#and i only have these two photos but great article nonetheless

[air-rising]

When you get a chance can you let us know what was said in the interview!

you shall receive! mind you i included an english translation via google. any nuance lost please approach a french person near you.

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Après huit mois de convalescence, Ellie Carpenter est de retour: «À Lyon, c’est toujours la gagne»

After eight months of recovery, Ellie Carpenter is back: "In Lyon, it's always winning"

Elle est peut-être la plus Française des joueuses étrangères de l’OL. C’est en tout cas dans la langue de Molière qu’Ellie Carpenter, débarquée à l’OL en juillet 2020, réalise cet entretien. Huit mois après sa grave blessure au genou en finale de la Ligue des Champions, et deux semaines après son retour sur le terrain, l’internationale australienne revient sur cette période difficile. La latérale droite lyonnaise évoque également son parcours et ses ambitions de réaliser une très belle deuxième partie de saison avec l’OL, « le meilleur club du monde pour les filles », où elle est engagée jusqu’en 2026.

She is perhaps the most French of OL's foreign players. It is in any case in the language of Molière that Ellie Carpenter, landed at OL in July 2020, carries out this interview. Eight months after his serious knee injury in the Champions League final, and two weeks after his return to the field, the Australian international looks back on this difficult period. The Lyon right-back also talks about her career and her ambitions to achieve a very good second half of the season with OL, "the best club in the world for girls", where she is engaged until 2026.

[Ellie Carpenter a adopté la ville de Lyon, où elle habite et adore se promener tôt le matin dans les rues pavées.] [Ellie Carpenter has adopted the city of Lyon, where she lives and loves to walk early in the morning in the cobbled streets.] Photo Progrès /Richard MOUILLAUD

Comment avez-vous vécu ce retour sur le terrain ?

« C’était beaucoup d’émotion. Ça faisait huit mois que je n’avais plus joué … Ça a été très long, je n’ai pas vécu que des bons moments. Ça a été beaucoup de travail aussi. Je suis très heureuse de retrouver l’équipe, mes amies. »

How did you experience this return to the field? "It was a lot of emotion. It had been eight months since I last played... It was very long, I didn't only experience good times. It was a lot of work too. I am very happy to find the team, my friends."

[Ellie Carpenter vient boire son café et son jus de fruit comme chaque matin chez Arctic Juice, rue de la République.

Ellie Carpenter joueuse internationale de l'OL compte parmi ses endroits préférés l'Artic Juice Café, rue de la République.]

[Ellie Carpenter comes to drink her coffee and fruit juice like every morning at Arctic Juice, rue de la République.

Ellie Carpenter, an OL international player, has the Arctic Juice Café, rue de la République, among her favorite places.] Photo Progrès /Richard MOUILLAUD 01 - 03

Physiquement, comment vous sentez-vous ?

« Je suis de retour à 100 %. J’avais dit à Sonia (Bompastor) et au staff que je ne voulais pas rejouer tant que ce ne serait pas le cas. Je me suis sentie bien à l’entraînement la semaine qui a précédé le match contre Rodez, donc j’en ai fait part à la coach. J’ai pu jouer 30 minutes, j’étais super contente. Ça fait beaucoup de bien. »

Physically, how do you feel? "I'm back at 100%. I told Sonia (Bompastor) and the staff that I didn't want to play again until that was the case. I felt good in training the week before the match against Rodez, so I told the coach about it. I was able to play 30 minutes, I was super happy. It does a lot of good."

Vous avez retrouvé votre vitesse ?

« Oui, je pense (rires). Je me sens même plus forte et rapide qu’avant ma blessure, car j’ai fait énormément de musculation pendant huit mois. Quand tu te fais les croisés, les muscles de ta jambe deviennent tout flasques, c’est dur à remuscler. J’ai encore double ration de renforcement musculaire. »

Have you regained your speed? "Yes, I think so (laughs). I even feel stronger and faster than before my injury, because I did a lot of strength training for eight months. When you do the crossovers, your leg muscles get all flabby, it's hard to re-muscle. I still have double ration of muscle building."

Comment avez-vous vécu cette blessure ?

