#JUSTICE?? WITH THOSE TWO PLAYS?? IT PRACTICALLY WRITES ITSELF

[scorpiusmalfoylovesoscarwilde]

I get to write an essay on Hamlet's characterisation for my first marked assignment teehee *giggling kicking my feet*

[liontalon1]

I think I’m at the point where i don’t want to see Echo again, and if you didn’t know Echo is my favorite character. I just want him to disappear with Cody to have their fates left up to us.

I’ll be honest i don’t trust the writers to do them justice at this point. They’ve made it very clear that they don’t care about Echo, and Cody was always a background character even in the clone wars. I went into this season expecting Echo to die (i think most of us did) but now i think it will just piss me off.

We’ve had one episode with Echo in it so far, I’m not counting the two episodes where he plays cab driver. Regardless of if you think Tech’s alive or not, you have to admit he had a good send off, it was built up the entire season. He had character development multiple episodes that focused on him even if some were filler. Echo hasn’t had that, so if they do kill him after being sidelined practically this entire show, what’s the point.

He’d be boiled down to a plot device (which i can argue the writers already have done). What purpose does he have but to hurt omega and the audience? I think that’s a big disservice to those of us that have been following his character since Rookies aired, to those of us that held the torch of him surviving after the citadel. I was there, i did my time on ff.net writing Echo survival stories, hell i found out he survived from my story blowing up with comments about if i saw the video.

Now again i wasn’t against him dying but i don’t think it’ll have the same emotional impact anymore. The writing this season has been so inconsistent and i think the show and characters are suffering for it. It’s really noticeable with Omega, the entire time she was on Tantiss she didn’t seem to care about anyone except Crosshair, Batcher, and Emerie (don’t even get me started on her). But the minute she sees Echo again (someone she knows cares about the regular clones) she’s upset about leaving them. Not one mention of them on Tantiss, doesn’t try to help them (i know she couldn’t have that’s not my point). Throughout the entire show the only one to care about them is Echo and the show itself is inconsistent on are they using stun bolts or not, oh they are but they’re also firing cannons at them????

I just don’t think the writers know where they want to take their characters, and plots are just pulled out of nowhere without any build up. This season started out with the potential of being my favorite but as it’s gone on I’ve just found myself disappointed.

[peanutpinet]

I Got You | Mafia! Johnny Suh x Undercover Agent Fem Reader

Pairing: Mafia Johnny Suh x Undercover Fem Reader

Warnings: mention of torture/abuse, strong language, illegal activities, slight angst, minor character death, cursing (?)

A/N: hello everyone!! I live, don't fret :) I know it's been a while since I wrote a fic and this is actually my first mafia Johnny fic. After so long of wanting to write a mafia Johnny T^T Was heavily inspired by my dream that I had of Johnny ehehehe. Also, special thanks to @anya-writes-stuff for helping me figure out the plot 🥹🫶

Synopsis: you had always thought that you were working for the right people for the right purpose but it was all just a big act, making you realise that the right person was the one that you had to leave after an incident

Slight inspiration from the K-drama: My Name :)

Never in your life did you think that you had to be running from people who were said to “protect” the regular citizens from all the human trafficking, drug dealers, slavery or even mafias and yakuzas..

You had always played the good role of bringing justice to all the wrongdoings. Corruption, drug dealing, illegal clubs, brothels to even mafia leaders. One by one, you managed to take down and bring justice.

However, what you failed to notice was the agency that you were brought in to take down all these injustice actions. At first, you were too focused on building yourself to be able to take down all those crimes that you failed to know how your agency was able to keep standing.

Years later you finally find out how did your agency manage to gain the amount of money to sustain itself and even earn much more with every criminal behind bars. They didn’t just get the money for sending the criminals to jail. Heck, the majority of these criminals didn’t even end up in jail with how the government allows the agency do as they please as long as the criminals are out of the picture, especially during times like elections.

Upon looking up on the next target of the agency did you find out the full plan that they always have been using. They take down the target from the inside out, pretending as if the criminal is being taken to court to get the official punishment but somehow between those time, there was always news about the criminal being found dead before the trial, hence all the money that they earn were “returned to the victims” when in reality, the whole set up was from the agency and the whole “giving the money back to the victims” were just a lie because the agency took more than half of the money for themselves.

At first, you didn’t want to believe it until you were assigned to be the main leader for the next mission, targeting the CEO of a media company who just happens to be your high school lover, your childhood best friend, Johnny Suh.

Johnny Suh was a name that everyone in Chicago knew. He wasn’t just known as the hot young rich bachelor who just happens to be the CEO of an entire media company. But rumour has it that he was one of the big bosses of a worldwide mafia that somehow managed to spread throughout China, South Korea, Japan, Canada, Thailand and even in the US.

Both you and Johnny have a long history. The two of you became friends the day you suddenly moved next door to Johnny’s house in Chicago. You were practically doubted as peanut butter and jam back during junior high up until high school.

Unfortunately, it was during high school that you encountered the most painful moment in your life that made you join the agency in the first place. When your parents were killed by a group of drug dealers. And while Johnny and his family were more than willing to take you in, before they could officially be your guardian, you were already taken in by the agency, not even bidding Johnny or his family goodbye.

Ever since, you lost contact with Johnny, his family and your old friends. You weren’t so much close with your relatives as they all lived in different countries and by the time the news of your parents reached them, you had already had a change in identity and was nowhere to be found.

The one time you and Johnny had an encounter after the incident was actually in a club sometime after a dinner event. You had just arrived after getting news that a mafia and his friends were ambushed and some might got injured so you were told to find them. But what you weren’t expecting was to find Johnny, your childhood best friend, clutching onto his right hip.

You weren’t sure if Johnny got involved in the ambush. Perhaps he was the one that made the ambush in the first place and got shot. But the other part of your brain told you that he could be the mafia that your agency was looking for. Either way, you wanted to know the answer from Johnny himself and not anyone else.

That is why that day, you told your team that you didn’t find anyone and just some drunken man in the bathroom, quickly wrapping things up from the club. Concluding that the mafia must’ve called backup the second the ambush happened. When in reality, you actually helped them escape; even if you did it just to meet Johnny again on your terms.

Unfortunately, here you are, years later, finally finding out the truth about your agency and Johnny. However, you didn’t know what got to you when your agency confronted you about refusing to be the leader of the mission to take Johnny down. Maybe it was because of the fact that you found the truth of your agency or the idea that you wanted the truth from Johnny as a friend, not as a foe.

You didn’t know how you manage to survive through all the torture they put you through or even how you managed to escape. But one thing was for sure, you weren’t going to let them get to Johnny first. Not when he is the last person you have left. The last person you could trust. Even if you don’t really fully know him as well as you thought. You had to find him and warn him on what you know.

Lucky for you, Johnny was known more as a CEO so you easily found the company that he runs and somehow, managed to sneak past everyone and made your way to try and find Johnny’s office.

However, you didn’t realise that you were actually being followed by the people of your agency. Fortunately, before they could get to you, Johnny himself found you first; especially when his secretary told him that someone by the initial (Y/N) was looking for him. The second he heard your original name, he knew something was off. In fact, ever since your sudden disappearance, Johnny has never stopped looking for you. Even when he became the CEO, taking over his parents’ company.

The night you saved him, Johnny swore that he would never have you leave his sight ever again. Even when he was being treated, he had every tech person in NCT Mafia to find you and honestly, he was quite shocked to find out that you were working for that damn corrupted agency.

“Bringing people to justice, my ass. All they do is look like a hero but is pretty much just as corrupted as everyone else” Johnny scoffed when he found out

Even so, Johnny was sure that with enough convincing, you would leave the agency and he could finally have you in his arms, safe and loved, just as he always wanted ever since the incident. What he wasn’t expecting was for you to come to him because he was just about ready to find you and convince you; even if he had to beg for it.

Multiple thoughts were running through Johnny’s mind with every step he took to finally see you again. He only hoped that you’ve been well and holding on until he could get you. But as he walked past within the building his family owns, he noticed that there were several unfamiliar faces. Without thinking twice, he called for security to “handle” the situation and “show” how they do things around here.

Once that’s done, Johnny finally managed to find you. Though, in a state that he never wanted to see. Not before the incident, not now, not ever. Without warning, Johnny crept up behind you, his steps startling you that had you backed up against his desk. Noticing your trembling self, Johnny was reminded of the time where you had to deal with everything yourself. No. Johnny promise himself, his parents and your parents that he would take care of you.

Letting out a sigh, Johnny closed and locked the office door and gently made his way to where you were. Making sure to shake off his cold demeanour, reminding himself that you did nothing wrong and clearly, looking at the bruises and cuts all over your body, it was clear that you were “manipulated” in that agency.

“Hey. It’s been a while, hasn’t it” Johnny tried to break the silence, his voice coming out rougher than he’d like

“Yeah. It has. H-how have you been?” you stuttered but managed to ask him back, bringing a soft smile on his face

“I’ve been good. As much as I’d like to take it slow, I didn’t get to thank you for that time. You saved me, you know” Johnny let out, finally standing in front of you. Even after what happened to you, your eyes still had that spark that Johnny loved

“Oh. That time…I knew that you had your reasons. Even if I didn’t know them” you told him, your hands were shaking as they gripped the edge of his desk

“I’ve missed you. My parents too. I never once stopped looking for you, you know. I was so confused about how you just went under the radar. Well, until that night of course. Ever since, I, I actually tried to keep an eye on you. I actually wanted to get you. I really didn’t expect you to come and find me first” Johnny mentioned, both his hands were either side of your hips, rubbing them gently, bringing comfort instead of the constant fear all this time; actually feeling like home

“I, I wanted to warn you…” you whispered out but Johnny suddenly lifted you to sit on his desk while one of his hands cupped your cheek, caressing it and making you look at him

“I know. I had my friends dig up everything. I had known about your agency right when I started to take over the company. When I found out that you were part of that agency, I had mixed feelings. I was so damn sure that you were manipulated into joining them but I know that you wouldn’t hurt me. I trust you and I was right. You saved me even with the mixed thoughts” Johnny explained, gently kissing your forehead

“Johnny…” you called to him. “Hmm?”

“Aren’t you disappointed? How are you calm and not angry about what happened?” you asked, almost frustrated

“How can I? You’ve been through hell and worse. I would never get angry with you. You had your reasons. Are you scared of me?” Johnny asked, now cupping both your cheeks

“How can I be scared of you? You were there for me, always” you replied with no hesitation, making Johnny smile even wider

“Even if I’m part of the mafia?” Johnny asked, still unsure

“You have your reasons, Suh. Plus, a hero would "sacrifice" someone like me for people whereas you would burn the bad people for me. And like I’ve said, I know you wouldn’t hurt me, right?” you asked back, now you were the one that was unsure

“Never. I always got you. And you're right. I would kill anyone who harmed you, who ever has hurt you or even thought the wrong things about you. Plus, I’m never letting you go. Ever” Johnny stated, making you smile for the first time in a long time

Without even thinking, you wrapped your hands around Johnny’s neck, softly pulling him towards you but before you could continue, Johnny asked first. “Are you sure? Shouldn’t we get you treated first?”. Gosh, how can someone that looked cold is an actual warm bear? Without thinking, you pulled Johnny and kissed him which felt warm and like home. Johnny was your home and just like a home, he would be there for you, to provide you comfort, warmth, protection and most importantly, make you feel loved.

[crybabykiko]

I’m one of those witches, babe

Pairing the tr boys with diff types of witchy s/os

feat. Mikey, Mitsuya, Chifuyu, Kazutora, Wakasa, Kokonoi, Baji

pt 1/??? (maybe)

a/n: enjoy my arbitrary writing about witchcraft because I just know these mfs would fuck with it

꙳⸌♡⸍꙳ Now playing: Witches by Alice Phoebe Lou ꙳⸌♡⸍꙳

Mikey ⇢ Solitary Witch

Solitary witches are loners, not operating in a coven or group. All of their practice is under their own direction, though they may consult with dieties and spirit guides. They may chose to follow a particular sect of witchcraft (paganism, hellenism, work with orishas etc.), or choose an eclectic approach-but the main factor is that the solitary witch works alone.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown, and much like a solitary witch, Mikey chooses to take on a lot of things on his own for those he truly loves. A solo witch would understand his plight, but also be able to send him some little magical boosts while he stays none the wiser. I also think that Mikey would literally wear every single charm and trinket his witch makes with pride, and try to insert himself into the craft a bit too- it’d be really cute to see him trying to make tea out of moonwater 🥺

Mitsuya ⇢ Cosmic Witch

An astrology bitch who has everyone’s birth chart recognized. Yeah that’s your cosmic witch. They’re masters of the stars, studying astrology and astronomy in tandem with their magic. They take an active, not passive role in the celestial events, and can tell you more things about signs other than the basic “Gemini’s are two-faced” narrative.

Just thinking about how I KNOW mitsuya is also an astrology bitch bc he was sick of everyone shit talking him as a Gemini (honestly wakui should have made him an Aquarius but I digress)- and using horary charts of certain zeitgeists as trend analysis tools would also be such a smart move for him as a designer he just really needs an Astro witch to match his drip.

Chifuyu ⇢ Green Witch

Green witches harness power from nature. Green witches respect nature above all else and derive a lot of their healing methodologies and ritual tools from the earth itself, using plants/herbs/flowers. They are focused on healing mama universe and are kind to all living creatures, especially animals.

It just fits the vibe. He’s kind, and peke j is the cutest familiar. Green witches imo are the KINDEST souls in existence, and he deserves nothing but the best. Plus I can just see the pet shop being connected to a coffee shop/florist type of deal and I love that meet cute.

Kazutora ⇢ Divination Witch

Psychics/Tarot Readers/Mediums- the practice of divination takes messages and premonition-like messages from the universe and realms of spirit. Divination in itself literally means “to be inspired by (a) god.” Diviners can use tools or their own intuition to channel messages for themselves or others, and have an uncanny ability to fortell events or outcomes.

Part of me feels like Kazu is intuitive within himself- doesn’t know he can channel messages until he meets someone that can enhance his abilities. But I really think he could also become an AMAZING cartomancer (tarot/oracle reader) if he really practiced and got into his own craft.

Wakasa ⇢ Love Witch

Glamour. Beauty. Aesthetics. I LOVE love witches! They use concepts like glamour, sensuality, and pleasure to add emphasis to their manifestations, and harness the power of unconditional love in all forms for their strength.

Look me in the eyes and tell me a man with eyelashes like that doesn’t practice glamour magic…. Or use those bedroom eyes (and subsequent orgasms caused by them) for manifesting… That’s all imma say.

Kokonoi ⇢ Gray Witch

gray witches straddle the lines of black and white, having a strong sense of justice and twisting their craft to suit the situation as necessary. Masters of karma, they use their energy to redirect ~bad~ energy to where it should have gone in the first place.

Perfect for Koko’s calculating (affectionate) nature. A gray witch would help him not only gain the upper hand in his self interested pursuits, but also encourage him to soften up a bit and do what’s right when called for… would also help dissolve some of that delusion oof

Baji ⇢ Chaos Witch

Giving into it all, chaos witches believe that the most important tool in their craft is their intent. It is self directed, and derives power purely from the practitioner- in other words, the magic doesn’t make you a witch, you make the magic that makes you a witch. There’s no limit to your abilities as long as you have yourself. Chaos Magic can also sometimes use gnosis which is an altered state of consciousness that is purposefully induced and controlled by the practitioner.

Come on, Keisuke is chaos incarnate. I honestly think that Chaos would be one of his chosen deities next to someone like Hades. He needs someone to believe in him, to trust him, and to move purely from a place of centered personal power- able to freely surrender to the unknown just like him.

[that-gt-and-vore-stuffs]

Desires and Daydreams

Me: oh yeah I’ll have this edited and out by tomorrow morning! Also Me: Ha! Sike! Time fo post at night again :)

All in all I’m so sorry this took so long for me to get out. A busy week with ball fucked me over time and energy wise. However, I now have a full 7k word fic for y’all so that’s good! I quite literally just finished editing this so I hope it’s as good as my mind told me it was about two minutes ago. Especially considering it’s a little gift of sorts for the amazing @doodlevore (AKA I saw this gem of a drawing, flipped out for a hot minute, and then decided it was writing time) Anyway, I hope y’all enjoy and I hope I did your artwork justice Doodle :)

As always, Vore under the cut :)

“Aw c’mon Doc!” the man halfheartedly whined as he attempted again to grab the small ‘medic’. Once more 2b had ducked under his hand, glaring up at him through his goggles. The taller of the two just laughed at the sight, near daggers of teeth glimmering through his toothy grin. No way in hell could he take that glare seriously like this. “You act like I was planning to hurt you. You really think I’m gonna hurt ya?”

“No,” 2b started, halting his words momentarily to dodge another attempted swipe at him. Getting caught by the man wouldn’t be the worst thing, sure - hell, he could name several things automatically worse than being grabbed by him in this hellscape of Nevada - however that did not mean that he wanted to be scooped up like some doll and put through whatever his teammate had in mind for him and the other two who were both currently busy dodging the taller’s other hand. Again his glare settled on the younger hacker. “But that does not mean I’m going to keel over and let you do whatever, Deimos. Now would you stop trying to grab us for five minutes!”

“But what’s the fun in that?” Deimos protested, swiping at Hank only for the shrunken mercenary to vault themself over his hand. Go figure, he was still going to be difficult. Hell, they all were. When he was the smallest of the group he was at their mercy and even went with it half the time, but the moment he got to have some fun they all decided to be as difficult as possible. In all honesty it wasn’t as bad as he was making it seem. Watching them run around like little mice was pretty entertaining. That didn’t mean he didn’t have plans he wanted to follow through with though! Whatever, he’d play their games for now. He’d get them eventually, and when he did he’d have his fun. “I’d stop if you all would just stand still for five seconds, but no. You all clearly wanna play so I’m gonna keep up the cat and mouse game we’ve got going.”

“But that- Deimos, you aren’t getting my point here at all!” 2b yelled up at the man, ducking under yet another swipe at him made by the youngest of their little crew. He was fairly certain it was impossible to miss what he was saying so either Deimos was less intelligent then he had grown to suspect over the years or he was flat out ignoring the man’s request to quit trying to grab them. A brief comparison of the two had crossed out the former option rather quickly. That cocky, smoking son of a gun. “Sanford! A little help?”

“Why me?” The Chad of a man yelled back as he scrambled to his feet after having to get down to avoid being grabbed. In the back of his mind he already had a sneaking suspicion as to why he was asked. He wasn’t stupid after all.

“He usually listens to you better than me!” The older hacker shot back, nearly running into Hank as he prepared himself for the next ‘attack’.

“So we’re playing that card now. Good to know.” Sanford grumbled softly, no real venom in his tone. 2b was right, at least in most contexts. He probably was the closest to Deimos out of them all and the other two’s usual intimidating approach to get Deimos to listen really wouldn’t work with them the size of the man’s hand. A sigh tugged itself from his throat as he directed his words up at the seemingly giant hacker. “Dei, c’mon now. Can’t you quit with the whole trying to grab us thing? It’s- AH!- not all that fun!”

“Damnit.” Deimos cursed under his breath, having missed Sanford yet again. Who knew trying to just grab his teammates would be so difficult. It was definitely fun, this little game of cat and mouse like in those old cartoons he’d managed to pirate, but it was still harder than he expected to actually grab them. Guess not everything gets to come easy. Or maybe he was going too easy… “Maybe not for you. Just stand still and make it easier on yourself if you’re having such a bad time.”

“That’s- Dei, you chucklehead, quit the games already and stop trying to grab us like rodents!”

Deimos just shook his head, a low laugh rumbling in his chest. His grin still stood proud on his face in all its sharp toothed glory. This was too much fun to give up so easily. Really, they expected him to quit the moment he started having fun? Please. He’d gone through too much to waste his opportunity. Getting his hands on shrinking tech had to be the best thing that’s ever happened to him, despite the difficulties and hurdles he had to jump to do such a thing. What had been a normal, boring day with no missions had turned into him watching his three shrunken teammates dash across the worn table while dodging his attempts to grab them. He was going to enjoy this, whether they liked it or not. Call this revenge for all the times he was teased for being the smallest out of all of them, or call it him being an ass. He didn’t care. For once the younger hacker wasn’t the small one in the group and boy did he have plans for it. Oh he had plans…

“Mmm…how ‘bout no.” Deimos hummed, slamming a hand down on the table next to 2b. Just as he’d hoped the man tensed, trying to keep himself steady on the shaking table. His eyes locked onto the temporarily paralyzed unofficial medic like a hawk’s to its prey, smirk morphing into a full on grin. Without hesitation he grabbed the man in a firm fist. There was one of the three. “Ha! Gotcha Doc~!”

“Mmgh- I can see that, Deimos. Now put me down!” 2BDamned didn’t shout at his teammates often. There were a few times he did, yes. Prime examples of such times included (but weren’t limited to) tracking blood all over the base, doing something absolutely reckless and facing the consequences, not following the plans they had for missions, etc. Not once had he expected to ever be yelling at one of them, specifically the smallest of their team, to put him down. Hank? Maybe. Sanford? Long shot but not impossible. Deimos? No. And yet here he was, trapped within the grasp of the younger hacker with seemingly no way to escape. It’s not like the little wiggling that his loose enough to be breathable yet tight confines could do was helping much.

“But what if I don’t wanna, Doc?” Deimos hummed, resting his other hand on the table for the first time in the past twenty-five minutes that he’d been trying to grab the others. “What if I wanna keep you trapped in my fist for the rest of the day huh? Maybe longer. It’s not like you can exactly free yourself, now can you? Huh? You gonna wiggle yourself out of my hand, 2b? Claw your way out like some baby kitten?”

“I swear to Jebus, once we’re back to normal I am going to kill you myself.” The dissenter growled, trying again to free himself from his confines. He could only imagine how utterly idiotic he looked, wiggling around like some fish out of water in Deimos’s hand. Talk about humiliating.

“Sure you will. Sure.” Deimos rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he thought through his next moves. He could just grab the other two and get on with his plans but…oh that ruined the fun of the chase! His plans and stomach could wait, he wanted to enjoy this just a little longer. Now what could he do to achieve such a thing? “And besides, that’s an ‘if’ to you, Doc. If you get back to normal. Can’t do that without my help after all, so maybe you should let me have my fun~”

“I will. Don’t think I- wait. What?” Well now that wasn’t something anyone stuck at four inches tall wanted to hear. Yes, he could probably figure out how the hell Deimos shrunk him (assuming that the hacker had gotten the information and technology from the AAHW) however Deimos had at least a bit of a point. Things would be so much easier, faster, and less dangerous if he just reversed whatever the hell he did. He….he fucking planned this. He- oh the younger hacker was in some deep shit once they were back and he was the smallest again.

