with the sort of women other men lusted after? Why should he care that it ripped your heart to shreds every time you saw him with another woman so unlike you in every way?

The woman had posted a few other photos of the two of them together, embracing. Every part of her magazine-ready body was on display, save those parts that would have gotten her in trouble. Her artificially perfect breasts were spilling out of a tiny tube top while her endless legs were shown in their full glory between the edge of a skirt that likely required her to trim her pubic hair and the sky high heels that raised her enough to press her lips to his without having to stretch herself awkwardly. She was nothing like you, with your unkempt hair and loose, bohemian dresses, your comfortable ballet flats and blandly natural face. She had all the glamour that you lacked and he ate it up.

The images of the two of them cut into you like a laser and, for once, all you desired was to break free from the pain of feeling. A few minutes later, when Bayley sent the text she’d promised with the details of where you could find the party tonight, you immediately responded.

“I’ll be there. I promise.”

To hell with Aleister and the designer women he adored, you told yourself as you returned to your article with a vengeance. Tonight you were going to do whatever it took to break the spell he had cast over you.

*

It was just after nine when you found yourself teetering to the entrance of the bar where the party was taking place. It was marked only by a subtle sign, no words, just a stylized anchor, and it was hidden away on a tiny street that was hardly more than an alley. In your fit of pique, you’d finished your article two hours before your deadline and then, having examined the options in your closet and found them wanting, headed out and spent entirely too much money on a new dress that clung perfectly to your breasts before flaring out to highlight the movements of your body, while covering just the bare minimum to maintain decency. You’d also picked up a stylish pair of ankle boots with heels higher than you were used to and that posed a legitimate threat as you made your way down the roughly paved road to the speakeasy-style bar.

A little further down the alley, you see a couple leaning against a car, taking turns swigging from a liquor bottle. The woman is one of those glamorous animals that makes you so insecure, laughing in drunken delight in a way that only confident people can. In one quick movement the man spins her around and bends her over the hood of the car. He immediately takes out his cock, stroking it a couple of times before he thrusts into her, one hand on her back while the other holds the bottle that he continues drinking from. And it’s a moment before you realize that it’s Aleister, fucking away at a woman whose name he won’t remember in a few hours.

The sight makes you want to curl up and die, makes you want to say that you’ve made a mistake and run along home so you can bawl your eyes out while you wait for his inevitable drunken arrival. But, if nothing else, the damage that you’ve done to your credit card in order to make yourself look just a bit more sexy and edgy than usual, as well as the glasses of wine you had already consumed to fortify your courage, push you forward. This is a test. In order to pass, you need to be able to ignore the man whose indifference is killing you and enter the world of others, where someone who wasn’t up to the standards of the rarified model girls might be willing to give you a second look.

Aleister doesn’t even glance up as you enter the bar a few feet away from him, can’t feel the dark weight of your eyes on him or the force with which you tear them away as you step through the door.

As soon as you do, you are once again frozen with the idea that you’ve made a mistake. When Bayley characterized this as a “get-together”, you’d assumed it meant a group of people spread out around a few tables chatting away and toasting Roman’s health. Instead, what greets you is a basement club full of people with a dance floor alive with writhing bodies. You recognize a few journalists but for the most part, the space is taken up with every WWE and NXT star you’ve ever heard of. It’s a convention of beautiful people and you can’t help but feel dowdy even in your overpriced finery.

You slowly descend the stairs, fully intending to look around, say hello to a few familiar faces and then bolt for the exit, but you’re immediately greeted by a familiar voice that fairly shrieks. “Oh my god woman, just look at you!”

It’s Sasha Banks, standing at the edge of the stairs with Bayley, who gives you an exaggerated round of applause.

“Miranda, you look amazing,” Sasha continues breathlessly. “Seriously, you’re putting everyone to shame.”

You don’t feel like you’re putting anyone to shame, least of all Sasha in her body suit that hugs every curve of her perfect little hourglass, but you blush at the compliment.

“Come on,” Bayley gushes, “we need shots to celebrate your hotness!”

She pulls both of you through the crowd to the bar and somehow is able to get the bartender’s attention almost immediately, ordering two rounds of tequila shots because, she tells you and Sasha, there’s no point in getting just one round when you know you’re going back for seconds. The three of you toast and toss down the shots and then immediately do so again and you have to admit that you’re feeling the warm glow already. Sasha, apparently feeling something herself, wraps her arms around you and once again reassures you that you are devastatingly beautiful.

Another shot is thrust into your hand, this time by Dash Wilder, who’s arrived with his Revival partner Scott Dawson. Wilder has always been attractive to you, so you give him as radiant a smile as you can manage and you swear he blushes a little just before he downs his shot. Dawson is hugging Sasha and Bayley close to him, allowing Dash to edge a little closer to you and you’re feeling a little high on yourself when another voice cuts through your circle.

“Miranda? Holy fuck I can’t believe you’re here!”

Roman Reigns pushes right through the bodies close to the bar and grabs you firmly by the shoulders, his eyes gradually focusing on yours. He’s grinning with an intensity that clearly comes from his being a little past feeling no pain but it doesn’t hamper the thrill it gives you when he wraps his arms around you and nearly crushes you in a hug.

“I mean, shit, I don’t think I’ve even talked to you since you did that interview,” he pouts. “Thank you so much for coming.”

You smile as another shot is pushed into your hand, biting your lip self-consciously. You down about half the shot before Roman grabs it from you and finishes it, breaking up with laughter. He signals the bartender for another round, keeping an arm around your back until the tray of shots arrives. You’re all toasting each other and you wonder why you ever questioned yourself for coming here because this is exactly what you needed.

“Come dance with me,” Roman chuckles, grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards the dance floor. He’s clearly floating on a sea of drunken bliss, goofing around and happy to have someone to have fun with, someone he didn’t expect to be there. Even if you wanted to resist his offer, you couldn’t because, while he isn’t doing anything that might hurt you, his grip is strong enough and the rest of him powerful enough to compel you forward.

The two of you deliberately dance like complete nerds in high school, awkward movements and ironic posturing until you’re both laughing so hard you can barely stand. It’s then that you realize that you’ve become the focus of some attention; Roman goddamn Reigns, the face of the company, the locker room leader, the man who everyone has come to celebrate, is dancing with you. Most of the people here have no idea who you are but because you’re with Roman, you are somebody. Basking in the subtle attention and envy, you close your eyes and allow yourself to get lost in the music, swaying to the beat until you feel a large pair of hands on your hips.

You open your eyes to see Roman pulling you closer to him with a devilish grin before spinning you around and pulling your back against his massive chest. You continue to move but at a slower pace, your movements limited by how close he’s holding you and the sensual way in which his body moves against yours. Keeping one arm loosely around you, he lets his other hand fall against your thigh, lightly playing with the hem of your dress. It makes you gasp.

“You never responded to any of my texts,” he murmurs gruffly in your ear.

You remember at least half a dozen messages asking if he could clarify anything or if you needed any additional material for your article. You hadn’t needed anything else but you suddenly feel terribly rude for not answering.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “you were very professional and I should have at least told you that I had what I needed.”

His voice drops even lower as he speaks. “I didn’t mean to be professional about them. And I was hoping that you didn’t have everything you needed.”

He pulls you up and firmly against him and for the first time you can feel his hardening cock through his pants. You can’t help but thrust your hips into him, barely able to process what’s happening to you. The two of you are still ostensibly dancing, although it’s more like a rhythmic grinding to the music as he reaches down and pulls the hem of your dress up, rubbing your thigh and then your ass as he presses his lips into your neck. His hands are everywhere on you and you’re aware that your entire lower body is basically on display for anyone who cares to look but you don’t care because it feels like you’ve won the lottery. You moan at the feeling of his growing excitement against your flesh, both his large hands grazing up the front of your thighs and for a moment you think that you’re ready to beg him to take you right there when you’re violently spun away from your dance partner, a bruising grip on your arm.

It’s Aleister, eyes incandescent with rage as he tells Roman, “I need to speak to her for a minute.”

Roman looks confused and tries to speak to you but Aleister drags you away and a gaggle of women immediately descend on Roman, desperate to take your place.

Aleister flings you against the wall, glaring at you with an intensity that you’ve never seen outside the ring.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growls.

“I was dancing before you interfered,” you snap back at him, rubbing your arm.

“Dancing?” he repeats with derision. “That’s what you call that?”

“I was having fun.”

“What the hell are you wearing?”

For the first time since you saw him with his woman of choice outside, you feel ridiculous, like a girl trying to look glamorous by donning her mother’s clothes.

“I wanted something a little different.”

“A little?” he hisses back. “Do you realize what you look like? You’re all tarted up and letting some guy grab at you and get you half naked in front of a bar full of people.”

“What I look like?”

“Everyone could see practically your whole goddamned body. They could see what you were letting him do to you.”

“You mean to say I look like a whore.”

Aleister crosses his arms and glances away, refusing to confirm what you’ve said.

“So what, Aleister? So what if I’m letting a man touch me and show me that he wants me? Who cares who else sees? Maybe that’s what I want!”

“Are you so stupid that you think he wants you for anything other than a one night stand?”

The accusation stabs at your heart and your confidence but you’re determined not to let him see that.

“Again, so what? Maybe I’m happy to have this big, gorgeous man want me. Maybe I’m fine bringing him back to my place for a few hours of fun because at least it means someone is thinking of me as a sexual being for a change.” You pause, knowing the danger of what you’re about to say but unable to stop yourself. “Maybe I’d be fine if he just took me outside and fucked me over the hood of a car.”

For a second, you think that Aleister is going to strangle you. The look on his face is like the moment before the sky erupts in thunder and lightning. Truthfully, you expect that he’ll turn on his heel and walk away from you and never come back, and perhaps that’s what you need him to do so that you can get over him.

Instead, he grabs you, pinning you to the side of his body and pulling you towards the door. His movements make you stumble, and the more you try to resist him, the more ungainly you look.

“She’s dead drunk,” you hear him assure a few people, “I’m going to make sure she gets home.”

And while it’s true that you are drunk, you’re not nearly as drunk as he’s making you out to be. The second he has you outside, you try to twist away from him and go back, only for him to wind you closer, pulling you off balance so that you look even more inebriated.

You hear him whisper to Seth Rollins, who’s observing the spectacle through the corner of his eyes. “Look, tell Roman that she’s falling down drunk and I just had to get her home. No disrespect meant.”

Seth has a confused expression on his face but nods and tells him, “Sure thing.”

Realizing what Aleister is doing, you once again try to rush past him, but he blocks you, gripping your arm and pulling you after him so that you really do appear pathetically unable to take care of yourself.

“Why the fuck are you doing this to me?” you shout at him, figuring that there’s no reason to worry about who might hear you, there being no further you can sink in their estimation. “Why can’t you just let me enjoy myself?”

“Jesus, Miranda, you’re loaded. You can barely stand up.” He emphasizes this by jerking your arm forward, which almost causes you to keel over onto your face. “You’re just embarrassing yourself.”

“No,” you insist, pulling yourself to a halt. “I knew what I was doing. I knew what I wanted. Sure I’m a bit tipsy but-“

“You don’t want that,” Alesiter snaps, threading his arm through yours and continuing down the street. “You don’t just want to whore yourself out for a night because you think it might help your self-esteem.”

“You don’t get to decide what I want, Aleister.” You’re crushed against his side and he’s moving so quickly that your feet only graze the ground every third or fourth step. “Let me go. I’m sick of playing the surrogate mother for someone who’s incapable of seeing me as a real woman. I want to go back there. I want to have someone make a show of wanting me. I want to get fucked so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”

Aleister shakes his head like a parent frustrated with a misbehaving child. “Stop it. You’re being ridiculous.”

“So let me be ridiculous!” you yell back, trying unsuccessfully to extricate yourself from his grip. “What the hell is it to you? Are you worried that for once I’m not going to be there when you need a place to collapse at four in the morning?”

The two of you reach the corner where the alley meets the street and he swings you to face him, glowering at you with a terrifying expression, gripping your biceps so hard you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. He says nothing but stares at you until he whips his arm out and hails a taxi seemingly out of nowhere.

He launches you, there’s no other word for it, into the back seat of the car and snarls your address to the driver as your tears start to fall. The cabbie is noticeably uncomfortable with your quiet whimpering and seems confused by the fact that Aleister does nothing to comfort or engage you. He sits with his arms folded, scowling, until you arrive at your building. Reflexively, you reach for your purse only to have Aleister swat your hand away and pay the driver himself. You try to keep pace as he yanks you towards the door, but stumble because of your unsure footing in these strange heels and because your vision is glazed by the tears you’re fighting to hold in.

When Aleister pins you against the door and rummages through your purse to find your keys, it somehow feels more invasive than Roman gripping your ass for an entire bar full of people to see. You feel, for a moment, that he is looking at you with tenderness. But when the door opens, he simply guides you through it. As you hear it click shut, the last of your strength, physical and emotional, gives out and you drop to your knees, finally allowing the tears to fall. It’s a full-on ugly cry, punctuated by guttural, anguished sounds you’d never allow anyone else to hear. Despite everything, you desperately want to hear the door open again behind you and to hear him say that he’s realized he loves you.

But no, in the end, he’s just found it gross that the woman he sees as his caregiver might have another side. He found you pathetic in your overpriced dress and shoes. He knew that you were desperately trying to act like something you could never be: like someone who could compete with the perfected Instagram beauties he fucks every night. You could never be that. He knew that you were just a sad little woman decked out in a gaudy outfit. You’d never be that sexy, desirable person who stopped men dead in their tracks, no matter what your dance with Roman had temporarily led you to believe.

You’re on your knees for what seems like hours, choking on tears and snot and trying to restrain yourself from howling. Just as the sound overpowers you and a low wail escapes your lips, you’re startled by a pair of arms, familiar, tattooed arms wrapping around your waist from behind.

“Shh. There’s no need for any of that,” he grunts into your hair.

And while you’re shocked and thrilled that he actually stayed behind to make sure that you were ok, it’s also even more humiliating that he’s seen you fall apart so spectacularly. Your body feels limp with defeat and unable to react at all as he gathers you up and carries you into your bedroom, setting you gently on the edge of the bed. He rests his hand on yours for a moment and you’re able to stem the flow of tears until he stands up and heads back towards the door. This time, you’re determined to hold in the worst of your misery until you’re sure he’s gone, even though you can’t stop the tears from running down your face.

But after a few minutes of straining to hear the door close, you see Aleister return, a damp washcloth in hand, and he sits once again beside you on the edge of the bed. He presses the cloth, cool and soothing, against your cheeks and then holds your chin as he delicately wipes it across your face. It takes you some minutes to realize that he’s removing your smeared makeup, cleaning you off so that you look good as new, so that you look more like the plain girl who lets him into her home in the middle of the night, his touch filled with a tenderness that you never imagined him capable of. When he’s satisfied with his work, he tosses the cloth aside and wraps an arm around you, pulling you close against him. The sweetness of his friendly gesture makes you want to cry all over again but you choke it back, knowing that you’ll have plenty of time for that when he’s gone.

“Can I stay here tonight?” he whispers, the sound of his voice making you feel weak.

You nod and roughly pull back from him, unsure of your ability to stop yourself from throwing yourself at him and begging him to wreck you. You fumble with the zipper of your boots until Aleister slides off the bed and onto his knees and removes it for you. He glides his hand along your calf, up to your thigh and then moves to your other boot. As he slides it off, he presses his head against the side of your knee, giving the skin a light kiss before rocking back on his haunches. You know he’s being gentle with you because he feels sorry for you. He finds you pitiful, which is even worse than finding you asexual.

The feelings are too much for you to take and all you can think of is that you want to get into bed where you’ll be safe and where you can sleep off the nightmare your evening out has become. You clumsily shed your dress, stockings, bra and panties without thinking much of the fact that you have an audience. Why should it bother him seeing you naked, after all? Normally, you put on some nightclothes but you don’t even have the strength to bother. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that Aleister has turned his head towards the door. He’s embarrassed for you, the way you would be if a parent or sibling was undressing around you.

You crawl under the covers with a grumbled “good night” and immediately start to feel yourself drift off. You’re jolted back to wakefulness when Aleister climbs in beside you. In all the time you’ve known him, as many nights as he’s come and collapsed on your sofa, you don’t think he’s ever seen your bedroom. Now, having seen it, he’s apparently happy not to leave it, indulging in the comfort of your bed without even asking permission. It makes you a little self-conscious that you’re nude but it’s hardly the most humiliating thing to happen to you tonight, so you let yourself ignore it. If you can just fall asleep, this night will be over and you can begin the process of trying to forget it.

It’s only a matter of seconds, though, until you feel his body pressed against yours from behind, one hand coming to rest flat on your stomach and pushing you back against him so that you are acutely aware that you are not the only person naked in the bed. The hand on your stomach flutters downward until his fingers are moving lightly over your pussy, like he’s plucking the strings of a harp. His other arm wraps around your shoulders and keeps you flush against him, close enough that you can’t mistake the feeling of his erection against your back.

He presses his lips and tongue against your neck, making you whimper as you try to keep your heart rate stable. Your little noises seem to motivate him further, his touch becoming more insistent and one of his legs snaking over yours, pulling it back to give his hand greater access.

“Such a little fool,” he murmurs, his fingers stroking insistently along your fleshy folds. “Thinking I don’t see you as a sexual being.”

He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, making you cry out- more from the shock than the pain. His mouth continues to move around your neck and shoulders, nipping and sucking on the skin there, his grip on you tightening until it’s nearly painful.

“What are you doing?” you manage to ask.

“Leaving marks,” he says matter-of-factly.

You’re at a loss for what to say, but are saved from having to answer as he pushes two fingers inside you, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your clit. You’re embarrassed that he must have felt how wet you were just from being in his presence but he says nothing, quickening his pace and giving satisfied little growls when his touch elicits gasps and cries of pleasure from you.

It’s pity, you remind yourself; what he’s doing to you, he’s doing it because he feels sorry for you and because he’s drunk and horny despite his encounter earlier in the evening. But the thought gets whisked away as he brings you closer and closer to what you’ve desperately needed from him for so long. You let out a little shriek when he removes his hand, unable to believe he’s so cruel as to bring you to the precipice and then deny you. But he simply flips you onto your back before pressing his fingers inside you once more, watching your reactions to be sure he’s hitting just the right spot before burying his face between your legs. His tongue, lips and fingers work together like an orchestra. Your knuckles are white from the force of clenching on the sheets and you’re biting down so hard on your lip to muffle the sounds you’re making that you’re worried your teeth will end up permanently embedded. He unexpectedly raises his head and stills the movement of his hand inside you and the shock is almost enough to make you start crying again. You look down at him, his eyes sparkling in the low light with an expression you can’t read.