« C’était ma première grave blessure en carrière. Avant ça, mon maximum, ça avait été deux semaines d’absence. Mais ça m’a fait du bien. Ça m’a appris beaucoup de choses, comme la patience, moi qui ai besoin que tout aille très vite d’habitude. Là, c’était 4-5 heures de travail par jour, à répéter toujours les mêmes exercices, ça a été très dur pour moi. Mais j’ai été bien entourée durant toute ma réathlétisation par Rémi (Pullara), le prépa physique, qui m’a accompagnée au quotidien, dans les bons comme les mauvais jours. »

How did you experience this injury? "It was my first serious career injury. Before that, my maximum, it had been two weeks of absence. But it did me good. It taught me a lot of things, like patience, I who usually need everything to go very quickly. There, it was 4-5 hours of work a day, always repeating the same exercises, it was very hard for me. But I was well surrounded throughout my re-athletics by Rémi (Pullara), the physical preparation, who accompanied me on a daily basis, in good and bad days."

Beaucoup de joueuses étaient blessées en même temps que vous, ça a été plus facile à vivre ?

« Oui, même si pour l’équipe, ce n’était pas bon d’avoir autant de blessées en même temps (rires). Mais le fait de se voir, se dire coucou, travailler ensemble parfois aussi, ça aide. »

Many players were injured at the same time as you, was it easier to live with? "Yes, even if for the team, it was not good to have so many injured at the same time (laughs). But seeing each other, saying hello, working together sometimes also helps."

Pendant les moments difficiles, vous pouviez trouver du réconfort auprès de vos proches ?

« Oui, j’appelais ma famille mais c’était compliqué avec le décalage horaire. Il y a douze heures de différence, quand c’est le matin à Lyon, c’est la nuit à Sydney. Mais j’ai pu profiter de cette blessure pour passer six semaines en Australie l’été dernier, auprès de mes parents et mon frère. Ça faisait très longtemps que ça ne m’était pas arrivé car depuis mes 16 ans, je ne vois ma famille qu’une à deux fois par an en moyenne. Les voir sur un temps plus long m’a fait beaucoup de bien mentalement, et ça a été bénéfique pour mon genou aussi. »

During difficult times, you could find comfort with your loved ones? "Yes, I called my family but it was complicated with the jet lag. There is a twelve hour difference, when it is morning in Lyon, it is night in Sydney. But I was able to take advantage of this injury to spend six weeks in Australia last summer, with my parents and my brother. It hadn't happened to me for a very long time because since I was 16, I only see my family once or twice a year on average. Seeing them over a longer period did me a lot of good mentally, and it was good for my knee too."

Comment vous en êtes venue au foot ?

« Mes parents sont tous les deux profs d’éducation physique et sportive à l’école. On est tous très sportifs dans la famille. J’ai commencé le foot vers 3-4 ans, avec mon frère. J’ai joué avec les garçons jusqu’à mes 12 ans. Je voulais les battre donc il fallait que je sois au point athlétiquement car on n’avait pas la même musculature. Je pense que mon style de jeu assez agressif et physique vient de là. »

How did you come to football? "My parents are both physical education and sports teachers at school. We are all very athletic in the family. I started football around 3-4 years old, with my brother. I played with the boys until I was 12. I wanted to beat them so I had to be athletically fit because we didn't have the same muscles. I think my fairly aggressive and physical style of play comes from there."

Vous avez fait de l’athlétisme à bon niveau, également ?

« Oui, j’en ai fait jusqu’à mes douze ans. Ma spécialité, c’était le sprint, le 100 mètres. Mon record c’est 12 secondes et 74 centièmes. »

Did you do athletics at a good level, too? "Yes, I did until I was twelve. My specialty was the sprint, the 100 meters. My record is 12 seconds and 74 hundredths."

[Petite halte quai de Saône pour Ellie Carpenter.

Ellie Carpenter adore se promener tôt le matin dans les rues de Lyon.] Photo Progrès /Richard MOUILLAUD 02 / 02

[Short stop on the Quai de Saône for Ellie Carpenter.

Ellie Carpenter loves to walk early in the morning in the streets of Lyon.]

Il y a bataille entre vous et Delphine Cascarino alors ?