“Mmm you heard me, 2b. Getting you three back requires the help of me, unless you’d rather be crushed under the boot of some agent trying to get back to normal yourselves.” Deimos hummed, his words practically swimming in cockiness. “And I don’t think any of us want that. So either you let me have my fun, or you three get to stay pocket sized until you do.”

“Deimos, don’t you even think about it.” Hank growled, eyes narrowing behind his goggles as he stepped closer to the hacker. Being this small was bad enough. It wasn’t like a MAG agent where they weren’t completely dwarfed in size. No. He was stuck the size of a fucking mouse being toyed with by their basically gigantic teammate. And to top it all off the threat of being stuck at this size now loomed over the mercenary’s head. Just fucking wonderful.

“Aw but what if I did, Hank?” The hacker asked with a raise of his eyebrow, turning his attention from the medic in his fist to the shrunken killing machine that was now glaring at him over his arm. It really was something else to see them so tiny when they usually towered over everyone. How the tables turn. “I would think this is a nice situation for you. So long as you’re hidden it’s not like the Agency could find you now. No ones gonna look for a four inch tall Hank, now are they- Hey! Sanford!”

The mentioned man’s head lifted from where he had landed on the table, 2b now laying next to him after a less than graceful ‘rescue’ from the younger hacker’s hand. His feet scrambled against the old table, attempting to gain enough traction to allow for him to stand. For a moment he looked as if he were trying to stand on ice, feet slipping out from beneath him. The doctor beside him wasn’t doing much better in the department of getting to his feet. Judging by the disappointed stare he felt burning two holes into his chest once he finally got to his feet, Hank wasn’t all that impressed with their sudden lack of coordination either. Wait, no. Hank could come later. Right now he had to deal with the giant Deimos that was currently pouting at him.

“Sorry Dei, but I’m siding with Doc here. Just put us back to normal before Hank decides to find a way to kill you at this size.” As Sanford spoke a tone far less confident then he had hoped for laced his words. Something that probably doomed him to not be listened to. Judging by the new level of cocky smeared across the hacker’s face? He was right too. Well shit. That didn’t help anything.

“Hmm…maybe but, and hear me out, I’ve got a better idea.” No one had to ask exactly what Deimos’ ‘better idea’ was. He was all too happy to demonstrate it, Hank quickly finding himself laying flat against the table with the hacker’s hand pinning him in place. The small shocked grunt from the mercenary didn’t go unnoticed by the other two, their eyes darting to their now trapped teammate. Both failed to notice the brief warning look in Hank’s eyes behind his goggles until it was too late, a warm calloused hand pinning them to the rough grain of the wood. Well, there went the idea of escape.

A sharp laugh chased away the silence that had previously filled the air. Beneath the rim of his visor two eyes simply watched as the three small forms writhed beneath his hands. Proof of the point he had been trying to prove. The point that his three shrunken teammates had wanted to be false. No way to escape now. Not unless he allowed for it, that is. A small lightbulb lit up in his head at the thought. The idea was tempting, were he to be completely honest with himself. Give his friends hope only to crush it like a spent cig under his boot once more by trapping them in a new way. Oh but then there was the option of dangling freedom just in front of them. That was an idea…and there were so many more possibilities too. In the back of his head a small voice attempted to grab Deimos’ attention. Yelling at him in every way it could think of that even thinking about doing that to his friends was wrong, even if it was playful at its roots. He shouldn’t do such a thing to them! Though, thinking logically, there was no way they wouldn’t do the same or something similar were their positions switched. Deimos knew that much, being the shortest of their gang. A soft scoff sounded from his throat, mind made up on the matter. Unfortunately for the three pinned to the table, in the end the voice of reason was all too easily ignored by the younger hacker as he adjusted to lean forward in his chair. The smell of cigarette smoke grew in strength with each hum that passed the man’s lips, the three pinned beneath his hands only able to watch as things seemed to get worse for them.

“Heh. Much better.” Deimos said with a smile, gladly ignoring the glares he was now getting from his little friends. “Now what shall I do with you-“

Ggnnnrrrr……

“-three….”

Anyone with half a mind would think that after being interrupted by your stomach you would be embarrassed and most likely apologize. The three shrunken men on the table thought that after being interrupted by his stomach Deimos would be embarrassed and probably laugh it off. Maybe even give them a chance to run without thinking. What they didn’t expect was for him to start laughing. A deep chuckle from the back of his throat too, not just an embarrassed little giggle. It was a genuine fucking laugh. First off, why the hell was he laughing? Second, what the hell did that mean for them? After a moment of thought one thing became clear. As much as they didn’t want to admit it, the three knew what the answer to the second question was long before it was even asked. Nothing good. That’s what it meant. Especially not with that dumb grin still sitting on his face. 2b, eyes locked on Deimos’ expression, had opened his mouth to attempt prying an answer out of the younger. Before a single word could leave his lips, however, his world was flipped on its head.

Literally.

For a brief second everything stopped. The warmth and pressure from the hand holding him to the table disappeared, cold washing over him and sending a shiver down his spine. That’s when a new type of pressure appeared. It was still rough and warm, the grip of a calloused hand for sure, but it was much more concentrated than just smashing him to the table. Specifically around his right ankle. His eyes couldn’t go ‘dinner plate wide’ any faster than they did the moment he felt said pressure appear. The less-than-manly scream he had heard beside him roughly half a second earlier started to make a lot more sense by the millisecond. Especially once he was dragged backwards and up, a very similar noise escaping himself. For a brief moment everything spun before his sight leveled out. What he didn’t want to see was Deimos grinning at him. Upside down.

“Annnd there we go. Sanford, Hank, I hope you guys still have a good grip at this size~.” The hacker jabbed, grinning at the little chain his friends had formed once he started picking them up. Pinched between his thumb, pointer, and middle finger was Hank’s torso. They were currently holding onto Sanford’s ankle, looking less than pleased with the situation they were in. Sanford was gripping onto the ankle of 2BDamned as he dangled, worry painting over his features. Then there was 2b, dangling at the end of the chain upside down with a look quite similar to Hank’s plastered on his face. All in all, quite the interesting little chain they made up as he leaned back in the chair.

“Damn straight. You two drop me and you’re dead.” The ‘medic’ grumbled, all too willing to make his displeasure known.

“Aw, don’t you worry, Doc. If they drop you I’ll make sure you have a nice, soft, warm landing~”

“Well I’m sorry I don’t want to be dropped on my hea- Deimos, what the genuine fuck does that mean?” He shouldn’t have asked. The moment after the words left his mouth 2b knew he never should have asked what the younger hacker had meant with his words. Dangling over the man’s lap having to stare him in the face while upside down wasn’t ideal. Absolutely not. However, he found much preferred it to dangling inches above Deimos’ open jaws, the smell of cigarette smoke laced breath hitting him almost as hard as the realization of just how sharp the man’s teeth were. He supposed he never noticed with Dei a. rarely ever purposely showing them off, and b. him being smaller than the older hacker. That didn’t stop him from mentally smacking himself upside the head for not taking more notes of it sooner though. Especially when he was getting so…up close and personal with them now. Fuck he was close to those daggers.

“Dei- Dei, think about this!” Sanford shouted as he stared down at the sight of the man’s open mouth, praying that his friend would listen to at least some reason. Sure, they gave him shit for being the smallest of the group often. He especially did. Not once though had he, or the other two as far as he knew, expected that said teasing would lead to them possibly having to spend the day trapped in said hacker’s gut though. If they had, they would have backed off a little. But now the threat was more present than ever. And knowing Deimos? It might be longer than a day too. He wouldn’t put it past the man at all. Jebus Christ….

“Oh I have San. We’re past that point now.” Deimos hummed, his tongue lazily snaking itself over his lips as he glanced over the string of teammates that dangled from his hand. Slowly his stare became distant, his mind beginning to wander. Just how would each of them taste exactly? Would they all taste the same? But what if they each tasted different? Now wouldn’t that be something. Perhaps he wasn’t too far off picturing Sanford as a juicy sausage in his little moments to himself. Oh that would be perfect. The warm feeling of drool trailed itself lazily down his chin, each thought regarding the possible tastes of his friends encouraging an empty rumble from his midsection. He just had to find out now.

“Deimos, lower me any further and I’ll make sure you choke to death.” The man only laughed, eyes fluttering shut as he opened his mouth once more.

“Sorry Doc. ‘S too late to stop now.” Any screams of protest from his teammates fell on deaf ears as Deimos lowered the end of the little chain into his mouth. Immediately he was hit with the taste of black coffee, hints of iron, and oddly enough what tasted like whisky poking through and tickling his tongue. The soft, pleased hum escaped him long before he could even think to stop it, his mind far more focused on getting that flavor to coat his tastebuds than his actions or the saliva steadily dripping down his chin.

2BDamned had a different opinion on the matter. Specifically about the claim that it was ‘too late.’ It was not too fucking late. In fact, it was anything but. Deimos’s mouth, which absolutely reeked of cigarettes might he add, was still wide open. He wasn’t slipping down the tight tube he could see in front of him yet. He was being rolled around and licked over like some sort of candy, something which he apparently had to remind Deimos he wasn’t with a smack to the tongue. Sharp teeth surrounded the unofficial doctor on both sides, Sanford’s grip on his ankle still like iron despite the saliva now thoroughly coating his body. Try as he might to push himself out with his hands they only slipped and slid across the wet surface of Deimos’s tongue. Far too similar to how he was steadily slipping backwards.

“Dei…Dei, you can pull us out now…” Sanford yelled up to the man, ducking his head between his arms to avoid the feeling of daggers dragging down his head and neck. Jebus, his teeth really were sharper up close. The white knuckled grip he held on 2b’s ankle refused to budge as he slipped further in, eyes locked into the sight before him. Not once did he ever expect to watch the older hacker slowly disappear down his best friend’s throat with nothing he could do but hold on and pray. Yet here he was. Fuck. “Dei-!!”

“Sanford, don’t even bother at this point.” 2b groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose through his mask. Deimos wasn’t going to listen to shit. That much was clear now if it wasn’t an hour and a half ago when they’d woken up in his hands. He didn’t want to admit it, not by a long shot, however as he slid further back there wasn’t any way the dissenter could convince himself otherwise. He, and the other two, were doomed. “He’s not going to-“

Ulp~

“…..listen. God damnit.” What else was he to even expect at this point?

Try as hard as he might, Sanford found he couldn’t grip the unofficial doctor’s ankle any tighter. Not without the possibility of breaking something, considering that he most likely had already passed the ‘try not to bruise the man’ stage. No doubt the clearly handprint shaped black and blue bruise would be there in a day tops. A scolding was nearly cemented in his future now, however Sanford couldn’t find it in himself to complain about it. Compared to the hole Deimos was digging himself, with a smile on his face no less, he’d gladly take the talking to. Speaking of the hacker, either he was genuinely out of it for some reason or he was just trying to be a grade A dick.

“Deimos!! Cut it out, man!” He yelled, trying his hardest to squirm away from the licks and shifting of the man’s tongue. Unfortunately for him, nothing seemed to work. It started at his hands but all too quickly the sensation of a wet tongue dragging itself up, over, and around the pyromaniac’s arms and to his torso. The dark lenses of his signature glasses fogged over with each warm breath that washed over his body. Goosebumps dotted all exposed skin, any fabric quickly becoming drenched with saliva. The sensations slowly crawled their way down Sanford’s body, more of him no longer dangling and instead slipping across the hacker’s tongue by the moment. He watched his hands, and by extension Doc’s feet, slowly slip beyond his vision into the void-like entrance of Deimos’ throat. His arms followed not long after, the darkness enveloping more of his vision by the second. Talk about a way to spend your day.

Glk~

A soft groan rumbled around the shrunken men, the sound’s maker all too lost in his thoughts. Tastes of warm sausage, coffee, and the lingering hints of whisky and iron danced across his tongue. Each lick up the parts of Sanford’s body which remained momentarily in his mouth brought a shiver up through his spine. With each second the small body inched further back, pulling his hand toward his mouth. His fingers and the body pinned between them slipped past the hacker’s lips with ease. Layers of cloth, along with the occasional sensation of scarred skin, pressed against his tongue. The taste of a rare steak and a much stronger metallic hint, again not unlike that of blood but somehow much more pleasant, seemed all too eager to attack his taste buds. His spine seemed to reduce itself to jello in a matter of seconds, relying on the backrest of his chair for support. The smoker pulled his fingers from his mouth with a small pop, jaws shutting around his final shrunken teammate and leaving his mind to ponder over the tastes and sensation attacking his mouth and mind alike.

The word ‘still’ had been completely wiped from Deimos’s dictionary, if it had even been there to begin with. At least that’s what Hank would have told anyone who asked. His eyes had narrowed behind his red tinted goggles and now they seemed to grow thinner with each movement from the muscle beneath him. As if the heat and lingering cigarette smell from the hacker’s breath weren’t enough, the wet feeling of saliva continued to sneak itself into every fiber of his being. First his skin, then lighter clothing items like his bandana and mask, and finally seeping through his coat and multiple other layers of clothing. And just what was a better cherry on top then being rolled around near constantly. Every moment they seemed to find themself in a new position within the confines of the young hacker’s mouth. While their grip remained on Sanford’s ankles, the same could in no way be said for his patience with the man who had caused this hell by shrinking them. He swore, Deimos better enjoy his time being able to hold them like dolls because the moment they were back to normal the man would be getting a firm taste of his own medicine. Whether it be by him serving as lunch or by another form of revenge was yet to be decided. Hank could only plot so much, though. Despite how much more bearable he found thinking about a way to ‘return the favor’ to Deimos to be, he needed to at least show a little of his own irritation to the man. After all, he wasn’t just some snack. They were still Hank J. Wimbledon god damn it, and they’d prove it if they had to. How he would do that remained a mystery for what felt like hours of constant licking and flipping…until said proof came. It came in the form of a kick to the inside of Deimos’ teeth. A kick which sent him sliding backwards-

Ulk-

Glp~

And the oddly shaped lump in Deimos’ throat disappearing behind his collarbone.

Deimos’ eyes had widened in shock, a hand quickly pressing itself to his throat as it happened. In his opinion, it happened too quickly. All too fast the warm weight disappeared from his mouth, pushing itself backwards with force into his throat. Far too soon did he lose the previously vivid taste of barely cooked meat and metal, leaving him with only the memory and lingering fragments of it like the other two tastes. Too quickly had the lump in his throat been pushed down by two final swallows, disappearing down behind his collarbone. For a moment he sat there in silence, the room lacking sound except for his heavy breathing. With each rise and fall of his chest he waited. Waited for the one thing that couldn’t seem to come fast enough. Moments passed with nothing before the feeling he’d been waiting for rushed his senses. A filling warmth pooled itself in his stomach, moving around against the walls of the organ and pulling a warm chuckle from the man. His hand trailed to rest over his stomach, feeling the small bodies shift and fight beneath layers of clothing, muscle, and skin. Fangs glimmering in a grin once again as he poked at the squirming fullness in his gut.

“Well look at that.” He laughed to himself, relaxing back into his chair. His stomach gurgled under his hand, what he guessed to be a thank you of sorts now that he had what he wanted within it. Though something told him the others wouldn’t be thanking him all that much. “How are you three holding up in there?”

“Deimos, do not laugh at us or so help me Jebus- Hank, get your arm out of my face!” The words were quickly followed by what Deimos could assume was 2b pushing Hank off him and into his stomach wall from what he could feel. Those three couldn’t seem to stay still. Well, he couldn’t truly blame them if he wanted to. It had to be slippery, trapped in a wet, moving organ like his stomach and all. The mental image of his three teammates slipping around in his stomach, trying their hardest to gain footing or at least a comfortable position, drew another laugh from him. This was great.

“Dei, c’mon.” Sanford added, giving his own kick to the wall in case he had failed to grab the hacker’s attention before. Try as he might to stay out of 2BDamned and Hank’s little squabble fate seemed to have other plans as he was shoved back into them every time he got away. Or maybe that was just Deimos being Deimos. “You’ve had your fun, now spit us out you chucklehead.”

“Mmm yeah no.” Deimos hummed, drumming his fingers mindlessly on his belly as he took in the little shocks that each harsh kick or punch sent through his body to his brain. Each movement registered in his brain as a pleasurable little shock, but the harsher they were the more enjoyment they seemed to cause him. Not that he was complaining. Last he checked his teammates could tire themselves out with squirming all they wanted to if it felt this nice. “See, that’s not really the plan here. Not for a few hours at least.”

“What now?” Sanford’s voice had dropped its hopeful tone, now more monotonous and serious. Beside him he heard a growl, one he assumed to be from Hank. Was the smoker trying to get them killed? Again he punched the wall. “Dei, quit joking.”

“I ain’t joking, ‘Ford.” The young hacker replied bluntly, his shit eating grin more than audible in his words. A long, over dramatic sigh made its way from his mouth with ease as he adjusted his position to one more comfortable. Or at least as comfortable as one could get in an old chair. Smiling to himself he gave his stomach a little shove, feeling the three bodies inside shift and move under the pressure. “I just wanna sit and enjoy this for a while. It feels too nice to just give up.”

Silence fell upon the three currently held within the confines of the man’s stomach, each sitting there taking in Deimos’ words until the pressure from outside had lifted. Once it did, they all reacted their own way. Hank, for example, sat still for about ten seconds tops before a punch was thrown at the wall. Sanford, on the other hand, debated whether Hank’s approach or his attempts at reasoning with their ‘captor’ would be more effective at getting Deimos to spit them up. Then there was 2BDamned, who sat in what would’ve been an unnerving silence had they not known him. Knowing him, though, changed the meaning of the silence from ‘is this man insane to be so calm?’ to ‘Deimos just dug himself a grave’ in a split second.

“Deimos,” The unofficial medic started, “you have ten seconds to at least start spitting us up or I will force myself back up your throat simply to beat your ass.” Despite the warmth of their current confines, a chill shot up Sanford’s back. As far as he knew, the last thing you wanted to be was at the end of Doc’s threats. The man often had little to no issue going through with them, and Deimos wasn’t some special case. The laughter they heard (and felt shaking their ‘cell’ for that matter) was all it took to solidify that Deimos didn’t take them seriously at this size. Guess said threats don’t work when you’re four inches tall at best and your ‘captor’ is a smug ass bastard.

“Ha! I’d like to see you try, Doc.” Deimos chuckled, giving his stomach a firm pat which only seemed to serve to jostle around its captives more. “I might not be able to handle spice like San’ but I do know my way around feisty snacks~.”

“We aren’t food, Deimos.” Hank growled, kicking the floor beneath him. The flesh sunk under his boot, a sickening squishing sound heard as a result. A small shiver trembled up the walls, one which failed to register with the black-clad mercenary as in pain. Oh just wonderful. The sharp toothed asshole was enjoying this.

“Mmm you sure, big guy? Cause you seem like food to me right now.” Within only a few seconds of the words leaving his lips the hacker found himself met with a pleasant shockwave up the spine. Clearly a certain black-clad mercenary didn't like being called food, if the fighting he felt wash over him like a tsunami of warm, fuzzy electricity meant anything. A soft groan crawled out of his lips, his hand lazily tracing circles over his stomach. ”mm oh c-calm down in there. I didn’t mean it. I will let you out, Jeez.”

“Deimos, this isn’t funny. Spit us out.” 2b snapped, kicking the floor.

“Mmm sorry, Doc. Can't hear you heheh…” the hacker spoke, words blurring softly as he melted back into the chair.

“I’m serious!” The words fell on deaf ears.

“Dei, c’mon…” Sanford this time. His eyes drifted softly shut.

“Dei…” His grin turned into a simple smirk.

“Dei…” Didn't he get he wasn’t spitting them out yet?

“Deimos…” Oh full names now. How fancy.

“Deimos..?” Wait…that didn’t sound right.

“Deimos.” Was he losing it?

…

“DEIMOS!”

The hacker jumped, blinking rapidly as his eyes darted around. What was going on? Where were they? Who did he need to kill? Where were the others? Thoughts rushed through his head as wide eyes darted around everything in sight, looking for something they recognized. Anything to show him where he was or what was going on. Relief came to him in the form of Sanford standing in front of him, a hand on his shoulder as if he was trying to get his attention. Most importantly though they were in their base. Safe. No one was here. They weren’t under attack. He was just daydreaming. Sanford and the others were here and he was just…daydreaming- oh damn it. Go figure it was too good to be true. A groan, this time annoyed, rang from Deimos’ throat.

“Jebus- Dude, are you alright?” Sanford asked, eyebrows knit with worry and…an emotion Deimos found himself unable to name. Like he’d seen something. Something…weird. Almost like concern but not at the same time. For a brief moment an idea reared its head, only to be smashed down like a weird game of whack-a-mole within the hacker’s mind. There wasn’t any need for such an absurd idea. It’s not like Sanford could have seen his little daydream. Nope, that was safe in his head. The smoker shook his head to clear it, quickly flashing Sanford a sharp toothed grin.

“Yeah man. Just zonin’ out and daydreaming a little ‘s all. Nothing to worry about here heheh,” he laughed, clapping his friend on the shoulder playfully. His eyes scanned the man’s face again, trying to see if his statement had done its job. Although the worry had dropped from Sanford’s face, the other emotion remained. Now what on earth was that for?

“Daydreamin’ huh? ‘Bout what?” The pyromaniac asked, raising an eyebrow. His eyes flicked from Deimos’ eyes to his mouth, then back again as he spoke. He didn’t seem to not believe Deimos when he said he was daydreaming, so what on earth was that look for? And why was he looking at his mouth so much? Giving into the call of curiosity the sharp-toothed hacker brought a hand up to his mouth, eyes widening mouth momentarily when his fingers found a trail of saliva dripping from his lips to his chin. He’d been drooling. Whoops.

“Eh. Nothing out of the ordinary.” Deimos lied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand which he then wiped on his pant leg. So that’s what Sanford had been looking at. Oh he must’ve looked downright stupid too. Well now wasn’t that just great? He just had to hope the Chad hadn’t decided to take a photo.

“Honestly I don’t even remember what it was about.” Liar, he remembered all of it. The vivid tastes, the squirmy fullness, the thrill-

Grrrnnnggg…

Ah shit. Busted by his own stomach. For a second the hacker sat there stunned, blinking dumbly as his cheeks heated up with a pink tint. Ok just play it cool Deimos. “….though if I had to make a guess? Food heh.”

“Yeah, that would make sense heh.” Sanford laughed softly, playfully jabbing the smaller man in the stomach. He seemed to buy Deimos’s story, bringing a sense of relief to the hacker. At least he wasn’t going to press on it. “Your stomach was anything but quiet, you know.”