“Why won’t you let me hear you?”

Because you don’t want him to know how good his merciful little gesture is making you feel. Because you don’t want to admit to yourself that it’s better than you’d imagined. Truthfully, whenever you’ve thought about the mechanics of sex with Aleister, you imagined that it would be fast and rough and hedonistic, much like his other sexual encounters seem to be. But he’s chosen this moment to take his time, to focus on his partner, rather than go for a quick, dirty fuck in a darkened corner.

You don’t tell him any of this, instead croaking out, “I’m shy.”

He raises himself up and over your body with the effortless grace of a serpent, pressing his head close to yours and kissing along your jawline.

“What do I have to do to make you not be shy?”

“I don’t know… I just… am.” You wriggle a little under him, turning your face away when he looks directly into your eyes.

He cups your face in one hand and runs the other, still wet with your juices, over your breast, teasing the nipple and making you shudder involuntarily.

“Am I moving too fast?”

You shake your head, not quite trusting your voice.

“Is there something that you’d enjoy more? Something you want me to do for you?”

You give him another little shake of the head.

“You don’t have to be shy with me. Whatever you want, I want you to tell me so I can give it to you. Anything.”

For the first time, he kisses you on the lips, his tongue, that still tastes of you, slides against yours and the hand at the side of your face slides to hold your neck, cradling your head so that you don’t have to tense any muscles to stay in that position. Your body has nothing it needs to do but experience the sensations he’s creating. Of course, you still answer his kiss, hungrily flashing your tongue against his, reveling in the light scrape of his lip ring against your lips. His hand glides back down between your legs, and even the proximity is enough to draw a couple of little mewls of pleasure. You feel him smile a little against your lips at the noises and he pulls away from the kiss.

“Am I making you feel good?”

You nod as he starts to work his fingers around your entrance once again.

“Do you want my mouth down there again?”

You nod even more vigorously than the first time but he shakes his head.

“Tell me. Say it out loud.”

You open your mouth to do so and he immediately thrusts his long fingers into your g-spot and your clit at once, making you yelp in pleasure. It’s almost enough to make you cum on its own but he eases the pressure before you reach that peak.

“Yes?” he asks again.

“Yes, fuck, yes!”

“Then let me hear you. Please.”

He returns his attention to your core and has you making all manner of unholy noises in short order. He expertly teases you and then holds back, so many times that when he does finally take you over the edge, you feel like you might pass out from the intensity of it. Your gasps for breath sound cavernous in the quiet room.

He keeps the palm of his hand firmly against you as he leans forward and presses his lips into your neck, letting out a satisfied purr every time an aftershock rolls through your body.

When he’s satisfied that you’ve fully come down, he raises himself up on his arms, giving just the hint of a smile when you grab onto his biceps to steady yourself.

He’s so rigid that he doesn’t even need a hand to guide himself into you. He simply presses forward in one slow but sure moment, his eyes closed as if it’s a kind of religious experience, not opening them until he’s fully seated inside you. It’s been long enough since you’ve been with anyone that the feeling of being stretched draws a little whimper from your throat. He remains still, his eyes open and bearing down on you with a delirious kind of excitement, aching prick twitching inside you, desperate to proceed but waiting for a signal that he can.

And it’s at that moment that you allow yourself to think that this isn’t pity or a drunken mistake, that he’s as hungry for you as you have been for him and that what’s happened tonight has just served to connect a circuit. The fiercely possessive look in his eyes as he watches you, the fury when he thought someone else was claiming you, the need to mark you to make you his, the flush of pure lust on his face and chest… it is just a little frightening, something you suspected was in him but never that it was focused on you. But you’ve always known you could handle his darkness if he let you in. So you thrust your hips a little and wrap your legs loosely around his waist to show him that he can continue. Just as he starts to move, he cups your face and presses his mouth to your ear.

“You deserve so much better.”

“Stop trying to make those decisions for me,” you moan, feeling your insides flutter with his movements.

“I’ve never felt anything like that jealousy.” He’s staring into your eyes as he confesses. He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder pressing deeper inside you and gasping at the feeling. “Knowing that everyone could see how sexy and beautiful you are… And I’m an idiot for waiting for that to happen before I did anything, I just…”

He grimaces and slows his pace a little, obviously trying to prolong the sensation.

“You mean it?” You have to ask because you still can’t quite believe that this has been on his mind for all this time when he’s shown no sign of it to you.

“God yes,” he answers through gritted teeth, once again allowing himself to move faster and more urgently.

You can’t completely banish your fears that he’s going to regret this in the morning and just shut you out again but every second with him is pushing them further away. You lace your fingers through his hair, nipping at the shell of his ear as he lets out his own stream of desperate, lusty noises, running your nails gently down his back as he approaches his crescendo.

His head drops to your chest and he cries out as he releases inside you.

“Fuck I love you, fuck I love you, fuck I love you.” He repeats it like a mantra that brings him back down from his high, saying it a final time as he looks into your eyes.

Slowly, he rolls onto his side, gathering you close to him like he thinks an errant breeze might carry you away.

“I have…” he begins quietly, “… there’s a lot that goes on in my head… Bad things, I guess. I thought you’d run away. Or that I’d pull you down with me. I still don’t know that won’t happen.”

He looks so vulnerable that it makes your heart hurt but at the same time you have to stifle a smile.

“Well I’d rather you let me try to deal with it. I’m a lot tougher than you give me credit for being.”

His expression grows a little guilty and he nods. He wraps his arms tighter around you and you do the same until the two of you are lying in your bed, wound around each other.

[zukkoxx]

first dates! :)

w/ bakugo, kiri, deku, shoto

bakugo 💥

let’s be honest...going on a date was not bakugo’s idea.

in fact, he despised the idea of having to put off hero work for a night to pay for some extra’s meal and force himself to have a conversation he didn’t want to.

but the people he called his friends, mina, kirishima, denki and sero urged him to do this. (mostly mina)

they all complained about how he was so pent up and angry more than usual, and that one normal night where he went on a date to get to know someone might let him blow off some steam.

there’s were three outcomes to this planned date:

1. bakugo would be annoyed the whole time, counting the minutes down before literally bursting himself away from the date

2. he’d get himself laid, which was another way to blow off steam, to be fair.

or 3. he’d meet the love of his life.

and that’s where you come in.

you were one of mina’s closest friends, who had met everyone in the squad except for bakugo. he claimed he didn’t have enough time to meet irrelevant people. and the four idiots he semi-tolerated was enough for him.

but mina was persistent. she bribed bakugo with all types of things (most of them having to do with all might) to get him to go on just one date with her friend

and surprisingly, he agreed.

and now, you’re at one of the classiest restaurants in town, sitting across from pro-hero bakugo and eating all that your stomach could hold.

the beginning was a bit awkward. small talk here and there where bakugo would just reply with one word answers or even a low grunt.

but as soon as you asked him about his career, and why he chose to become a hero, it seemed like he could suddenly talk for hours.

he explained a little about himself, talking about his “hag of a mom” and his “arch nemesis deku” with a scowl.

and you explained what you did, your career and some parts of your life. bakugo listened. he was surprising himself. he never imagined being so interested in some extra’s life.

but your eyes were captivating and your words were ear pulling. and he honestly couldn’t help but think....maybe this was a good idea

bye the end of the date, you two were gently smiling at each other. his a lot straighter than yours, but it was something.

he walked you to your car, and you started to say goodbye

“this was really fun bakugo, i’ll be sure to look out for your pro-hero duties on the big screen.” you went to step in your car when he put a hand on your shoulder.

“put your number in.” he grunted. “what’s the point of watching behind a screen when you could get the story from the man himself.” he handed you his phone, and watched as you put your digits in.

when you finally said your last goodbyes and you were back home, your phone dinged, and a notification form an unknown number popped up.

i had fun too i guess. call me...whenever.

-b.k.

deku 🥦

izuku was conflicted.

he loved his life, don’t get him wrong.

living as the number one hero was literally his dream come true.

but he always felt something missing. he just didn’t know what.

it wasn’t until he was hanging out with his friends on one of his rare days off. smiling and laughing at the carefree atmosphere.

he soon realized something. he was different from the rest. it was so obvious, how hadn’t he noticed till now?

he watched as todoroki and momo smiled at each other, sharing their food.

as ochaco and iida held hands under the table.

as tsuya left early, saying she had to meet her s/o.

izuku finally realized...he was lonely

not in the the literal sense, no, he had tons of friends and peers who he loved very much.

but he didn’t have a companion. someone he would come home to at the end of the day. who’d stick by his side through thick and thin.

so he did what every standard, normal human being did when wanting to find a s/o.

he turned to online dating.

hey don’t make fun of him! you were on there too ;)

izuku spent months swiping, trying to find the perfect person to “shoot his shot” with. and eventually, he landed on your profile. your picture was gorgeous and he found himself asking “are they a model?”

feeling a burst of confidence, he goes to your messages, and types a greeting.

you, on the other hand, was confused to say the least. there was no way #1 pro hero deku had just messaged you. you thought it was a scam or catfish. so you ignored it.

but after a few more minutes, another message caught your attention from the same profile.

hey! i know what you’re thinking but...it’s really me! deku! here’s my number so we can video call. please consider. ###-###-####- i.m.

so, you decided to give it a try. if it really was deku, there was no way you’d pass on this once in the lifetime opportunity

as soon as you had free time, you called. and to your surprise, it was really him!

you two talked for a while, getting to know each other. and you shared how you both thought it was time to reach out and try to get to to know other people.

it was really nice talking to him, but as some point, duty called, so he asked you to meet him at a small cafe in town.

when the day came, it entered the nice cafe, and giddily looked around for the green haired boy. when your eyes met him, his widened and he waved at you.

as you walked closer, you couldn’t help but notice the severe blush spreading across his cheeks.

you said hello, and he replied with a stammered greeting. he was almost a totally different person than the one who had messaged and called you, but...you found it cute.

after a while, he began to calm down, and casual conversation began to flutter between you two.

you spent hours talking and laughing with him like you were old friends.

he paid for your food, like the gentleman he is, and complimented you more than you could count. you found yourself hoping this wouldn’t be the only date.

and he was thinking the same thing.

after a few hours of getting to know each other, duty called, and izuku had to leave to go save a bank from being robbed by a low grade villain. much to his demise.

before you parted ways, he spoke with hopeful eyes. “we should do this again some time. o-only if you want to, of course!” he suggested.

you smiled widely. “i would love to!” was your response.

...you two went on a lot more dates in the future.

kirishima 🪨

it was a normal day for the red haired boy.

he was having his usual friday workout at his local gym.

buffing up, ya know?

he decided to work on his legs, walking over to the leg press.

he stopped in confusion when he saw someone he didn’t know at his usual spot.

he was even more confused when he noticed the same person was about half his size, lifting the same amount he did!

he looked left and right, wondering if anyone else was watching you.

he stared a little longer than he’d like to admit, watching your figure and focused eyes, and after a while, you finished your set, sitting up to get a drink.

kirishima cleared his throat, walking towards you and flexing his muscles, groaning at the stretch when he moved his arms around.

he approached you just as you were about to do another set, but you stopped when you saw him walk up to you.

“hey uhhh...need some help there?” he asked in feigned confidence, hoping to start some conversation.

you scoffed “you think cause i’m a girl i can’t lift a few hundred pounds?”

“nonono exactly the opposite! i was just watching you. you did a good job!” kirishima stopped himself when he saw your eyes widen. he probably sounded so creepy!

“look, i saw you absolutely crushing those leg lifts and i just could not...not...introduce myself to someone so MANLY!” he grinned widely. “i’m kirishima! you are?”

you gave him an amused smile and introduced yourself. “y/n.”

you two talked for a bit until it became too late.

so kirishima suggested that you two hang out. it was only gonna be a date if it was fine with you.

you agreed, of course. he was cute, charming, and entertaining. a date wouldn’t hurt.

so he gave you his number and told he’d text you about the plan.

a week later, you got the day and time of the date, but he wouldn’t tell you where it was, claiming it was a surprise.

don’t worry, you made sure to give one of your friends your location in case any shady stuff went down.

kirishima happened to take you on a date to an amusement park!

there was a ton of attractions and rides, as well as other activities like rock climbing and laser tag.

you had so much fun. kirishima was making sure of it. he let you win in laser tag, let you sit where ever you wanted on the rollar coasters, and basically carried you up the rock climbing wall.

and in the end, he won you a giant teddy bear from the claw machine.

it was honestly a perfect date.

by the time night fell, you and him were chilling in his car, eating funnel cake and snow cones.

“so, did you have fun?” he asked with curious eyes.

“so much fun kiri!” you happily bit your funnel cake and he smiled even wider at the nickname, happy you had gotten comfortable with him already.

“that means we can do this again right! go on another date?”

you agreed without hesitation :)))

shoto ❄️🔥

todoroki had no interest in dating.

it’s wasn’t that he didn’t like the idea, or that he had trouble finding someone (god no), he just didn’t think it was important at the time.

but when the vain of his existence, the person who seemed to cause all his problems stepped into his calm and collected lifestyle, he had no choice.

his father, endeavor, was trying to set up shoto in the arranged marriage.

he had been trying for a while, but shoto continued to refuse.

however, endeavor was his father, and he continued to berate shoto about how the family name would go to waste if shoto didn’t marry someone with a good quirk.

shoto made a deal

if he found a s/o before the day of the wedding, endeavor would have to leave him alone and let him make his own decisions. finally

endeavor agreed.

the only problem was...shoto didn’t really talk to people. he didn’t reach out and go on dates. he just had no reason to. so finding someone that he was comfortable being with would be difficult

he thought about the people he knew, and how most of his friends were from his high school years.

scrolling through his contact list for what seemed life forever, he suddenly approached your name.

he remembered you fondly. how you were one of his closest friends and one of the people he actually cared about during his time at UA

and, he honestly found you quite attractive

you’d definitely be able to help him with his little dilemma.

when you received a random text from shoto, you were kind of surprised. after high school, you never really talked unless it was holidays or birthday greetings.

but when he told you about his situation, and how he needed a fake s/o to get his father off his back, you agreed.

you were always the type to help a friend in need. especially one like shoto who helped you through high school.

shoto had planned on you meeting his father and having a quick dinner to introduce his new “girlfriend”

luckily endeavor never payed attention to shoto’s friend’s, or he would have recognized you from UA.

during the dinner, a tense blanket covered the three of you.

endeavor would ask very specific questions.

what’s your quirk?

how powerful it is?

what benefits would you bring to the todoroki family?

you answered as best as you could to make yourself fit to his standards, but it was hard when endeavor was so intimidating and judgmental.

at the end of the hour long meeting, he claimed you weren’t right for shoto, and you didn’t meet his standard.

it honestly wounded your pride a bit. you slumped in your chair and shoto looked at you in concern.

you excused yourself after a while, noting to say sorry to shoto for not being able to help him.

but you couldn’t get far when you hear shoto cursing out his father, saying he was a “scum” and he “wouldn’t take anymore bullshit”

shoto ran after you, apologizing for his father’s behavior and insisted on taking you out to make up for the trouble.

that night, he took your favorite restaurant and let you order whatever you wanted.

the rest is history.

well guys this was my first official post. hopefully it’s up to ur standard. ;3

[drjackandmissjo]

float among the stars and fly to Mars and back

The Universe was infinite and limitless for some, and Feyre wanted to unfold all of its secrets. And if there were live beings outside of the Earth’s atmosphere, that would be even better than taking the journey into the unknown alone.

OR The Men In Black AU no one asked for

Feysand Masterlist --- Ao3 

Feyre Archeron had, since she had been a little girl, always believed that there must’ve been more to the Universe than their little Solar System.

Granted that there was nothing ‘little’ about a star and the nine planets (Viva la Pluto!) and the many other cosmic rocks that rotated around it, quite the opposite if you looked at it from the perspective of a tiny 7 years old, yet for Feyre, after her school had taken them to the city’s planetarium for a field trip, their Solar System had become undoubtedly small compared to the greatness of the unknown sky above. She had got home that day with stars in her eyes, literally because they had been given stickers of stars and planets, and she and her friends thought it was a good idea to stick them on their faces and eyelids, and had begun to constantly look up.

And she had not stopped since.

Many of her classmates laughed at her interest for the sky, thinking she only thought aliens were real because of movies and the TV, but the truth was that Feyre didn’t even want to acknowledge life outside of the Earth unless she had all the cold facts and hard proves laid out in front of her. To her, the Universe was a big adventure waiting to be explored, full of different atmospheres and gravities and temperatures, and it was simply wonderful. And yes, it was statistically impossible for such a vastity to have only one liveable planet, considering how well creatures could adapt to different environments, but that was not the point.

The Universe was infinite and limitless for some, and Feyre wanted to unfold all of its secrets. And if there were live beings outside of the Earth’s atmosphere, that would be even better than taking the journey into the unknown alone.

Which was why at 25 years of age, fresh off the most prestigious university in Prythian with a bachelor’s in aerospace engineering and a PhD in astrophysics, she had sent her curriculum all over the continent, to the best space programs and some. She had graduated valedictorian of her class, scored the highest marks with her thesis and just genuinely worked her ass off to maintain the full scholarship that had landed her at the Day Court University. She was gonna get what she deserved!

Or at least she thought. Weeks passed and she got no answer at all. She was not expecting to be submerged by requests but, by the Mother, at least some acknowledgement!

“No news is good news” wasn’t part of her vocabulary and she was growing impatient by the hour.

In the meantime, she still kept her job at a local library in her university town, not particularly wanting to go back home to her sisters who had never shown her any support in her academic career. Besides, it was not like they would provide for her anyway: she had learnt since a young age to take care of herself, knowing that if she didn’t nobody else would.

It was on the third week of no reply, that someone walked in the shop during her shift. A tall man in an impeccable black suit strutted in like a model on the runway. As soon as he opened the door, the bell rang, signalling a customer and letting Feyre slip on her Retail Smile, which she had practised for years to make it impeccable.

Coincidentally, it was also the same condescending smile she reserved to people who thought they knew more than her in her own field before she crushed them with stone cold facts without breaking a sweat. “Oh, you believe that astrology and astrophysics are the same thing? Sit your ass down, Tamlin, you’re in for a lecture,” had been one of her best moments, followed by a quick “Nothing’s in retrograde, Ianthe, you’re just a plain basic bitch.”

The customer was her dictionary definition of ‘hot’: elegant, tall, with deep russet brown skin and dark unruly curls that framed his forehead nicely. The stranger also knew how to wear a suit, which was a rarer and rarer phenomenon, that didn’t hurt a bit.

It was such a shame that he was clearly a douche, given that he wore dark sunglasses inside her little bookshop after the sun had already set down.