(Rires) « On n’a jamais fait la course elle et moi, mais je pense que ce serait assez équivalent. Delph' et moi, on est les deux joueuses les plus rapides de l’équipe. J’aime bien jouer avec elle, ça fuse dans le couloir droit. »

There is a battle between you and Delphine Cascarino then? (Laughs) "We never raced her and I, but I think it would be pretty equivalent. Delph' and I are the two fastest players on the team. I like to play with her, it fuses in the right lane."

Vous avez donc préféré le foot à l’athlétisme ?

« Oui, mis à part les Jeux olympiques, il y a plus d’opportunités internationales avec le football contrairement à l’athlétisme. Et puis, j’aime bien les sports d’équipe, je suis plus à l’aise dans un sport collectif qu’individuel. »

So you preferred football to athletics? "Yes, apart from the Olympics, there are more international opportunities with football unlike athletics. And then, I like team sports, I'm more comfortable in a collective sport than individual."

Vous avez fait le bon choix : à 16 ans, vous participiez à vos premiers Jeux avec l’équipe de foot d’Australie ?

« Oui, j’étais très jeune, ça a été une super expérience. De mes 12 à 15 ans, je m’entraînais tous les jours en sports études avec les garçons. Je suivais beaucoup de séances spécifiques pour travailler la technique avec un entraîneur particulier. Avant ça, j’ai joué en sélection avec les U16, puis avec les U20, aussi, quand j’avais 14 ans. J’ai toujours été surclassée. À cette époque, je n’étais pas défenseure, je jouais numéro 10. Puis je suis redescendue, on m’a proposé le poste de latérale droite et ça me convient très bien : tu peux aussi bien défendre qu’attaquer, même si ce que je préfère, c’est défendre. Je préfère empêcher une attaquante de marquer en stoppant sa frappe que de scorer. »

You made the right choice: at 16, you participated in your first Games with the Australian football team? "Yes, I was very young, it was a great experience. From the age of 12 to 15, I trained every day in sports studies with the boys. I followed a lot of specific sessions to work on technique with a particular trainer. Before that, I played in the selection with the U16s, then with the U20s, too, when I was 14 years old. I have always been outclassed. At that time, I was not a defender, I was playing number 10. Then I came back down, I was offered the right-back position and that suits me very well: you can defend as well as attack, even if that what I prefer is to defend. I prefer to prevent an attacker from scoring by stopping her shot than to score."

Vous êtes à l’OL depuis juillet 2020 et vous avez prolongé jusqu’en 2026, juste après votre blessure. Il n’y a pas eu d’hésitation ?

« Je me sens très bien ici. Je me projette longtemps dans cette équipe. Je ne vois pas de meilleur environnement pour moi. La qualité des entraînements, les infrastructures du club, la bienveillance du staff jusqu’au président font que c’est vraiment le meilleur club du monde pour les filles. »

You have been at OL since July 2020 and extended until 2026, just after your injury. Was there any hesitation? "I feel very good here. I project myself in this team for a long time. I can't think of a better environment for me. The quality of the training, the infrastructure of the club, the benevolence of the staff up to the president make it really the best club in the world for girls."

En quoi est-ce différent de ce que vous avez pu connaître en Australie et aux États-Unis ?

« C’est avant tout une question de mentalité. Ici, c’est toujours la gagne, la gagne, la gagne. On veut toujours gagner, tout le temps être les meilleures, que ce soit à l’entraînement ou en match. Cette mentalité te permet de te surpasser, de donner le meilleur de toi-même. »

How is it different from what you experienced in Australia and the United States? "It is above all a question of mentality. Here, it's always win, win, win. We always want to win, always be the best, whether in training or in matches. This mentality allows you to surpass yourself, to give the best of yourself."

À l’OL, vous avez connu deux entraîneurs. Dans une interview au Guardian, vous disiez être plus en phase avec le coaching de Sonia Bompastor. En quoi est-il différent de celui de Jean-Luc Vasseur ?

« Les deux coachs avaient une méthode très différente. J’aime jouer avec beaucoup de liberté, n’avoir rien d’autre à penser. Quand un coach me dit de jouer mon jeu, je suis plus à l’aise. Sonia est plus comme ça. Elle me guide aussi davantage en tant qu’ancienne défenseure. »

At OL, you knew two coaches. In an interview with the Guardian, you said you were more in tune with Sonia Bompastor's coaching. How is it different from that of Jean-Luc Vasseur? "The two coaches had a very different method. I like to play with a lot of freedom, having nothing else to think about. When a coach tells me to play my game, I feel more comfortable. Sonia is more like that. She also guides me more as a former defender."