“Go figure. And when I can’t say anything about it too.” Quickly laughter had found itself spilling from Deimos’ mouth, his mind having calmed down when he had heard the sound from the other man. He seemed less concerned, or whatever that emotion he couldn’t name right now was. As another grumble shook through his middle the hacker lowered a hand to rest over his stomach. He got it already. He was upset the daydream of his wasn’t real after all too. Not much more he could do besides try and find something to eat now though. “Say, I’m gonna go try and snag something to shut my gut up. Wanna come?”

“Nah, I’ll pass this time.” Sanford spoke with a small shake of the head and a smile. Try as he might to play it off as friendly, it seemed that odd emotion that Deimos couldn’t name was just bound to show itself in his words. “You just go shut that thing up before the Agency uses it to track us.”

“Oh ha ha. I’m going.” Deimos laughed, giving Sanford one last playful punch to the shoulder before running off. He had food to track down somewhere in this hellscape of Nevada, unless he wanted a beating from Doc that was. He just needed something small or, hell, even temporary if he happened to come across a shrunken grunt or agent. They would work out just fine so long as he didn’t let the others find out what he’d used to shut his stomach up. Couldn’t give away anything that could relate to his little hidden desires. The emptiness in his gut wasn’t something he’d wanted back, but alas, a daydream is only a daydream and he wasn’t getting any fuller just walking around. Now where would his best chance to snag someon- something be…

…

Sanford watched as his friend ran off, smile slowly fading as Dei disappeared from his line of sight. That look of caution slipped back onto his face as he slowly turned his back to head to his room. He needed a moment to think about what he’d just seen. Try as he might, he couldn’t just forget what was now burned into his mind. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the younger hacker had been daydreaming about if you had seen him while he was in the zoned out trance of his. Mouth wide open and drooling with a hand pretending to dangle something above it, an active stomach topping it all off like some sorta weird cherry on the sundae of his best friend’s little fantasy. Oh no, he knew what that meant. And hearing him mumble the names of their other teammates, along with his own, at least once through it all? It spelled out the man’s daydream in big neon lights. The very thought sent a shiver down his spine, despite how he tried his best to shake it off.

He wanted to believe it when he tried to tell himself that Deimos wouldn’t ever shrink them, much less try to eat them. He really did. All that he’d seen along with logic itself, however, pointed him at it with the firm proof that his words were lies. The man would no doubt take advantage of it, if he ever found a way to shrink them, even if he were to keep them as safe as possible. Just as he had with any unfortunate shrunken agents or grunts he happened upon when he was alone (or at least when he thought he was) Safe or not safe, the fact of the matter still stood. Sanford did not want to spend however long within the confines of his friend’s gut, especially if he wasn’t alone. Being in there had to be bad enough. Him not being able to do anything about it either only made the situation worse. Reasoning with the hacker was most likely hopeless and he wasn’t about to beg. What was left? Pray? God, if Deimos ever managed to get his hands on the Agency’s shrinking technology then one thing was downright certain. Boy were he, Hank, and 2b doomed…

[inknopewetrust]

Hey, I was wondering if i could request either javier peña or din djarin ship/x reader oneshot type thing? Mostly just (one of) them comforting reader who has really low confidence and doesn't believe they are good at anything. x x

Little Miss Perfect

Pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader

Word Count:1.3k 

Warnings: language. Don’t doubt your abilities loves–you are more than capable of doing anything you set your mind to. 

A/N: thanks for the request Anon! Sorry for the long wait, these things just take a bit of time! Ah, how I missed writing for Javi. Did you know Javi was the first character that mustered up a following for me on here? Now, nearly 1000 followers later, here I am still writing for him. I felt this request would work best with him :)

“Shit!” 

It was either the loud yell or the slamming of the telephone that caught Javi’s attention, he wasn’t sure which had come first. At the desk across from him, Steve sat disengaged from your internal struggles that were beginning to bleed out into the small office you all shared and diagonal from him, you had your head being cradled by your hands in frustration. 

Javier kicked Steve’s shin from under the desk and with an audible “ow,” Steve gave Javier a look of disdain. The thumb pointed in your direction changed his demeanor from one of annoyance to one of concern. 

“You alright, L/n?” Steve set down the report he had been reading to focus his attention onto you, but you didn’t look him in the eyes to answer, just mumbled a barely heard: 

“No.” 

He didn’t push any further, but it had to have been something serious to have you react in a way that made Javier concerned. If there was anything to know about you, it was that everything you ever did–whether it be work, play, or what not, you always put in 100% effort. When the reactions to your work were less than spectacular, a depression-like slump followed because it wasn’t what you were hoping for. You strived to have your superiors and partners know that you were the best person for the job and when you failed on occasion, it stung like a sting from a hornet. 

“No... No, I’m not alright. I’m not fucking alright!” The burst came out of nowhere and startled the two men. It got even worse when you rose from the seat and practically ran out of the office with your jacket, the chair spinning rapidly in your wake. 

“What the fuck was that about!?” Steve asked Javier with an exasperated gaze, but Javier didn’t know the answer. He thought he could deduce the reaction to the problem, except he was never certain in his abilities to read your physical reactions. Neither man readied themselves to follow immediately. Though after a few minutes, it was Javier who made the effort to find you and get to the bottom of your obvious despair. 

Not in the courtyard and not in the smoking room. There was no sign of you in the file room, printing room, with the CIA guys and gals, or with Noonan. Based on Noonan’s dismissal of Javier, Javi was sure the conversation that was had between the two of you is what made you so upset. 

It wasn’t until he got down to the bottom floor and into storage that he smelt the distinct smell of camel cigarettes filled his senses and he followed it down the dimly lit aisles of boxes filled with completed files. Down the one labeled G-J, you were sat against the rack with a few burnt cigarettes on the ground. Javier’s footsteps were not quiet, so you knew he was there when he turned down the aisle. 

“Come to gloat for Carrillo? He fucked us all over.” 

“It’s not your fault we didn’t catch him alive.” Javi told you and sat down across from you. One of his legs bent up towards his body and the other stretched out just enough where it rested itself on the other side of your foot. You handed the cigarette out to him which he gladly took from you. 

“It’s always on my account. Noonan always thinks it’s my fault and I just can’t convince anyone that I’m good at this. Every time we get close to catching one of them, they die or go MIA or I don’t know... fly off to Mars.” 

“Mars? Shooting a little high there, don’t you think?” The smirk on his face was welcoming but you were still angry at that fact that everything you did was never good enough for the DEA. 

“Why don’t they get angry at you and Steve? Why is it always me?” 

“You think you’re the only person who gets chewed out around here?” You shrugged at him but the foot that had been resting beside yours tapped it harshly. You looked at Javi with a helpless face. 

“Noonan isn’t a field agent. She doesn’t understand why Carrillo made the call, but he shouldn’t have. That was your member to catch.” 

“And it’s my fault that he’s dead!?” 

“I didn’t say that.” Javier handed the cigarette back to you and you took a long, much needed drag before restarting the conversation. 

“Sorry. I don’t mean to be ridiculous about it.” 

“You’re not being ridiculous. Not many women would have the gall to even take up a field job here and let alone be good at it. Noonan’s position was handed to her... she doesn’t know what we’re dealing with out there.” 

“But it doesn’t mean that she isn’t right. Every time I got a lead something would happen to change the course. That isn’t what they look for in agents so what is keeping me here? Optics?” 

Javier shook his head and furrowed his brows. Since the moment you stepped off the plane in Colombia, you’ve been nothing but a valuable asset to their efforts in catching Escobar. Every piece of information that you provided was essential and that is why they had put you on Gustavo Gaviria’s case in the first place. If it weren’t for Carrillo, you would have had him in American handcuffs right now but operations weren’t easy when five different departments of justice are fighting the same fight. You were a brilliant co-worker, a great person, and more than capable to be here working with him and Steve. 

“Don’t say that...you are one of the best agents we have.” 

“Not everyone thinks that way, Javi.” 

“Well I do, and I know Steve does too. Plus, the CIA guys and the girls that work in the office, they know how hard you work. AND! I’ve never seen a woman kick as much ass as you do when we go out on the field. Anyone who doubts a woman who has no qualms about holding a gun to your head should be terrified in their assumption.” 

You scoffed but it was enough to draw a little smile at the corner of your mouth so Javier knew he was getting somewhere. He was cracking the façade even if some of those thoughts would return from time to time. It wasn’t often agents were praised for their good work, so he took the chance to do it for you in a moment of need. 

“Do you remember the night we had to survey the bar where there was that shootout?” You nodded in remembrance and he continued with a story that you could have predicted. 

“You were the only one to think of-” 

“I know, I know.” you shrugged off the surging compliment of a good days work but Javier shook his head and laughed. It was a laugh of sheer lack of understanding as to why you wouldn’t want to hear compliments. 

“You deserve to be recognized for your work. Noonan might not see it but we all do here. Here is where it matters and on the field and when you go home at night and see the positive impacts on the news. When this is all over and you return to the States, wherever you end up, those people are always going to remember you for the good deeds you’ve done here.” 

“You’re a good man, Javi. You know that right?” 

There was a shared, true smile between the two of you in that moment. 

“I think some people would disagree but if you say so, then I’ll think it.” 

“I’ll remember that mantra the next time I don’t think I belong here.” 

With that, Javier helped pick up the burnt nubs of cigarettes from the floor and together you returned to the office where you would help make a difference and remember that the two people who matter most to your job thought of you as essential to the process. For that, you would be forever thankful for. 

[tsarisfanfiction]

Colour symbol prompts

Fluff: black: protection

John protecting Scott

The Role of Protector

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort Characters: John, Scott

Uh, so I kinda maybe missed the "fluff" part of the prompt. Whoops. Ah well - this prompt intrigued me a lot so who knows, I might write some more protector!John at a later date - hell knows I love it when Scott's being protected by little brothers for once, and there's a large scope for that out there (I already have a second idea for John, which might actually tend more towards fluff than this one - not that that's particularly hard...)

4am seems to have snuck up on me without warning, so while I have proof read this I can't guarantee it was a perfect proof read... But some protective!John (and a nice side dish of Scott!whump as well).

Colour Symbol Prompts

It wasn’t often that John found himself in this position. Spending most of the year on Thunderbird Five had something to do with that, of course, but it was hardly the only factor at play. The fact that the only brother with him at the moment was Scott was another – a younger brother, with the possible exception of Gordon, was somewhat more likely to put John in his current position, but Scott was a different matter entirely.

As big brother and former military with the skills to match, even if he didn’t like to show them, Scott was the protector of the family. It was a role he hoarded viciously, because if it had fallen to one of the others then, to Scott’s mind, he’d failed.

John would disagree. Their big brother was still only human himself, and John had a long list of grievances attached to the way he seemed unable to step back and recharge even for a moment. There were times, though, where the choice was stripped from Scott, leaving him vulnerable and leaving the role of protector to settle elsewhere temporarily.

It was normally Gordon, for all that he was fourth out of five. Military steel skipped over Virgil – too soft, Gordon had confided in him before, although John knew it wasn’t a complaint, or sleight against the brother between them at all. Being soft against a world determined to tear itself and everyone inside it apart on a regular basis took its own strength, and Gordon knew that better than most. The steel skirted around John himself, too, although he liked to think he still had sharp edges when he needed them – the fact that he was rarely there in person was just another reason for the role to pass him over. None of them were ready to let the steel go near Alan.

Gordon wasn’t there, off on the other side of the world with Virgil rescuing yet another fishing trawler in distress. Alan was stuck in the world of homework, leaving John alone with his big brother.

His barely-conscious big brother, slumped against a cave wall where John had deposited him despite Scott’s best efforts to the contrary. Blood was blotching the bandages hastily applied to his shoulder; those would need changing soon, but John had other priorities to worry about first. International Rescue didn’t carry weapons, but both Scott and Gordon had proved that with enough creativity most of their equipment could be utilised as such. Given the situation, John had taken a leaf out of their book – and the grapple gun from Scott’s hip, which he was currently aiming with less surety than he’d like at the narrow entrance to the cavern they were hiding in.

The distress call had been a set-up. John was beyond relieved that he’d been nudged out on the rescue by Scott, who’d declared that he needed the practice with Earth-rescues and it was just a simple one so it would be good to get his eye back in. Their assailants had been prepared for Scott.

They had not been prepared for John.

Although, to be fair, John had also not been prepared to see Scott collapse a little way ahead of him, nor for the gunshot that had immediately preceded that. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d got both himself and Scott out of there without either of them taking any more bullets, but if pressed his guess would be that they’d been too surprised that Scott wasn’t alone to shoot immediately.

John had dragged his brother back, away from the assailants, and run through the cavern system as best he could with Scott injured and unco-operative to the sounds of angry shouts and pursuit. EOS had chirped in his ear that unauthorised personnel were attempting to gain access to Thunderbird One – she’d locked down the Thunderbird before anyone successfully got inside, but that had still meant that their only way out was blocked.

Instead, it was a waiting game – although it felt like a particularly dangerous form of hide and seek, if he was honest. He’d got in contact with the GDF via EOS, and they’d promised they were on their way. He just had to keep both Scott and himself safe until they did.

The small cave with its narrow entrance had been a find by EOS. Scott, of course, had tried to make him hide in there while he claimed he’d draw them away, but while that had made some sense in the form of the trail of blood leading right to them, it also made absolutely no sense for the same reason. John’s response had been to manhandle his unsteady and rapidly paling big brother into the cave and push him to sit down before he fell down.

His brother had not been best pleased, but John had been far more worried about the bullet and blood loss than keeping Scott happy. Still was, because despite the painkiller and bandaging, Scott was slipping further and further towards unconsciousness. John estimated he had two more minutes, at best, before Scott passed out entirely.

The GDF were more than two minutes out. It was touch and go if the blood trail would lead their assailants to their current location within two minutes. John tightened his grip on the borrowed grapple gun and swallowed.

He didn’t know if it was Scott in particular they were after, or if they’d just been planning to attack the first IR operative they saw. The lack of reliable data rankled; John despised being blind. EOS was digging, but so far nothing of note had come out of that.

But at the end of the day, what they wanted didn’t matter. They’d hurt Scott, they were hunting both of them, Thunderbird One was under assault, and John wasn’t normally the one with the role of protector on his shoulders but today he was, and he was going to do it justice.

They wouldn’t hurt Scott again. It didn’t matter if John had to use the grapple gun in ways it was not supposed to be used, or if he had to use his own body as a shield. He’d keep Scott safe.

The sound of something soft hitting the floor, which had to be Scott passing out because there was nothing else to fall, came at the same time as the voices. Angry voices, clearly following the blood trail, and John tensed.

All his instincts as a rescue operative were screaming for him to hurry to Scott’s side and check his condition. Common sense kept him where he was. Scott was around a craggy corner from the narrow entrance, impossible to see from the main cavern. As long as John didn’t move, there was no way they could get to Scott without going through him.

He kept his breathing low and even, counting his breaths silently to keep them under control. John wasn’t a fighter. Give him a computer and he’d destroy his target before they even realised what was happening, but in person was another matter entirely. He’d never even been able to scare off bullies at school, let alone armed assailants when all he had was the rescue gear in his and Scott’s uniforms.

There were many ways to win a war. Scott or Gordon would tackle the problem head on, offence the best form of defence, but they were trained for that. John wasn’t. John just had stories, some pranking experience, and his brain.

He didn’t need to beat their assailants. He just had to hold them off until the GDF arrived.

The voices were getting closer. Closer, closer, closer. John’s breathing hitched despite his best efforts to the contrary. Timing would be key. If he was even slightly out, then he’d have to fight for real, and while he’d stand his ground, he had no delusions about being able to win. He was too soon down from orbit for that, for starters.

They were close enough now for him to make out the words. Any chance that they had no idea where he and Scott were was destroyed by their discussions about the blood trail they were following. A blood trail that led straight to Scott.

John swallowed again. Sweat beaded on his brow, but he didn’t dare raise an arm to wipe it away. Both hands were locked around the grapple gun, still aiming through the narrow entrance. He couldn’t mess this up. Scott was – unconsciously, unwillingly – depending on him.

He could see them now. They hadn’t spotted him, too intent on the blood trail across the stone floor, but that could change at any moment. Three people, and he knew there were more but hopefully the others weren’t on hunting duty. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best chance John was going to get.

It was the only chance he was going to get.

He pulled the trigger.

It was Scott he had to thank for the extensive knot knowledge, his big brother coaching him through the Rescue Scouts badges even when he just wanted to get the stargazing ones and leave it at that. Grapple cables weren’t rope, but they were strong and sturdy yet still malleable enough to loop over and around as required until he’d managed a makeshift net. Cable ties from his own baldric, meant for repairs in space, had been deployed as reinforcements.

Lay the net just so, set up large chunks of rocks to fall when hit in the sweet spot, and a rudimentary pulley system from yet another grapple cable – Scott’s baldric had been scavenged bare of useful items, including the trauma kit that was trying and failing to keep the blood in his body – and he had a way to contain the first wave of approaching assailants.

Hopefully.

John watched with bated breath as it all snapped together, cable-net wrapping around the assailants and hoisting them dramatically into the air, counter-balanced by the weight of as many rocks as he’d been able to shift in the short timespan he’d had to set up the trap. There was furious yelling.

A gunshot sounded.

More furious yelling.

The trap held.

How long it would hold for, John didn’t know, but he did know that he’d hear it if they escaped, so with a shaky exhale he backed away from the narrow entrance, clipping the now-empty grapple gun to his own baldric, and hurried to Scott’s side.

The bandages needed changing. John rolled him onto his side, putting him into the recovery position to keep him stable, and dug out fresh supplies. Scott didn’t stir as he stripped away the old, bloodstained, linen and replaced it with fresh strips. A check of his pulse told John what he already knew – Scott was still alive, but had lost far too much blood.

If John had managed to capture all of the assailants, his plan had been to get Scott back to Thunderbird One and head straight for the nearest hospital. Unfortunately, that had not been the case, so he was forced to accept Plan B – wait for the GDF to show up and hope they arrived before any other ill-wishers.

John had only had enough equipment for a single trap.

[moonlitceleste]

If your taking prompts, in the Big Sis Marinette AU, what if Marinette crashes Bruce's JL meeting and completely embarrasses him OR where all the Batfam got grounded and she's filling in for them at JL and nobody knows who she is

A/N: I’m sorry this took me so long! I’ve been absolutely swamped with work, and since I wanted to do research on each of the JL members I had trouble finding time to write this. Hopefully it was worth the wait!

-

Bruce sighed at the Batcomputer and pinched his brow. It hadn’t even reached the end of the week, yet all his kids were already benched. First it was Jason and Damian; the two had gotten into a fight over something trivial, and it escalated until Bruce had to pull them apart. Next was Tim, who had done nothing wrong but overwork himself. Despite being busy Bruce still paid attention to his kids, and yesterday this one looked on the verge of falling over. Then there was Dick and Duke, who were both out-of-country to investigate an international issue. Stephanie was out of the picture since he had promised her the day off, and Cass… well, Cass had done nothing wrong as per usual, but Bruce didn’t want to subject her to this.

He couldn’t not attend the meeting, but Batman was needed in Gotham. If only there was someone who could take my place...

As if on cue, the entrance of the Batcave opened.

Somewhere near in the manor, a door slammed open.

“Oh Bruuuuce,” a voice sing-songed.

The vigilante grimaced and pinched his brow once again. His headache was about to get a whole lot worse.

-

Marinette chewed on her gum amusedly as she sat in the Hall of Justice, legs kicked up onto the circular table. For a place that was supposed to be secure, it sure was easy getting in. All she had to do was teleport in using Kaalki—not that that was her only option, since she was already secretly registered as an official Justice League member; she just wanted to see whether or not their security measures would work. Despite being Ladybug, Marinette did enjoy a little chaos from time to time.

The batarang in her hand whizzed as it cut through the air; she was spinning it around her finger absentmindedly as she waited for the telltale sound of the transporters. She had done her research, of course, and managed to figure out the schedules of each League member in order to plan a dramatic entrance. Well, it wouldn’t be her dramatic entrance, but seeing their expressions would be fun nonetheless.

With the kwamis’ help, she had given them each a little nudge. Some members had trouble with mysterious issues that caused them to arrive a bit later than usual, while others found themselves miraculously early for once. Either way, Marinette had planned it so they’d all arrive at the same time—and her plans always worked.

Somewhere in the distance a faint whoosh sounded. Even without the enhanced hearing that came with the black cat Miraculous, the sound piqued her senses. The smile that was spread across the heroine’s face grew razor-sharp with anticipation. It’s showtime.

-

“...it was weird. My ring has never done that before, and with all the strange occurrences recently—”

Green Lantern broke off as Aquaman sent a jab to his side. He looked up, confused, before noticing the rest of the members had stopped in front of the Hall of Justice with defensive positions.

“Who are you?” the Flash growled.

The person sitting at the circular table was a woman in a sleek red-and-black suit. She was clad in armor, and there was what looked like a pair of wings on her back, clearly imitating those of a ladybug’s.

Rather than respond to his question, she raised a brow. Or at least, that’s what it looked like; it was hard to tell with the spotted mask on her face.

The members tensed, preparing to attack, when a heavy sigh came from Superman. He threw his arm up, preventing them from moving forwards.

“It’s alright, guys. I know her.”

The words, while reassuring, did nothing to make them drop their guard. They remained vigilant as the ladybug-themed woman slid her legs off the table and stood up. The movement was assured and grateful, and she had an aura that radiated power.

Despite this, however, she had a short stature that seemed even smaller in comparison to the League.

“Superman,” she nodded.

“Ladybug,” he greeted.

There was a sharp inhale from two of the members.

“Ladybug?” Wonder Woman repeated.

“And Grand Guardian, technically.”

At these words the Amazonian dropped to one knee, followed quickly by Aquaman. Their heads were bowed low in fealty. The rest of the members could only watch, shocked at the clear act of deference. No one dared breathe.

“Wonder Woman. Aquaman,” the masked woman addressed. A faint smile twitched at the corner of her lips.

“There’s no need to bow.”

Like a barrier had been broken, the two slowly raised themselves to meet her eyes. They looked at her with a mixture of awe and respect.

“Wha—” started the Flash. He broke off with a hiss as Superman elbowed his side.

“Ouch, dude!”

The Kryptonian only rolled his eyes and signalled to where Ladybug and Wonder Woman were still conversing.

“It is an honor to be in your presence, Guardian.”

“Nonsense. You’re Wonder Woman. If anything, I’m honored to be in your presence.”

At this point, it seemed as if Green Lantern was tired of the confusion.

“Okay, what’s this all about? Why’d you guys bow? And what’s a Guardian?”