“Can I help you, sir?” she asked politely, watching as the customer scanned through the files of books mindlessly. He lazily reached up her counter with an entitled smile that almost made her punch him the face. “Could you point me to the sci-fi section, Darling?”

The fact that he looked like a thirty-something made the term somehow less creepy, or perhaps it was the fact that he was attractive. But Feyre could not, for the life of her, let that slide down. “I’m not your Darling” she said in her most saccharine voice while throwing daggers at the customer. She was completely out of fucks to give, stressed and anxious, half an hour away from closing time and with her manager on a vacation far away.

Besides, she doubted Alis would give her hell for mouthing an entitled but attractive customer who was patronizing her. If anything, she’d probably push Feyre to flirt with said attractive customer. Cauldron knew that woman wanted her to have a relationship more than anything!

“I apologize for my poor choice of words, I am truly sorry. Didn’t mean to sound rude nor impolite.”

Feyre was quickly taken aback. He truly did sound apologetic and not condescending at all. But he also could just be a great actor. She crossed her arms over her chest and pointedly looked at him, signalling that she was still not convinced by his behaviour.

She would usually be not this bold with customers, but there was something about the stranger that seemed to put her at ease and to let her nature pass through her nurture.

He scratched his neck, probably uncomfortable with the energy Feyre was radiating, and finally took off his sunglasses, revealing the most gorgeous pair of violet eyes she had ever seen.

Immediately, Feyre went from thinking he was a douchebag to understanding that his pretty eyes didn’t work. Which was probably why he didn’t take off the sunglasses at night.

But then why in the Hell would he take them under the store light and not outside, where it was already dark?

She was on the fence, too many contrasting details that sent her rational side derailing, looking for answers that she knew she wasn’t gonna get. Unless she played her cards right.

“Apology accepted” she claimed, truly smiling as she saw the hot stranger visibly relax.

“If his eyes are purple, that means that he’s basically blind, so where are his prescription glasses?” she wondered, eyeing him up and down as she would with any specimen to analyse for a lab. She was a scientist, after all, and Cauldron Damn Her, she needed answers to each and every puzzle that came in front of her.

“I am looking for the sci-fi section. Would it be possible for you to show it to me?” His voice was sensual and low, a rich baritone that seemed to be able to get to her very bones, if she wasn’t careful enough.

“Would you rather me show you our audible or kindle selection for the genre?” she quietly asked, trying to be as tactful as possible. She was only making assumptions with the tiniest bit of information by her side, after all, so she had to be careful not to make an ass out of herself.

“No, what for?”

There went it. The ease with the customer had said it made it completely clear that she was utterly mistaken. She quickly tallied her notions of genetics, trying to understand how such a colour could be created without a damaging mutation.

Realizing she still hadn’t answered and was actively zooming out, staring into the space between the stranger’s brows without really realizing it, Feyre shook her head, saying a quick “Never mind,” before leaning over the counter to point to her left.

Counterintuitively, that had not been the greatest of ideas. There she was, already on a rollercoaster with a rather pretty stranger in an empty store, leaning towards him without thought or restraint. “It’s down that row, you can’t miss it,” she quickly said, moving fast into her original position to avoid any more embarrassment, “There’s a sticker of a Martian next to the tag.”

The customer raised one of his brows in a RDJ-esque way, sparking even more interest in Feyre’s stomach. “How do you know what a Martian looks like?”

“I’ve been scarred by the Tim Burton movie, I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to forget them anytime soon!”

He nodded along, “Ah, yes. Apparently there had been a revolt after that film was released due to its controversial portrayal of the Martian Race, by making them look like a green oversized Arquillians. Such a bad political move, if you ask me, considering we’re right in their direct laser trajectory!” The stranger then laughed, a crystalline sound that resonated throughout the store as he began to walk away towards the direction Feyre had indicated.

She had been so entrapped by his laugh that it took a minute to register his words. He had already disappeared between the rows and all she could do was dumbly stare at the spot he had been as her eyes widened in shock.

“No fucking way in Hell!” her mind screamt as she stumbled to find a different solution to the situation at hand. He was clearly pranking her, saying words that didn’t really make sense. He had asked for the sci-fi section, after all! So he must’ve been a nerd, albeit a really hot one, that was just referencing some sort of obscure specie from an equally obscure piece of media.

The only problem was that she was a nerd that knew all of the obscure sci-fi knowledge. She had spent most of her life looking up at the stars and wishing to know more about them, and what better way to start than by watching and reading everything that had to do with her favourite topic. She was used to be on forums, to talk with people that had her same interest and to explore all her crazy theories.

And never once in her entire career as a proud nerd had she heard the term ‘Arquillians’. Vulcans and Krill and every single type of alien that made the Star Wars universe, sure. ‘Arquillians’, never once by mistake in the deepest bottom of reddit.

Feyre was about to debate with herself whether or not she should’ve run to the stranger to demand explanations, when he appeared in front of her, holding a copy of ‘The War of the Worlds’ by H. G. Wells, one of the most iconic books ever written and one of her personal favourites.

“He’s definitely messing with me” she reasoned as she grabbed the book and scanned it, ready to place it in a bag, when she noticed an envelope laying on her counter. It was a non-descriptive, black envelope with some sort of a six electron configuration in minimalistic drawn atomic orbitals. The image was wrong, depicting the electrons in a specific spot on the ellipse rather than in a general area in which they were thought to be empirically.

She raised her head up, looking expectantly into the stranger’s eyes and telling him as such. One of her hands also crept under the counter, towards the baseball bat Alis kept down there just in case.

“Wow. Took you less to realize it than most people!” he cheerfully said, his violet eyes shining with some unknown feeling behind them.

“Realize what?”

“That those are not electrons.”

She snorted at that, unable to keep her sarcasm in. “And what should they be? Wasps?” she asked, amused by their exchange as she grabbed his credit card to pay for the book. It was pitch black too, apparently like everything that revolved around the pretty stranger who was going to get his head open like a melon if he kept up with his antics.

“Why don’t you tell me, Miss Degree in Astrophysics.”

Feyre froze with her hand mid-air as she was giving him back his card. Her expression shifted in cold distance as she sobered up. They were getting on dangerous territory

She was far from powerless: she had a weapon at hand and several years of martial arts by her side, but she doubted she could take down someone the side of her customer in her skinny jeans and Avatar: The Last Airbender shirt. But there was also the counter separating them, which seemed protective enough for Feyre to answer his question.

“First of all, it’s only theorized and not proven, that planets could share an orbit around a star, but I fail to believe that three pairs would form this symbol without colliding against each other and disrupting the harmony of the system. Second, who the fuck told you that?”

“Well, you did, when you sent your exquisite curriculum around” he replied smoothly, without missing a beat.

That was the last straw of weirdness she was willing to witness. “This is getting very creepy and I’m gonna ask you to leave” she said coldly, grabbing the bat with both hands and leaning it over her shoulder, ready to attack if the necessity arose.

The stranger blinked twice and then took a step back, raising his hands in a placative motion. “Pardon me, I still have not grasped human social skills to the full extent, despite my long stay.”

“You are human” she retorted back, unable to keep her voice from shaking. This was absurd, ridiculous, impossible. This was everything she had ever hoped for since she was a child. This was a walking nightmare.

The smile he gave her didn’t look human, nor the way his violet eyes reflected the light, seeming to sparkle with amusement. His lips opened as his tongue wetted them, revealing sharp canines. Feyre had never seen a scene more captivating than when the stranger moved a strand of curly hair behind his ear with deliberate slowness, showing off the pointed tip of his ear. “Correction, I look humanlike.”

“You’re messing with me” she rationalized, refusing to believe that it was possible. Anyone could buy fake vampire teeth and elf ears at any Halloween store or online. But they usually didn’t look this real. Perhaps it was make-up: she had seen so many videos on YouTube and Instagram of artists literally transforming in different things with make-up.

He just shrugged, unaware of Feyre’s rocked existence. She both wanted to believe him and not. She didn’t know what she truly wanted.

“Why would I? I was just sent here by my agency to give you personally the invitation for a job interview, which I think you’ll find fascinating.”

She was speechless. Couldn’t even begin to think about where to start speaking.

This had to be the cruellest prank someone had ever pulled on her.

The stranger cleared his throat and moved once closer to the counter, resuming his initial position. Since Feyre didn’t seem to be hitting him anytime soon, he took the liberty to lean on the counter with his hands splayed out. He had long and lean fingers, like the ones of someone who played an instrument, a piano or a violin, and Feyre ignored the twist her stomach did at the sight.

If he wasn’t messing with her and if he was in actuality a fucking alien, would that be even allowed? Moral? Ethical?

“Look, I know you have an analytical mind, so I’ll be quick,” he began, his smooth voice washing over Feyre in an equally calming and disruptive way, “In case you have wondered why you still haven’t gotten a single reply for your applications, it’s because something big in Velaris is calling out to you. And my agency believes in dibs.”

“What’s there for me in Velaris?”

He smirked at her, a cocky gesture that made her want to strangle him quickly. “Don’t you wanna find out?”

Damn him, damn his perfect face, damn everything. Feyre had many strengths: she was patient, passionate, artistic, kind. But her downfall would always be her curiosity, her desperate want to know.

“I don’t particularly want to get murdered, so no” she tried to play it cool, but inside she was burning alive. Every muscle was taut, every nerve active. She hoped he couldn’t see through her bluff, she prayed the Mother he didn’t think her to be a pathetic little girl.

The Alien, it was impossible in her mind to call him that even if he had confessed it in the most subtle way possible, regarded her with shiny eyes and a grin that promised trouble.

Feyre had always been terrible at staying away from trouble.

“Pity. We could’ve used someone with your talents. If you change your mind…” he motioned to the black envelope, that still laid on the counter untouched. Too many Mission Impossible movies told her that the message was most likely to destroy itself after it opened.

Slipping his sunglasses back on, the alien turned around to leave and suddenly Feyre realized she didn’t want him too. She had too many questions.

“Wait!” she called as he had his hands on the handle. He slowly turned around and looked at her expectantly. Or at least she thought he was: there was no way of seeing his violet eyes behind the black lenses. Suddenly, all of the questions that had filled her mind a moment prior escaped her grasp. Except one.

“Let’s pretend I believe you. What are you?”

The smile he gave her was genuine, blinding and warm. “I am an Illyrian, but I doubt you know of us.” Then, as if in an afterthought, he added. “I’m Rhys, by the way.” She couldn’t understand why he looked sheepish out of the blue, it was almost as if he was a teenager revealing a secret crush.

“Feyre.”

“Well, in that case. I hope to see you soon, Feyre Darling.” And with that, he left her utterly alone, with a black envelope and stars in her eyes.

Part Two: The Letter

Feyre had waited until she had gotten home to even think about the black envelope, least of all to open it where someone could immediately walk in with their prying eyes.

Not that she would have had any, after all she was just about to close shop for the weekend and the only people she was in speaking terms with were Alis, who would never call her at such a late hour, and the stray tabby cat that lived near her building and for whom she always left some milk and some food whenever she went out to work. She had playfully began to call him Lucien, after a former college friend she had fallen out with that shared the same ginger hair with the cat, and constantly damned her landlord for his ‘no pets allowed’ policy, but alas, she couldn’t do more.

She had always appreciated her privacy, but lately it had become very close to loneliness, with her being too engrossed with her work to maintain a social group of friends. Not like she missed the assholes she used to hand out with in college anyway. They could all rot in their expensive clothes and expensive cars and expensive degrees, cause Daddy Dearest is a powerful donor and alumni.

Yet it wouldn’t have been so bad to have someone to hang out with when her mind became too loud.

Not too bad, if the alien, “Rhys” she reminded herself, was to be believed. The Night Court was adjacent to Day, but she had left nothing there worth justifying the trip back in case she did move to Velaris.

Velaris. The city of starlight, they called it. Feyre had always wanted to visit, but never could afford it with her tight budget and her focused plan to graduate valedictorian. In the end, she only got that, her impeccable career, which was truly the only thing she cared about. Loneliness was feeble compared to her fear of failure in what she believed was her destiny. It is a funny thing, destiny, it smacks you in the face when you least expect it, and smack Feyre in the face in the form of a very attractive stranger with possibly the best news ever it did.

She had almost expected him to appear out of the blue as she walked back home. Thankfully, he didn’t, but that didn’t mean she slowed her pace before being inside her complex doors and that didn’t mean she didn’t have her keys at hand throughout the entire journey.

It almost felt like she couldn’t breathe properly before she got inside, door locked twice behind her as she leaned against it to help her mind to stop spinning.

Too many things had happened in a too short time for her to cope properly. She needed answers, but she equally needed a strong drink.

It wasn’t until she had managed to calm down her beating heart, that Feyre sat down at her desk and placed the black envelope on her closed laptop.

“This better not be a sick joke” she thought as she ran a paper cutter through the edges. She had wasted too much time on this already for it to be fake or, worst, disappointing.

The paper inside was, predictably, black. She could start to see a theme, linking everything that had happened to her that evening.

The silver writing was subtle and not to bright, perfect to not cause her an headache reflecting the light from her reading lamp.

Feyre almost expected to see alien signs and letters, to not be able to understand what was written as some sort of challenge to test her knowledge. Luckily for her and her dyslexia, it was in English. Still a struggle, but very doable.

“Doctor Archeron,

We have been sent a copy of your resumé from one of our affiliates. We apologise if this letter comes out as brusque due to the circumstances of your possible recruitment.

We are more than pleased to inform you that we have envisioned your request. Our Agency specializes in your field and your accomplishments are remarkable. We are particularly interested in your research in the attrite of different materials against the atmosphere, which you created a masterful thesis around, we were mostly drawn by your detailed research with the Martian atmosphere.

We know that was not part of your resumé, but we have read it and it is very insightful.

We would appreciate if you were willing to come to Velaris for an Interview with our Head of the Research Department. We think you would be interested in a position and we are open to discuss a fortuitous partnership.

In case the way you received this letter was not direct enough, Our Agency values privacy and secrecy above all, and therefore we would request for you to not discuss of this with anyone.

Attached you will find your scheduled meeting time with the address, plus a train ticket to reach Velaris and the booking of an already paid room.

We are truly hoping to be able to work with you.

Our Best Regards,

MIB”

Feyre had to read the letter three times, for the meaning to stick in her head.

Any thought of it being a joke flew out of the window. No one in their right mind would ever read what her supervisor had claimed to be a ‘monstrosity of twenty pages without pictures about materials and Star Trek’ simply for a joke. No matter how well thought the joke could be, the Mars piece was the penultimate point of her research, before the conclusion and not even featured in the syllabus.

Her mind became crowded with a thousand different thoughts. Her emotions were all over the place, running around and doing flips and diving into her subconscious.

She leaned back on her chair, letter momentarily forgotten on her desk as she covered her eyes with her hands and just focused on her breath.

In, hold, out. In, hold, out.

She could rationalize this, just like she did everything else in her life. She had jumped to conclusions with her emotions only once in the past 10 years since she had started college, following her loneliness and the pressure to date the guy that screamt red flags for many reasons, yet she had ignored them all because he was gentle at first, filthy rich and nice looking.

Never again, she swore to the mirror after she had managed to end the toxic relationship that had developed.

Feyre did what any rational person would in her situation: grabbed a pen and a piece of paper and wrote down a list of pros and cons.

PROS:

Job opportunity in my field

ALIENS?

Secret Organization

Area 51?!

Already estranged from family

Secrets!

Velaris!

Best food

The Rainbow

Seaside

Best Library in Prythian

Snow in the winter

Fresh Start

CONS:

Moving

Finding a place

Totally new city

Know literally no one

Have to quit job with Alis

Already told her I was waiting for replies

She has a replacement ready

Could still be a prank

Too complicated to be a prank

Definitely an opportunity

Am I really thinking about saying no?

It took her longer to come up with cons. Besides, her gut told her to do it, and so far it had never lead her astray.

Worst case scenario: she comes back and waits around for another reply to her resumé.

Best case scenario: the job of the literal dreams, that can possibly exceed expectations, in her favourite city in the entire world.

Besides, she already had a paid train ticket to and from Velaris and an already paid room in what, if the website was to be believed and it was, was a 5 stars hotel in the creative centre of the city.

Before she could doubt herself even further, she grabbed her phone and shoot a quick text to Alis. The older woman didn’t believe in phone calls past 8 pm, considering her nephews would be already asleep by then, or at least she hoped they would.

Her thumb ran over the keyboard as she frantically wrote, in the most cryptical wording known to womankind, that she would have a job interview in the Winter Court on Monday and that she needed the day off. It didn’t matter that she was going to the Night Court and that her meeting was scheduled for Sunday at 11 am, she figured that, if she had to be secretive, better start as soon as possible!

Feyre didn’t move from her position with her phone pressed tightly in her hands until, ten minutes later, Alis replied with a thumbs up emoji, followed by ‘you’re wasted at retail’.”

Feeling lighter than she had in months, she rushed into her room to begin to pack for the upcoming weekend. The train would leave the next afternoon and would get her back Monday after lunchtime. She had to prepare, in case she could go out on Sunday night for a ‘I JUST GOT THE JOB OF MY DREAMS!’ celebration and shenanigans.

Perhaps with a very cute and nice alien with violet eyes, she thought as butterflies fluttered in her stomach at the idea.

Part Three: The Agent

Her old pencil skirt clashed with the aesthetic of the entire building.

At first she had thought that the whole black attire Rhys was wearing when they met was only due to personal preference, and that the black letter was used to be more secretive or something along those lines. Yet when she hopped, literally hopped on the pavement out of excitement, off the taxi she had taken from the hotel, she immediately realized her error.

To say that they were peculiarly attached to their aesthetic was an understatement: floors, walls, dresses, desks. Everything stuck to the black and white palette, making Feyre extremely aware that she had underdressed as she stuck out like a sore thumb.

In her defence, that was her lucky outfit: hair tight in a professional bun, glasses because she couldn’t be bothered with contacts on important mornings, white blouse and beige skirt she had bought for her graduation in high school and that she had worn to every job interview since then.

Of course, she had brought a full professional black outfit from home, but she had decided that morning not to take a chance. So far, that combo had never failed her, and it wasn’t going to betray her now, by the looks of it.

Upon arriving to Velaris the night before, she had spent the entire time daydreaming about what would happen that morning. Countless of scenarios had created and resolved themselves in her mind. But nothing could have prepared her for what she saw as soon as she walked into the address the letter had given her.

It was a perfectly non-descriptive building, something akin a factory that had been converted in offices or lofts, inconspicuous amongst the other nearly identical buildings. Perfect if you didn’t want to be found. But while the outside looked like it hadn’t been renovated in over a century, inside it was completely different.