Vous êtes très jeune. Dans quels domaines pensez-vous pouvoir progresser ?

« Athlétiquement, ce sera dur d’être encore plus rapide (rires). Mais techniquement, on peut toujours faire mieux. Je pourrais améliorer ma qualité de centre, par exemple. Lyon est le meilleur endroit pour progresser, aux côtés des meilleures joueuses du monde. J’ai 22 ans, je vais sur mes 23. Je pense qu’à 26-27 ans, je serai à mon apogée. »

You are very young. In what areas do you think you can improve? "Athletically, it will be hard to be even faster (laughs). But technically, we can always do better. I could improve my quality as a center, for example. Lyon is the best place to progress, alongside the best players in the world. I'm 22, going on 23. I think at 26-27, I'll be at my peak."

La seconde partie de saison sera-t-elle moins compliquée que la première ?

« La première partie a été difficile car il y a eu beaucoup de blessures. Les résultats n’ont pas toujours suivi mais n’ont pas été catastrophiques non plus. L’équipe a fait de très bonnes choses malgré ce contexte difficile. Le retour de plusieurs joueuses a changé les choses. L’équipe redevient de plus en plus forte et la deuxième partie de saison va être très intéressante. »

Will the second half of the season be less complicated than the first? "The first part was difficult because there were a lot of injuries. The results did not always follow but were not catastrophic either. The team did very good things despite this difficult context. The return of several players changed things. The team is getting stronger and stronger and the second half of the season is going to be very interesting."

La première grosse échéance est ce quart de finale de Ligue des Champions contre Chelsea. Comment voyez-vous ce match ?

« Je pense que c’est comme une finale. Chelsea est actuellement la meilleure équipe d’Angleterre. C’est le genre de match que l’on veut toutes jouer dans une carrière. Jouer à Stamford Bridge, ça va être vraiment cool. »

The first big deadline is this quarter-final of the Champions League against Chelsea. How do you see this game? "I think it's like a final. Chelsea are currently the best team in England. It's the kind of game we all want to play in a career. Playing at Stamford Bridge is going to be really cool."

Vous auriez préféré un autre adversaire ?

« Nous devons de toute façon battre les meilleures équipes pour aller au bout. Le niveau des quarts est tellement élevé que tous les matches sont comme des finales. »

Would you have preferred another opponent? "We have to beat the best teams anyway to go all the way. The level of the quarters is so high that all matches are like finals."

Serez-vous l’outsider ou le favori ?

« Je m’en fous ! Pour la finale à Barcelone, tout le monde nous voyait perdre et on a vu le résultat. En Ligue des Champions, tout peut arriver. Ce dont je suis sûre, c’est que ce sera un très grand match. »

Will you be the underdog or the favourite? "I do not care ! For the final in Barcelona, ​​everyone saw us losing and we saw the result. In the Champions League, anything can happen. What I am sure of is that it will be a very great game."

Vous allez expliquer à vos coéquipières comment neutraliser votre compatriote Sam Kerr ?

« Je la connais en effet très bien. C’est une joueuse exceptionnelle, qui marque beaucoup de buts et qui va très vite. J’ai commencé à en parler à Wendie. Mais on va aussi affronter Kadeisha Buchanan qui nous connaît très bien aussi. »

Are you going to explain to your teammates how to neutralize your compatriot Sam Kerr? "I actually know her very well. She is an exceptional player, who scores a lot of goals and who goes very fast. I started talking to Wendie about it. But we will also face Kadeisha Buchanan who knows us very well too."

Le mondial aura lieu cet été, chez vous, en Australie. Cela doit être très particulier pour vous ?

« C’est le rêve absolu de le disputer à la maison. Quant au fait de le remporter, ce sera difficile mais nous avons une bonne équipe, donc pourquoi pas ? »

The world will take place this summer, at home, in Australia. It must be very special for you? "It is the absolute dream to play it at home. As for winning it, it will be difficult but we have a good team, so why not?"

Comment ce Mondial se présente sur place ?