Aquaman sighed internally at his ally’s brusqueness and looked towards Ladybug as if asking for permission to proceed. After receiving a nod, he spoke.

“The Order of the Guardians is an age-old society which protects and distributes Miraculouses, which  are magical jewels not unlike your ring. However, the Miraculouses have existed since the beginning of the universe itself. They each have unique abilities, but the two most powerful are the Ladybug and Black Cat. When combined, the wielder has the potential to rewrite the universe as we know it. That’s why Guardians are important; they help prevent them from falling into the wrong hands. The Grand Guardian is even more so.”

“My mother, Hippolyta, was a Ladybug wielder,” Diana added. “The Order has always had deep connections with both the Atlantians and Amazons.”

Everyone seemed satisfied with this response except for Green Lantern, who spoke up with a frown.

“But then why have neither of you met her before today? It doesn’t make sense that Superman would know of her before you guys.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes good-naturedly and waited for the Kryptonian to reply; she knew they wouldn’t believe her unless the information came from someone else.

“She’s Batman’s sister.”

“Batman?”

The exclamation came from the Flash.

“But he’s so tall! How—”

Ladybug cut his words off with a chilling glare, as if daring him to finish his sentence. It was oddly familiar to the so-called Bat-Glare, yet it was somehow worse.

“Never mind. I see the resemblance now.”

She bared her teeth in a mock smile at him and gestured to the group to sit.

“Batman couldn’t be here today, so he sent me to fill in. You were having trouble with strange disappearances, were you not?”

Green Lantern cleared his throat.

“Yes, there was reportedly the disappearance of a few important artefacts. However, the culprit left no traces.”

“Done.”

Heads turned to her, bewildered.

“That was a Miraculous-related incident. Already solved.”

The League members exchanged glances then shrugged in acceptance.

“Meeting adjourned, then?” inquired the Flash.

“Not quite yet,” she smiled. “Don’t you want to hear more about my brother?”

-

“To offer it the show of violence;

For it is, as the air, invulnerable,

And our vain blows malicious mockery.”

“No, you’re saying it with the wrong tone now!”

Marinette sighed for the hundredth time that day. First it was the wrong inflection on a certain word, then it was the wrong pause length, and now it was her tone.

“Jason, it’s Hamlet. I know this means a lot to you, but I could care less about some dude and the tone with which he speaks about his tragic life.”

Her nephew put down his script and looked at her, eyes wide in disbelief and betrayal.

Oh, boy. She could practically hear how the next hour would play out with his inevitable rant. But before he could start, the door to the slammed open. Marinette sighed with relief; as much as she loved hearing Jason talk about his passion, she was glad to be spared from another one of his literature talks.

“Marinette,” a voice growled.

She looked up to see her brother’s frame in the doorway. He did not look happy.

“Yes?” she blinked innocently. She could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

“What did you do?” Jason snickered from beside her.

“Embarrassed him in front of his friends,” she whispered back quietly.

He broke out into cackles.

“Not helping!” she hissed.

Bruce stormed closer, and wow did he look crabby. Better safe than sorry, then.

“Tikki, spots on!”

The flash momentarily blinded her brother, but she had made sure to cover Jason’s eyes to protect him from it.

When his vision cleared, Bruce spotted Ladybug hanging from one of the bookcases with her yo-yo, an impish grin on her face.

“Catch me if you can!”

PERMANENT TAGLIST @avengerthewarrior @enternalempires @freesportspalacesalad @nathleigh

[sunlit-squid]

I don't care about everyone else! i care about you, SQUIDWARD! (simping softness asks)

For those who don’t know, my ask box is open. Send me a simping softness prompt, and I’ll write a short sbsp ficlet for you. ✰

so, uh -- i might have gotten a bit carried away with this prompt. it’s definitely longer than a ficlet, but oh well. either way, it was a lot of fun to write! selfish spongebob is so rarely explored.

fic under the cut. also, just in case, cw: drinking, drunkenness, etc.

Spongebob rose bright and early, long before his foghorn alarm went off at 7:00 a.m. With a cheerful shout, the poriferan jumped out of bed, earning a disgruntled “mrow” from Gary, who was still asleep nearby. Stretching vigorously, the sponge leaned down, planting a soft kiss atop the snail’s shell.

“Gary,” he whispered, practically vibrating with excitement. “Today’s the day!”

Turning away, Gary simply replied “mrow”, in a disdainful way that most certainly meant “whatever.”

Undeterred, Spongebob ran to his calendar. Sure enough, the day’s date -- July 14th -- was circled in bright-red, permanent marker, with the words “My birthday!” written neatly across it. And just below those words, was a tiny drawing of Squidward’s face, with dozens of little red hearts surrounding it.

Making his way over to the window, Spongebob gazed out at Squidward’s moai in the distance. He sighed, dreamily. What was Squidward doing right now? Probably sleeping, in that adorable dress of his.

The sponge lingered there, staring dazedly out at the moai, for perhaps a moment too long. Then, remembering himself, he sprinted to the bathroom. Once inside, Spongebob pointed a finger at his own reflection in the mirror.

“Enough beating around the bush, Mr. Squarepants!” he yelled -- much to Gary’s annoyance. The sponge lowered his voice down to a soft whisper. “Today, you tell him how you feel.”

His reflection simply shrugged. “I mean, okay,” it said. “But this is like, the 57th time you’ve said this.”

“Oh, shush.”

-0-

The party was supposed to start at 6:30, but Spongebob, in a manic cleaning fit, had the entire house ready by noon. This year, the party was themed around As The Tide Turns, a very polarizing-but-popular soap opera, especially in Bikini Bottom. If you were a Bikini Bottomite, you either watched the show genuinely, or ironically -- there was absolutely no in-between.

Spongebob and Squidward both genuinely enjoyed the show. It was one of the first things they bonded over, back when Spongebob started working at the Krusty Krab. Through the window to the galley, the two coworkers would talk for hours about the show, and whatever drama was center-stage for that season.

It got to a point where Mr. Krabs -- who only watched ATTT ironically -- got on them both, for shirking their duties.

“If yer gonna flirt,” he’d said, “do it on yer own time.”

So, Spongebob started coming over to Squidward’s house on Friday nights, when the new episodes would air. In fact, even when the show was between seasons, Spongebob still came over, just to watch reruns. It was one of the few times Squidward would (begrudgingly) let Spongebob inside, with no complaints.

Spongebob hummed softly to himself, his eyes scanning the small clipboard in front of him. Food, decorations, party games … Check, check, and check. Everything was present and accounted for -- and he had to admit, the house looked spectacular.

Every room was themed around a different, iconic arc in the ATTT series. His living room, filled with chalk drawings, crime scene tape, and red-string boards, was inspired by the murder mystery arc. His kitchen, decorated with leftover Halloween gear, was inspired by the vampire arc … and so on and so forth. Each and every room had its own particular, careful design -- and in all, it was probably Spongebob’s most intricate and detailed party to date.

That was because it had to be. Spongebob had a plan, a carefully detailed plan -- one that was sure to sweep Squidward Tentacles right off his … er, tentacles. And it went like this:

Squidward and Spongebob’s favorite arc, in all 42 seasons of As The Tide Turns, was the murder mystery. In the arc, the dashing Detective Heartthrob, accompanied by his sidekick-slash-lover Joey, must bring a heinous mass murderer to justice. At the climax, it is revealed that Detective Heartthrob is the true killer -- having been hypnotized by a witch, who was also his evil twin sister, for some reason. In the end, Joey must kill Detective Heartthrob, in a tragic display of love and sacrifice.

The season was thrilling, silly, and emotionally traumatizing, to boot. For months after the finale, Squidward and Spongebob would not shut up about it -- much to the annoyance of Mr. Krabs.

Either way, Spongebob had set up an elaborate, original mystery game, inspired by the events of the show. Each attendee would get a “random” card, assigning them a different role in the story. Squidward would be Detective Heartthrob, and Spongebob would be Joey.

Together, they would embark on an original mystery, one that Spongebob had devised all by himself. After he and Squidward solved the mystery together, and the party was over … Spongebob would finally, finally confess his feelings.

Of course, Spongebob had, more or less, rigged the game to ensure this would happen. Which was cheating, sure, but this was for love! So it couldn't possibly go wrong.

-0-

It went wrong. Almost immediately, in fact.

For one, the party started at 6:30 -- and, nearly two hours later, Squidward had yet to show up. Spongebob spent those first two hours lingering by the door, staring out the window towards the moai, and forgetting to refill the punch bowl. Sandy, ever the observant one, noticed immediately.

Pulling Spongebob aside, she asked, in a hushed voice, “Hey, partner. You good?”

“Oh, I’m -- I’m great!” chirped Spongebob, putting on his worst, most unconvincing smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Uh-huh,” said Sandy, flatly. “This about Squidward?”

Spongebob blushed, immediately. The squirrel sighed.

“I thought so,” she mumbled, folding her arms across her chest. “Did he say he was gonna come?”

The sponge nodded. “He said, ‘I’ll see if I can make it work’, which in Squidward-speak, is practically a yes!” groaned Spongebob, staring up at Sandy with his huge baby blue eyes. “He’ll come, right, Sandy?”

Sandy hesitated. She didn’t really know Squidward that well … but he did seem to have a soft spot for Spongebob. Awkwardly, she replied, “I mean … I can’t say for sure, but he did say he would try. Let’s be patient, okay, Spongebob? Maybe he just got caught up with something.”

Spongebob sighed, then repositioned his face into its usual chipper smile. “Alrighty. You do usually know what’s best, Sandy.”

“I sure do,” she giggled. “Oh, and Spongebob?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t cut his cable this time,” she said, before walking off to get more punch.

-0-

By 9:30, the party started to go a bit haywire. At this point, practically all of Bikini Bottom was at Spongebob’s house, except for Squidward -- and Larry thought it would be a great idea to play Truth Or Dare: Extreme Edition. The rules were pretty much the same as Truth Or Dare: Standard Edition, but with one exception: each subsequent truth or dare had to be more extreme than the last.

It started off alright. A few people were dared to take off their pants, or do a somersault down Conch Street while blindfolded. However, as the game progressed, the stakes grew astronomically. At one point, Patrick was dared to eat half of Spongebob’s pineapple. Later, Sandy was dared to juggle three of Plankton’s bombs, while riding a unicycle. Even later, Larry and Mr. Krabs were dared to switch shells and wrestle -- which wasn’t really destructive. Just disturbing.

The dares were stupid, but if there was one thing Bikini Bottomites had, it was a complete lack of common sense. Or any sense, really.

It certainly didn’t help that as the night progressed, the partygoers grew more and more … inebriated. The punch itself was non-alcoholic, but apparently, Karen and Plankton had taken it upon themselves to bring their own alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.

By 10:30, Squidward still hadn’t shown up yet. Several people had either passed out or thrown up. And the pineapple was a complete disaster.

Spongebob sighed. He was seated on his living room sofa now, watching as the partygoers reveled inside (and outside) his home. Of course, the sponge was happy they were enjoying themselves -- but this day was supposed to be about him, and … well, nothing had gone as planned. His entire house was destroyed, it would take days to clean up the mess -- and Squidward hadn’t even bothered to show up! The nerve.

“Hey Patrick,” muttered Spongebob, waving a tired yellow hand at his drunken best friend.

Immediately, the starfish stumbled over to him, drink in hand. “Wha… haha … whasss’ up, Spunchblarb?” he slurred.

Spongebob pointed to the drink in Patrick’s hand. “Could I have that?”

Patrick grinned widely. “Yeeeeeahh! Now -- now, yer talkin’, buddy!” And with that, the starfish handed Spongebob his first drink of the night.

-0-

About three drinks in, Spongebob Squarepants was well and truly intoxicated. Which was nice, in a way. Now, the world was a weird, misty haze, and he didn’t have to worry about his pineapple being destroyed, or his party being ruined, or Squidward, or whatever. Now, he could just be peacefully drunk and stupid, just like everybody else in his house. Blissfully unaware of the world around them.

As the night went on, Spongebob began losing track of time. What time was it? Midnight? 3:00 a.m.? Did it even matter?

Over the course of one very stupid evening, Spongebob made more than a few bad decisions. For one, he bought like, ten mops online. Which was both counterproductive (he was a sponge) and financially irresponsible (he was also a frycook). Later, the sponge swam to the surface of the ocean to see how long he could breathe without water. He fainted within the first ten seconds, and had to be retrieved by Larry. After that, the night became a dizzying blur. Spongebob was certain he had been driving, at one point, and also dancing, and maybe singing?

Either way, several hours later, Spongebob was still dancing in his living room, a lampshade stuck on his head, when he felt something on his shoulder. Turning woozily, the sponge tried to get into “kara-tay” position, and ultimately failed.

“Who -- what -- stay back! I’m warning you!” shouted the sponge. “I know … er, kar .. karat … carrots?”

There was a familiar sigh, then a soft chuckle. “Oh, you moron,” came a voice, a voice that Spongebob loved so dearly, even in this drunken state. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“Squ … squib … ?”

“Yeah,” said Squidward, wrenching the lampshade off of Spongebob’s head. “It’s me. Sorry I’m late.”

Spongebob looked up at Squidward -- and in his inebriated, hazy stupor, he couldn’t take it. He loved him so much, and for so long. It hurt. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “Squi -- Squidward, you -- you came,” the sponge stammered, his bottom lip quivering. “I -- I didn’t think …”

“Hush,” said Squidward, looking around the room. “This is, uh … wow, you really had a rager, huh? I didn’t think you had it in you, Spongebob.”

Stepping away, Squidward began picking up random items off the floor -- the punch bowl, some photographs, and a spilled carton of milk. The octopus had to step over and around several bodies, which were lying passed out on Spongebob’s floor.

“Listen, I’m gonna try and find a way to get everyone home,” said Squidward, sifting his way through the pile of garbage and bodies. “Everyone else is knocked out -- ”

Spongebob had had it. He’d had enough. He’d planned out this whole day perfectly, just for Squidward to not show up, for his whole house to be demolished in the chaos. Sure, he was glad everyone had a good time, but deep down, Spongebob was a little selfish, and deep down --

“I don’t care about everyone else!” shouted Spongebob, clenching his fists at his sides. “I care about you, Squidward!”

Squidward, startled, nearly dropped everything he was holding -- and before he could properly respond, Spongebob fell over, unconscious.

-0-

For once, Spongebob didn’t wake up to the sound of his foghorn. Instead, he woke up to the sound of the television nearby. Very soft dialogue wafted its way over to the sponge, bathing him in its pleasant familiarity.

“Why, Joey, I think you’re right -- the killer is closer than we seem to think!”

“Then we best get cracking, Detective Heartthrob!”

Groaning, Spongebob sat up -- a dull, throbbing pain coursing through his skull. Dear Neptune. What happened last night? There was the party, the drinking, and … Squidward, maybe? Spongebob felt his heart drop at the thought of his neighbor, and sighed. He hadn’t gotten to tell Squidward how he felt. Attempt 57 had failed. Miserably.

Blinking slowly, the sponge looked around, and with surprise noted that his bedroom was not a mess, like it had been during the party. In fact, it was squeaky clean. The only thing out of place was the living room television, which had been moved to the end of Spongebob’s bed. The TV was playing an old rerun of As The Tide Turns, from the murder mystery arc. A smile tugged at Spongebob’s lips. How ironic.

Wait a minute. Who moved the TV?

Just then, there were footsteps on the stairs -- the tell-tale pat-pat-pat-pat of someone with four legs. Squidward. He was still here! Steeling himself, Spongebob sat at attention, gripping the blankets tightly.

When Squidward entered, he was holding a tray of food and wearing a long pink apron. When he saw that Spongebob was now conscious, the octopus jumped, nearly dropped the food, then steadied himself just in time.

“Squidward!” said Spongebob, cheerily. “You’re here!”

“Of course I’m here, you nitwit,” muttered Squidward. “Who else was gonna clean up that messy party of yours?”

Squidward crossed the room to place the food tray on Spongebob’s nightstand. Once there, the octopus shoved a glass of water and two pills into the poriferan’s hands, with one simple command: “Drink.”

Spongebob did so, gratefully. Then, he asked, “The party … what all happened?”

“I don’t know, but it was a mess,” sighed Squidward. “I’m pretty sure half the town was completely passed out by the time I got here. I’m surprised the cops didn’t get involved.”

“Oh,” said Spongebob, feeling very guilty all of a sudden. “Did -- did everyone get home okay?”

“Yeah,” said Squidward. “Listen, don’t -- don’t worry about it, okay? I took care of everything. Your house is clean, Gary is fed, everyone got home. That’s all.” Squidward’s cheeks were stained red.

Spongebob smiled, his heart jumping happily in his chest. “Thank you, Squidward.”

After a moment of silence, Squidward brought the food tray up to Spongebob’s lap. “You should … you should eat that,” he muttered, then took a deep breath. “Look, I … I’m sorry I was so late, alright? The truth is, I … I got caught up.”

With a mouthful of food, Spongebob asked, “Wif whaf?”

Squidward grimaced. “You’re disgusting,” he snapped, then looked away, blushing brightly. “Anyway, I … was trying to get ahold of your birthday present. It was supposed to be delivered here, to Conch Street, yesterday -- but I guess there was a mix-up, and it was instead delivered to Conch Road, which is … in an entirely different town. Several hours away.”

Spongebob blinked. “You drove all the way to get it?”

Squidward scowled. “Whatever,” he snapped, pulling a small red present box from beneath Spongebob’s bed. “Either way, it’s here. So, I guess … open it, maybe.”

Shoveling down the rest of his food (much to Squidward’s disgust), the sponge quickly shredded the pristine red wrapping paper to reveal -- a boxed set of the entire As The Tide Turns series. The extended edition, with all the bonus scenes and commentary tracks. And to top it all off -- the box was signed by the stars of the show.

Spongebob looked up at Squidward, eyes shimmering with shock and awe. “Squidward, this is -- this is amazing, I thought they didn’t sell these anymore!”

“Oh, trust me,” said Squidward, shuddering. “You have no idea what I had to do to get my hands on that.”

“Let me guess,” said Spongebob, holding up two yellow hands to form finger-guns. In his best Joey impression, the sponge said, “You had to kill a lotta folks, didn’t ya, Detective Heartthrob?”

Squidward chuckled immediately. In one suave motion, he leaned against Spongebob’s bed, and pointed a finger-gun of his own. In his best Detective Heartthrob impression, the octopus replied, “I did, and I don’t regret it at all, Joey!”

The two laughed for a good long while. Then, suddenly embarrassed once more, Squidward looked away. Taking a deep breath, the octopus said, “Look, Sponge, I -- last night, you said something kinda weird, and I wanted to know if -- if maybe --”

“Huh?”

“You said -- you only cared about me, not anyone else, and I -- I wanted to ask,” stammered Squidward, “... what exactly … you meant by that.”

Spongebob’s eyes widened. Oh, barnacles. Did he really say that? Well … there was no hiding it now. Gripping his sheets tight, Spongebob steeled himself for what was to come. “It means I … I wanna keep hanging out with you, Squidward,” said the sponge, staring down at his yellow knuckles. “I wanna hang out with you more than anyone else.”

Squidward swallowed, hard. “Sponge, what are you saying?”

Spongebob looked up. Their eyes met. “I like you,” said the sponge, smiling nervously. “A … a lot.”

A long moment of silence passed. Spongebob’s heart hammered furiously at his chest. Then, Squidward sighed, and picked up the ATTT boxed set. Walking over to Spongebob’s TV, the octopus inserted the first disc, grabbed the remote, and returned to Spongebob’s side.

Lifting the blankets, the octopus said, “Scooch over.”

Spongebob blinked, then did as instructed. “Why?” he asked.

“You really are an idiot,” muttered Squidward, climbing into bed with him. “It’s a Sunday, the Krusty Krab is closed, and we have a whole boxed set to watch together. Might as well start now.”

Spongebob smiled, happily. “So -- so you -- ”

Squidward rolled his eyes. “If you must know, yes, I … I like you,” he snapped. “I’m not gonna drive halfway across the ocean floor for just anybody, you know.”

Spongebob grinned stupidly. “I guess not.”

With that, the show began, its melodramatic theme tune echoing pleasantly across Spongebob’s pineapple home. And just below the bed, Gary let out a soft, contended meow -- which almost certainly meant “finally.”

-0-

References:

The line about cutting Squidward’s cable is a reference to the episode “Party Pooper Pants”, in which Spongebob cuts Squidward’s cable to get him to come over for a party.

[translightyagami]

Mikalight Week fic: 24-Hour Gym

a short mikalight fic for, what else, @mikalightweek. wrote it sort of quick? and its not explicit but is very sensual and there’s a lot of body talk and you can basically assume they fuck after the fic (i was TOO LAZY to write the smut). Anyway.

This fic is rated BPBB, for Bench Pressing Bodacious Babes.

Quiet and soft humid air filled the gym. From the window, Teru watched him with his standard issue NPA duffel bag slung over his shoulder, laughing at a text on his phone. When he looked up, they almost met eyes and Teru turned, facing his reflection in the wall-length mirror. His black hair hung in lank strands beside his face; his grey T-shirt collar darkened into a full-leaf of sweat over his front. The gym door bells jingled as he came in, cheeks pink from the mid-winter outside and a wary smile on his face.

Of course, Teru recognized him. Kira. Light. Above the brown trendy haircut floated his full name, the kanji confusing for a minute until – congealed and solidified – the meaning existed. While Light checked in with the sleepy front desk clerk, he talked loud and high-pitched. It was a voice unlike the one Teru heard in the warehouse, the one that told him after the police and that little white haired boy were dead, to go home. To make up an alibi. And to meet him, at this little 24-hour gym, in ten days.

Watching Light’s mirror twin walk to the back lockers, Teru lifted his dumbbells on autopilot – eleven, twelve, twelve, no wait – before setting them down, grabbing the towel he tucked into his jogger’s waistband. Nervous sweat and exertion sweat mixed together, all mopped away by a monogramed hand towel. When he glanced back up, Light was at the rowing machine.

For twenty minutes, they waltzed: Light moved to a machine, doing his reps, while Teru went to a different machine, did his own program. (An unceasing eye for detail made note that Light lifted about ten under Teru’s lowest weight.) Having shed a jacket now that he’d warmed up, Light worked in a loose white tank top that hung low in the sleeve holes. Every so often, when he reached to grasp a bar, his chest swooped in and out of view. Teru caught scar tissue, though never a long enough glimpse to know its shape. He stood from the arm extension machine and walked to the bench press. All the way he felt two sharp eyes peering at him from a leg machine.