It was modern, sharp and very Tardis like. And it apparently had several levels underground, so it was ‘bigger in the inside’!

She couldn’t keep her awe in, because not even a few steps in and a short and scary looking woman came approaching her, her silver eyes blazing. “Every human has the same impression” she said in lieu of a greeting, and Feyre could only stand there and nod dumbly.

The woman, if she was human at all, reached to shake her hand, “My name is Amren, I am the chief of MiB. I assume you are not familiar with our Agency, correct?” her voice was cold and dangerous and Feyre had no doubt in believing that she might not be from Earth at all, if her ancient like eyes didn’t give her away.

“No, ma’am, I’m not” she replied curtly, unsure of what to say. No, she had not heard of their Agency. Stars, that was the first time someone had referred to it with its proper name! But she had also dug as deep as she could, trying to find information about all that crazy situation, conscious that her every move must’ve been tracked.

Amren gave her an appraising nod, as if she knew every single detail of Feyre’s life, “As you should” she said calmly, before beginning to walk away, motioning for Feyre to follow her through a maze of bodies and beings and desks. She was kind enough to point a race there, a post here, but refused to get too much into detail. “You’ll find someone else to ask” had been her curt reply before resuming her random naming game.

She only stopped leading her around when they reached a black shiny door that was open, revealing on the inside the only colour in the entire building, or at least that was what Feyre thought. Inside, there was one of the most gorgeous females Feyre had ever seen, long golden hair in contrast with her tan skin, a red dress that hugged her like a second skin, and a smile that could blind and that could counter as a weapon, if needed. When she saw them approach, she immediately jumped to her feet with agility and elegance. “Hello! I am Mor!” she chirped with enthusiasm, avoiding Feyre’s outstretched hand and going straight for a hug. Amren loudly scoffed, “Be professional, Morrigan,” she reprimanded the blonde, who simply winked at her before returning to her side of the desk, motioning for Feyre to seat.

She awkwardly looked at Amren, trying to convey her disorientation through her eyes alone. There wasn’t a name tag at the door, not any indication of what was going to happen. For all Feyre knew, they could be about to wipe her memory clean and dispatch of her in the garbage.

“I hope I will see you around, Dr Archeron” was her only reply, before leaving her alone with Morrigan, who still hadn’t diminished her smile.

“If they made me come all the way up here just to kill me, I’ll be pissed.”

“Dr Archeron, please have a seat, we have quite a lot to discuss.” Morrigan then proceeded open an enormous folder and began to pull out all sort of wavers, undoubtedly that Feyre would need to sign to give her life away. Mother Help Her, what had she gotten herself into?

“So,” she began, her energy still up and running as she maintained a kind and comforting expression, “Feyre, can I call you Feyre? Am I pronouncing it correctly?”

She could only nod quickly, before she was once more submerged by the blonde’s voice.

“Marvellous! I’m sure you want to know what in the Cauldron is happening, right? I mean, you get a letter that basically tells you to uproot your entire family and that you’ll have a job, but it’s described as vaguely as heck and you get here blindly and possibly terrified. Trust me, I know the feeling, it sucks. But it does get away pretty quickly. Now, you’ve got questions, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,”

“Please, call me Mor.” Her eyes were kind, a deep brown that harmonized perfectly with the rest of her, and Feyre didn’t have it in her heart to disagree. After all, if things went well, as they seemed to be going, they’d be on first name basis. Stars, maybe they’d even be friends!

“Mor. Very well,” she gave her a quick smile, trying to keep her nerves down, “Will you be the head of my department?” “Cauldron no!” she laughed, so crystalline and contagious that Feyre almost followed suit, or at least she would have, if her heart wasn’t practically beating out of her chest. “That’s Azriel, you’ll meet him soon. I’m just HR and well, I’ll walk you through this major life change. Is it okay?” “Oh, yes, of course. Truth to be told, I don’t even know what I’m here for.”

How pathetic it was of her, to go to a foreign Court without even knowing what she could be facing. But, no matter how much she thought about it, her brain couldn’t wrap around what a secret agency could want for little old her. Sure, she was brilliant and hardworking, but she was also young. And employers didn’t like young.

Mor gave her a sympathetic smile, slightly nodding her head as she moved some papers around, looking for something. “I know, I hate having to be so secretive whenever we recruit, it only leads to confusion. The number of people that refused to be interviewed just because they thought it was a prank it’s concerning.” “I did believe it to be a cruel joke in the beginning…” she trailed off, still not 100% positive that it wasn’t. “I’m so sorry about that. That’s the downside of being in a Secret Agency that deals with Aliens! But let’s get down to business!”

Feyre couldn’t resist: in the quietest voice possible, she filled the space Mor’s voice had left, uttering the most indiscernible ever “To defeat the Huns!”

She knew she had made a mistake when Mor stopped with a sheet of paper mid-air to look at her expectantly. ‘SHIT’ was her only thought as she stumbled to apologize in the least embarrassing way possible: “Sorry, I don’t know what came to me, it’s just a silly song from…” But Mor cut her off enthusiastically. “Mulan, yeah! One of my favourites. I’m pretty sure we’re on the way to become best friends, Feyre!”

Her smile was blinding, and for the first time since she had stepped foot out of the Velaris train station, Feyre felt herself relax. It had been quite a while since someone didn’t mock her for still knowing all the words to Disney Songs and it had been quite a while since someone seemed to truly want a friendship with her. She wasn’t used to this anymore.

Her throat constricted and all she could do was nod, suddenly filled to the brim with emotions. “I just have a couple of questions that you have to fill out for me, before we can move on to what you’ll do and, most importantly, how much’ll be. Spoiler alert, high secrecy means high cash!”

“That should be your slogan!” She accepted the pen that was given her, ready to start and finish this. Nerves wore out into excitement and she was about to combust. “I’ve been trying to have them change it for ages.”

She chuckled lightly, before giving her entire razor sharp focus to the piece of paper. She could already imagine the questions: was she able to do this mathematical equation? Could she resolve that chemistry problem? Did she know this and that Law Of Physics?

But nothing, truly nothing, could have prepared her for the little array in front of her.

For on the paper, there were written five questions, with adjacent a ‘YES’ or ‘NO’ to be crossed.

Feyre could just raise her puzzled eyes up at Mor, who gave her a shrug and went back to re-apply her blush and highlighter.

She expected to do calculations, to waste time. She didn’t expect to be done in less than three minutes.

‘Do you have living relatives?’ YES

‘Are you in contact with any of them?’ NO

‘Do you have a relationship or partnership?’ NO

‘Are you able to keep calm under pressure?’ YES

‘Are you able to swim?’ YES

“That’s it?” Feyre asked, unable to put together the pieces in front of her. To be honest, the thing that was bugging her the most was the last question. That was the most out of it.

Mor simply smiled at her, giggling a little, “Yeah, we wouldn’t have sent you that letter if we weren’t sure you could take it,” she happily said before taking the paper and scrutinizing with analytical eye. “You’d be surprised by the number of people who can’t swim” she stated, answering her unspoken question with a disbelieving look and a shake of her head.

“Excellent, by the way.”

“Thank you, it was a pretty hard test!” Feyre joked, momentarily terrified of having said the worst thing, before Mor followed her suit with her laugh.

“I know! But it’s mostly to check finally what we already knew.”

Feyre snorted at that, “Good to know I was being watched.” It wasn’t that big of a problem anyway: every single social media used their private information to get money, so of course a secret agency about freaking aliens would keep a possible employee in check! “If it’s any comfort, you won’t be from now on. It’ll be like you never existed or…” “Died?” “Yeah. Morbid, I know, but it’s the price of the job,” Mor claimed, sliding a folder with her name on it over the glass desk. “Not really a problem, I’ve got no one that would miss me too much,” she quickly said, opening it up and almost falling off her chair. The first page was a detailed list of what she would earn and it was a lot. Probably more than her entire tuition would have costed if she hadn’t managed to get a scholarship, and all of that for one year?

“You weren’t kidding about the slogan, uh?”

On the next few pages there was written down a non-disclosure contract, which was understandable, and the secrecy policy she would have to follow. Bye-bye Instagram! Not like she used it much anyway, there were too many pictures of marriages and babies for her liking, and she didn’t like already to share every minute of her private life over social media.

And, finally, on the last page was the thing she was most scared and excited of: the inscription told her that she would work on the research department, studying what she loved the most and finally getting all the answers she needed. She could be able to explore the stars from her desk and also in person, with trips to adjourn her curriculum and work! A tiny little clause on the bottom also read that she could be assigned intergalactic! field! work! alongside of an agent, if the situation arose.

She couldn’t help herself when tears started to swell her eyes and fell down her cheeks in two streaks, nor she cared if she was ruining her make up.

She had never been happier.

“What do you thing, Feyre?” Mor was suddenly nervous, as if doubting that her answer would be anything other than a big fat yes. Probably seeing her cry didn’t seem like a good sign and all Feyre could do was nod enthusiastically as she gladly accepted the box of tissues the blonde woman was handing her. She knew she must’ve looked awful and batshit crazy.

“Where do I sign?” she asked finally, after having managed to regain her composure, wiping the rundown mascara from her cheeks, trying not to smudge it all over her face.

What followed was a quick work on the paperwork, the proper signature and stamp and boom! “Welcome to MiB, Dr Archeron!” declared Mor, jumping to her feet to cross the desk and to bend down and hug.

Feyre held her just as tight, trying to keep all the emotions away. Later, after getting back to her hotel room, she’d have all the time in the world to cry as much as she wanted, but now there were more pressing matters. “Ready?” asked Mor, dragging her away from her office and into a maze of halls that Feyre didn’t even bother to try and memorize. She’d have all the time in the world to do so, after all.

Their first stop was on the wardrobe and armoury, where she got her measurements taken and was fitted in the most exquisite looking black suit she had ever seen in real life, the materials soft and luxurious under her fingers.

“This feels like a 007 movie,” she joked, marvelling at the figure she cut in the mirror, immediately finding Mor grinning at her.

“Our gadgets actually work,” Mor fired back, causing Feyre to go into a fit of giggles that had the blonde join almost immediately.

It was a wondrous feeling, being able to connect instantly with someone. She had rarely had meaningful friendships and relationships in her life, some of them were entirely faked from the other side and she was just used for someone else’s gain, but she hoped that what was beginning with Mor could fall into one of those categories.

Truth to be told, she didn’t think having any romantic relationship would be the best thing when just moving into a new city and a new job, but she was a sucker for Friends To Lovers trope and who knew? Maybe the future could be bright for her, and not only in her work life.

There was also the topic of a certain pair of violet eyes that had occupied her mind for the previous two days, but she was pretty sure that was a hopeless route: no one in their right mind could take a liking of her, especially when they looked like that.

She was so lost in her own mind, trying to scratch away the way Rhys’ smile had made her insides turn into gelatine, that she didn’t realize Mor had taken her in front of a slightly ajar black door. Without seeing the label on it, she could understand where she was by Mor’s little excited squeal as she pushed the door open with a flare.

If it was possible, Feyre’s eyes would turn into anime hearts and stars, in a typical Sailor Moon fashion. Inside, after a set of stairs, there were rows of desks, surrounded each by microscopes and spectrometers. Humans, or humanoids, and aliens alike wore black lab coats, contrasting with the white of the walls and the equipment, working alongside each other in harmony. There were several grand doors, religiously black, on the back of the room, which she assumed lead to the bigger equipment.

She had never seen anything more beautiful. At university their laboratory had been severely restricted and she would have to rely on other’s data, but here the possibilities seemed to be endless.

“Pretty, right?” asked Mor, a smile on her face. Pretty didn’t even begin to cover.

“For a specialist, pretty would be an understatement” a quiet voice chimed in, seemingly out of the shadows and making Feyre jump to her feet and hold to the rail for dear life. The voice belonged to a man wearing a white lab coat with black accents, politely extending his right hand at Feyre to shake it. “Dr Archeron, I am Agent A.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” came her trepid reply. She didn’t know why, but she immediately was washed over by the impression that this man, if he was human, was more dangerous than he might let on. Be it the fact that he looked like he blended in the shadows and belonged alongside of them or be the act that he had freaking wings? Holy Cauldron how had Feyre not realized that he had wings, proper angel-like feathery wings that grew from his skin and seemed to ruffle under her gaze and, Dear Mother, she was about to faint.

She knew her eyes must’ve reached a comical stance as she took them in, when Mor gently pushed her with her shoulder. “You can call him Azriel. After all, you’re the one with a PhD!” the blonde cheerily said, winking at her and bringing her back to the reality at hand.

Feyre gave him an apologetic look, trying to make amends for the staring, but he didn’t seem bothered at all. He gave them a soft smile and nodded his head gravely alongside Mor’s words: “Unfortunately, that is true. I did not attend Earth university. In Illyria we have a different education” he explained, beginning to walk towards the door at his back and motioning for them to follow.

“You’re Illyrian?” Feyre asked, suddenly remembering her first alien encounter as her cheeks heated up. She wondered if she might be able to see him again, even only to thank him for bringing her the envelope. She knew that he must have been only following orders, but he didn’t have to stay and make sure she didn’t freak out too much.

She was met back by a puzzled stare from Azriel and a shrug from Mor, who momentarily looked at each other as to confirm that that was probably an information she wasn’t allowed to know yet. “And you are familiar with our specie because...?” began to ask Azriel, a suspicious tone in his voice that made Feyre froze from the inside. It wasn’t even her first day and she had already fucked up big time, that was a new record!

She was about to reply, to defend herself, when a deep voice came from the door, which opened from the inside and revealed two figures standing there: one had matching wings as Azriel’s and the other was someone she didn’t think she’d meet again so soon.

“Because I introduced her to our existence, dear brother” Rhys said, violet eyes sparkling as a wide smile appeared on his lips.

“Hello, Feyre Darling.”

She couldn’t fight the stupid smile that took up her face at his sight, nor she could control the way her cheeks flared up, the redness there for anyone to see.

The man that stood next to him eyed her up and down with a puzzled expression, his brown eyes twinkling with understanding as he, not so lightly and not so subtly, elbowed Rhys on the side, causing him to wince. “First of all: Hi, I’m Cassian,” he started, holding his hand out for Feyre to shake, “Second: You’ve met?” he asked, gaze running back and forth between them as his eyebrows shot up comically and emphatically.

If the ground decided to open up at that specific moment in space and time and swallow her whole down, Feyre would be okay with it. Extremely okay with it. Actually, she’d bring a shovel to sink down lower if necessary. “He brought me the envelope…” she whispered, trying to draw the least attention to herself and justifying the entire thing in the least embarrassing way possible. “Of course, cause mailing it would’ve been too mainstream, right, Agent R?” Azriel chuckled, hands in his pockets as he leaned against the doorframe casually, wings folding behind him.

Rhys fretted nonchalance with a wave of his hand and a bored expression: “I was going to be in the city anyway, I thought, why waste money on stamps?”

Out of all the things that had happened to Feyre in that weekend, that must’ve been the weirdest. “You were going to mail it? So much for secrecy!” she exclaimed in disbelief, eyes darting to Mor as if asking confirmation about it all and at the same time trying to understand if they were secretly pranking her.

“You’d be surprised about how many postal offices rely on aliens to work” came her curt reply, followed by a solemn nod from the three males.

She’d have all the time to understand if they were pulling her legs or not, and all the time for an eventual payback, she reasoned, dropping the subject without too much fuzz. “Alright,” she croaked, shrugging her shoulders and turning expectantly to Azriel, waiting for her superior to say something.

He cleared his throat and clasped his hands together, ushering both Rhys and Cassian away from what Feyre assumed was his office. “All of you, that’s enough! I have to finalize my work with Dr Archeron before we’re ready to properly start.”

“Not so fast, brother!” Cassian yelled, chest puffed out as he languidly strolled over to where Feyre stood, towering over her. She had to resist the urge to clutch to Mor’s arm for dear life.

“Do you know how to fight?” “Ten years of Karate when I was a child and 4 of Krav Maga between high school and college,” she replied without missing a beat, raising a brow in a silent question as she held his stare.

After a couple of heartbeats, Cassian’s face broke into a wide grin: “Impressive! I’ll hold you to that one of those days,” he said, leaning almost conspiratorially and blocking Azriel’s face from her view, who yelled in outrage a very shocked “Agent C!”. He was pointedly ignored by Cassian, or Agent C, ‘What’s up with that?’ she wondered as she looked up at him, who kept on talking.

“I’ve got only one more question: do you know anyone in the city?”

She didn’t know how to reply nor why it was suddenly their topic of discussion? Was this guy hitting on her in the most random, yet not the most  uncalled, way ever? She should mention that long hair was a turn off, no matter how manly and in style the man-bun was supposed to be. “I can give you two replies,” she cockily stood her ground, crossing her arms at her chest and assuming a defensive stance, just in case she had to headbutt him in the chin, “no and technically I shouldn’t be supposed to so…”

He took one look at her before clasping his hand on her shoulder with raw force, giving her what seemed to be the most platonic expression of affection ever: “Okay, I officially like you! But you’ve just got a new job, you ought to celebrate!”

Feyre considered it. On one hand, she had brought an outfit specifically in the case she got the job, which she clearly had just gotten and had to work out only the minimal details. And partying alone in a city she didn’t know at all was not an option. On the other, she really didn’t know these people.

But one look into Mor’s direction and instantaneously she knew that she’d love to hang out with them all.

Her only reply was a quick yes in affirmation, but she was soon overpowered by Mor’s cheers. “YES! We can go out together! We’ll show you Velaris’ night life!” she cried out in happiness, hand up to high five Feyre as Cassian held her closer to his side and fist-bumped the air.

She was having quite a bit of trouble, not liking small spaces and Cassian’s side hug was definitely a tight fit. She wanted to remove herself from the position, to try and regain the control of her breathing that was starting, so very subtly, to accelerate alongside her discomfort.

These people seemed nice and wanted to include her, her rational brain knew that, but old wounds didn’t always manage to mend right and panic was rising. Feyre tried to speak, but her throat felt constricted, and her eyes darted around the two, hoping one of them would stand down a little.

Luckily for her, her knight in black armour arrived just in the nick of time before she erupted like a volcano. “Let her breathe! Mor, Cassian, back off from poor Feyre,” Rhys intervened, helping her untangle from Cassian’s limb and letting her have her space. He quickly let her regain her breathing as the pair moved to Azriel, their next prey. The man was shaking his head as they both raised valid arguments and Cassian ‘Triple Dared’ him not to be a killjoy.

That scene alone served to strengthen her resolve to hang out with them, only to be able to witness the pure and unadulterated chaos that would come out undoubtedly.