« Je suis sûre que ce sera la meilleure Coupe du Monde de l’histoire, d’autant plus qu’il y aura pour la première fois 32 équipes, comme pour les garçons. Nous jouons toujours dans un stade plein en sélection. Notre premier match était prévu dans un petit stade mais il y avait une telle demande qu’il va se jouer dans un stade de 80 000 personnes. Il y a un vrai engouement, le football féminin se développe bien en Australie. Ce sera encore mieux après le Mondial. »

How does this World Cup present itself on the spot? "I'm sure it will be the best World Cup in history, especially since there will be 32 teams for the first time, like for the boys. We always play in a full stadium in selection. Our first match was scheduled in a small stadium but there was such demand that it will be played in a stadium of 80,000 people. There is a real enthusiasm, women's football is developing well in Australia. It will be even better after the World Cup."

Comment expliquez-vous que toutes les internationales jouent malgré tout en Europe ?

« Le problème, c’est que la ligue australienne dure seulement quatre mois, ce qui est très court. C’est pour cela que j’allais également disputer le championnat des États-Unis, qui en dure huit. On a toutes fait ça, mais c’est difficile physiquement, et il n’y a jamais de vacances. Maintenant, on joue toutes en Europe, où les compétitions sont plus régulières. Il doit y avoir 13 ou 14 Australiennes dans le championnat anglais, 4 en Suède. Et moi, qui suis la seule en France ! »

How do you explain that all the internationals still play in Europe? "The problem is that the Australian league lasts only four months, which is very short. That's why I was also going to play the United States championship, which lasts eight. We've all done that, but it's physically difficult, and there's never a vacation. Now we all play in Europe, where the competitions are more regular. There must be 13 or 14 Australians in the English league, 4 in Sweden. And I, who am the only one in France!"

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« Vos restaurants ouvrent beaucoup trop tard ! »

"Your restaurants open much too late!"

Comment est Ellie Carpenter en dehors des terrains ?

« Je suis une personne très calme. J’aime bien la ville et les petits bonheurs simples. Comme marcher le long du Rhône ou de la Saône quand il fait beau, et aller prendre un café dans un bel endroit avec des amis. Je trouve toujours les meilleurs cafés dans une ville. J’ai deux ou trois adresses à Lyon que j’apprécie vraiment comme l’Arctic Juice ou le Placid qui sont pour moi les meilleurs. »

How is Ellie Carpenter off the pitch? "I am a very calm person. I like the city and simple little pleasures. Like walking along the Rhône or the Saône when the weather is nice, and having a coffee in a nice place with friends. I always find the best cafes in a city. I have two or three addresses in Lyon that I really like, such as Arctic Juice or Placid, which for me are the best."

Il paraît que vous avez un tempérament très joyeux ?

« Je suis toujours contente, toujours partante pour faire des choses. Je suis très ouverte et toujours la première pour organiser un dîner ou une sortie sur les jours off, avec les autres filles de l’équipe. Avec les étrangères, notamment, nous sommes très proches car contrairement aux Françaises, nous n’avons pas notre famille ici et cela nous rapproche naturellement. »

It seems that you have a very cheerful temperament? "I'm always happy, always ready to do things. I am very open and always the first to organize a dinner or an outing on off days, with the other girls of the team. With foreign women, in particular, we are very close because unlike French women, we don't have our family here and that naturally brings us closer."

Vous avez d’autres loisirs ?

« Un peu de shopping, quelques séries sur Netflix, comme « Blood and Water » ou encore « You », que je regarde en ce moment. Parfois un ciné avec Vanessa Gilles et Ada Hegerberg qui y vont beaucoup. Mais il ne faut pas que le film dépasse 2 heures, sinon je n’ai plus la patience (rires). »

Do you have other hobbies? "A little shopping, a few series on Netflix, like "Blood and Water" or "You", which I'm watching right now. Sometimes a movie with Vanessa Gilles and Ada Hegerberg who go there a lot. But the film must not exceed 2 hours, otherwise I no longer have the patience (laughs)."

Vous appréciez la gastronomie lyonnaise ?

« Oui. J’avoue que j’ai un faible pour les pralines. Mais vous avez un vrai problème, en France, avec les restaurants. On ne peut pas dîner avant 19 h 30… C’est beaucoup trop tard ! En Australie, c’est à partir de 17 heures. Bon, je commence malgré tout à m’habituer… »

Do you like Lyon's gastronomy? "Yes. I admit that I have a weakness for pralines. But you have a real problem in France with restaurants. We can't have dinner before 7:30 p.m.... It's much too late! In Australia, it is from 5 p.m. Well, I'm starting to get used to it anyway..."