Teru set the plates: two 10 kg., and then two 2.5 kg. plates, an unusual though not overwhelmingly larger weight than he lifted on a normal night. Foolish and near school-boylike, he wanted to show off in front of the other man. After setting the weights, he leaned back and rested his head beneath the long metal bar – and waited. The sound of God walking, a long stride with confident footfalls, was familiar in Teru’s ears. Head haloed in florescent, Light bent above the metal bar with arms outstretched.

“Do you need a spotter?” His tone suggested a joke – ha, ha, who else but me – but Teru only heard the question in serious.

“Yes,” he said, and it was then he realized these were the first words he’d spoken to Light in public. How apt, how right, that their exchange be God extending his hands to help Teru carry such a heavy burden. Light hovered his palms just around the silver length, eyes trained on Teru as he wrapped fists at either end and – oh! – lifted. Every rep, staring directly into a brown-eyed microscope, and Teru almost shook, lost his strength, when their hands nearly brushed. He managed ten reps before gently resting the bar back in place. Sweat dripped off his neck and above him, it made gems across Light’s forehead.

“Wow,” Light said. “You’re pretty strong.”

“T-thank you,” Teru cursed his stutter. He didn’t expect the compliment and it made a little flower burst inside his concrete encased heart. The flower only grew the longer Light looked at him, smile just a pink curve, eyes unnervingly genuine. It was a look that fake people in movies gave each other – Teru hated how much he liked to trust it. God had to be genuine – a kingdom of justice would never stand on false ground. Light’s stare trapped him with a weight deeper and heavier than any dumbbell, and when he glanced away, Teru gasped. His breath had flattened in his chest.

Light left first, at midnight, and when Teru went to his own locker at one thirty am, he found a note shoved into the air slits. On the note was a phone number and curt letter L for a signature. He folded it into the smallest triangle he could, having memorized the number, and set the paper beneath his tongue. As Teru packed his things, nodded to the gym employee, walked into a cold and calamitous city sidewalk, the paper poked and scraped the inner wet flesh. Pain in little bites followed him on his walk – each bright moment a moment of God beside him. Do you need a spotter? A question, a divine extended hand. Wow. You’re pretty strong. Strong, a warrior disciple, God’s most beloved. And, at the platform for his train home, he swallowed the dissolving note – communion.

Teru started working out in high school, when a gym teacher suggested a natural physical ability like his could use sculpting and recognized in him a perhaps genetic inability to play on a team. Ever since the first time, he took to the regimentation, the preplanning and trackable results of gym life. Within the walls of his usual club – the membership to which took up an embarrassing but necessary amount of his pay – Teru found ritual. A work out was an offering to the divine in his own body, and now it became religious practice, a modeling of himself into a better tool for Kira’s will.

This late night arrangement became weekly. On Tuesdays, Teru and Light worked out in the same hole-in-the-wall 24-hour gym, just them and one employee. Two owls dancing around the machines, Teru knew both their stares were gobbling each other’s body behaviors like so many tasty mice. He saw in Light a similar high-school athletics resolve, although the way his muscles smoothed rather than fit into shapes spoke more to sports than targeted workouts. Teru resisted his own snobbery in this observation – though he found a dedication to the perfecting of the body rather than to sportsmanship more pleasing. Kira had his reasons, maybe, for choosing athletic pastimes. There too was a certain leanness to Light’s body as well. Even with a layer of more authoritative muscle, he looked vulpine, foxlike in his lithe frame. His posture retained the slight slouch that many people who were slim in their young adult hood had; in fact, Teru only recognized it since he himself trained it out of his own habits a year prior.

And, yet, the flurry of observation – itself a thrill in its artificial intimacy – didn’t compare to those few minutes where Light leaned over, put his elegant hands out, and spotted Teru’s bench press. He took to doing them more often than his usual schedule. Combined with the bigger weights, an unevenness grew in his routine that Teru would never have allowed before. He couldn’t stop himself though. Anything for a few moments close enough to Light to see the split of his lips, the sweat trickling over his flushed cheeks.

On the fourth week, while Teru wiped down the leg press after he used it, Light approached him.

“Hey,” he said. “Isn’t weird how we’re always in this place together, but we’ve never learned each other’s names?”

“Mikami Teru,” Teru said. The tone was straightforward, and his volume normal – and still he imagined how imprudent he sounded. “I don’t usually go to this gym.”

Light narrowed his eyes and shook his head, just enough to say not the plan. Up his back, Teru’s spine stiffened. It was no joy to disappoint Light.

“Well,” Light said, slick voice untwisting the frustration in his gaze and presenting a smile that bordered on pretty. “I’m Yagami Light. I’ve really admired your routine. Maybe sometime we can meet up. I’m no good with workouts, not like you.”

“Oh. Yes.” Teru nodded. Meet up? Before he could ask a clarifying question, Light spoke over his concerns.

“Call me tomorrow,” he said. “I’m free after five.”

He walked away, not leaving a number except the one boiled in Teru’s stomach. No matter how heavy the weights he lifted, no matter the volume of the baby crying on his bus home, all Teru thought of was his phone and tomorrow after five. His palms itched.

He called at five twenty the next day, having rushed home after a meeting went long, and Teru never heard a worse noise than the ringing before Light picked up. On first answering, his tone was unpleasantly gruff, accusatory – a man in the drag of an older, wiser man. It clashed with the smooth youthfulness of Light’s voice in the gym, which only returned when Teru tentatively said his own greeting.

“Oh! Mikami,” Light said, a balm over the scratches left behind by his put-on masculinity. “You’re calling so late. I thought maybe you forgot.”

“No,” Teru said. “Never. I don’t forget important things.”

“Mm,” Light said. Behind his voice was a tapping sound, someone hitting paper with a pen. “I’m honored to be an important thing. Say, I didn’t catch it before, but where did you say you lived?”

Teru sat on a kitchen stool; he’d been standing, impatient, in the breakfast nook as though preparing to run to wherever Kira needed him. But the question set him down – why did Light want to know? And was it safe to say over the phone? Realizing he’d left dead air too long, Teru muttered that he lived further south – about an hour from the 24-hour gym.

“Oh, I see,” Light sounded mildly perturbed to be have been waiting. “I was just thinking, my girlfriend is making cookies and I thought I’d send you some. Do you have an address that’d be good?”

His girlfriend? Teru didn’t press but his stomach sank. However the phrase stung, he listed his apartment address in dutiful detail. In his ear were the soft scratches of Light’s pen writing everything down and, once he finished, Teru coughed. He didn’t want the phone call to end.

“Did you play sports?” His question flowed out in a proper, clear way, and Teru congratulated himself on how normal he sounded. “Maybe in high school?”

Light went quiet and when he spoke again, the words were cold.

“I played tennis,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

“I only wondered because,” Teru scrambled for something less damning to say, “you’re in such good shape but don’t like to work out. And usually that’s because of sports, I find.”

“Ah,” a low simmer melted Light’s voice. “You like to work out, don’t you, Mikami?”

“Mm,” Teru said. “I enjoy the time to work on my body. Physical fitness is a key to leading a good, worthwhile life.”

“Interesting,” Light said. He tapped his pen before popping his lips. Their wet click was at once disgusting – the body, the spit, the base physicality of it – and alluring – the body, the spit, the parts of Kira blessed by his own inner spirit. “I’ll send those cookies tonight. Expect them at your door around midnight, hm?”

“Oh.” This wasn’t about cookies. “Yes, I’ll look for them then. Thank you, Light. That’s very kind of you.”

“I’m always kind to my friends,” Light said.

At midnight, Teru heard the curt knock of the one he waited for. Standing in the hallway of his apartment building, wrapped in a coat, green sweater and black jeans, was Light. He smiled when Teru gestured for him to come inside – a good, well-raised smile. In a small childish part of himself, Teru wished to return such a pleasant smile. Instead, he nodded and raised his eyebrows as Light pressed a plastic box into his hands.

“I wasn’t lying, before on the phone,” he said, shaking off his coat. “My girlfriend was baking. She insisted I take some to meet my new friend. My recommendation?” Light swung around, coat on his finger and a wryness to his expression. “Toss them. Misa can’t bake.”

“How unfortunate,” Teru said. I’m a passable baker, he thought.

Light walked further into the one-bedroom space. He put his coat onto the black lacquered hat rack’s lower rung, ran a finger across the tight gray rectangle couch, and complimented the large entertainment center Teru built. When he let it slip that, in fact, he’d built it himself, Teru saw a curl of interest in Light’s gaze.

“I’ve always liked building too,” Light said, shrugging. “But never something so well constructed.”

He wandered into the sitting room and looked to his feet, a play-acted shyness. Nothing in his body language bar the glance down suggested timidity. Teru followed, although he knew his own behavior was less confident. Light flicked his eyes up and stilled Teru’s movements.

“I’m proud of your actions,” he said. “How well you served me, served the kingdom Kira hopes to build.”

A tremor worked through Teru and he sat, unable to keep his legs steady. To be acknowledged made him eager and fraught. Without thinking, he bowed his head, and a warm palm pressed over the back of his neck. Light murmured something.

“What did you say?” Teru asked, eyes going blurry the longer he stared at his own lap.

“I said,” Light slid a finger beneath his chin, tipping Teru up and into his line of vision. “Do you think you could bench press me?”

“I,” Teru frowned, his instinct to refuse presenting weakness. He fought past it. “I can try.”

The smile from before – polite, the kind a mother asked for during family pictures, toothless – warped into the brilliant split Teru recognized from the yellow warehouse. Light smiled in high volume, loud and greedy.

“Perfect,” he said. “Let me undress.”

“Undress?” Teru’s resolve wavered and he stood.

Light shrugged, already popping the button of his jeans.

“Won’t you need better traction?” He asked. “My clothes might cause your hand to slip.”

Breathless, Teru watched God strip down to a pair of black briefs. Shirtless, the two pink scars he saw glimpses of before swiped just beneath Light’s nipples, which hardened in the air-conditioning. Mental deduction took Teru up to chest surgery, although he couldn’t pinpoint the reason. As he stared, Light’s eyes took on impatience not unlike when Teru slipped up in the gym.

“Do I not please you?” Light raised his eyebrows, swinging out his hands. “Do you find God wanting in some way, Mikami?”

“No, no,” Teru covered his mouth. “I apologize for the imprudence. I only was curious.”

“Keep curiosity to the cats,” Light said. “Now, lay back and we’ll try this.”

Teru pushed his coffee table to the side and laid himself down on the sitting room rug. Flat on his back, Light leaning over him almost nude, a strange helplessness infected him. No matter what happened next, he had no real choice other than what Light chose for him. It didn’t help that Light’s gaze had an almost lepidopterist’s leer – staring at a captured butterfly and wondering what pins to use on its corpse. Teru shook himself inside; Kira didn’t think of him as a butterfly. He was a servant, a faithful one, and Kira found him strong.

Stretching up his arms, Teru cupped his hands and met Light with his own stare.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said, “slowly place your waist in my right hand and your thigh in my left.”

Light nodded, walking around to stand next Teru’s shoulder. He bent in a gentle arc and his waist was the first thing to touch against Teru’s palm. In a shift, the confidence of before didn’t echo in Light’s actions now. He was cautious, still leaving one foot on the ground as he laid himself into Teru’s grasp. A muffled groaned left Teru; even with his weight distributed away, Light was still heavy.

“Um,” Light said. “Is it okay to let go?”

The question was human, quiet, and Teru wanted to file it away suddenly. He took a deep breath, wiggled his fingers where they held Light, and nodded.

“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

Light gasped as he lifted his leg. Balanced between Teru’s straining arms, he hovered untouched by anything but air and the other man. Teru was in pain – not just from the difficulty of holding up an adult man but from how good Light felt. He was warm, soft, and yet at the same time hard, solid muscle beneath the skin. Gritting his teeth, Teru heaved and lowered his armload until Light’s hip was just above his mouth.

He couldn’t help himself; Teru kissed the bare skin. His lips slid just so over goosebumps, tasting hints of salt and body lotion. Even partway through, he wanted to kiss the vulnerable hip again – memorize the flavor of Kira against his mouth. Light trembled and let out his name in a rasp.

“Mikami,” Light whispered. “Fuck.”

No answer occurred to him, so Teru lifted Light back up. As charged as the moment was, a small part of him celebrated being strong enough to, in fact, perform one bench press of another human. Light squirmed in his hands, too much, and without warning, Teru’s grip loosened. God fell out of his palms and landed hard on Teru’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

“Ah,” he shouted at the same time Light yelled, “Fuck!” They sat in sore heap. Teru rubbed his hands together, over and over. He’d failed; he let Light fall, hadn’t been strong enough to keep him stable. With trepidation, he glanced toward the other man prepared to see anger in God’s eyes, but instead Light stared back at him with arousal. His eyes were hot, molten, and his movements became languid.

“You’re so strong,” Light said, and now his voice was like nothing Teru ever heard before. There was a wildness mixed in with hunger. Light looked at him, and Teru wanted to be devoured.

“I knew the moment I saw you,” Light crawled up Teru’s aching body, his words like lava poured from his mouth. “You would be my strongest one.”

“I want to be strong for you, God,” Teru let out. “I want to serve you, be your sword.”

“Oh,” Light laughed, and it was an abrupt sound. Teru couldn’t say he liked it but the brightness in Light’s cheeks was good.

“You’ll serve me very well,” Light said, brushing Teru’s hair away from his ear so he could speak into it. His voice burned into the delicate shell. “Mikami.”

“Teru,” his voice came out a little weedy, yet Teru met Light’s hot gaze with his own resolve. “Call me Teru.”

[love-neptune]

bnha x aot au + gn!reader

continuation of this post.

in all honesty this idea practically writes itself and idk where else to put it,, kinda gonna be in bakugo’s pov

when bakugo first receives the text from half n’ half he almost ignores it,, almost. but because deku’s part of the group chat he knows he’ll have to answer to avoid a load of spam texts to get him to reply

‘it’s about their case.’

huh? what the hell was that supposed to mean? half n’ half could be talking about just about any other- oh.

‘i’ll be there in 20.’ was deku’s reply and he was quick to send in ‘15’ before taking off.

arriving to todoroki’s office, bakugo stops to watch the half n’ half hero lift two very large paper bags up on his desk. now what could that be?

“manga?” he brows furrowed as todoroki pulls out stacks upon stacks of books that began piling up on his desk. the sound of the office door opening and closing was heard. deku apologizes for arriving ‘late’. yeah like two minutes makes a difference

todoroki grabs another book from inside the second bag and lays it down, it’s marked volume four and there are two copies, “take a look at the characters.”

deku grabs the first copy and examined the book and then begins to skim through. he takes a seat in the nearest chair and lets out a deep sigh. “this can’t be real.” the book is tossed back on the desk and deku leans back on his seat. he takes a deep breath, and bakugo isn’t sure if it’s to calm himself down or a sign of relief.

bakugo takes a long look at the copy in his hand. his grip only tightening when he finally takes a good look at the picture.

there sat eren yeager with what seemed to be friends of his. he could vaguely tell the where the other three stood. jean kirstein stood next to annie leonhart, eren appeared to be resting as he sat in the grass area and there behind him was yn, crouching down behind eren with that pretty smile of theirs.

they still seemed to be much younger than when they first disappeared and by the uniforms they all wore, they were soldiers. exactly what war they were training and fighting for none of them were sure.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” yet another copy of the volume was tossed back onto the desk.

“what sick bastard thinks this is entertaining?” bakugo reaches for the first volume before reading out loud the summary. “.. but the sudden appearance of an immense Titan is about to change everything. what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“well I guess we’ll just have to find out then,” the half n’ half hero sighs as he handed deku a copy of the first volume before grabbing one himself.

seeing eren and his friends deal with the invasion of man eating giants was a tough pill to swallow. and when they finally had grown old enough to battle only to have Eren be swallowed whole by a Titan had each hero feeling nauseous.

by the end, shouto flipped through the pages again, “odd. there should be a page stating that the places and events were thought purely through the imagination of the author.”

there was silence. the same thought running through their minds. could this be the work of a quirk? who could possibly have the heart to ruin so many lives for their own entertainment? clearly there was such a person or else their friends would be with them today.

“shouto.. where did you find these?” deku asks while he reaches for the second volume. the half n’ half hero gives them both the name of the bookstore and the cross streets. they’d need to get more heroes behind this case before they do anything rash like storming the bookstore without evidence.

their group of three soon grew and the case was active again as the ‘characters’ matched perfectly with other individuals that had gone missing around the same time period. it seemed that they were continuously contacting investigators on a global scale to reopen cases that were cold so long ago.

soon weeks turn to months and slowly they were getting more volumes released to the public. at least to the public only 22 volumes were available, but the heroes were certain there were more behind closed doors.

with the help of underground heroes, who volunteered to go undercover, they were able to get bits of information as to where the old bookstore keeper was getting his hands on such a rare and unique manga.

“his son? the fucking author is his son?” the conference room filled with heroes listening in on the report made by the undercover hero went silent. bakugo was fuming to say the least. well, wasn’t this a twist? the bastard was right under their noses the whole time.

“kacchan, will you let them finish their report?” deku side glanced him to which bakugo grunted in return. deku nods to the hero to continue. “he says that just a couple of days ago his son was down to the last panel and should be done any day now. all that’s left for it to be officially complete is to bind the pages to the book cover. no word yet on when that volume will be released.”

bakugo scoffs, “why wait for him to release it? as soon as we find out that he binds that shit all together, we take his ass down and take the rest of the volumes with us! we need to start figuring out how to get them all back instead of playing this waiting game he’s got us in!”

“rushing in won’t do us any good when we aren’t aware of how his quirk works. we need to take precautions so that we have an advantage. who knows, maybe binding the pages to the cover solidifies the storyline.” ingenium uttered as he collected the report from the undercover hero. many hummed in agreement and it didn’t help now that bakugo felt singled out.

“we understand the urgency, but we just can’t risk getting caught.” uravity adds as she assisted ingenium, “i can’t imagine the kind of situation he’d put us in for finding out. we don’t want to end up like..” her brows furrowed as she glanced down at a page filled with panels from the battle with the beast titan. “bakugo, i’m sure you understand our point of view and we understand yours, so please hold on.”

he takes a look at the panels, stomach churning at the thought that it could be them next if they weren’t careful. but the idea that he’d have to sit and wait still doesn’t sit right with him. “alright, a weeks time and then we head in. i don’t wanna hear that it’s too early, that’s all i’m willing to wait for.”

“so it’s agreed, we wait no more than a we-” the conference room door opened with a resounding bang, “deku, sir!” deku’s secretary, azumane, rushed in with his fist clutching a phone to his ear. “i’ve just gotten word from detective tsukauchi, he wants shoto, dynamite and you to head to the Narita Medical center immediately! he’s also advised for the others to commence the search warrant on isayama hajime.”

their reactions were to immediately make their way to the double doors, all but one. “kacchan, there’s no time for hesitation here. let’s go!” hesitation wasn’t a word that bakugo wanted to be associated with, not now or ever. of course, he wanted to be there to capture the man who created this mess and bring him to justice. though the thought that he’d be one of the first to see those students back was far more tempting.

he’s waited long enough to see that pretty smile that l/n used to give him. with a small sigh of relief, finally approaching deku who had waited by the double doors of the conference room. “yeah, yeah, i’m coming, don’t get ya panties in a twist!”

maybe, just maybe, things were finally looking up for him.

[magioftheseas]

Sonia & Yasuke

Summary: Sonia Nevermind’s FTEs in the SDR2 Protagonist Matsuda Yasuke AU. FUCK YES. A slightly divergent take on the originals.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Language. Brief discussions of cults and kidnapping.

Notes: Sonia was neck and neck with Tanaka for the poll and I was going to do hers soon anyway, so I just went ahead. Sometimes, life just shakes out that way. I really do love Sonia so much. The bias is strongest for Sonia, so I really hope I did her justice. Only the best for our kween. (Btw, the formatting for this couldn’t fully carry through so some stylistic choices on Ao3 are absent here.)

Read this fic among others HERE

Main story is HERE

Commission? Donate?

He supposed he had been in an antsier mood than usual. In one hand, he read his manga. In the other, he played with and twirled around a pen. He’s practiced enough that he doesn’t need to look. It’s just something for his other hand to do. Something that would, ideally, work off some jitters.

He had almost been too worked up to read. Unfortunately, he’s still having a hard time trying to get into the book. He can’t tell if it’s because the story is dragging itself or because he’s just not in the right headspace. What a nuisance.

He catches the pen between his knuckles, tapping the end against the table. A surprised gasp. A round of applause. Matsuda glances over his book to meet the beaming face of a certain princess. Even in a hotel this cafeteria this tacky, she shone like a precious jewel.

What a nuisance. Except—

“So impressive, Matsuda-san!” she squealed. “You truly have fury skillz, yo!”

I guess of all the people here, she’s the most tolerable.

“Impressive, huh,” he mused. “I could probably twirl a scalpel, too.”

“Ooh!” Sonia clasped her hands. “Matsuda-san! Will you perform?!”

“No.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to risk cutting my fingers just to show off. I’ll twirl the pen some more.”

“Oh, I understand...” Quieting, Sonia still watched him twirl with intent eyes. It’s like he’s center stage at an opera house. Sonia hums and her fingers even twitch along. “Matsuda-san, such talented fingers... I truly do applaud you.”

Matsuda flipped the pen, catching it before it fell to the ground. Sonia let out another gasp and clapped some more, giggling.

“Bravo, bravo!”

Jeez. She’s so likable that it’s sickening.

It’s almost like he wouldn’t have a choice in the matter should the two of them become friends.

I guess...there are worse relationships to be forced into. Even if I already have a headache.

Still, the mood couldn’t help but be lightened whenever Sonia laughed. Scary.

--

His fingers were a bit aching, and holding a cold drink alleviated some of the stinging. Sonia, ever the prim and proper young lady with her mouth shut, simply sipped tea from across the table. The picture of elegance. Even in a cafeteria this tacky.

But it’s not like any location short of the azure sky and sapphire ocean could do someone like her justice.

“This island truly is sublime,” Sonia hummed. “The weather is always so serene, and the ocean is as blue as it is endless! Truly! It’s a perfect resort, wouldn’t you say, Matsuda-san?”

“I don’t know if I’d go as far as to say perfect,” he replied. “There’s a little too much fucking walking. I’m not big on sweating.”

Even if big hospitals had fancier equipment, I still hated having to rush back and forth.

“To be more contained can have its benefits,” Sonia agreed good-naturedly. “Still, I must say I am quite happy with what we have.”

Matsuda hummed right back.

Happy...

“Situation could be better,” he said. “Would really fucking love if we weren’t being held hostage by a homicidal fucking bear.”

“Indeed,” Sonia agreed solemnly. “Quite regrettable.”