All of the sudden, it felt like she and Rhys were in a different plane, the others to engrossed in their planning of the night to pay them attention. “Thanks. But, yeah. I have no idea where to go and I suppose I deserve it” she joked, laughing lightly while cringing internally at her own awkwardness. She had always been able to flirt her way through any situation, be it with men or women or anything in between, yet with him she felt like an high school girl with a crush. Perhaps it was because he was a literal alien that looked like an ancient Greek god and had a smile that managed to lit up Feyre from the inside.

Smile he was now giving her freely and without restraints. She could feel the butterflies in her stomach, count each one of them.

“How are you finding out agency so far?” he asked, as a hint of colour appeared on his cheeks out of the blue. A blink and it was gone, so quickly that Feyre thought she might have imagined it.

She was about to reply that she hadn’t done much sight-seeing, self-doubting whether or not she should push herself to ask for a tour or if it was too forward too soon, when a loud voice interrupted her train of thought.

“Shut up!” Azriel bellowed from behind her, causing both hers and Rhys’ attention to turn to him expectantly. “All of you have more important things to do other than bother me and Dr Archeron. And no, Agent C, while we’re at work we use our titles so stop talking! We’ll tune in the details later, Agent M, but I assume you have other more pressing business to attend.”

“Actually…!” Cassian had begun to disagree, but Rhys had been quicker and had planted his hand over his mouth, effectively shutting him up.

He quickly nodded to Azriel as he struggled to maintain his hold as Cassian put on a childish fight, that culminated with him licking Rhys’ hand like he was some sort of overgrown five year old on the school ground. Feyre couldn’t help the laugh that got out of her at Rhys’ affronted face.

“That’s enough!” he yelled, moving to shoo away both Cassian and Mor, who pulled Feyre in a tight hug before leaving and whispered in her ear ‘I’m so glad you’re part of us now!’. She could only respond back with a squeeze, her throat constricting with sudden emotion.

“Agent A, we’ll get out of your hair now.”

“Thank you, Agent R, I appreciate that!” came the exasperated reply from Azriel, who immediately disappeared inside his office, undoubtedly to avoid any more anarchy, motioning for Feyre to follow. She turned around to salute and wave goodbye at the improbable trio leaving, only to find Rhys standing in the doorway, looking at her.

He winked, causing Feyre’s cheeks to heat up, and bowed gracefully. “Welcome on board, Feyre Darling,” he said, before disappearing into the labyrinth of hallways and glass that made up the MiB headquarters.

Feyre pinched herself, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. One more step and she was done, she would finally have her dreams answered.

She’s have her answers, her opportunities, what she worked her entire life for. And if she could manage to have the life she had always wanted, with people that cared about her, that would be the icing on a perfect cake.

A part of her brain whispered that she didn’t deserve it, that she was an imposter and that everyone would realize it. But Feyre had had several years of experience in dealing with her own negativity, considering herself a pessimist as a coping mechanism because it was easier to expect the worse in every situation, and immediately shut that voice down, focusing her breathing to steady her beating heart.

Sending up a prayer to the Mother, she closed the door at her back and took a seat in front of Azriel, slipping on her glasses and putting her hands flat on the table.

“Shall we begin?”

[scoundrels-in-love]

Prompt for Braime (or someone else if the fancy strikes you): Baisemain - A kiss on the hand.

It only took approximately 2 months for me to fill this prompt, but here it finally is! My longest finished work as of yet. I hope you enjoy!

Big shoutout to @nire-the-mithridatist​ for making it a lot more presentable as well as whole bunch of people I don’t want to tag but named in my AO3 notes.

I

Jaime insists on accompanying her back to her light freighter that is docked in the bay of Lannister command ship. 

They do not speak as they walk side by side. Some of the crew throw them curious glances, but most are absorbed in their work. She grips the lion pommel, tries not to think of how she had tried to give him back the priceless relic. It's made of Valyrian steel no one could replicate even a thousand years later. It belongs by his side or in a museum, but now she can only think of the way his voice dipped when he said It’s yours. It will always be yours, the words reverberating in their footsteps and it’s all she can feel in the familiar smoothness of hilt, like a new gem encrusted in it and Brienne traces over it with tentative appreciation.  

They face each other for goodbyes, one final one they may have a chance to say to each other, and for a brief moment, she wishes she had an eye implant that’d burn his features into its memory card - the curl of his mouth around a comment layered with things she cannot quite decipher, a few graying hairs and the lines worn into his face by age and regret (and loneliness, she thinks). But at least this way, no one can ever take it away from her.

“Good luck, though I doubt the steadfast Maid of Tarth is in need of such trite things.”

“If the Blackfish is as you describe, I am sure it will be his niece’s letter, not favor of luck, that will win him over. But I do hope it will be my side nonetheless. I do not wish to face you on the battlefield, Ser Jaime, as honor would compel me, should my mission fail.” The lion head feels heated in her palm, as if the forge it was made in resents her for the thought of striking down the man who gave it to her. It wouldn’t be a choice, she tells herself. There is never a choice when it comes to Jaime Lannister.

“I am not much of an opponent anymore, as you very well know from our spars. You have little to worry about, my lady.” 

She doesn’t have the clever tongue to rebuke him without saying too much, without revealing the dread that pulsates in her heart at the thought of seeing him fall in a fight, whether by her own sword or anyone else’s weapon. But the way Jaime mocks himself, even though the fact of their parting itself is exact opposite of all he believes himself to be, is one battlefield she’ll meet him on readily. 

“You underestimate yourself in the most important matters again, Ser Jaime.” She thinks she succeeds in saying it lightly, reminding him that he is, indeed, too haughty in some ways, in attempt to get a rise out of him, but it lands flat, as all her attempts at banter do. 

“And you hold me in too high esteem.” The depreciation in his tone, laced with challenge and dusted with sadness makes Brienne wish she could… She doesn’t know what exactly, but there is a physical ache in her hands, almost as if to hold him. It must be from the way she’s gripping onto Oathkeeper.

“Despite everything, you always manage to exceed my expectations when it matters. I believe that will remain true in the future, too. Goodbye, Ser Jaime.” She must go now, before she finds words for that glowing ache now nestled in her chest as well (if she does, they will burst through her very skin, she fears), so she turns on her heel sharply.

"Brienne."

She stops, his hand so warm around her own, and unexpectedly gentle, but stronger than any tractor beam as Jaime softly tugs her to turn around and face him.

There's no time for this, she wants to say, even without knowing what this is, but even holding  to Oathkeeper's hilt doesn't help find her voice, likely lost in the endless forest of his eyes.

"For the next time." He brings her large, calloused hand to his lips and presses a kiss to her knuckles reverently, lingering there and then brushing downward and over her ring finger, as tenderness in his eyes shifts into something Brienne understands even less. The trail burns in her mind as if traced by molten gold. The meaning of it does, too, and she flushes, unsure how to accept or reject such an honor. She has half a mind to argue, but there is pride in her, too.

Before she can decide which way to leave the warm current drowning her, Jaime speaks up again: "We will meet again." It sounds like an oath. No one has sworn one to her. She doesn't know how to accept it, there is nothing in all of the volumes of Vows and Oaths through Millennia about anything like this, so she merely nods stiffly, hoping it will not become one of those conflicting oaths he spoke of when they first met. 

"Ser Brienne," Podrick calls for her and the way his voice breaks on her name alarms her. The young man's eyes are wider and rounder than she has ever seen, which is saying something, locked on their hands and she cannot blame him - it is not every day that the best swordsman in perhaps the whole galaxy admits to finding someone superior. She pulls away abruptly, dispelling the image of how easily her huge hands could cradle his face, but the realization of how ridiculous it would look doesn't vanish as easily. 

"Ser Jaime," her voice finally emerges, rough as if it had to fight its way back to her, “until our paths cross again.” Jaime smiles, then, and it is more blinding than sun rays falling right into her eyes back when she used to lay beneath trees back on Tarth on early, lazy afternoons. She must’ve said the right thing, then. 

She feels his gaze on her back, as keenly as she’d feel the laser crosshairs of a rifle, but Brienne trusts him not to press the trigger. More than she did when she stepped in this bay, or maybe not, because her belief in him is already a spire that has reached the dome of the sky. It makes sense in ways she cannot explain.

Jaime is still standing where she left him when she brushes past her flustered squire into the cockpit. As the engine roars to life, Jaime raises a hand in wave and though she knows he cannot see it through the quartz glass, she mirrors the gesture, but then drops her arm awkwardly and begins compiling everything she can find on Weirnet about the Blackfish, as the ship starts to approach the siege line. She will not waste this opportunity he has given her.

When the Tully fleet moves past. The Lannister blockade that night, she wonders if he’d smile at her and tell her once more that he’s proud, just as he had done back in King’s Landing when he had given her rank of Knight Commander. Brienne likes to imagine that he would.

And when a week later, Pod asks her if she’s going to accept, her confused scowl sends him backtracking out of the conversation and the room, and Brienne forgets it almost immediately, because they’re approaching Winterfell sector and there are bigger things to think about. 

II

Yellow alert lights wash everything in a sickly toned, dim mockery of sunlight and perhaps it is the last one they will ever have. If Winterfell falls, so does the sector, and then the galaxy will inevitably follow, dimming and fading under all consuming strength of the White Walkers.

The thought is grim and all too plausible, so Brienne focuses on the task at hand instead.

There is the sound of rushing beyond the doors, people moving to their positions as battle already rages above them in space. But there is silence in the room, except for the soft rustling of the padded undergarments, clinks of metal sliding against metal as they finish donning their armors.

She finishes first, turns to Jaime to help. His prosthetic hand is state-of-the-art, but sometimes it fumbles still and she wonders if it's because of nerve damage he sustained.

The last concealed straps and seams close under her fingers swiftly and then there is only silence. Brienne means to move back, she should, but he captures her hand, brings it up in the almost non-existent space between their bodies.

"For after," his voice is low and heavy. She swallows thickly as if his words got stuck in her throat somehow. And then his lips press to the back of her gloved hand, but the golden heat of him sinks through, drips into her veins. 

He lifts his head and as his right arm wraps around her waist, Brienne thinks that maybe his mouth will trace hers like his gaze does and —

The alarms turn red, the new tone of it shooting through her and she startles just so, flushing further because Jaime must have felt it in this proximity.

But he doesn't laugh at her, does nothing really, so she steps away first. "For after," she echoes his words. Brienne isn't sure what he meant, perhaps a good luck charm of sorts - that there will be an after. 

Or maybe it has become an oath now.

III

The Grand Hall of Winterfell is full with people, but she thinks it feels so much more packed and hollow all at once for the intangible presence of all the men and women who died so the suns would always rise across the galaxy.

She is lucky, she knows, for those most dear to her heart are all here, in her line of sight, raising their cups and laughing, even. But she lost many good people on the battlefield, people who looked up to her and whom she could rely on, to the moment they drew their last breath and then she had to cut them down again and that is the blood that had stained her hands and armor the most.

Most of the blood has been washed away, yet somehow taints the edges of her vision nonetheless, only gradually wiped away by the rise and fall of merriment around her - there is so much laughter from everyone, including Podrick just a little away and even Lady Sansa, by whose side she faithfully stands still.

Her gaze trips over Jaime’s, who is sitting opposite to Podrick, not for the first time tonight, and though there’s been no chains between them for a long time, Brienne feels linked to him all the same, drawn in with tugs far gentler than she used to give him. Yet she does not, will not, move.

“You are free to go to him, Ser Brienne. You know that.”

Lady Sansa’s voice carries a tone of resigned irritation and amusement all at once, as if she is trying to guide a child to some obvious answer, but the child keeps insisting on picking every other option. 

It takes her a moment, but when she looks at her Lady, Brienne realizes she’s the child and one that doesn’t even know what the question is. 

“Lady Sansa, I am where I am supposed to be.” 

“I am quite safe here, thank you, and I am sure you will be able to make your way back to me in no time, if need arose, Ser Brienne. Just go to your squire. And Lannister.”

That she only mentions one Lannister, when there are, in fact, two, sitting side by side, does not go by Brienne unnoticed, but she is unsure how to handle the implications, even in the privacy of her own mind. So, she hesitates.

Lady Sansa doesn’t. 

“I will trust the man more if I know you are the one responsible for what goes in his astromech port. Don’t lose that on my account.” 

Brienne bristles at that, more on Jaime’s behalf than the impossible suggestion that she has some importance in his life. (It just stings distantly, like a limb that has gone to sleep, a reminder of things that she’d like to hold, but cannot.) Though she, frankly, doesn’t appreciate the tone and odd wording it's said in, either. “I am not his keeper and Ser Jaime is capable of earning trust himself, should you give him chance.”

“I will be more inclined to give him that chance if I know his heart is content and here.”

She didn’t think it was possible to choke on an inhale, yet that’s what Brienne does. The breath just hitches, knocks against her windpipe wrong somehow, and she focuses on Oathkeeper's hilt in her palm as if its sturdiness could anchor the air and her feelings both.

“My Lady, I… I don’t know why you would think that- that Ser Jaime harbors any such feelings for me, but let me reassure you that we are not involved. He would never see me in such a light.” She feels like a child again, stumbling through her courtesies in front of her angry Septa. No, it reminds her more of when Cersei Lannister had smiled, words filed down into fine dagger points - But you love him. 

At least that had been true. And she hadn’t needed to explain with burning, bitter words how improbable it is for Jaime to think of her as anything but respected comrade, a friend if she is so lucky. Or unfortunate, as most would think, but Brienne knows there are few loyalties so bone-deep as his. Which makes the thought he’d pick her even more of a caricature. Cersei may be a White Dwarf, cold and unlikely to nurse a life in her orbit, but she is a star nonetheless, while Brienne is just…

“Brienne.” Sansa’s hand is warm as she rests it lightly over Brienne’s own and she coaxes it to relax, knowing her stance is being read like a plain and badly bound book.

“Tonight, we celebrate victory in war that could hardly be won. Perhaps it is time to think about what we can do with that hard-earned life. Who we wish to spend it with. And to re-evaluate what we thought to be impossible odds. I assure you, they are not so unlikely.”

It is almost gently said, but wields the same sort of steel that Lady Catelyn had always carried with her. And Brienne doesn’t have the kind of sword that could block its edge.

“Lady Sansa. Ser Brienne.”

Sansa removes her hand and smiles almost graciously at Jaime. There is sharpness to her eyes and Brienne knows him well enough to know this time it genuinely needles him, for some reason. Yet, he doesn’t ask for permission, looks only at her: “I need to speak with Ser Brienne. Privately.” 

With a widening smile, gilded with victorious gleam, Lady Sansa nods. “About time, Ser Jaime. Go on, Ser Brienne. Take all the time you need.”

Since she would rather face whatever Jaime has to say than continue previous conversation with her Lady, Brienne bows to her and then follows the other knight. They don’t go far - he rounds her into one of the quiet rooms, drowning in the light of both moons high in Winterfell sky.

She can still hear revelry from the huge hall and even where some of the crowd has spilled into the corridors, but otherwise silence has settled between them and it feels heavy in ways it hasn’t in years. There has been so much said tonight, she doesn’t entirely trust her own thoughts or tongue if she was to interrupt it. Besides, Jaime had said he wished to speak, yet all he does is pace in front of her with unfamiliar tenseness that sets her heart on edge.

“Will you stop that,” she snaps at him, because that she knows how to do. Jaime does and she immediately wishes she had remained silent, because now he’s looking directly at her and she has to face the tension in his eyes, his mouth. 

The silence stretches, vibrates in the tempo of her uneasy heartbeat. “You said you wished to talk.” 

“I thought you might have something to say to me, Brienne.” He looks as if he is planning to break a siege line alone, no matter what damage he might sustain.

It makes no sense. Nothing does. 

“I don’t.” (She does, but there are no words that would not turn to mud on her tongue and leave her drowning when he laughs her off.)

“Is that your answer?” Jaime sounds choked and the sound goes straight to her stomach, drags it downward as if someone had turned gravity setting up too far on a space station. 

She doesn’t know how to fix something she cannot even see or name, yet she feels it breaking with her whole being. 

“To what?”

There is a pause and then something in Jaime’s demeanour changes, eases up in a way that lets her stomach unclench a little. She will take the first hints of cocksure grin any day, though it has never meant anything safe. It makes her think of moonlight’s bridge across Tarth’s waters - gorgeous, alluring, but following it will do you no good. 

So Brienne almost steps back when he comes towards her, but decides to stand her ground. Takes a deep breath which he might feel more than she did, at this proximity. 

“Do you really not know? Or this is just an excuse to have me ask you a third time? I did not think you to be so coy, Brienne.” His hand seeks out hers, startling her, but Brienne can’t look away from his face just in case it finally reveals a clue to this entire bizarre conversation.

“Ask me what?” she tries to clarify, the stupidity of the question far greater than the volume of her voice. 

Jaime brings their joined hands up, presses warm lips to her knuckles, lingering there and then moving to her ring finger as he had back in Riverrun (she has memorized and traced these spots so often in the dark of her bunk she can tell he is centimeter off at the start), pressing another kiss there. She cannot see the green of his eyes, which she mourns, but at least he cannot discern the blush overtaking her face either. 

Still holding her hand, he leans closer to her and huffs faintest laugh. Part of her retreats in armor which is more familiar to her than the blue set Jaime had given her, preparing for a hailstorm of laughter and mockery. But it sounds so relieved somehow. “You truly don’t know,” Jaime says and more of his tension seems to turn to smoke before her eyes. 

“What do you think this means?” he asks, squeezing her hand before entwining their fingers. Brienne shivers, takes a moment to find her voice.

“That you respect me. It’s a sign of reverence, is it not?” It feels like she is so close to the exit from some wicked maze, but she still has no idea what she will find. Jaime drags her onward nonetheless.

“In a way, that is true. I do respect you, Brienne. More than anyone.” She smiles, before she can help it. It’s one thing to feel it pressed into her skin and another - to hear it. His grin widens in return, before faltering briefly and the hopeful, edged look in his eyes is that of a man who gives her axe to decapitate him with, yet trusts her not to.

“But I was asking you to marry me.”

This can’t be real is her first thought, and maybe it also floats out along with a soft, shocked gasp. Maybe he is drunk or maybe she’s been drugged and having an intense hallucination or the blow to Jaime’s head was more severe than she had thought. How can a hand kiss even mean that? Though it would explain Podrick’s reaction back at Riverrun siege.

“Brienne,” he brings her disorganized thoughts to halt with low murmur. Lets her hand go and she has only a split-second to miss it, because then he is cupping her jaw and kissing her. It’s a soft, tender press of his lips, but it steals her breath away nonetheless and she clutches a the lapels of his Lannister red jacket. (The gall of him to wear it, in the heart of Winterfell. The gall of him to kiss her so gently it actually makes her feel so frail she might shatter.)