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Elle a battu tous les records de précocité

Dès les premières questions portant sur sa convalescence, Ellie Carpenter indique que sa plus grande difficulté a été d’être patiente. Attendre n’est vraiment pas son truc. Il faut dire que l’Australienne a toujours été une joueuse pressée, et précoce. Après avoir fait partie des différentes sélections de jeunes, elle fait ses débuts dans la W League Australienne, l’équivalent de notre D1, à 15 ans. Puis elle fait partie, l’année suivante, de la sélection australienne aux JO de Rio. Un très grand souvenir pour elle, alors la plus jeune athlète de l’imposante délégation australienne, tous sports confondus. Elle devient parallèlement la plus jeune footballeuse de tous les temps à participer aux Jeux Olympiques.

Le 9 mai 2018, lorsqu’elle découvre le championnat américain après avoir signé avec les Thorns de Portland, elle bat également le record de précocité, à 18 ans et 11 jours, lors de son premier match en NWSL. Onze jours après, elle inscrit un but contre Washington et devient la plus jeune buteuse de l’histoire de la Ligue américaine.

She broke all precocity records From the first questions about her recovery, Ellie Carpenter indicates that her greatest difficulty has been to be patient. Waiting is really not his thing. It must be said that the Australian has always been a player in a hurry, and precocious. After being part of the various youth selections, she made her debut in the Australian W League, the equivalent of our D1, at 15 years old. Then she was part of the Australian selection for the Rio Olympics the following year. A very great memory for her, then the youngest athlete of the imposing Australian delegation, all sports combined. At the same time, she becomes the youngest footballer of all time to participate in the Olympic Games. On May 9, 2018, when she discovered the American championship after signing with the Portland Thorns, she also broke the precocity record, at 18 years and 11 days, in her first game in the NWSL. Eleven days later, she scored a goal against Washington and became the youngest scorer in American League history.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Heaven Can't Wait: Part One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Warnings: canon angst and violence

Summary: Castiel goes on his first date since... ever. While helping him get ready for that, you have a case to deal with that directly involves angels. What can go wrong?

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated.

x

Having Castiel only three and a half hours away is convenient because you get to visit him when you want without having to be too far from the Bunker. Castiel is settling in nicely. He loves the house you got for him, and he even got a job at a Gas'n'Sip. It's not much, but he seems happy with what he has.

You're leaning on the counter while slurping up a slushie. Next to you are some chips you bought, and you pop one into your mouth while Castiel does his job. The gas station isn't busy, so he's free to talk and hang out with you.

"How do you like it here?"

"It's nice. I'm getting by. There are challenges, of course, but I can handle it."

"Being human isn't all that bad, but I like you better as an angel. I'm going to do whatever I can to help you get your grace back."

"I appreciate that," he nods.

"So, I kind of did something that might have pissed Dean off..."

"What did you do?"

Castiel looks over at two men who are laughing at the coffee stand. One of them stirs his coffee with a stir stick, and Castiel can't help but mimic their actions.

"We were on a hunt, and there was this child whose parents died, and I kind of took him in. Like, to adopt."

"You stole a child?"

"No, Castiel, you should have been there. This kid needs me as much as I need him. His name is Noah, and he's ten. I asked Dean for a week to try and change his mind, but I don't want to force him to do something he doesn't want to do. He hasn't told him to leave yet, so I think that's good. I'd like for you to meet him."

"I'd like that too," Castiel smiles.

The man stirring his coffee licks his stir stick and tosses the stick into the trash can. Castiel does the same thing while watching the two men. You chuckle at his behavior and touch his arm to snap him out of the trance.

"You don't need to copy them. Just be yourself," you whisper.

A delivery man walks through the front door with a cart full of items, and he greets Castiel with a smile.

"Morning, Steve."

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion, but you don't say anything about it. He drops a load of newspapers on the counter before leaving. Castiel sighs and begins unbinding them for the stand.

"Steve?" you ask and lean against the counter next to him.

"I figured it'd be smart not to use my real name."

"Fair point."