Matsuda waited for her to continue, but she merely took another elegant sip. Still the picture of calm. Sonia’s eyes do flicker open and it’s then that Matsuda takes notice of the color. They’re a clear, soft green. It’s a unique shade. One he thinks he’s only seen in...

“As long as no murders take place, everything will be alright,” Sonia spoke with conviction. “What happens next...will depend on our own inclinations and choices.”

I shouldn’t compare them too much.

“That’s a reductive way of looking at it,” he said. “Even if we have the resolve, I don’t doubt that our hands are going to be forced.”

Sonia slammed her cup onto the table. It cracked just the slightest bit.

“Then, we should cooperate with one another so that we can return home as quickly as we can,” she said sunnily. “Matsuda-san, I trust you to tell me any ideas you may come up with. I shall do what I can.”

“Well...” Matsuda directed his stare towards one of the security cameras. “We’d first have to come up with something to do about those.”

“If we simply shattered them, we would get punished severely,” Sonia recalled, lamenting as she did. “We would have to act... And perhaps...”

She dropped into lower mumbles that Matsuda couldn’t make out. Perhaps out of precaution, in case they were being recorded. Matsuda watches her sink deeper and deeper into thought.

Even she can’t be serene and optimistic all the time. She’s still managing better than anyone else here.

“Do you understand, Matsuda-san?” she asked, tone serious. “Or must I repeat myself?”

“If you did, it’d have to be a little louder, so it’d be better if you could write it down discretely and pass it to me later,” he said, sighing. “It’s a little too risky discussing anything out in the open.”

Sonia clapped with glee.

“A handsome remark! This is why I know I can rely on your intelligence and wit, Matsuda-san.” She gave a few nods of approval. “It might be better for our moral to chat amiably for now.” With a dazzling smile, she then inquired, “Is there anything you’d like to ask of me?”

Matsuda blinked at her.

“Not really.” I am curious about one thing. Given the circumstances, it’s best to hold off on that. “What about you?”

“There is something! That I AM quite curious about!” Sonia exclaimed, suddenly excited. “Who has captured your heart? And who do you plan to settle on?!”

Matsuda stared.

“...?”

His head tilted in confusion, so Sonia went on to explain.

“This situation—it is similar to The Summer Story of Seven Men and Seven Women, wouldn’t you say?! The standard practice, then, is to start wavering and swapping partners!”

“The...J-drama?” he asked, no less confused but Sonia was more incited regardless.

“No just the J-drama, the legendary J-drama! The original trendsetter! Starting with an upbeat tone... Before shifting to surprisingly serious!” she swooned. “I couldn’t believe my eyes, and yet I couldn’t look away! Momoko’s feelings...! Wow, so intense!”

“Uh-huh...” Matsuda’s eyes rolled back. “Well... I’m not sleeping with anyone on this stupid fucking island, so it’s not going to be that similar. That, and there are more guys here than girls to begin with...”

“That is true!” Sonia gasped. “Someone will have to be unlucky! I wonder... Who it will be...?”

Didn’t I just say I wasn’t going to...? Not to mention some of the guys flat-out wouldn’t be interested. Although I don’t think that’ll keep someone from being unlucky, huh...

It looked like he wouldn’t get in another word in edgewise.

This still isn’t going to fix the declining birthrate.

At least Sonia seemed to be having a hella time theorizing. Matsuda just let her...do that.

--

“I managed to find a couple of books on Novoselic,” he said, setting the stack of books on the table before a sparkly-eyed Sonia. “Since we don’t have the internet, this was the best I could scrounge up and even then I don’t know if they’re all that accurate.”

“Oh, Matsuda-san, I would have told you anything you needed to know!” She does take one of the books. “That said, I recognize this author. You can trust them! Oh, but this one...” She takes another, frowning. “If I recall... No. You should not trust this one at all. In fact, I would burn every copy of this book.”

“I could kind of tell from the tone,” Matsuda hummed, setting it apart and pushing it far away. Sonia’s frown was still a deep mar on her face. “So, these books are accurate?”

“As I have said, Matsuda-san, I do not mind telling you about my country,” she said, smiling again. “Or! Is this courting? I’m afraid I will have to sadly decline, much as this feels like something out of a J-drama...”

She says while looking disappointed in herself...

“It’s more that I thought you should know what other people are writing about your country,” he said. He paused. “Ah, I guess that was pretty presumptuous of me.”

“Not at all!” Sonia shook her head. “Awareness and control of the media are essential! Not to mention you have informed me of quite the pressed issue! I will have to take care of it when I return...is what a responsible, attentive ruler would say.” She sighed. “Sadly, I will have to inform others and hope for the best.”

She has said in the past that she’s more of a figurehead than a leader.

“That’s a part of being young,” he remarked. “Don’t let it get you down too much. Just prepare for the future to the best of your ability.”

Sonia does giggle at that.

“Matsuda-san... Sometimes, you remind me of the male lead in a J-drama.”

“No comment.”

She laughs again. “In my humblest opinion, the best J-dramas are the ones aimed at women between the ages of 20 to 34. Just before Japan’s economic bubble burst! You would not believe how many times I have seen I Will Arrest Your Eyes! Why, when I first arrived in Japan, the first thing I did was run across the Spain-zaka!”

As fascinating as that all is, what gets my attention is...

“Hold it. Were you calling me mature or were you suggesting that I speak like an old man?”

“You certainly do have a worldly weariness to you, Matsuda-san,” Sonia went on to sigh. “Broody and broken down by life... While it would be attractive on the screen, it is worrisome and exhausting in person.” She perked right back up. “But have no fear! For a fairly dreamy maniac will someday come into your life! And the two of you can partake in the ritual entrapped within the blizzard!”

“I hate the cold,” is Matsuda’s only reply to whatever the fuck all of that was.

“Then when will you cuddle under a blanket in the nude?!” Sonia gasped, aghast. “Will you do so at a different temperature?! Is the blizzard not necessary after all?!”

“First off, you’re referring to a cliché rather than a ritual,” Matsuda said, waving his hand. “Shouldn’t the fact that it was happening during a damn blizzard tipped you off? Not every couple is going to go to the fucking mountains.”

“So...” Sonia quieted. “It is not like the Makango?”

The Makango? Matsuda remembered. Ah, the Makango.

“We don’t have anything like that as far as I’m aware,” he said. “Mind you, I’m...not aware of much...”

Thinking about this gives me a headache. Actually, it really, really fucking hurts right now.

“I see...” Sonia pursed her lips. “So peculiar. Oh!” She blinked, realizing. “Matsuda-san, you look pale.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing his forehead with a wince. “I think... I’m gonna check out.”

“You should check out what’s wrong with you!” she exclaimed. “Do better for yourself, Matsuda-san!”

“...right.”

On that note, there wasn’t anything else to do but stumble out.

--

It’s another calm day at the library. Sonia, however, snaps up immediately when Matsuda walks inside. It’s scary how alert the princess is, but that was probably a good thing considering her situation. Matsuda sighed, waving and taking in how she lit up and eagerly saluted him.

He also takes notice of the book that Sonia had been reading. The cover—looks quite gruesome.

“How are you feeling?” Sonia asked kindly. “You are not in pain, yes? Matsuda-san?”

“I’m doing fine,” he said, stretching as he makes his way over. “I’ve been dealing with headache after headache since I got here, so I’ve gotten used to them.”

“I see,” Sonia murmured, downcast and sympathetic. “I will trust you to your own mechanics.”

“Devices,” Matsuda corrected without thinking as he seated himself. “Anyway, I’ll be reading. Don’t mind me.”

He does pull out a manga he brought with him—the library was just a better environment for reading than the cafeteria hence him making the trip. He cracks it open, but he doesn’t get very long to enjoy it. He gets maybe five minutes before there’s a nudge at his side.

He ignores it, but Sonia elbows him with enough force that he nearly yelps. With a now throbbing side, his gaze drops to see a folded-up piece of paper tucked between Sonia’s delicate fingers. Her nails are perfectly manicured yet polished to give off the illusion of natural beauty.

Hm.

He takes the paper, unfolding it and—

What do you know about the occult?

Sonia is feigning innocence. She’s scarily good at it. If not for the flicker of her intense stare to his, he wouldn’t have suspected a thing. That...and his side still...stings. Seriously the princess had a bony fucking elbow.

“Princess. What the hell is this?”

“Shush!” she ordered and he dutifully shut his mouth without a second thought. Sonia looked around discretely, lowering her voice as she leaned in to whisper into his ear. “Any information you have on cults would also be appreciated, Matsuda-san.”

No, seriously, what the fuck?

He does try to make sense of it. If Sonia felt the need to convey these questions inconspicuously, then, maybe—?

He takes out a pen and writes down his response. He hands it under the table for Sonia to read.

Do you think our kidnappers are part of a cult?

“Oh!” Sonia gasped. “I never thought of that! What a fascinating theory!”

Guuuuuuess not.

“If it just interests you, you don’t have to be so fucking secretive,” he griped. “Just ask me outright like a normal fucking person.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologized quickly. “I truly didn’t think the way I was conducting myself was...regal. They pass notes like so in the dramas. Is that not normal behavior, Matsuda-san?”

Oh.

“I...no, actually...” Matsuda shrugged helplessly. “I...guess that is in fact a way high schoolers communicate sometimes...”

I haven’t gone to a normal high school...or a normal middle school for that matter.

“It is quite—unheard of if not prohibited for a princess to have such interests,” Sonia sighed. “But even if it is forbidden, my heart still longs for more when it comes to the subject of Freemasonry! Oh, but it’s purely academic!” She looks quite serious as she insists, “I could never dream of conspiring against the government.”

“A lot of people do find that stuff interesting,” Matsuda said. Sonia lit up only to deflate when he added, “I don’t think it’s that deep.”

“No?” Her head tilted. “You think it...kiddy?”

“In a way,” he admitted. “Cultism comes about through societal failings and instability. Political turmoil, lack of education, paranoia, peer pressure... People long for a sense of community by nature and they’re drawn to a charismatic figure who knows how to prey on the insecure and vulnerable. People just want someone else to tell them what to do, what to think, like fucking children and obviously, obviously, they get taken advantage of by the worst fucking types...”

Sonia’s eyes were wide.

“Oh! Matsuda-san, have you been in a cult before?!”

Matsuda immediately jolted. For some reason, he broke into a sweat. For another, his head hurt so much that he wanted to shut down then and there.

“...Matsuda-san?”

He needed to grip his hand and will them to stop shaking.

“...I... No.” He shook his head firmly, digging his nails into his arm, would’ve raked them through the flesh if not for the sleeve of his coat. “It’s, uh, just something I read one time.”

“You are looking quite pale,” Sonia remarked worriedly. “I apologize, Matsuda-san. I—think we should drop the subject for now. I do not wish to cause you untoward pain any longer.”

She draws back from him as if he’s too fragile to be near. It’s seriously annoying, especially when not only does Sonia look stricken with guilt, she also looks lonely.

“I...” He swallowed. “While I don’t think much of it, I do think it’s important to understand. It isn’t productive to just...dismiss it wholesale.”

Sonia does perk up.

“I agree,” she says, albeit tentative as she does. “To dismiss a different sense of values due to ignorance is foolish. Such ignorance leads to bloodshed. And—it is important for a member of the royal to expand one’s knowledge.”

He nods.

“I just...” He wants to bite his tongue clean off. “I guess it’s a sore subject for me...”

But w̴̟̹̠͐̿̋ḧ̶̟́y̷̘͓͛?

“I understand.” Sonia nodded back. “I apologize.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “Just...do what you can to guide your people right.”

With that, he gets up.

“Sorry,” he said, acting on autopilot now. “I need to go.”

He doesn’t look back.

--

“Oh, Matsuda-san!”

As usual, Sonia looked delighted to see him.

“What a pleasant surprise!” she exclaimed, every word dripping with sincerity. “Come, come! Sit with me! There is much I wish to discuss with you!”

“Yeah?” The closer he comes, the more she can see her stack of books. Quite a few of them have been shoved away, but the other titles—there actually seemed to be a couple of romance novels and recognizable manga. “What about...?”

Those are titles that have been adapted into TV dramas.

“The friendship between men and women as depicted in Turn On The Heart,” she explained. “If you do not know that title, then will a different J-drama suffice? Perhaps one of these?”

She offers one of the manga. Her intentions are clear, and he truly appreciates the gesture—but he’s read that title. It was one of the worst fucking things he ever skipped through. The love interest in it was just scary. And he was a spoiled rich brat. Urgh.

But the princess really isn’t that bad. She’s really trying to get along with me. Not a lot of people have done that unless they wanted in my pants or something.

He’s not so fucking full of himself that he’d assumed a goddamn princess would be interested. That, and he’s conscientious of that shit to begin with. Sonia was just friendly, not flirty.

“I do mostly read manga,” he said. “I guess I could recommend a title or two that’s been adapted?”

I haven’t watched a lot of dramas actually. I’ve had them going on in the background, but that’s...

His sharp eyes do notice the titles that Sonia had pushed away. They were various studies on cults throughout history. And an anthology on ghost stories.

“Matsuda-san.” When Sonia spoke, her tone was low. She stood up and bowed, making him jump. “I wish to sincerely apologize from the bottom of my heart! If I could, I’d throw myself at your feet! Alas, it’s improper for a princess...! I’m so fucking sorry!”

“Wow.” He didn’t even know how to respond. “If this is about what happened last time, it’s fine. It’s water under the bridge. I...”

I actually—don’t remember what happened. I ended up taking a lot more pills than I should’ve.

“Still!” Sonia exclaimed, shaking her head. “I asked you a very inappropriate question! It was quite uncouth! Thus—I wish to make out with you for it!”

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, meaning it figuratively and literally. “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?!” Sonia’s frown deepened. “I... Despite my status, here I would like to be equals, Matsuda-san. Is that not possible?”

Equals, huh.

“When I came to Japan, I thought I could be considered a normal girl,” she said, and it sounded like a confession. “Perhaps...that had been...immature of me.”

It is immature, Matsuda agreed with as he bit his tongue. It’s beyond fucking immature. Even if you learn the language and go along with trends, you live in a fucking castle, Sonia. That’s not normal at all. Normal people are one bad fucking month away from losing everything they care about. It’ll take more than a damn month for a monarchy to topple. Especially one that’s absolute.

“If you insist so much, can I ask you a question?” He studied the way she perked up. How annoyingly eager she was to hear it. And how he—“It’s not going to be a pleasant one.”

“As long as it is about my personal inclinations or government secrets, I am willing to speak about it,” she told him, smiling sweetly.

She really was so painfully sweet sometimes.

Ä̷̮̖͇́̅̅͝ ̷̬̎̽c̴̨̛̥̳̙̔̈̊ͅo̵͕̤͠ṃ̵̻̒ͅp̸̭͕̽͝l̸͍͈͎̀è̶̛̝̫̒͗͝t̸̗͒̂̐e̴̛̳͔̾͐ ̵̧̼̐ô̸̞͇̖͋̽̀́ͅp̵͉̘͗̅̍͝p̴̖̙͑̊̒̆o̸̧͙̹̘̠͂s̴͈̀̕ị̶͇̅͛͝t̶͉͊e̴̲͈̩̫͠ ̴͔̺͔̙͗́̓̓̋f̶̺͂̚͘r̴̛̘̾͝o̶͍̭̯̖͐̐̓͛m̶̳͑̋—̷̱̘̩͙͓̇͒̏̋̉

“This isn’t your first time being kidnapped.”

It hadn’t been a question, despite himself. But a statement. A statement that drained all that sweetness from Sonia’s face, leaving behind calm stoicism. She looks so at ease and unshakeable that Matsuda could draw several conclusions if he wanted to.

But it seems tacky to make assumptions about what were traumatic experiences, regardless of those involved.

“I’ve read up on your country and there were reports of the royal family being abducted by insurgents,” he said, keeping his voice level. “It hadn’t mentioned those affected by name...but you were among them, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” Sonia spoke as if she were untouchable. “I was.”

“No wonder you’re so damn calm about all this,” Matsuda went to remark. “It’s not your first time. And...quite fucking frankly, this is literally the Bahamas of hostage situations.”

“Haha, I do not think we are in the Bahamas, Matsuda-san,” she replied, casual—but still with that flaring distance. “I believe we are in the middle of the Pacific, rather.”

...hah.

“That’s not important,” he snapped. “What was important was... Clearing the air, so to speak.”

“I see.” Sonia agreed with him like he’d kill her if she didn’t. “Then, have I been to your satisfaction, Matsuda-san?”

Matsuda stared at her. He reached out, and she didn’t even flinch. Not even when he snapped his fingers in front of her. Impressive, honestly.

She’s completely shut down.

“Do you want to talk about dramas? I kind of enjoyed Hana-Kimi.”

Sonia blinked, and it was like nothing happened at all. Especially with how she went back to smiling as she always did, dazzlingly open and amicable.

“I haven’t heard of it! Please tell me all about it!”

“If I remember correctly there were like, four adaptations, the first Taiwanese and the most recent a K-drama, actually, so...”

The two of them chat lightly like this for a while. Like a normal pair of high schoolers.

--

“Greetings, Matsuda-san! I have read the illustrious Hana-Kimi! And! I enjoyed it!”

“Good to hear...”

“There is much I wish to discuss about it!” Sonia exclaimed, but there was something strange. Her smile was so wide it looked strained. She was wearing more makeup than usual, especially on her cheeks and around the eyes. “I would also like to hear more recommendations, so...”

“Rough night?” Matsuda asked, and Sonia shut her mouth.

For a second, Sonia looked lost before she gave a weak laugh.

“Ahaha, I should’ve known that Matsuda-san would not be fooled. You’re quite sharp, after all. It’s one of the reasons I admire you.”

“Did you want me to pretend nothing was wrong?” Matsuda huffed. “I’d rather you not have to force yourself around me. With how shitty my attitude is, I’d be a hypocrite if I expected everyone on their best behavior....especially in this situation.”

“Truth be told, I do not mind it,” Sonia murmured. “In a way... I find it refreshing. Around Matsuda-san, I can just scream at the top of my lungs—Jesus Fucking Christ Bastard Of A Fuckity Fuck Bitch! And you wouldn’t bat a tongue-lash!” She took a deep breath. “That said...if we are to discuss further. I’d prefer we do so in my cottage.”

“Fine by me,” was Matsuda’s immediate response. That was all there was to it.

Without another word, he followed Sonia to her cottage. She led him inside, and the interior was so fancy that he felt like he’d be stoned if he didn’t remove his shoes right away.

Polished floors, elegant rugs, ivory silk sheets, and plush furniture—even a damn chandelier hanging about them... It at least looked like the inside of a high-end hotel suite. Even the way plants were arranged from the ones hanging from the wall to the potted plant in the corner and the vase on the table by a wide-screen television felt so prestigious and artful.

“Would you like a seat?” Sonia asked, indicating a loveseat that definitely costed more than he could get selling his ass on the street for a week. He sits down on it anyway. It’s annoying supple, and he can’t help but relax. Sonia is giggling at him, “I apologize for any messes. I am still getting a handle on cleaning as it were. And the shower.”

The rug had been a little damp under his feet. She must’ve accidentally flooded the floor. He should probably help her wash it so that it didn’t contract mold, but... There were more pressing matters.

Sonia clearly wanted to speak to him, but she was just standing there. Fidgeting and wavering.

“Nightmare?” he guessed. “Homesickness?”

“Both,” Sonia replied, chuckling a little. “As well as—that conversation we had earlier...weighing on my mind...”

Matsuda clicked his tongue but said nothing. Gave Sonia the time to take a deep breath.

“Back then, I was not permitted to show fear for my people’s sakes,” she recounted. “I was, after all, a princess before a person. But here... I do not know what I should do. Must I wait in silence for rescue? Shall I allow myself to scream and cry?” She was fidgeting. No, she was trying to distract herself from how badly her hands were shaking. “Say, Matsuda-san... You are...quite intelligent. And you never—you do not sweet talk. Tell me...what I should do.”

Matsuda stared at her. She kept her head bowed.

“Fuck if I know.” Matsuda sighed loudly. “Like holy shit, why you think I’ll know what to do? That’s illogical as fuck. You’re just being a coward by forcing someone else to make the decisions, princess.”

“I am aware,” she whispered.

“I’m not Togami,” he said. “I’m not going to seize control and tell everyone that it’s going to be fine. I’m...”

...not going to lie about that shit.

“I thought not.” Sonia laughs again. It’s almost an ugly sound. Scratchy and unbalanced, completely unbefitting and yet—perfect in this situation. “Matsuda-san, you may have the signals of a legendary hero... But, in reality, your scowling face is too remarkable.”

...

...

...

...

...

...

What the fuck did that even mean?

“The legendary hero of legend,” Sonia reiterated with the utmost seriousness. “The only fault with that—is your face, Matsuda-san! It’s not just remarkable, it’s beautiful!”

What the FUCK is she talking about?

“I would still like to take you with me to my kingdom, once we escape from here,” Sonia went on. “Even if you are not a destined one, you would make for a wonderful advisor and companion. I wish to continue our conversations—and even if it is cowardly, I also wish to look towards you in times of need.”

What the fuck is going on?!

“I...” He’s confused. He’s so hopelessly confused. And yet... And yet... “I heard the medical practice in your country is nothing to sneeze at...so I can’t deny being interested.”

“Splendid! Then—let us continue working together, Matsuda-san!” Sonia clapped her hands. Another dazzling smile, an even more radiant laugh. Just like that, she was back at peak princess. “Ho, ho, hey!”

“Hey, hey, ho...”

Despite that, there’s a lot unsaid. We haven’t really talked, either. We’re just pushing on with forced optimism, filling our heads with empty reassurances and promises in the hope that it’ll be enough to carry us through.

It could very well be. In a situation like this, keeping ahold of one’s morale was pretty fucking prudent. Even if he and Sonia knew shit all about how to lead, they had no choice but to keep stumbling and scrambling. Hoping for the best.

Sometimes... That’s all we really need.

[visionsofus]

Hey what's up? I was wondering if you still take requests for the wanda and vision mixtape. It's one of my favorites. If you have time I would love for you to consider the song Rewrite the Stars from the Greatest Showman. I love this song and I think it really fits them. Thank you so much for your work and what you contribute to this Fandom!

hi! I do still take song requests for Wanda and Vision's mixtape (despite the stack of them waiting in my inbox - I'm so sorry to those I haven't gotten around to yet, creative flow comes and goes) This song is such a great fit for them so thank you for requesting, it was lots of fun to write! thank you for your support 🥰

Track #26: Rewrite the Stars - Zac Efron and Zendaya

| read on AO3 here | mixtape playlist | send me an ask with your song/prompt request |

Synopsis: Things are changing between Wanda and Vision. Naturally a big charity even is the best place to confront their confusing emotions, no? featuring some serious yearning and a dance scene, because I love confessions mid-waltz.