At her touch, he surges upward and what has been soft becomes heated and desperate. His right arm wraps around her waist, pulling her closer and his left hand mimics the way hers has sunk into his hair. Her mouth gives his tongue entrance and in exchange, Brienne loses her sense of time, of anything that’s not Jaime. 

Finally they part and somehow, she is now pressed against the wall she refused back to at the start of their conversation. It’s a good thing, Brienne decides, because her knees feel a little wobbly. And despite all logic, she feels secure instead of trapped. But is it truly so illogical, when there is no one she trusts more than Jaime? Even now, when he is saying things she has a hard time believing, his sincerity undoes her doubts, takes old exchanges into gentle hands and shifts them into new focus that somehow makes sense. (She hasn’t known before, how it is to be looked at with love, but she knows him.)

“I would like to hear you say it,” he whispers against her mouth, the vulnerability he reveals in his tone almost like a kiss on its own. 

And for that alone she finds an answer easily, if otherwise she would hesitate, worry even when faced with his genuineness, overthink the mere probability and what it all means for their future. Now that she is given a choice in regards to him, any other option still blurs out and becomes inconsequential.

 “Yes. Yes, I will marry you, Jaime.” 

His smile makes twin moons’ light look washed out. “I love you,” Jaime tells her between kisses, peppered on her lips (that they’re so large almost doesn’t feel like a bad thing when he gently bites her bottom one), her cheeks, jawline, before coming back to her mouth. 

“This is rather backwards, don’t you think?” she muses, still reeling from his words and having given up on piecing together a map of the maze that led them here. Later, she will have questions to ask. Now she has Jaime to get lost in. (Openly - no more stolen dreams of brief touches. They - he - can be hers now.)

“You already said yes.” He pulls back just so, looking at her intently as if she could be having second thoughts. Brienne holds his face in her hands, realizes it might look as ridiculous as she had thought, but the way he leans into her touch renders it meaningless.

“I did. I do. I love you.” 

Then she is kissing him, thankful for the wall behind her and that they were told to take as much time they need, because she doesn’t think she can let him go any time soon.

IV

Brienne is sitting in the cockpit, watching the blur of Hyperspeed dissolve into familiar expanse of Stormlands sector before they make the jump to Tarth, when Jaime comes in. He stops next to the pilot’s chair and picks up her hand from where it is resting, presses kiss to it. Brushes his thumb over the golden band on her ring finger and his soft smile fills her chest with such warmth she realizes this is homecoming in its own right. 

“I already said yes in Sept, Jaime, in case you forgot,” she teases, as if her own heart is not still adjusting to the vastness it is now allowed to explore - loving and being with Jaime, the concept of having a family with him. There had been some long and serious conversations in the days after proposal and part of her still did not feel it was real, but in a bright warmth sort of way, instead of dreading when it all would fall apart. 

“As if I could. But I don’t intend on stopping kissing any part of you, just because you’re my wife. Besides, the meaning shifts once an engagement is established.” The way he says it makes her shiver a little, recall all the places he had kissed mere hours ago. It’s exactly what he intended, she knows. 

“That seems unnecessarily complicated.” If there will be a time when Brienne doesn’t make fun of the fact that a lot of fraught emotions could have been avoided if only Jaime had used his words, which he is usually in no shortage of, it is not going to be soon. “Much like the ruling house of Westerlands, I suppose.”

He sits down on the armrest, still holding her hand and grins down at her. “Bold words for someone married to a Lannister.” The way he manages to weave the fact they’re married in almost any sentence is obnoxious. Secretly, she basks in the fact wife must taste as honey-sweet and addicting on his tongue as husband does on hers.

“Who else will tell you like it is?” 

“Plenty of people, but there is no one else I would listen to.” Jaime’s voice is more soft than teasing, it almost overwhelms her again. His love is much like a tide she has watched slowly rising, not believing it even as it already washed around her ankles and kept rising higher. And when it finally swept over her completely, Brienne had discovered that instead of drowning, she could swim in it instead, like her lungs had been made for exploring these depths.

“As if you listen to me,” she tells him. It’s not an accusation, just a reminder that she wishes he would be more accepting of her kinder words, her faith in him. But they have years to gently wear down the self-denigration in each other’s eyes, lull it to sleep and hold the other through the hours and days it screams louder than any storm. 

“Yet Lady Sansa implied the same on the night of the feast,” Brienne muses, recalling how disbelieving she had been, more hurt than encouraged. 

“Did she, now? It was quite unnerving to watch the two of you talking. You hadn’t given an answer yet and I doubted she would say anything in my favor. Perhaps I was wrong.” The unspoken peace agreement between Jaime and Sansa is fragile and there seems to have been at least one conversation that Brienne hadn’t been part of, which is mildly worrying, but she will take it.

“She did tell me that my fears were unfounded and she would trust you more if I was responsible for your astromech port, which is an odd way to speak about my influence on your decision making.”

Jaime’s choked laugh surprises her: “The Stark queen isn’t so straight-laced after all, it seems.” She frowns up at him in confusion.

“Brienne,” he says slowly then, with a widening grin, “she wasn’t talking about decision making.” 

Jaime stands up, gently pulling her with him, eyes squinted just so and darkened to the shade of forest just before nightfall, which she’s slowly growing familiar with. It ignites a slow, but all consuming fire in her belly with a consistency she finds quite dangerous. (Or would, if she wasn’t so happy to burn to the ground and come alive again in his arms.)

“What do you mean?” Brienne asks, almost suspiciously. 

In response, he kisses her slowly, deeply and just before she submerges fully in the feeling, takes a step back. “Come and I will show you.” 

She follows him without another question. Perhaps she should be worried about Jaime’s unbridled, simmering delight with sinful edge, about her father who is expecting their arrival any minute now, but she cannot find it in her. It is their honeymoon, after all. 

Brienne is sure he will understand.

[flourhurricane]

A Fallout OC Interview

I snagged this from @life-is-no-sugarlicking because it looked like fun. Tagging: if you want to be tagged, thus you shall be.

Onward to the Q&A!

What is your name? “My full name is Osa Claire Lockhart. Everybody calls me Claire. Sometimes General, or Bullseye. But usually, it’s just Claire.”

How old are you? “Oh, um, do you want my literal age? I don’t like counting the 210 years I spent frozen inside a cryopod, so let’s just say I’m 33.”

What do you look like? “I’m a short gal with long -- longish? yeah, longish -- red hair, blue eyes, and some freckles around my nose and cheeks. And I guess I’m brawny for a woman. Working out helps me keep a clear head. And, you know, alive. But let me tell you: you can have as many muscles as my hubby and you can still end up with a Deathclaw’s claw marks on your cheek. Which... I did. In my defense, the power armor I wore was fitted for some tall dude and it was the first time I’d ever seen one of them beasts.” 

Where are you from? Where do you live now? “I’m from a very small town in Texas called Blue Fields, named after all the bluebonnets that used to grow there. When I turned 18, I joined the army. I was stationed in the Yukon for a while, then Anchorage, Alaska... and then, when I was discharged, I moved back home. Graduated from Texas A&M, then moved to Cambridge, Massachusetts when I was accepted into Harvard Law School. When I got married, I moved to Sanctuary Hills. Nowadays, I live in Diamond City in the Commonwealth... Wow, I’ve lived in a lot of places.” 

What was your childhood like? “It... wasn’t that great, but Mom tried to give me and my brothers as many good memories as she could.”

What groups are your friendly with? Are you allied with any factions? “I’m the General of the Minutemen. I can be friendly with any group that wants to help the people of the Commonwealth. And ‘people’ includes humans, synths, and ghouls.”

Tell me about your best friend. “My best friend? Well... I assume you mean my best friend outside of any family members. That would be Preston. I don’t know what would’ve happened to me if he hadn’t asked me to join the Minutemen. Because I, um, don’t do well alone, and I was in a dark... very dark place when I left the vault. Helping Preston and the Quincy survivors gave me a purpose. One other than revenge. And I... don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay him.”

Do you have a family? Tell me about them! “Growing up, my family was my mom and dad, my older brother, my younger brother, and our abuela. I got married after graduating law school, and Nate and I had a baby boy we named Sean. Almost all of them are gone now, obviously.”

What about a partner or partners? “Danse and I got married a few months ago. He used to be a Brotherhood of Steel paladin but that’s a whole other can of worms. He’s still my hero in power armor, though.”

Who are your enemies and why? “Um... There are groups in the Commonwealth that I dislike and the Institute has been destroyed for months now. But enemies? Not at the moment. Some people see me as the enemy. Lot of Institute refugees won’t accept any help from me or the Minutemen. Can’t really blame them.”

Have you ever heard of the Brotherhood of Steel? What do you think about them? “Oh, I’ve heard of them. I’m still grateful for their help. I’m still good friends with Scribe Haylen, and I guess Knight Rhys, too. But let me just say Elder Maxson and I are currently not on speaking terms.” 

What about the Enclave? “Everything I know about the Enclave are things Danse and Deacon have told me. Apparently, they’re the remnants of the United States’ government. I bet they were all the cowards who sent us soldiers to fight the wars they made.”

How do you feel about Super Mutants? “I listened to some of the holotapes I found in the old Robotics lab...” Claire physically shivers. “All the people they kidnapped, they turned them into super mutants and released them into the Commonwealth. It’s awful. But when one of ‘em attacks you, you don’t have the luxury to feel guilty.”

What’s the craziest fight you’ve ever been in? “Oh God, you’d think it’d be the time I met Cait and fought her in the Combat Zone. But no. It’s got to be that ‘fake’ fight that was meant to give Travis some confidence. I might have broken one of them goon’s nose, and then Vadim refused to pay him and his partner. Don’t tell Vadim I said this but he kinda deserved to be kidnapped.”

Have you ever fought Deathclaw? “Yeah, that’s how I got the pretty scars on my cheek.”

Do you like fighting? “I don’t like fighting but it’s unavoidable in the wasteland.”

What’s your weapon of choice? “A tried and true 10mm pistol and the laser rifle Danse gave me. But if I need something with a bit of oomph, I’ll use a gauss rifle. That thing saved my ass when the Institute attacked the Castle.”

How do you survive? Your wits, your charm, your skills, brute force, or some combination? (a.k.a. what’s your S.P.E.C.I.A.L.?) “I’m a medal-winning sharpshooter -- not that I’m bragging -- I can ran faster than most raiders, and... I listen to people. You might not think being a good listener will help you survive the Commonwealth but people want to be heard. That hasn’t changed in over 200 years.”

Have you ever been in a vault? What do you think about them? “... Yes. I’ve been in a vault. I’m alive because of a vault. I’d rather stay away from most of them, though.”

How do you beat all the radiation around here? Has it affected you? “Well, I haven’t turned into a ghoul, so that’s something. I take a Rad-X every morning and seek shelter whenever a radstorm rolls through. That’s about all anyone can do.”

What’s your favorite wasteland critter? “Probably the radchickens and the brahmin.”

What’s your least favorite wasteland critter? “Mole rats. I don’t care if Deacon thinks they’re so ugly they’re cute, they JUMP out from the underGROUND.”

How do you feel about robots? “Codsworth waited for over 200 years for someone -- anyone -- from my family to leave the vault and find him. Most robots are built to perform one task and they do it well, but Codsworth? He’s irreplaceable.”

How many caps do you have on you right now? “Answering that question is a great way to get robbed.”

Nuka Cola or Sunset Sarsaparilla? “Both drinks were widely available in Texas but I’ve always been a Nuka Cola girl. My favorite flavor Nuka Victory but stores in the northeast only ever sold it during the summer. Unless you went to Nuka World.”

Do you do chems? “No. I remember when in Anchorage our superior officers would overlook any psycho and jet use, but I never touched it. Too worried I’d end up like my dad and my older brother.”

Do you ever think about the pre-war world? “Not as much as I did when I left the vault. I still miss it sometimes.”

What’s your deepest regret? What would you do differently? “... I don’t think I can talk about that right now.”

What’s your biggest achievement? Or what do you hope to achieve? “I used to think my biggest achievement was becoming a lawyer but everything paled in comparison to becoming a mom. Wow, that sounds really cliche, doesn’t it?” Claire takes a deep breath to keep from crying. “I guess my deepest regret and my biggest achievement will always have Sean in common.”

What do you want for your future? For yourself? Your friends? The world? Claire takes a moment to answer. “I want to see the Commonwealth thrive. I want it to be a land for the people. I don’t know how we’re going to do it, but if the West has the NCR, I don’t see why the East can’t have the Commonwealth.”

[powerovernothing]

Of your three boys, Lucian, Martian and Korbin, who is the best at monopoly? (if they played monopoly) Who tries to cheat? Who gets upset when they loose?

Hehehe, oh my goodness. Leave it to my dearest Mistress Sis to not only send me the absolute best types of messages with the very best questions based around my incredibly silly Assassin like, and Priestly children, but to turn around and send me one that is just so adorable and made me giggle like the utter fool I am when I first read it in my askbox? Well now, how could I not do everything with my power to put together the best and perfectly fitting answer to all your precious wondering?

I’m just a bit ashamed that it took so long to get around to answering this properly, though! Mostly because, early on when I was putting together what I wanted to reply with, I knew I wanted to include several things, and one of those things was a piece of a story of mine that actually wasn’t edited at that moment! So, I had to set a few things aside, put the answer on hold, and do what I could to make sure the story turned out well, and good enough for you to look oover when I finally got around to posting this on my blog!Well, now it has, and not only that, but I have several more amusing things to speak of in regards to three foolish boys! And what would happen when, not if, they played Monopoly, and what becomes of their little games when they get too involved in brotherly antics! Check out everything below, and thank you so much for sending me lovely questions about Korbin and his brothers! You know I always have and will forever dearly appreciate it!

Let’s dive in!

(*~*Tons of lengthy discussions, snippets, and screenshots based around the boys in the Modern Verse behind the cut!*~*)

Honestly, it should go without saying that anything that the boys end up doing together, no matter if it’s a simple board game, or a round of snowball fights in the late of night, it is most certainly going to turn from being innocent and simple, to over the top, dramatic, and super childish. Korbin and his siblings are incredibly competitive, and they always are trying to find ways to outdo the other in some way.

Without a doubt, Korbin and Lucien are the very worst offenders for this happening, but you would be surprised to find out Martin is just honestly as bad!

Perhaps that is what happens when you live with Assassins for so long, or perhaps its just because Lucien brings out that side of you. Whatever the case may be, anything can go from a fun little game, to a full on war without hardly much effort. Case in point? When the boys were trying to pass the time during a storm and were playing Uno together:

Korbin: [pleading] “Brother please, you cannot do this to me!”

Lucien: “Forgive me, my Silencer, but I must. It is as fate has foretold.”

Martin: [aghast] “How could you, Lachance, and to Korbin of all people?! I would never have thought you to be capable of such heartless betrayal!”

Lucien: “You should know by now, Septim, just what it is I am capable of. But even so, understand I surely have no other choice.”

Lucien:

Lucien: [places a Draw 4 card down upon the table] “Uno.”

(This is an unposted Incorrect Quote, but if you like it, I can totally upload it as a proper post!)

See what I mean? Or perhaps you would rather see what happens when they spend an afternoon playing laser tag together, after Korbin chose to drag both of his older brothers there to help them vent and let off some steam, after they spent far too much time together, and it wound up turning into a screaming match for Divines and Sithis only know what reason!

“Lu-Lucien? …Brother, Iwill… I will have you know if this is your attempt at a joke, it isn’t funny inthe slightest…” He mumbles unsteadily; continuing to shake Lucien’s still andunmoving shoulders with both hands. Lightly at first, but then more desperatelyas he attempts to rouse him in vain. “…You stupid bastard, I know you can feelme shaking you, so wake up! Wake up and say something! Anything! I don’t care what… don’t just lay there!”

As the growing silence engulfshis senses and clouds every thought, Korbin ceases his futile shaking and laysLucien flat upon the ground. Bowing his head – and knowing he would never againfind comfort within the once shared sanguine tinted twilight – he grasps onto partof Lucien’s dress shirt as broken tears slip down his cheeks and feels himselfslowly succumbing under the weight of his grief.

“…Don’t leave me, Lucien… please…” He whispers, wishing for someform of a miracle, for one moment more, for a chance to say all that hadremained unspoken… and yet just as soon as such feelings of frailty comes, theyare quickly replaced with a newfound anger – and an uncontrollable rage.

“Damn you, Septim, you havegone too far!” He cries out to the emptiness, once sorrowful prayers nowconsumed with a need for vengeance, as he dearly hopes his target will somehow hearhim and know what was coming. “No matter our bond, no matter what love weshared, it is over! I will hunt you down for what you have done, for whom you havetaken from me, and I will end your life by my own hand! You will beg for deathbefore the end, but no mercy shall come to you! I will make absolute certain ofthat!”

And in the aftermath of Korbin’sincredibly dramatic threat, Martin responds by carefully stepping out of the darkenedcorner he was listening in from. Standing across from where his chosen siblingsremained close together over the carpet in an extended moment of uncomfortable silence,Martin exchanges a dark glare with Korbin…and then finally loses himself to thecackling laughter he struggled, but ultimately failed, to suppress despite hisbest attempts to stay in character throughout the course of the over the top performance.

“For the love of Akatosh, onlyyou two –” Martin gasps for breath in-between giddy giggling and reachesup to wipe at the amused tears with the back of his hand. “—only you twowould take something as innocent as a simple game of laser tag – which isabsolutely meant for children, no less! – and somehow find the means totransform it into a brutal war reenactment!”

This is apart of one of my newer fan fictions I uploaded to my blog entitled “Bitter Are The War Between Brothers”, which you can find the rest of right behind this little link here if you’d enjoy reading the over the top antics, and incredibly hammy performances!

Outside of those examples there, however, I’m pretty certain even a simple game of Monopoly would end turning into some sort of death battle with these idiots at the wheel. I mean, two of them can’t even get through a simple game of chess without Lucien trying to break the rules at some point, because he absolutely despises how talented Martin is at the game!

Do you think he’s above trying to distract his brother and change the pieces when he isn’t looking? Not hardly! In fact, that’s just the kind of petty thing he would do, because he’s tired of losing, tired of looking like a fool, and just wants to win some game between himself and Septim at some point, dammit! He doesn’t care what he has to do to make it happen!

So, Lucien would absolutely cheat while playing, because Martin is simply too good at money management, and hotel strategies, and would end up in jail more often than the others. Korbin and Martin would absolutely make some sort of jest about him being behind bars – and how it suits him, and reminds them of the many times they had to bail him out in real life – and Lucien would most likely just grumble and then flick one of the die or one of his little houses at their heads.

To which Martin would not approve of, and then give him a longer sentence.

So, Lucien would be the cheater, and Martin would be the one who plays the very best, and has the most money and properties – I mean, after all, he is a Emperor in another non modern life, hehe – and Korbin… he would do his best to try and play fair.

In the beginning.

But then at some point he would get frustrated with Martin as well, and would ‘bail’ his brother out of jail, and then stage a revolt against Martin and try and destroy, or at the very least, blow up all of the hotels he has. Which would include over the top sound effects from Korbin, lots of giggling from all three of them, but sadly would not actually do anything to overthrow Martin and simply cause both Korbin and Lucien to wind up in jail together.

…In short? Martin is the smug victor with tons of money, Lucien is incredibly annoyed and close to flipping the table, and Korbin just really wants to play Go-Fish next. What exactly would that round of Go-Fish – which would ultimately turn into a serious round of Poker – entail, you may ask? Well, if you’ve been paying attention to all my rambling, you should know by now…

When Assassin’s want their revenge upon those who wronged them, it can only end… bloody.

But honestly, I do believe I am simply being just a tad bit silly! All in all, when it comes to the boys and the idea of them interacting and playing games like a normal family… well, I don’t honestly think they know the meaning of the word ‘normal’. I think that got lost somewhere around the time two Hitmen adopted a Sunday School Teacher – at least in the Modern Verse – and brought him into their shadowy little world. Basically, at the end of the day, everything between them will end up being turned into a competition.

Everything.

Even in the Revised Timeline, Lucien and Korbin always try to one up each other when it comes to their Assassination contracts and which has the best murdering tactics to fell their targets, and Martin and Lucien try to show up the other with various forms of magic, potions, or other rule breaking means when they spar to catch the other off guard and land the ‘killing’ blow.

No matter the world, no matter the verse, some things never change, hehe~!

In any case, my dear lovely and darling Mistress Sis, I hope that provided you with a few answers, and maybe a few giggles just as well! I honestly adored seeing you send me this message, and I honestly loved taking the time out to answer it – and answer it properly! I know it took a while, and I know you had been waiting for a bit, but I hope it was worth it in the end! Even despite the length, whoops!

Thank you so very much for sending this my way, as well as the rest of the questions that I will be doing my best to answer over the next little while.

You always pick at my brain in the best ways, and always ask the best things about the boys, and I always appreciate it. Just as I always have, and always will, super appreciate you. Thanks so much again, darling! Tons of hugs and kisses, and lots of love coming your way~! ♥

[fournierbak0-blog]

5 Points You're Possibly Doing Wrong In The Shower.

Alfred Wegener proposed the theory of continental drift at the beginning of the 20th century. Prescription antibiotics, both topical and also systemic, take a reasonably long period of time to decrease the numbers of P. acnes microorganisms in the skin and do not resolve other causative elements of acne. Exfoliation sloughs away dry, dead skin cells to earn method for fresh, healthy ones. For dry skin, rub hempseed oil, jojoba oil and MSM cream straight right into the skin. Intense, creative as well as entirely remarkable The All-natural Means of Things is unputdownable and extensive. Botox shots are noted mainly for the ability to minimize the look of some face wrinkles. Criterion laser dermabrasion is too extreme for thinner skin layers such as on the neck. Face Sanctuary Shine-Neutralizing Gel ($ 36, ). 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When they started providing turmeric doses twice daily, they saw preventative benefits appearing in the skin of the computer mice. Every one of these factors aid maintain your skin hydrated and also minimize the formation of wrinkles. For instance, hydrate your skin initially and utilize an orange and environment-friendly concealer palette to deal with an unequal complexion. Check out anti-aging item testimonials from our professionals that will give you the genuine info on anti wrinkle and anti imperfection creams and supply understanding on which anti aging skin treatment items are most likely to give you a radiance as well as which ones to avoid. Since the skin and pulp are seen to be good as cathartics, the fruit is likewise valued for irregularity.

[fantroll-purgatory]

Selene Yirlea

(By Ophiden) 

https://imgur.com/a/kNolqQw

*Cecil voice* ..and I fell in love instantly.

Planet: Alternia

Okay so my redesign is gonna be stricter even though we obviously don’t have a lot to work off when it comes to fuchsiabloods. It seems that your sprite is a little more traditional and I work best in sprites so we’ll go from there.

Name: Selene Yirlea

The name Selene is (obviously) a reference to the moon, of which she is derived from. Her attitude, style, and poise are elegant and pure, as the moon tends to be.

And yet, to look at her bio, she’s also somewhat manipulative? I like it, especially given the moon’s association with madness. That said, Selene is just like. A name some people have, and unless you’re a limeblood trolls generally have names that sound a little odd to an English-speaking ear. How about “Saelun,” from the Latin word for the heavens?

And you didn’t give a reasoning for her last name, but maybe…Ceodra? It’s from an old English word meaning “ravine,” which is a good call to the depths of her personality, a contrast to her celestial first name that mirrors the contradiction between her polished outward appearance and her more scheming inner machinations. More importantly, it’s the old name for the village of cheddar, a nod to the theory that the moon is made of cheese and an indication that as the highest of highbloods she’d be rolling in cheddar. B)

Age: 7 sweeps 

Blood Color: Fuchsia

Title: Witch of Doom

Dream Planet: Usually Prospit

I am a little confused! You’ve given me a sprite using Pipia, sign of the Inquiring for a Derse Light player, but this information would make her Pimino, sign of the Empathetic! I’m not sure either title suits her, to be honest.

I’m having trouble discerning from her bio whether she’d be a Prospitan or a Dersite, buuuuuut given that you’ve themed her after the moon, and Alternia has two (albeit by design and manipulation)…por que no lo dos? Sollux got two dreamselves because he had a theme related to bifurcation, and I think I can make a case for Saelun doing the same as long as you’re willing to go the extra mile and write her in a way that shows the complex state of being that is integration with/rebellion against a system. Which tbh you have a good launching pad for!

For her Aspect I’m inclined to make her an Heir of Mind? Firstly just bc she’s an Heiress and that’s fun, but second because you’ve built a manipulative character AND it’s a reference to moon madness!

This would make her Piza and Pira, respective signs of the Conjurer and the Visionary. I’ll probably sprite up a custom symbol that uses aspects of both!

Troll Tag: I was thinking something like benevolentManipulation, but I really want to fit the GCAT rule? 

Also it tips her hand a little too readily, something a skilled manipulator wouldn’t do. How about guidingCompassion [GC], both because she believes she allows her compassion to guide her and because she thinks of herself as compassionately guiding others.

Quirk: T)-(e quick brown fo)( jumped over t)-(e lazy dog.

With her new symbol(s) maybe she can replace “H” with (-) and “l” with )l(? T(-)e quick brown fox jumps over t(-)e )l(azy dog.

Fetch Modus: Didn’t think of a good one yet,,

Maybe a BLACK BOX modus where she has to pull captcha cards out by touch and sound of the items on it? In the video game The Sexy Brutale, there’s a character called The Moth by Moonlight who is similarly elegant with a mischievous side. She’s also blind, and her mask confers upon the player a superior sense of hearing. She’d better watch out if she puts a weapon in there!

Special Abilities: Semi-Strong Rustblood Psiionics. She’s able to use telekinesis in a semi short range.

I assume that this is because the Condesce could use psiionics and Tavros’s ability. I was never clear if that was just what happens when fuchsiabloods mature or if it was a boon given to her by Lord English. I mean I like the concept enough to roll with it, but if we want to reference moon madness as well as her title(s), maybe she can just make illusory constructs?

Strife Specibus: Bladeskind

Have you ever seen RWBY? Her weapon is almost identical to Penny’s. The only difference is the inability to make lasers fly out of them.

You could also do wandKind if you wanna make a Sailor Moon reference! The girl is alien royalty after all.

Lusus: Gl'bgolyb

Personality: Selene tends to put others before herself, but not out of the kindness of her own heart, but rather out of pity. She’s unable to take and deal with stress, but refuses to take help. She bites off more than she can chew. Selene works in the spotlight- in fact she thrives for it. She’s constantly working to undo the works of her predecessor, the Meretrix, who brought Alternia and the troll race to war many times. Selene tries her best to stay collected, and always picks the more extravagant choice. 

So you have a troll who is attempting to emulate purity and poise in the face of a predecessor who was warlike and (by Saelun’s judgement) lewd. I like it! You have a troll who’s gonna portray herself as the classy socialite activist when she’s actually only just keeping it together.

Interests: Writing music, all the Instruments, grubball, baking, weapons design, fashion DESIGN, as she’s rubbish at sewing. 

Hmm. She’s a very classical aristocrat, which is interesting given how we often see highbloods portrayed in Homestuck. It works, though, given that the actual goddess Selene similarly fits such ideals.

Land: I have no idea… Didn’t think of a good one yet!

How about Land of Novels and Reprints (LONAR)? It could jsut be fillllllled with books on books on books. How does she even REACH her denizen? Guess she’s gotta keep reading to find out, and to determine the most current volume of evolving instructions.

So for her sprite redesign I pretty much only kept that beautiful Rose Braid she has but it’s such a strong visual anchor that I think these are both very recognizable as different iterations of the same character! You gave me a lot of refs so I had any number of outfits to pick from, and I think the one I eventually settled on marries the elements that make the most sense. Let’s go top to bottom.

Horns - so far we’ve seen three canon fuchsiabloods and they all have the same horns, so I swapped hers out for Feferi’s.

Hair - I adjusted the hairline of the rose braid so it wouldn’t cover up so much of her face, and I really liked how it conveyed so much volume so I attempted to mimic that in both the back braids and the rest of her hair.

Eyes - they’re from fan-troll with a little line added for her eyelash definition.

Freckles - I added these from x_pandatastic_x on deviantart.

Mouth - I took your original one and edited it slightly.

Tattoo/Symbol - I loved the idea of her getting a tattoo of her sign so I included it! It’s basically Piza with the flips inherent to Pira. I also slapped it on the gold belt she has.

Outfit - the dress and sandals are fan-troll sprites. I wanted something Grecian that emphasized bodily modesty and monetary extravagance. I added the mesh panel to the top of the dress with the idea that it could cover her arms up to the wrists, even.

And that’s about it for my review! Thank you for submitting Selene; she’s a lovely troll!

-TR

[countessofsnark]

Snarky Recap - Thunderbirds Are Go: ‘The Man From TB5′

The One Where TAG Meets 007.

This episode takes us to a quiet moment on Tracy Island where Mother Hen Scott is apparently babysitting the Terrible Two. You can tell Scott is in a good mood because he’s letting Gordon sit on their father’s desk like an overgrown toddler - while Alan is seated nearby, fiddling with a tablet.

The peace and quiet is interrupted by a phone call from a very smartly dressed Lady Penelope. Cue Gordon’s ears perking up like an excited lap dog’s. Bless this precious squid boy and his eternal Penny crush.

‘Did I hear party? Do you need a date? I can be there in no time.’ Gordon shamelessly inviting himself. Also, maybe it’s time you went and took a few cues from the Flirt Sensei of Tracy Island, who happens to be sitting right next to you.

‘Thank you, Gordon. But I already have a date.’ Who is clearly quite thrilled to be here. 

GORDON’S FACE. I AM DEAD. 

‘BUT I AM THE OBVIOUS CHOICE.’ Modesty is a lovely virtue, Gordo. Sounds like someone should listen to a certain Kendrick Lamar song to get their feet back on the ground.

Guess who will be taking over space monitoring duty?

Yep, this day simply couldn’t get worse for poor Gordon. And just when Alan is being smug about Gordon’s bad luck...

‘And who do you think is taking him up there?’ Sounds like the Terrible Two are going on a little space adventure. *rubs hands*

Cut to what would be an impossible feat of architecture in our world, but not so in the TAG future. 

Brains popping up to inquire about the 007 worthy gadget tux he made for John only to be told that it fits just fine.

‘But didn’t you notice all the cool hidden functions? Like the secret radio in your collar!’ Poor Brains. He should’ve known that Serious Space Trash was not going to be interested in all that high tech spy stuff.

John’s illusion regarding the scale and privacy of the event is about to be shattered in 3, 2, 1...

‘International Rescue. I have a situation’ THE GLORIOUS AWKWARDNESS THAT IS JOHN TRACY. ASDFGHJKL.

‘Communications is my job, I talk to people all over the world. I’d just rather do it from space.’ We are all John. Fellow introverts, unite. Separately. 

Bernard Bottomsley: ‘Lady Penelope! You do like to elevate a party.’ OH DEAR, SOUND THE BAD PUN KLAXON.

Enter Brains giving John a ‘tour’ of his high tech tux.

‘And did I mention the cufflinks?’

‘Will they make me invisible to crowds?’ Aww John. 

The exact moment you realise people are staring at you not because you're a socially challenged and smartly dressed spaceman but because you were just talking (in)to your suit. I CANNOT HANDLE JOHN BEING SOCIALLY AWKWARD IT IS SIMPLY TOO MUCH PLEASE SEND HELP.

Meanwhile, back on Tracy Island, the Terrible Two are prepping for space monitoring duty. And so far things are going just fine.

‘But why not take John’s way up?’ Well, Gordon, you’re about to find out. The answer is called sassy!EOS.

‘EOS, lower the space elevator, please.’

I’M AFRAID I CAN’T DO THAT, GORDON.

‘Voice print not recognized. Palm print not recognized - bit dirty don’t you think? Try the facial scanner.’

Followed by... ‘Hair style not recognized. And not very stylish.’

Gordon: ‘We speak of this to no one.’ 

Me: *CACKLING*

Back to Penelope’s posh party, where John being himself just managed to shut down a cringe-worthy conversation.

And then there’s this unlikely detective duo. Sherbert, the stumpy nosed Watson to Parker’s savvy Sherlock. BLESS. They're about to make a very important and dangerous discovery.

But up in orbit, the Terrible Two are facing some trouble of their own.

EOS taking her sweet time to open the airlock. While sounding every so concerned about the boys’ safety.

Gordon is not impressed. GORDON’S FACIAL EXPRESSIONS CONTINUE TO SLAY ME. OH MAN WHAT IS THIS EPISODE EVEN.

Just when they thought they could finally enter Thunderbird 5... HI, I DIDN’T HEAR YOU SAY THE MAGIC WORD.

Alan has had enough and proceeds to call John. ‘Your housekeeper would like an access code.’

A clearly exasperated John: ‘The code is EOS let them in or I’ll swap your processors with a pocket calculator.’ BA-ZIN-GA.

The party, meanwhile, has moved on to the main bidding event. Before long, however, a familiar face reveals his master plan to rob the guests. Ah, the Hood. Should’ve known you couldn’t resist crashing this party. (No pun intended)

‘Who exactly are you?’

THE NAME IS TRACY. JOHN TRACY. *James Bond theme intensifies*

You count on Parker to cause a suitable distraction to allow John to stealthily sneak outside.

Not a spy mission, eh 00-Trash?

Tracy Island and Thunderbird 5 begin to notice that something is off when they can’t reach John. Time for Kayo to shine. MY QUEEN. *chinhands*

Just how desperate do you have to be when you take tight-rope walking a glacier over those crowds. Oh John.

The Hood is about to conclude business when Mr Bottomsley attempts to be a hero but fails miserably, thus setting off the laser cutters while the Hood and his henchmen graciously vacate the premises.

MAGNETS. HOW DO THEY WORK.

Just when you’d forgotten about that jamming bubble... Kayo losing control had me on the edge of my seat there.

‘If my ship is useless, I’ll just lose my ship.’ YASSS STEALTH QUEEN, SLAY IT.

Penny giving Bottomsley a lesson in humility and responsibility. So much female badassery going on, my poor feels can’t take it.

Fast forward to Kayo picking off the Hood’s accomplishes one by one before disabling the Hood’s scheme. Majestic, absolutely majestic. Something tells me that getting on Kayo’s bad side (for instance during That Time Of The Month) would most certainly land you in the Tracy Island infirmary.

And then there’s the following piece of brilliant dialogue:

John: ‘Any suggestions on how to bring down a ten tonne rock?’

Lady P: ‘Surely you have something up your sleeve?’

It’s interesting to see that even though Kayo once again managed to thwart the Hood’s plans, he can’t seem to legitimately hurt her. Just an angry shove and he’s off. Family ties are still strong and that’s a very intriguing observation IMHO.

John’s laser antics may have stalled the inevitable but not for much longer...

Penny and Parker helplessly looking on as the chateau and our heroic Space Trash plunge into the icy depths.

But have no fear, big bro Scott is here!

‘I got you... party boy.’ EHEHEHEHE. They’re not gonna let him live that one down for a looooong time to come.

‘Thanks, Scott. Just put me down anywhere.’ *Scott moves closer to the crowded platform* ‘ANYWHERE BUT HERE’ *John climbs further up the grappling cable*

UGH JOHN STAHP.

Skip to... Tracy Island, where EOS ‘has something she’d like to say’. And sounding genuinely remorseful, it seems. *cough cough*

Brains scooting off to improve the tux’s gadgets. NERD.

Penelope suggesting she forward the dozens of messages inviting the mystery hero to a party as a chance to see the world, which is countered by John saying that the world looks just fine from Thunderbird 5. Comfort zone: re-enabled. AWW SPACE TRASH. *chinhands*

This was hands down one of the best episodes in the history of TAG so far. Maybe even made it into my personal top 5. What a ride! Penny being her usual glamorous badass self, Parker and Sherbert cooperating like a quirky detective duo, our socially challenged ginger space spy having to battle both the Hood and a crippling fear of crowds. Oh my feels. *hugs mug of ginger tea*

[officialthiamlibrary]

Welcome to another profile on Behind the Screens, giving you personal insight on who your favorite artists are and what they do when they aren’t wowing you with their creative ability.

This week, we have the pleasure of learning more about Kristina, also know in our circle as Thiamlife. The author of Rivals AU, Anchors, and numerous prompts, she loops us in on her life as a trainer, her writing persona, and her tips for writing angst. 

Kristina! To start us off, tell us something about yourself. The catch: use a sentence, where the word count is either equal to or less than the number of letters in you two favorite Teen Wolf character’s name.

Theo Raeken + Malia Tate = 19: I’m Sporty Spice but can act like Baby Spice, want to be Posh Spice but badass like Scary Spice.

Before the era of Teen Wolf, we found love and OTPs in other shows. What would you say were your first ships, think way back?

Oh lord, um, probably Marissa and Ryan from the O.C., but I also loved the Buffy/Spike/Angel situation.

And, how did you land in the Thiam Family? What about Theo x Liam drew you in?