Vision frowned at himself in the mirror.

There was nothing wrong, in fact the suit he had on had been perfectly tailored. Vision had been excited at the premise of having a piece of clothing that was made specially for him, and real at that. Tony had presented the options and given how significant the event was, Vision thought it might be worthwhile to have a proper suit that wasn’t just one of his constructs. He enjoyed being able to create whatever he wanted to wear, but he wanted tonight to be normal, as normal as he could be.

Now that he had it on it was underwhelming. Not to say he didn't appreciate the gift. It was a piece of art. A three piece of different shades of something similar to charcoal. The jacket glittered; its fabric featured iridescent silver threads that shifted when he moved under the light. The trousers matched the double-breasted vest, though they were a lighter shade of grey.

No, no it wasn’t the suit that was the problem.

It was the prospect of the event itself, the idea that all eyes would be on the Avengers, expecting a certain level of behaviour. Vision much preferred the days he spent with his friends at the compound, secure in the fact that they knew the real him. And more than anyone else, Wanda knew the real him, knew the face that he showed to the public and the press wasn’t.

Plus, Vision would be expected to dance – he had never had reason to dance or move in such a way before and he was dreading it. But then there was also the prospect that he might dance with Wanda and that raised his spirits marginally. Though, whether or not she would wand to dance with him was another question.

Things had been changing between them and Vision felt as though Wanda was even more hesitant to confront those changes than he was. All it had taken was one fateful night together. He hadn’t stayed by her side since Wanda’s first month at the compound, when her rest was so riddled with nightmares that she couldn’t bear to be alone. In the year since it had become a growing rarity for Vision to stick out the night by her side.

But then a week earlier Vision had been preparing to sleep, even if it just meant lying in his bed and doing nothing for eight hours. His body had been in need of a little downtime after several missions in quick succession. He’d been settling in to rest when there had come a knock at his door, of course he said come in, less phased than his teammates by the prospect of unannounced guests.

It was Wanda, who else would be knocking at his door so late at night. She’d walked in hesitantly but there had been a hard set to her jaw. Vision hadn’t asked for her reasons, had just shuffled over in the double bed to make space. So, it was not common, this behaviour, but what had come next was worse. Vision winced recalling the memory with the vividness enabled by his high functioning mind. But he entertained his brain and let the memory play out, hopeless to prevent it. If anything, he wanted to relive it.

Vision woke slowly, relishing in the well-rested feeling that spread throughout his body as his awareness increased. For the first time it felt as though he had really slept.

As he became aware of his body he frowned and opened his eyes. In the memory he blinked a few times, as though trying to clear a dream from his eyes. There was Wanda, her face relaxed in slumber, one side of her mouth turned up at the corner as though she were in the middle of a good dream.

One of her hands was wrapped up in the cotton of his t-shirt, gripping it tightly like she was afraid he might float away. At that moment Vision had felt so light it was at risk of actually happening.

He stayed totally still as he gradually became conscious of where their bodies were in relation to each other. Their legs were tangled, one of Wanda’s knees hooked around his, the bare skin warm against his. One of his hands was tucked under his cheek and the other had apparently possessed a mind of its own and gravitated down to rest on Wanda’s hip.

Slowly he removed his hand, wincing as Wanda registered the movement and opened her eyes. The blue of her eyes was bright in the dimness of the room, but her pupils still turned to pin pricks as they adapted to the light difference. And then she caught sight of him, centimetres from her own face. Vision watched long enough to see her pupils dilate.

Vision shook his head and returned to reality, pressing both hands to his cheeks and feeling them as warm as they had been on that fateful morning. Wanda had mumbled something about training and practically fled his bed, her ears an alarming shade of red. And Vision had been left to sit there for a further half hour trying to absorb exactly what had happened.

Wanda was running late. She hadn’t meant to take so long to get ready, but it was just so difficult to figure out what she wanted to do with her hair. Ten minutes before they were due to leave for the function, she decided on leaving it down, curled loosely so it settled about her shoulders.

Heels in one hand and holding the edge of her dress in the other she hurried down the stairs for the front door. There were three cars waiting outside, not the usual SUVs they traveled in but sleek BMWs.

A couple of smart cars held nothing to her dress. It had been a gift from Nat a few months earlier, but Wanda hadn’t had the opportunity to attend anything fancy enough that merited putting on the gown. Earlier she’d struggle to make it to the bodice through the pleats of rich red fabric that made up the skirt. Now that it was on it was a perfect fit, flowing off her hips in waves of fabric that shifted with every move. It was the most elegant thing she had ever worn, Wanda only hoped she would do it justice as the evening went on.

The doors on the front two cars were shut so she hurriedly made her way round to the backseat of the third.

Steve sat in the passenger seat with Natasha and Vision taking two of the spots in the back. As Wanda went to step in Natasha caught her gaze and smiled mischievously.

“Hang on, Vision do you mind swapping with me? It’s hard to sit in the middle with my heels and the console.”

Wanda’s stomach dropped as she settled into her seat and Vision and Nat got out of the car to trade spots. And here she had been worried about holding them up. Frustrated, Wanda huffed her hair out of her face, pushing the waves off her shoulder as Vision settled himself into the middle. The backseat was spacious enough, there was no way Nat had been that uncomfortable. No, it had been for Wanda’s benefit. She had confided in Nat on some of the changes occurring between her and the synthezoid now at her side but never had Wanda thought Nat would pull something so obvious and foolish.

It sent her cheeks turning a shade of red not so different from her dress.

The drive felt painfully long. Steve had kept it going with some small talk but that had died out into a stagnant silence. She was being dramatic; the others were probably fine with the silence but for Wanda it felt suffocating. Any other time and she and Vision would have been talking. They could talk for hours about anything, and he always knew what to say to put her at ease. Even their silent moments together felt comfortable. It was never like this.

In the end, she spent most of the drive focusing on moving with the car when it turned so she didn’t accidentally brush Vision. How had they gone from the casual intimacy of friends to this strange tension? It annoyed her, though she felt powerless to change things. Wanda didn’t know a whole lot about chemistry, but she knew whatever she and Vision had would blow up in their faces if they weren’t careful.

Finally, the glowing street lamps turned into the staticky light of cameras. For the first time, Wanda felt relieved by the assault of flashes on her eyes.

They approached a line of similar vehicles, all likely full of celebrities who had managed to scrape together enough of a network to score an invite to the Stark Industries charity event. Hurriedly, Wanda bent over and set about lacing her shoes up. The thick platform heels were chunkier than what would go with her dress but they made up for it in their steadiness. There had been talk of dancing and Wanda figured she was best off in comfortable and stable shoes than trying to balance on stilettos.

Busy fiddling with her shoes, Wanda didn’t feel the car turn until she was sent sliding across the leather seat. Vision’s reflexes were fast as always, his hands quickly steadying her, one at her back the other coming to rest at her hip. They both froze and Wanda looked up, hating how easy it was to lean into his touch. Vision’s eyes glittered in the dim light of the car, their brightness shifting as he took in her face. Suddenly she was taken back to that fateful morning the week before. She’d known it was a bad idea before she’d even made it to his room. Had known she should have run before he woke up instead of pretending to keep sleeping in the warmth of his presence, relishing in the familiarity of his hands on her body. What she would give to wake up to that every morning. But no – no this wasn’t happening, it couldn’t, it wasn’t in her cards.

“Alright, here we go,” Steve said unaware of what was unfolding in the backseat. He swung open the passenger door and they were immediately met with the clicking of cameras and shouting of the crowd.

Wanda moved away and Vision’s hands disappeared from her body so quickly she felt sure he had used his superhuman speed. She quickly finished tightening the strap of her shoe and threw her door open, taking Steve’s arm as he came to help her up.

Vision was left to scramble out of the car on his own as Nat hurried after Wanda who had practically stormed away from the car. He hung his head sadly, trying to pull himself together in time for the cameras.

At the front of the glamorous hall that was the location for the evening, Vision managed to skip the questions from the reporters outside. He didn’t often get questions, with the Tony and Steve taking the blow for the rest of them. Wanda had disappeared in a flash of red, heading up the stairs and into the hall before he could catch her. Tony caught Vision’s elbow and pulled him over for a photo. They smiled genially at the cameras which were entirely unaware of the underhanded question Tony asked.

“Everything alright, bud?” Tony whispered through his smile. “Wanda looked a little frazzled.”

“Everything’s fine, we’re fine,” Vision lied, doing his best to smile in the direction of the cameras. He was yet to master Tony’s people pleasing smile.

A break in the flashing allowed them to speak a little more candidly. “Anything you need to tell me about?”

“Nope,” Vision said confidently, backtracking towards the stairs. “Everything’s peachy!”

The inside of the hall was larger and more confusing that Vision was prepared for. The dancing was in full swing. It surprised him, he didn’t know that humans still danced this way, it didn’t match up with what he had seen on television or the internet. It made him grateful for the simulations he’d been running in the back of his mind all afternoon in the hopes that he wouldn’t be caught unawares. He must have included a waltz or two in there somewhere.

The building itself was grand, its ceiling arcing high above not unlike the interior of a church. Enormous windows lined the walls, curtains shifting as couples span around the dance floor. The architecture felt old, the whole building felt old to him. The chandeliers that hung from the ceiling felt out of place, overly modern compared with their surroundings. He was momentarily distracted by curiosity, reaching into the power source of the building the electricity surging through its walls to power the bright lights. Interesting, he thought. It was all authentic wiring but he couldn’t understand how such old powerlines could power the sheer amount of light sockets the room held. He reached further and felt the familiar warmth of an arc reactor, hiding in the basement of the building. It made sense, this was a heritage building that Tony had received patronage of from his parents. This tangent came to a quick end as Vision made his way around the edge of the crowded middle of the hall. He ignored the looks he was getting, the general curiosity of the humans for once felt unimportant.

Vision bit his lip as his eyes search for Wanda. What he would say when he found her, he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure if she wanted an apology or if he even wished to give one. Vision couldn’t feel sorry for the emotions that thrummed through his heart when he saw her. He didn’t feel sorry for wanting to be more than a friend to Wanda. And it was difficult to see such feelings as one sided, not when the tension between them had become so tangible in recent days.

He caught sight of Wanda near the centre of the dancing pairs, Sam Wilson was twirling her around and around. It was a wonder she didn’t get dizzy. Even from here, and over the sound of the string quartet, Vision could hear her peal of laughter as they goofed around. Vision was about to start making his way through the crowd when Natasha grabbed his elbow. It was the second time he had been forcibly stopped from going to Wanda’s side and he was beginning to get frustrated.

“Are you about to cause a scene?” Natasha asked, her grip tight on his arm.

Vision didn’t reply.

“Because I am all for making scenes,” Nat smirked, “but maybe not at a charity event?”

Vision looked sideways at Natasha, wondering precisely how much he should tell her. He trusted her, but also knew she was usually Wanda’s confidant.

“I just want to talk to her,” Vision said quietly. Natasha smiled fondly at him, her eyes shining with understanding.

“I’ll get you close enough.”

Vision was about to ask how she planned to do this when she grabbed both his hands and pulled him out into the swirling mass of couples. Vision thanked his lucky stars that he had taken the time to pick up some basics before tonight.

Natasha led, using her hands to weave around dancing couples. Vision smiled. He was nervous but Natasha’s ease as they danced made him feel more relaxed. Her grace on the battlefield had never been in doubt, but he had never seen her properly dance before. This Natasha was something else.

She smiled brightly as they spun around and around, getting closer and closer to Wanda and Sam who were still dancing on the other side of the room.

As they neared Natasha had Vision spin her around once before extending her out towards Sam and Wanda.

Nat tapped Wanda’s shoulder and held her hand out to Sam. “Mind if I steal your partner for a bit?”

Wanda grinned and scrunched her nose, “be my guest, I’m sure he’d appreciate someone who actually knows how to dance.”

“Yeah, but not someone’s who’s better than me!” Sam said indignantly but smiled at Nat and took her hand. Nat sent a meaningful look at Vision over Wanda’s shoulder.

Wanda turned around to leave the dance floor only to come face to face with Vision’s outstretched hand, and the barely restrained nerves on his face. To Vision’s surprise she didn’t hesitate in taking his invitation. Slowly they eased themselves back into the crowd for a waltz. Her hand slid onto his shoulder, as Vision rested his hand on her waist. This time Wanda didn’t pull away.

“You look beautiful, Wanda.” It was something of an understatement, but Vision didn’t quite know how to put into words exactly the reaction Wanda was giving him.

“Thank you, Vision,” she smiled her eyes looking everywhere except his face. “You look nice too.”

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” Vision began hesitantly.

“Yes,” Wanda sighed, not unhappily, “we do need to talk.”

They were quiet a few more moments, swaying with the violins echoing to the ceiling high above them. Wanda’s dress swirled about her legs, and Vision had to take care to note step on her hem. He’d never forgive himself if he stepped on her toes. The music shifted and the dancers began to change directions. Wanda and Vision did their best to follow suit. Vision pulled her closer to avoid the clumsiness of another couple.

Wanda shivered under his touch, her hand had shifted to brace herself against his colour bone, her thumb brushing his neck. He gazed down at her, wondering if she could feel how quickly his pulse was thrumming.

They must have looked strange, standing still that and so Wanda broke the spell by taking a step back. Vision pulled his arm back around, finding her waist again and began to dance slowly.

Wanda was looking at him fully now, and it took all of Vision’s periphery senses to make sure they didn’t get too lost in each other’s eyes and start crashing into other couples.

“You know I want you,” Vision said, hating how the words caught in his throat, a last attempt to stop himself from crossing their self-imposed line.

“No,” Wanda murmured, her eyes darting around apprehensively. “There are too many people.”

“Are you ashamed?” Vision pushed. He needed answers and if he had to be let down, he’d rather it be now.

Wanda frowned, her brows pulling together. She shook her head, looking down from him to gather her thoughts.

Vision started a little as she spoke within his head, she glanced up at him, her eyes glowing a dark red that matched her dress. ‘Of course, I am not ashamed of you, I would never, ever want you to think that.’

“Then—” Vision said out loud, but Wanda continued.

‘But there are doors we can’t go through.’

Vision did his best to think clearly so that she would hear his thoughts. His words were becoming too personal to speak aloud. ‘You say that, but the only thing that matters here is us, what we think and what we want.’

When Wanda didn’t reply for a moment, he repeated himself. ‘I want you.’

His meaning couldn’t be lost with her in his head. He knew she saw it, saw his feelings.

‘I know,’ her voice whispered somewhere between his ears. ‘It’s hard for me too—’

Vision waited for her to continue, barely conscious that they were still spinning across the marbled floor of the grand hall.

‘But I’m afraid – how can you be sure this will work. How do you know we won’t break each other?’

Her words said one thing, but his mind heard another. Wanda wasn’t worrying about herself, no, she was consumed by the fear that she would hurt him, break his newly fragile heart.

‘You underestimate my strength,’ Vision replied, smiling. ‘You couldn’t break my heart; it is what it is because of you. Will you not let us even try?’

When Wanda didn’t reply Vision spoke aloud. “No one gets to decide who we are without our permission.”

“This is bigger than us,” Wanda whispered, leaning closer to him.

“It shouldn’t be.”

“I know.”

Vision dipped his head down, to reach Wanda’s cheek and press a tender kiss to it. “I want to decide my own destiny, with you. I would rewrite the stars if it meant a lifetime by your side.”

Wanda didn’t say anything, and he wasn’t able to see her expression before she sent herself off twirling away. When she reached the end of his grip, he pulled her back in. For a second Vision thought his bold words would all be in vain, that his confession wouldn’t trump Wanda’s fears. But then she was right before him, nose to nose, sharing the same air. He gazed into her eyes, slowing their dancing until they had come to a stop in the centre of the dance floor.

“Okay,” Wanda said, her eyes bright and a smile on her face. “Let’s rewrite the stars then.”

Vision was starstruck, both hands on her waist and totally lost in what she had just said. He was equally as shocked when Wanda slid her hands up over his shoulders and pulled him down to her mouth.

Vision stopped breathing, lost in the sensation of her lips moving against his own. It felt right, as right as anything could feel.

Vision felt Wanda jump before there was a harsh ringing above them and a fizzling pop. When he opened his eyes, sparks were flying down from above and the room sank into darkness. There was a commotion of cries of shock from the patrons. Vision pulled back to look around, trying to figure out what had gone wrong and then he felt it, the absence of a connection he had forgotten he had even forged. Vision laughed, feeling giddy. Slightly embarrassed that all it had taken was Wanda's kiss for him to overload a building's power source and blow every fixture.

“I, um,” Vision bit his lip, “I might have had something to do with that.”

Wanda laughed and it was music to his ears. He kissed her again, smiling into her embrace. Wanda was wrong about this not being in their cards. They were chaos and order, destined to collide.

[velkynkarma]

@scribeofred tagged me for this and I figured, why not?

1. What fandoms have you written for?

A fair few. Let’s see...Fire Emblem (various games), Bleach, Samurai Champloo, One Piece, Digimon, Avatar the Last Airbender, Legend of Korra, Young Justice, Supernatural, Voltron: Legendary Defender, and Castlevania

2. How many works do you have on AO3 &/or FFNet?

There are 35 stories on FF.net and 54 works on AO3. Seven of those are posted on both accounts.

3. What are your top 3 fics by kudos on A03 &/or Favs on FFNet?

AO3 has the most (the highest fave count on FF.net is only 904). All 3 are Voltron fics:

Routine Maintenance, by a landslide 1678

Pillar in the Dark, at 1037

Parasite Knight, at 962

4. Which 3 fics have the least kudos & Favs?

Some of my very old Fire Emblem fics are the ones that have the least, but those are all on FF.net. For AO3, the lowest 3 are all Voltron fics, tied at 71:

Genesis, understandable since it’s a niche fusion AU

Coin Toss, again understandable since it’s the most recent fic in a very long AU/Canon Divergent series

Team Tactics, sadly understandable since it’s a niche fic about Allura and Zarkon

5. Which Fic has the most comments and which has the least?

On AO3, the clear winner is Premium Pandemonium (Voltron), with a whopping 550 comments (and I love everyone of you that left one!) The fic with the least comments is A Test of Faith (Supernatural) with a whole 5.

On FF.net we actually have one that beats out even AO3 for max comments: Asteria Nightmare (One Piece), with 613. 

6. Which complete fic do you wish had gotten more attention?

Either A Thousand Burning Eyes or Glass Half Full. Both are Voltron fics I put a lot of work into (especially Thousand Burning Eyes) but only had a handful of dedicated readers. It’s understandable though, since they were both about relatively unpopular or niche characters. 

I’ll admit I was also a bit disappointed with the response to Forced Respite (Castlevania) especially since several people requested I post it and expressed interest in it, and then didn’t actually leave any kind of feedback. But the fandom in general also seemed very unresponsive, so I’m not really surprised. 

7. Have you written any crossovers?

It’s practically one of my calling cards at this point. Especially Fusion AU’s. I’ve also done a couple fic crossovers between two different canon divergent AU series with @bosstoaster

8. What is the craziest fic you’ve written?

Crazy in what sense? If most ambitious/time consuming, undoubtedly Premium Pandemonium. 

9. What’s the fic you’ve written with the saddest ending?

Hmm...I generally do bittersweet angles more than pure sad. But the ones that seemed to hit people the hardest emotionally would be either Paying Respects (Voltron) or One Day Late (One Piece).

10. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

“Happiest endings” isn’t really my forte, but I guess if I had to pick one, Personal Growth (Voltron). It’s just generally a nice, relaxed vibe about a character enjoying his new hobby.

11. What is your smuttiest fic?

Yeah I don’t write smut. Not my thing.

12. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I did years ago on one of my One Piece fics. At the time it upset me, but now I look back on it and laugh at how petty the commenter was.

13. What is the nicest comment you’ve received?

I can’t pick just one! I’ve had so many lovely comments!

14. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I’ve had fics pulled onto those other fansites, yeah. It happens.

15. How many fics do you have marked as incomplete?

Only one! From years and years ago in my early Fire Emblem days. I also specifically stated the fic might not ever be finished, too. 

As a general rule, I don’t post fanfics at all until they’re fully completed. Then people can safely invest their time in my stories and I don’t leave them hanging. 

16. Which of the WIPS will most likely be finished first?

Well the one fic above never will be. I have a WIP currently in progress for a new/old fandom, but it’s going quite well and should be completed soon. It’s also not actually public yet (and likely will not be for a while).

17. Which WIP are you looking forward to finishing?

The aforementioned new/old fandom one in #16.

18. Is there a WIP that you’re considering abandoning?

I’ve got quite a few fic skeletons that probably will never be completed in all kinds of fandoms. None of them have ever been posted, though, so nothing public has ever been left unfinished.

19. Which complete fic would you consider rewriting?

I don’t know if I would completely re-write any, but there are a number from my One Piece and Young Justice fandoms that I wouldn’t mind giving a little polish to. I plan to do that one day when I eventually get off my lazy butt and transfer them to AO3 from FF.net. 

20. Which complete fic is your favourite?

This is always changing, honestly. I’m really proud of a lot of my work. Currently Premium Pandemonium is the one I’m most proud of, because it was such an investment of time an energy and planning. I’m still extremely fond of Prince of Memory though, because it practically wrote itself and it still feels powerful even years later.

21. What’s your total published word count?

On AO3: 1,442,436

On FF.net:  1,118,411

Bear in mind, there is some crossover between about 7 fics for those counts. I also have a couple assorted fics posted to tumblr only for prompt challenges that I think I still haven’t cross-posted to AO3. I should do that at some point...

Thanks for the tag @scribeofred and anyone else can feel free to play :)

[hlupdate]

Variety’s Grammy-nominated Hitmaker of the Year goes deep on the music industry, the great pause and finding his own muses.

“We’ll dance again,” Harry Styles coos, the Los Angeles sunshine peeking through his pandemic-shaggy hair just so. The singer, songwriter and actor — beloved and critically acclaimed thanks to his life-affirming year-old album, “Fine Line” — is lamenting that his Variety Hitmaker of the Year cover conversation has to be conducted over Zoom rather than in person. Even via videoconference, the Brit is effortlessly charming, as anyone who’s come within earshot of him would attest, but it quickly becomes clear that beneath that genial smile is a well-honed media strategy.

To wit: In an interview that appears a few days later announcing his investment in a new arena in his native Manchester (more on that in a bit), he repeats the refrain — “There will be a time we dance again”— referencing a much-needed return to live music and the promise of some 4,000 jobs for residents.