Honestly, I just stumbled upon it. But it was one of those things where you see it and then it just clicks… like “Where have you been my whole life?” I wasn’t caught up when I saw the first Thiam related thing on my dash and was like hmm interesting and then when I was catching up the whole time I found myself desperately looking for all the subtle Thiam things.

I know we were made to hate Theo, but for some reason I just couldn’t and when I noticed that Liam didn’t either I was completely smitten. I just love how their love never was nor ever will be easy (blame the angst queen that lives inside me). They have to constantly fight and struggle to be with each other. But at the same time it was so blatantly obvious and simple for them to rely on each other even though they may not have realized it. I also just love how protective Theo was over Liam.

If you could build the ultimate paintball/laser tag team from any five characters on Teen Wolf, who would they be and why?

Malia cause she’s a straight badass and I love her. Theo because he likes strategy and has a serious sense of self preservation that would come in handy if the rest of us got taken out. Brett ‘cause damn, that boy is athletic. Corey because he could make us all invisible. And the fifth spot would be a wildcard choice between Chris, Derek, and Deucalion. All three of them bring something to the table and are valuable.

I’m definitely picking up the Sporty Spice feels, for sure! Together, your and Ashlee’s (AJP_37) teams would be an unstoppable force. Let’s shift into your writing. If your writing process was a person, describe him or her? What do they do? Wear? Listen to?

She is unsuspecting. A relatively plain and humble girl, but has a spice about her. It’s in her walk and the way she does her makeup. She loves leggings, off the shoulder sweaters, and having her hair tied up in a messy bun. She likes to listen to edm when she’s feeling light and free, Beyonce when she’s feeling badass, The Neighbourhood and Sam Smith when she wants to chill, and country on warm summer days. She’s a sucker for innuendos and teasing. She’s a gemini in the truest form and has many facets to her personality, but thrives in drama/angst. She’s fiercely loyal and it is extremely easy to make her jealous but she won’t show it unless cornered. She’s always ready to go big but wouldn’t mind going home either.

And your writing Kryptonite? How do you fight it?

My Kryptonite is honestly myself. There are always at least three different directions brewing in my mind in which to take my stories or chapters. Trying to pick one is so difficult and often deters me from completing things. I also am extremely critical of the flow of a piece of work. Sometimes it’s really hard for me to publish things because I know that it could be better but I don’t know how to take it there or don’t want to get rid of I have already written. When I feel like that I read over it a couple times and try to make all the adjustments I can before telling myself that this is how the characters in my head wanted it to happen if I was able to write a whole chapter about it. (Yes the characters in my head dictate where the story goes lol) I also go back and read everyone’s comments just to remind myself that people actually like the story so the new chapter can’t be that much different in terms of audience acceptance.

Do you write novels or short stories with original characters, as well? If so, share one you’re particularly passionate about.  

I do. Although, I haven’t been paying it much attention since I got sucked into the Thiam fandom… whoops. It’s a romance novel about a girl that gets screwed over by her mom and doesn’t want help from anyone in fear that she’ll just be left in the same position. But a man from her past just won’t seem to take no for answer and refuses to let her continue in her struggle. The first chapter is on my Ao3, funnily enough it’s called Wolves and was titled that before I even began to write fanfics.

Characters often find themselves in situations they aren’t sure they can get themselves out of. When was the last time you found yourself in situation like that and what did you do?

I’m actually working on this at the moment. It happens far too frequently to just pinpoint one time… divorced parents that act like children are super fun in case anyone was wondering. Up until recently, I found myself being the tug of war rope between them and don’t know how to say no which ended up with me doing a bunch of things I couldn’t get myself out of. Can now happily announce that I have separated myself from that and hope to avoid those kinds of situations as much as possible from here on out. :) Sorry if that was too personal…

In addition to your prompts and other stories, you’re currently writing two chaptered works. We’d love to learn more about those and your process for bringing them to life. For anyone unfamiliar, can you give us a quick summary of both Rivals AU and Anchors?

Anchors: Liam Dunbar has had enough of being out of control. So he decides to shut his wolf off for awhile… the only problem is it could end up getting him killed. Theo Raeken had never been good with feelings. But he can’t fathom the idea of losing the little beta. So he makes it his personal mission to help Liam find his way back to the supernatural. Lines will be crossed and there may be no coming back from it. Its angsty and the end will have a twist you didn’t see coming.

Rivals: But rivaling teams AU though… Like, they don’t even play the same sports, but both teams don’t take the other really serious and they constantly prank each other and make fun of each other. Theo, captain of the Football team, and Liam, captain of the Lacrosse team, and they both claim they can’t stand each other and it would be all so easy if it weren’t for the fact that both find their counterpart more than just attractive and maybe one of their screaming matches on the field ends with them furiously making out under the shower after everybody else is gone. And maybe it becomes a regular occurrence from then on; first, they fight and bicker and then they make out. And maybe it’s getting harder and harder to pretend they hate each other’s guts because there is far more between them than just attraction. Oh, well, nobody has to know, right? Idea from formerprincess on tumblr. Okay this one is SUPER angsty, like beware.

What inspired you to write both?

Anchors kinda of just popped in my head one day. After Thiamweek and writing drabbles I decided I wanted to try writing a longer story. I fell out of love with it after being accused of plagiarism and honestly almost didn’t continue writing it. But decided that I would just change the end to reflect how the whole thing made me feel.

I saw the Rivals prompt on tumblr and was praying that someone would write it because it sounded sooooo good. The more I thought about it the more ideas I came up with until it got to the point where I was like no! I hope someone hasn’t already started writing it because I would love to take a whack at it. I hope everyone is enjoying what I’ve done with it! (P.S. sorry it has gotten a little dark, that was like rock bottom for both of them and now the only way to go is up :D)

Any scenes, specifically, inspired by your personal life?

Yes, actually. There’s a couple things in Rivals that were inspired by my personal life, mainly a few of the pranks that have been/will be pulled but there are a few other things in there, as well. And as I mentioned above, Anchors will kind of touch on how it felt to be torn down by someone but built back up by the most wonderful people.

They each include a fair amount of angst, what are some ways you get into the headspace to write angst? Do you have any tips for writers who’d like to improve those skills?

Hmmm. Angst is just something that comes naturally to me I guess. I love the way it makes you feel, like you have to stop but yet you keep going because you need to know what happens. It's like when you try to see how long you can hold your breath under water, those last few seconds burn and you know you should come up for air but you want to see if you can actually make it just a couple more. When I sit down to write something angsty I really just try to put myself in the character’s place and describe how I would be feeling but I make sure to tack on aspects from their character. For example, if Liam were to be sitting in the hospital with Theo, I would be freaking out and sad so I write that for Liam but add hints of anger and self-doubt.

So I would definitely suggest placing yourself in the situation and writing how you would react and then think of it from your character’s pov. I also like to write all my angsty scenes at night… it's weird but the darkness and less busy/loud city really help to put me in a ominous mindset. Also, use as many descriptive words as possible!!! Setting the scene for angst is, in my opinion, more important than the actual dialogue. Dialogue can be inserted anywhere but how it’s read or perceived depends on the mood you set for it.

Ok, that is amazing advice! Can we do a practice demonstration? How would you set the scene that use dialogue like, “Whenever you decide you can stand talking to me again, don’t.”

Depends on who’s pov it is. If the character is the one saying that then obviously they are a little angry/hurt. So the words “harshly” “through clenched teeth” “growls” “glared” would be really useful. But also internalizing the feeling. So like “He pushed out through clenched teeth. The words tasted like bitter venom in his mouth. He didn’t care how the boy across from him flinched upon hearing them, he only cared that he had allowed himself to be cut this deeply. He let his shoulders tense as he spun away from him and stalked off angrily to go lick his wounds somewhere else. The cold from the dingy warehouse finally breaking through his supernatural warmth and settling in his bones.” When I’m angry, I’m usually more angry at the fact that I allowed myself to be hurt/affected rather than the actual thing that happened or was said. So that’s how I would spin it if the character was the one saying it. Painting a picture as to why he reacted that way and making sure the reader can picture the look on his face and make them physically tense their own body in response to the words above.

If the character was on the receiving end of those words, I would convey the hurt/’oh fuck’ emotions. This one would be more internalized than the one saying it, so more of a mental reaction is needed here. Again, I put myself in the situation and visualize what I would do/what would be going through my head if I were to have that said to me. Here’s what I came up with: “He recoiled as if he had been backhanded. He didn’t mean to push the chimera that far. This all started out as a silly game but it had quickly morphed into something the both of them weren’t ready for. And now he stood there, frozen in place, and watched as the one person he truly cared about, his anchor, walked away from him in disgust. The room was darker without him, it was colder. Liam shuddered at the raw feelings slamming in to him and at tone of voice Theo had used with him. He hadn’t spoken to him like that since before he was pulled down to hell, Liam almost forgot who the old Theo was… and now he had just brought him back. His face dropped and a pained noise escaped his throat; What had he done?”  

That’s just an angsty version though. It could also be placed in a humorous way. As a joke between Stiles and Theo. Again, set the scene… paint a picture for the readers with descriptive words:

Stiles mumbled under his breath for the fifth time while walking next to him. Theo couldn’t help but smile as they walked through the colorful preserve foliage on this bright autumn morning.

‘Something you want to say to the group Stiles?’ Theo chuckled after hearing yet another mumbled sentence out of the quirky boy who used to be his friend.

‘Not really’ Stiles grumbled which only made Theo’s smile a bit wider.

‘Are you sure? I’m pretty certain I actually heard you say that I had a good idea and that you were somewhat glad I was in the pack.’

Stiles retorted with some half-assed insult that made that rest of the pack giggle from their various positions beside them.

‘On second thought, whenever you decide you can stand to talk to me again, don’t.’

Stiles scoffed and stopped short glaring in to the side of his head making him stop and look back at him. ‘Oh that’s rich. You’re telling ME not to talk to YOU?’ He sputtered incredulously.

Theo smirked and nodded.

‘What the hell, why?’

Theo shrugged his shoulders and glanced over to Scott who was about to lose his shit laughing, same with Malia and Mason. ‘Because you’re extremely invasive and I don’t want you popping up at my house with some crazy plan every 5 seconds.’ He turned and winked at Liam.

‘Our house.’ Liam corrected as he slid up next to Theo brushing his shoulder against Theo’s arm.

Stiles sputtered and pointed at both of them, ‘How dare you! My plans are flawless’ he shouted earning a snort from Lydia and Malia, ‘and you… you… you little ungrateful shit! I practically raised you!’ At this point Mason and Scott were rolling on the wet leaves, tears streaming down their faces from laughter.”

Wow sorry just wrote a drabble and didn’t even mean to… see setting the scene is important! It takes simple dialogue to the next level and makes it a story rather than just a conversation. Hope this helps!

That was extremely helpful with a hearty side dish of entertainment. So while we're all processing how we’re going to write angst forever now, want to slide us any spoilers for things to come in both stories?

Haha, there may or may not be some steamy scenes in one or both of them soon. That’s all I can say for now.

I suppose, for now that has to be enough haha. Finally, what’s next for you? Both in life and in the writing world?

I’m currently in the process of taking over an athletic training company. So my workload has been steadily increasing, even though it may not seem like based off of how active I am on tumblr haha. Luckily, I get to do most of it from home before the actual coaching and teaching that takes place in the afternoon.

As for my writing, sadly I think Anchors is approaching the end… it will always hold a special place in my heart though because it was my first multi-chapter fanfic. Rivals is my number one baby right now and I have ZERO clue what I will do when I finish that. Hopefully I find another awesome prompt that can take Thiam for a ride. Been toying with dabbling in Drarry... but am thinking I’ll leave that one alone so I can just appreciate it as a reader.

My ask and inbox are always open!! I’m always accepting prompts; it may take me awhile to get around to them because of Rivals, Anchors, Secret Santa, and a possible oneshot smut ;) but I always like to take a break from my fics every once in a while to clear my head and get my creative juices flowing again!

Thank you so so much for wanting to interview me and get to know me a little bit more! The Thiam fandom is awesome and I’m so glad to call it my home!

And with that, Behind the Screens (BTS) presents ThiamLife to you! Let’s keep the conversation going; you can respond to any of her answers, ask more questions, send a prompt, or swing by for a chat with Kristina through her Tumblr Ask Box. And to dive into her works, check out her AO3 and Tumblr.

Tumblr: thiamlife

AO3: Mskristinamay

Ask Box: Thiamlife Ask

We’d like to thank her so much for entertaining our questions, especially the angst demonstration! One of our favorite pieces about BTS is the opportunity to learn craft secrets from one another. So thanks Kristina for breaking it down and going above and beyond the question :)

If you fan over a Thiam writer, artist, music mixologist, or video-making mastermind and want to know more about them, send us their usernames at any time. Also, feel free to add questions you’re dying to ask them. And if you, as an artist, would like to be a part of the Behind the Screens series, we’d love to get to know you, as well. 

Until next time!

[pctcr]

seconds too late

hiya! so this was a request but i decided my idea was too long for one part and im gonna have multiple parts 

if it does well

prompt: the reader dIES in peter’s arms

 thank you to the anon who requested this

warnings: swearing, and a little injury?? but lots o’ fluff

excuse any errors

ALSO!!! you can message me or ask off anon to be tagged in things. please specify if only wanna be tagged in this series or every future work. tysm ily all

part two

   “Peter, they’re coming from the left.” You said, tilting your head slightly in the direction they were coming. He nodded, crouching down on his sniper perch. You heard the sound of Peter’s gun shooting, and then Ned shouting: “OH COME ON.”

   You quickly ducked behind a foam wall and peeked out to see Flash standing there, wide in the open. You waited until he approached you, and when he did, you ducked out of the way of his shot. Doing a half-assed barrel roll, you turned quickly and shot him in the back. The gear on him vibrated and turned red, signaling he was dead. “This game is so dumb.” He groaned, jogging off back to his base to get his last life.

   The game progressed from there until it was just You, Peter, and Ned. All of you were on your last life of three. Peter was behind you, peeking around a wall. You too were hidden by a wall, and as you peeked, you saw Ned. Before you could turn back, he shot. Your vest turned red, and you were dead. You dramatically fell to the ground.

   “NO!” Peter yelled, coming into view and shooting Ned. He collapsed to the ground on his knees and pulled you into his lap. “(Y/N), no! Don’t die on me!” He said loudly, faking a sob.

   You gently reached up your hand and touched his cheek. “Don’t forget…” you whispered. “To feed my (cat/dog/fish/etc.)…”

   Peter chuckled. “I will feed them, I promise, my love!”

   You opened one eye and started giggling. “We should do theatre.” You grabbed Peter’s hand and stood up, dusting your jeans off. “Well, I died but we won. That is all that matters.”

   Peter scoffed. “You’re all that matters.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and you both walked out of the dark laser tag room.

   You chuckled, pulling the heavy gear off of you and setting it on the rack near the exit. Peter did the same. You both sat down in the party room and enjoyed cake and junk food courtesy of Ned’s mom who insisted he has a birthday party. Ned insisted he was too old, but when Peter brought up laser tag, he was sold. His mother made him invite everyone on the debate team, to be fair. If it were his choice, Flash wouldn’t have been invited. Although, it was fun to beat Flash at something he was so called, “good at.”

   However, Flash’s ego is what caused your demise. He didn’t like to lose, so he called for another round of laser tag. He paid the guy at the front desk and You, Peter, and the rest of the gang followed behind to get their vests. “Ah,” Flash said, turning around. “I forgot one tiny detail. It’s gonna be just me against (Y/N).”

   Ned raised an eyebrow. “Because she beat you?”

   Flash glared at him and handed you a vest. You looked to the rest of them and shrugged. “I guess I have a streak to keep.”

   The both of you walked in and to opposite sides. You waited until your vest lit up and then you ran to the sniper perch you always used. Flash wasn’t in view and after a minute of waiting you decided he wasn’t gonna move. You climbed down and started to quietly jog to the other side of the room. You saw the back of Flash’s vest and you smirked, shooting it. It turned red, but he didn’t move. “Flash, I got you.” You started to walk forward when a foot came out from behind the wall and tripped you. You landed wrong and immediately you could tell you had injured your ankle. “Son of a bitch, Flash! You arrogant little-” before you finished, you heard the door to the room open and shut. You sighed, pulling yourself up and leaning against the wall nearest you. You inspected your ankle and concluded that you rolled it. Groaning, you attempted to stand, but you knew even if you tried to hop on one foot you’d somehow hurt your other ankle again.

   “(Y/N)?” A voice asked, worried. You knew it was Peter.

   “Over here.” You said unenthusiastically.

   Peter approached you, literally fuming. “What did he do?”

   “Well,” you chuckled sarcastically. “He propped up his vest over there so I could walk right into him so he’d trip me. However, I fell wrong and now my ankle is as useless as Flash is.”

   He sighed, lifting you up bridal style. “I hate him. You know that?”

   You rolled your eyes. “Yes, I do. I hate him just as much as you do.”

   Peter carried you to the car, telling the rest of them that he’d talk to them about what happened at school. He placed you gently in the back seat and kissed your forehead. You smiled, grateful to have him. You sat in the back while he drove back to his apartment. He carried you inside and laid you down on the couch. He went to retrieve the medical supplies to help you.

   Peter came back with a white box labeled ‘First Aid’ in bold red lettering on the front. He helped you prop her leg up on the coffee table so he could wrap it.

   “Hey, Peter.” You said softly and he looked up at you with those adorable, wide eyes. “Thank you for helping me.”

   He grinned a little, nodding. “Yeah, it’s no problem, really.” The smile faded off his face and he sighed. He pulled out an ice pack and wrapped it in a towel, gently placing it on your ankle. “I just… I know it was a joke but… back at the bowling alley, when you fake died… it made me think. What if you actually got hurt. (Y/N)? What if something actually happened to you and I couldn’t help you?”

   You frowned. “Peter that won’t happen.”

   He sighed, pulling out the bandage. “That thought hurts me so much because… dammit, I love you, (Y/N). I love you so damn much and if you got hurt I don’t know what I’d do.”

   You were frozen. Neither of you had said those words yet and you were shocked. You had wanted to say it to him for weeks but you always chickened out. You guys had been dating for coming up on six months but you were afraid you’d scare him away.

   Peter started to stutter. “I-I mean, I don’t-”

   You placed both hands on his cheeks. “I love you too.” You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips, which he gladly returned.

   He pulled away a moment after and finished wrapping your ankle. He laid the ice pack on it and sat back on the couch, wrapping his arm around you. You laid your head on his shoulder and sighed in content. Soon enough, you fell into a dreamless sleep in Peter’s arms.

author numbers;

words: 1162

posted on august 5th, 2017

follower count: 164

TAG LIST: @hawkiye