None of which is to suggest that Styles, 26, phones it in for interviews. Quite the opposite: He does very few, conceivably to give more of himself and not cheapen what is out there and also to use the publicity opportunity to indulge his other interests, like fashion. (Last month Styles became the first male to grace the cover of Vogue solo.) Still, it stings a little that a waltz with the former One Direction member may not come to pass on this album cycle — curse you, coronavirus.

Styles’ isolation has coincided with his maturation as an artist, a thespian and a person. With “Fine Line,” he’s proved himself a skilled lyricist with a tremendous ear for harmony and melody. In preparing for his role in Olivia Wilde’s period thriller “Don’t Worry Darling,” which is shooting outside Palm Springs, he found an outlet for expression in interpreting words on a page. And for the first time, he’s using his megaphone to speak out about social justice — inspired by the outpouring of support for Black people around the world following the death of George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis police in May.

Styles has spent much of the past nine months at home in London, where life has slowed considerably. The time has allowed him to ponder such heady issues as his purpose on the earth. “It’s been a pause that I don’t know if I would have otherwise taken,” says Styles. “I think it’s been pretty good for me to have a kind of stop, to look and think about what it actually means to be an artist, what it means to do what we do and why we do it. I lean into moments like this — moments of uncertainty.”

In truth, while Styles has largely been keeping a low profile — his Love On Tour, due to kick off on April 15, was postponed in late March and is now scheduled to launch in February 2021 (whether it actually will remains to be seen) — his music has not. This is especially true in the U.S., where he’s notched two hit singles, “Adore You,” the second-most-played song at radio in 2020, and “Watermelon Sugar” (No. 22 on Variety’s year-end Hitmakers chart), with a third, “Golden,” already cresting the top 20 on the pop format. The massive cross-platform success of these songs means Styles has finally and decisively broken into the American market, maneuvering its web of gatekeepers to accumulate 6.2 million consumption units and rising.

Why do these particular songs resonate in 2020? Styles doesn’t have the faintest idea. While he acknowledges a “nursery rhyme” feel to “Watermelon Sugar” with its earwormy loop of a chorus, that’s about as much insight as he can offer. His longtime collaborator and friend Tom Hull, also known as the producer Kid Harpoon, offers this take: “There’s a lot of amazing things about that song, but what really stands out is the lyric. It’s not trying to hide or be clever. The simplicity of watermelon … there’s such a joy in it, [which] is a massive part of that song’s success.” Also, his kids love it. “I’ve never had a song connect with children in this way,” says Hull, whose credits include tunes by Shawn Mendes, Florence and the Machine and Calvin Harris. “I get sent videos all the time from friends of their kids singing. I have a 3-year-old and an 8-year-old, and they listen to it.”

Styles is quick to note that he doesn’t chase pop appeal when crafting songs. In fact, the times when he pondered or approved a purposeful tweak, like on his self-titled 2017 debut, still gnaw at him. “I love that album so much because it represents such a time in my life, but when I listen to it — sonically and lyrically, especially — I can hear places where I was playing it safe,” he says. “I was scared to get it wrong.”

Contemporary effects and on-trend beats hardly factor into Styles’ decision-making. He likes to focus on feelings — his own and his followers’ — and see himself on the other side of the velvet rope, an important distinction in his view. “People within [the industry] feel like they operate on a higher level of listening, and I like to make music from the point of being a fan of music,” Styles says. “Fans are the best A&R.”

This from someone who’s had free rein to pursue every musical whim, and hand in the album of his dreams in the form of “Fine Line.” Chart success makes it all the sweeter, but Styles insists that writing “for the right reasons” supersedes any commercial considerations. “There’s no part that feels, eh, icky — like it was made in the lab,” he says.

Styles has experience in this realm. As a graduate of the U.K. competition series “The X Factor,” where he and four other auditionees — Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne and Louis Tomlinson — were singled out by show creator and star judge Simon Cowell to conjoin as One Direction, he’s seen how the prefab pop machine works up close. The One Direction oeuvre, which counts some 42 million albums sold worldwide, includes songs written with such established hitmakers as Ryan Tedder, Savan Kotecha and Teddy Geiger. Being a studious, insatiable observer, Styles took it all in.

“I learned so much,” he says of the experience. “When we were in the band, I used to try and write with as many different people as I could. I wanted to practice — and I wrote a lot of bad shit.”

His bandmates also benefited from the pop star boot camp. The proof is in the relatively seamless solo transitions of at least three of its members — Payne, Malik and Horan in addition to Styles — each of whom has landed hit singles on charts in the U.K., the U.S. and beyond.

This departs from the typical trajectories of boy bands including New Kids on the Block and ’N Sync, which have all pro ered a star frontman. The thinking for decades was that a record company would be lucky to have one breakout solo career among the bunch.

Styles has plainly thought about this.

“When you look at the history of people coming out of bands and starting solo careers, they feel this need to apologize for being in the band. ‘Don’t worry, everyone, that wasn’t me! Now I get to do what I really want to do.’ But we loved being in the band,” he says. “I think there’s a wont to pit people against each other. And I think it’s never been about that for us. It’s about a next step in evolution. The fact that we’ve all achieved different things outside of the band says a lot about how hard we worked in it.”

Indeed, during the five-ish years that One Direction existed, Styles’ schedule involved the sort of nonstop international jet-setting that few get to see in a lifetime, never mind their teenage years. Between 2011 and 2015, One Direction’s tours pulled in north of $631 million in gross ticket sales, according to concert trade Pollstar, and the band was selling out stadiums worldwide by the time it entered its extended hiatus. Styles, too, had built up to playing arenas as a solo artist, engaging audiences with his colorful stage wear and banter and left-of-center choices for opening acts (a pre-Grammy-haul Kacey Musgraves in 2018; indie darlings King Princess and Jenny Lewis for his rescheduled 2021 run).

Stages of all sizes feel like home to Styles. He grew up in a suburb of Manchester, ground zero for some of the biggest British acts of the 1980s and ’90s, including Joy Division, New Order, the Smiths and Oasis, the latter of which broke the same year Styles was born. His parents were also music lovers. Styles’ father fed him a balanced diet of the Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, the Rolling Stones and Queen, while Mum was a fan of Shania Twain, Norah Jones and Savage Garden. “They’re all great melody writers,” says Styles of the acts’ musical throughline.

Stevie Nicks, who in the past has described “Fine Line” as Styles’ “Rumours,” referencing the Fleetwood Mac 1977 classic, sees him as a kindred spirit. “Harry writes and sings his songs about real experiences that seemingly happened yesterday,” she tells Variety. “He taps into real life. He doesn’t make up stories. He tells the truth, and that is what I do. ‘Fine Line’ has been my favorite record since it came out. It is his ‘Rumours.’ I told him that in a note on December 13, 2019 before he went on stage to play the ‘Fine Line’ album at the Forum. We cried. He sang those songs like he had sung them a thousand times. That’s a great songwriter and a great performer.”

“Harry’s playing and writing is instinctual,” adds Jonathan Wilson, a friend and peer who’s advised Styles on backing and session musicians. “He understands history and where to take the torch. You can see the thread of great British performers — from Bolan to Bowie — in his music.”

Also shaping his musical DNA was Manchester itself, the site of a 23,500-seat arena, dubbed Co-op Live, for which Styles is an investor and adviser. Oak View Group, a company specializing in live entertainment and global sports that was founded by Tim Leiweke and Irving Azoff in 2015 (Jeffrey Azoff, Irving’s son, represents Styles at Full Stop Management), is leading the effort to construct the venue. The project gained planning approval in September and is set to open in 2023, with its arrival representing a £350 million ($455 million) investment in the city. (Worth noting: Manchester is already home to an arena — the site of a 2017 bombing outside an Ariana Grande concert — and a football stadium, where One Love Manchester, an all-star benefit show to raise money for victims of the terrorist attack, took place.)

“I went to my first shows in Manchester,” Styles says of concerts paid for with money earned delivering newspapers for a supermarket called the Co-op. “My friends and I would go in on weekends. There’s so many amazing small venues, and music is such a massive part of the city. I think Manchester deserves it. It feels like a full-circle, coming-home thing to be doing this and to be able to give any kind of input. I’m incredibly proud. Hopefully they’ll let me play there at some point.”

Though Styles has owned properties in Los Angeles, his base for the foreseeable future is London. “I feel like my relationship with L.A. has changed a lot,” he explains. “I’ve kind of accepted that I don’t have to live here anymore; for a while I felt like I was supposed to. Like it meant things were going well. This happened, then you move to L.A.! But I don’t really want to.”

Is it any wonder? Between COVID and the turmoil in the U.S. spurred by the presidential election, Styles, like some 79 million American voters, is recovering from sticker shock over the bill of goods sold to them by the concept of democracy. “In general, as people, there’s a lack of empathy,” he observes. “We found this place that’s so divisive. We just don’t listen to each other anymore. And that’s quite scary.”

That belief prompted Styles to speak out publicly in the wake of George Floyd’s death. As protests in support of Black Lives Matter took to streets all over the world, for Styles, it triggered a period of introspection, as marked by an Instagram message (liked by 2.7 million users and counting) in which he declared: “I do things every day without fear, because I am privileged, and I am privileged every day because I am white. … Being not racist is not enough, we must be anti racist. Social change is enacted when a society mobilizes. I stand in solidarity with all of those protesting. I’m donating to help post bail for arrested organizers. Look inwards, educate yourself and others. LISTEN, READ, SHARE, DONATE and VOTE. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. BLACK LIVES MATTER.”

“Talking about race can be really uncomfortable for everyone,” Styles elaborates. “I had a realization that my own comfort in the conversation has nothing to do with the problem — like that’s not enough of a reason to not have a conversation. Looking back, I don’t think I’ve been outspoken enough in the past. Using that feeling has pushed me forward to being open and ready to learn. … How can I ensure from my side that in 20 years, the right things are still being done and the right people are getting the right opportunities? That it’s not a passing thing?”

His own record company — and corporate parent Sony Music Group, whose chairman, Rob Stringer, signed Styles in 2016 — has been grappling with these same questions as the industry has faced its own reckoning with race. At issue: inequality among the upper ranks (an oft-cited statistic: popular music is 80% Black, but the music business is 80% white); contracts rooted in a decades-old system that many say is set up to take advantage of artists, Black artists more unfairly than white; and the call for a return of master rights, an ownership model that is at the core of the business.

Styles acknowledges the fundamental imbalance in how a major label deal is structured — the record company takes on the financial risk while the artist is made to recoup money spent on the project before the act is considered profitable and earning royalties (typically at a 15% to 18% rate for the artist, while the label keeps and disburses the rest). “Historically, I can’t think of any industry that’s benefited more off of Black culture than music,” he says. “There are discussions that need to happen about this long history of not being paid fairly. It’s a time for listening, and hopefully, people will come out humbled, educated and willing to learn and change.”

By all accounts, Styles is a voracious reader, a movie lover and an aesthete. He stays in shape by adhering to a strict daily exercise routine. “I tried to keep up but didn’t last more than two weeks,” says Hull, Styles’ producer, with a laugh. “The discipline is terrifying.”

Of course, with the fashion world beckoning — Styles recently appeared in a film series for Gucci’s new collection that was co-directed by the fashion house’s creative director, Alessandro Michele, and Oscar winner Gus Van Sant — and a movie that’s set in the 1950s, maintaining that physique is part of the job. And he’s no stranger to visual continuity after appearing in Christopher Nolan’s epic “Dunkirk” and having to return to set for reshoots; his hair, which needed to be cut back to its circa 1940 form, is a constant topic of conversation among fans. This time, it’s the ink that poses a challenge. By Styles’ tally, he’s up to 60 tattoos, which require an hour in the makeup chair to cover up. “It’s the only time I really regret getting tattooed,” he says.

He shows no regret, however, when it comes to stylistic choices overall, and takes pride in his gender-agnostic portfolio, which includes wearing a Gucci dress on that Vogue cover— an image that incited conservative pundit Candace Owens to plead publicly to “bring back manly men.” In Styles’ view: “To not wear [something] because it’s females’ clothing, you shut out a whole world of great clothes. And I think what’s exciting about right now is you can wear what you like. It doesn’t have to be X or Y. Those lines are becoming more and more blurred.”

But acclaim, if you can believe it, is not top of mind for Styles. As far as the Grammys are concerned, Styles shrugs, “It’s never why I do anything.” His team and longtime label, however, had their hearts set on a showing at the Jan. 31 ceremony. Their investment in Styles has been substantial — not just monetarily but in carefully crafting his career in the wake of such icons as David Bowie, who released his final albums with the label. Hope at the company and in many fans’ hearts that Styles would receive an album of the year nomination did not come to pass. However, he was recognized in three categories, including best pop vocal album.

“It’s always nice to know that people like what you’re doing, but ultimately — and especially working in a subjective field — I don’t put too much weight on that stuff,” Styles says. “I think it’s important when making any kind of art to remove the ego from it.” Citing the painter Matisse, he adds: “It’s about the work that you do when you’re not expecting any applause.”

[butsomeofusarelookingatthestars]

Forgotten: Part 3

During one of the BAU’s most difficult cases, Luke meets a dedicated journalist who is committed to fighting for the underdog. Reluctant to trust the authorities at first, she finds a friend in the compassionate FBI agent. But as they draw closer, the challenges only grow with fear, hostility and a relentless unsub whose attention turns to her…

Masterlist (x)

AN/ FINALLY here’s Part 3! I hope you enjoy reading it. Apologies for the long wait and for the terrible writing (I’m so out of practice!). But we’re starting to get to the good stuff, so please do let me know what you think. What are you most excited for? Is there anything you’re dreading? x 

“Thanks for the welcome.” Prentiss said, her eyes scanning the board pinned against the wall. “It’s good that we can get started as soon as possible.” She flashed the local police chief a reassuring smile as he nodded in acknowledgment.

The BAU were well adapted to setting up quickly and in this particular case it had been stressed, by Linda Barnes herself, that time was of the essence. With the media frenzy outside the station, it was clear why the FBI brass wanted it resolving sooner rather than later too.

But, of course, the BAU would be paying it the same due diligence they did all their cases.

“Reid, if you could get started at the ME’s office?” Emily asked. “Tara and Matt, if you could take a look at the crime scene?” Her colleagues nodded in agreement.

“I’ll get one of my detectives to take you out there.” The police chief told them, gesturing to an officer stationed outside the window. “We’ve had a presence at the scene since the body was discovered in an effort to keep prying eyes away.”

“Thanks Chief. I’m sure that it will be helpful to get the insight from your officers too.” Matt replied, a small smile on his face as he and Tara left the room, closely followed by Reid. All were keen to get started on the investigation.

Emily watched them depart before turning back to the chief. “Myself and Agent Rossi are eager to speak to Lara’s family. Would it be possible to arrange a meeting?” The chief grimaced, her name clearly a reminder of the pressured situation he was facing.  

“Sure. It might be better for us to go to them though. They’re not big fans of the media circus outside.” He explained. “Can’t say I blame them…”

Prentiss nodded in agreement. “Thank you for your cooperation chief.”

He cleared his throat and stood up a little straighter. “Of course. If there’s anything else you need, please don’t hesitate to ask me.”

“Do you have any information about the other cases that have been reported recently?” Luke asked, one hand resting on the back of his chair and the other skimming the pages of the report Garcia had sent across.

With gruesome details of five other bodies found along the same stretch of highway, it certainly hadn’t been light reading. And, even with Garcia’s superb sleuthing abilities, she still hadn’t managed to track down much information about the victims themselves. Hopefully the local PD would be able to shed more light on the situation.

However, as soon as Luke glanced up to see the tense posture of the chief, he realised he’d made a mistake.

“Other cases?”

JJ frowned at the defensive tone of the chief. Hostile police forces were something she definitely didn’t miss having to deal with as Communications Liaison. “The other women who were found dead in the same area. Our technical analysist found striking similarities between-”

“Similarities?” The Chief scoffed, his unkind expression promoting Luke’s back to stiffen. “We have the body of the most influential woman in the city on our hands Agent Jareau. If you think that’s a comparison-”

Thankfully Emily decided to intervene, cutting his undoubtedly offensive comment short. “We believe these cases may be relevant Chief.” She turned to JJ and Luke, skilfully avoiding further confrontation. “I want you two to head to the local newspaper office to interview Y/N Y/L/N. See what you can find out from her.”

“Y/N Y/L/N?” The Chief asked incredulously, shaking his head. “The journalist?”

“Chief, you called us in to help. Let us do that.” Prentiss replied firmly “At the BAU we study criminal behaviour and have to investigate all of the evidence we find.”

“Do what you like…but, if you ask me you’re wasting your time, time we don’t have to spare.” He declared, his eyes narrowing slightly before he stood up. “If you’ll excuse me Agent Prentiss, I’ll arrange that meeting with the Hughes family.”

The team exchanged knowing glances as the Chief stormed from the room.

“It looks like we’ll have our work cut out for us here.” Rossi murmured quietly. “Lucky us.” His sarcastic comment prompted a few wry smiles from the group, but all knew the implications were serious. Working with a reluctant local police force was less than ideal, especially when trying to stop a serial killer.

 You drummed your fingers against the wooden desk, the repetitive thud offering a little comfort as your heart thudded nervously. In your years reporting, you had experienced many adrenaline-fuelled moments – both ones you’d rather forget and the ones you savoured. It was the excitement and frustration that pushed you on and made you determined to continue the pursuit.

But the possibility that something might finally go right? That things could change for the better? That seemed to be the most nerve-wracking of all. Hope was dangerous.

As you sat waiting for the FBI to appear, all you could think of was each of the families you had come to know over the years. Each one carrying an agonising burden of loss. Their lives had been forever changed by the actions of another. Their futures stolen.

Did the FBI agents know about their stories? What would they be like? Would they even care? Or, did they just have to be here to alleviate concern about the most recent high-profile victim?

You felt terrible thinking of Lara Hughes that way. Of course, you didn’t begrudge her case receiving attention. Every single victim of crime deserved their story to be told and justice to be served. However, the intense media and police attention on her case alone, just seemed to serve as a painful reminder of the disparity ‘different’ victims received.

Behind every case that crossed your desk were loved ones left behind in desperation and sadness. A pain that no one else seemed to recognise or even cared to listen to. Sometimes families would even confess that the isolation and sense of neglect could feel as terrible as the murder itself. Almost as if their loved one had been killed for a second time when police explained there were ‘no credible leads’ and that the cold investigation was a ‘stretch on resources’.

A frown crossed your face as you glanced at the pile of case folders stacked neatly on your desk.  You saw every victim as a person and it was difficult to understand why others couldn’t afford them the same courtesy.

Despite all your dealings with the local PD, you still couldn’t decide why they seemed so reluctant to cooperate with the investigations. Was it simply a misunderstanding? Or was there a deliberate refusal from some to help those deemed ‘beneath them’?

Fortunately, you were snapped out of your gloomy thoughts by your boss’s sudden announcement.

“Y/N, there’s a call for you. They arrived.”

 “Why’s it this difficult?”

JJ frowned in confusion as she glanced over at Luke. The two of them had arrived at the newspaper offices and were waiting in a quiet room for the local journalist to arrive. However, it seemed like her colleague had a few questions of his own on his mind.

Luke sighed quietly, his gaze dropping on the file clutched in his hands. “Why don’t local police want to investigate these cases? Or at least be open to the possibility there’s something bigger at play here?”

JJ flashed him a reassuring smile. “Trust me Luke, I’ve had my fair share of reluctant PDs. They’ll come around eventually. It’s just fear that holds them back.”

Luke gave her a small nod. “I hope so.” He shrugged his shoulders as he leant back in his seat. “At least we’re here now.”

His thoughts were interrupted as the door opened to reveal a young woman stood outside, files balanced carefully on top of what appeared to be a very well-used laptop in her arms.

“I was told that the FBI wanted to speak to me? I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

 You silently cursed yourself for the nervousness that had crept into your tone, your voice unusually high as you stared at the two agents sat at the table. Despite your dealings with law enforcement in the past, this time with the FBI’s involvement it felt incredibly serious and you couldn’t help but find their presence imposing.

What if the local police had already cast doubts upon your investigation? What if they were just here to box tick? How could you let the families down again?

Your heart thudded uncomfortably and your hand drifted towards the strap of your bag, twisting it in an effort to distract yourself from your nerves. The man’s eyes narrowed slightly as they followed your movement. Of course, they were profilers after all.

“Ms Y/L/N? It’s nice to meet you. I’m Agent Jennifer Jareau, otherwise known as JJ.” The blonde women explained. She gestured to her colleague sat beside her. “This is Agent Luke Alvez.”

You nodded in acknowledgment, finding yourself taken aback by how normal they both seemed. It wasn’t the straight-laced government officials you had been expecting. Agent Jareau appeared younger than you would have imagined. Her eyes kind and expression relaxed.

“Thanks for making the time to see us.” Agent Alvez said, his voice deep and oddly soothing. His dark curls framed his face and his brown eyes seemed to radiate warmth as he flashed you a small smile. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?”

Definitely not what you had been expecting…

  An hour later and the conversation was still in full flow. You had been hesitant at first in an effort to suss the agents out and determine their motives. But after the initial pleasantries it hadn’t taken long for you to realise that both seemed like dedicated agents that were deeply committed to their jobs…and justice. With that reassurance, you had been happy to review the details of each case, your own investigations and even discuss the cooperation (or rather lack of) from local police.

However, unfortunately JJ had been briefly pulled away by a phone call, calling a temporary halt to the interview. Luke gave you a small smile as he pointed towards the coffee clutched tightly in your hand. “Black? I’m impressed.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Trust me, in this job you need it. Before all of this I used to be a caramel latte girl.”

He chuckled quietly at your joke, folding his arms as he leant back in his chair. His eyes seemed to soften as he glanced at you in curiosity.

“Why do you do it?”

You froze for a moment, the question momentarily catching you off guard. It wasn’t something you had ever been asked before. As a journalist, you were so used to talking about others, it seemed strange to discuss yourself for a change. But judging by what you knew of Agent Alvez so far, you knew he’d understand your answer.

You bit your lip as your eyes lifted to meet his. “To show someone cares.” You gestured at the files littering the table and the photographs staring up at the two of you. “These women and their families deserve that as much as anyone else.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes surprisingly gentle as he stared at you. “I completely agree.”

For the first time in a long time, you found yourself believing that someone else cared too.

TAGLIST:

@ssaic-jareau, @alvezstan, @exceptionallytiredzombie, @illegalcerebral, @captaintightpants58, @abitofeverythinggg, @sociallyakwardb, @notsomellowmushroom, @afuckingshituniverse, @yourwonderbelle, @crimeshowtrash​