"Sorry, I'm late." You look up to see the manager of the place, Nora, walk in with a tired look on her face. Castiel tenses when she approaches, but he smiles at her nonetheless. "I had to drop the baby off at daycare, then hit every red light on the way here," she looks around the store with a smile, "but guess I shouldn't have worried. The place looks great. Coffee urns?"

"Full."

"Dairy case?"

"Stocked."

"Okay, Steve, last question. Where have you been all my life? You're not like the other sales associates. There's something different about you."

"I can assure you, there's not."

"I know these things. You're... special."

She walks past him into the back room, and Castiel watches her go with a longing in his eyes.

"You should go for it," you say, causing him to jump at the sound of your voice. "You're hot, and she's an idiot if she doesn't see what an amazing guy you are."

Castiel blushes deeply at your compliment. He moves the newspapers to the stand, but pauses when he reads the headline "LOCAL MAN PRESUMED DEAD" with the subheader "Fourth unexplained disappearance in weeks". There is a photo attached to the picture of the most recent victim.

"Look at this. I think this might be up your alley."

You take the newspaper and read the article knowing this is something related to monsters.

"I should probably go and let Dean know."

Castiel walks over to the slushie machine to clean it, but it starts to spurt everywhere on him and the ground. You feel so bad for him, but you know Dean would kill you if you brought him back to the Bunker. You walk over to the machine and touch the side of it so your magic fixes it. After making sure no one is looking, you clean up the mess with your magic as if it never happened.

"Keep your head up, Castiel. I'll be in contact." You lean up and kiss his cheek. "Make a move on that woman. You might thank me later."

You leave his side to start the journey back to the Bunker, and Castiel watches you leave with a small smile on his face. He touches the area where you kissed him in thought. You get back to the Bunker in record time, and it's like nothing changed since you left.

Sam and Kevin are still working on translating the angel tablet, and Dean and Noah are sitting at a different table working over a gun.

"Now that all the parts are out, I want you to put them together as fast but as accurately as you can. Remember what I showed you before?"

"I got it," Noah says, grabbing the gun. He quickly puts the gun back together--faster than you've seen a ten-year-old do. "That easy."

Noah looks a lot better than when you picked him up. After a nice shower, some proper food, and two nights of sleep makes him look his age. He looks happier and more comfortable with you, Sam, and Dean.

"How did you do that?"

"I played a lot of video games. My dad yelled at me for choosing violent games, but I got good at it."

This is exactly what you wanted to happen. They're bonding, which will make it a lot harder for Dean to say no. You didn't want to manipulate him into Noah staying, but you haven't felt this passionate about something since your kids were born. Zeus and Colonel are lying by Dean and Noah just watching them.

"Hi, my babies," you grin and kiss both of their heads. "Did you two find anything?"

There are pictures of red and black drawings with words, cryptic symbols, and numbers.

"Kevin gave us doodles," Sam sighs.

"It's cuneiform. I hit a wall translating the tablet into English, but I found an ancient codex linking the Angel script to proto-Elamite cuneiform. Then, I was able to translate the tablet and the footnotes into Elamite, which is extinct."

"Can you read it?" you ask.

"No one can. Scholars have tried for centuries."

"So, it's a dead end?

"Not quite," Kevin stutters. "Most proto-Elamite is abstract, but I was able to decipher one phrase from Metatron's footnotes. 'Falling angels'."

"Okay, so, the footnotes refer to Metatron's spell?"

"Maybe."

"If we can decipher the footnotes, then maybe we can reverse the spell and put everyone back in Heaven."

Sam gathers more books to look through, and you can see Dean's eyes gloss over in boredom. He'll leave the reading to Kevin and Sam. There's a more pressing issue than deciphering the Angel tablet.

"Dean, can I have a word?" Dean let Noah practice on the gun knowing the bullets are safe. They don't have any gunpowder in them, so the gun won't go off if he accidentally shoots it. You take Dean off to the side and present the newspaper to him.

"I got this from Castiel. I was with him all morning. There are four missing people in Rexford. They're presumed dead but no bodies have been released to their loved ones. Plus, there were reports of a strange substance at the scenes. It's only two hours from here. We can swing by to get Castiel."

Dean gathers your things while you explain to Sam and Kevin what is going on. Dean comes back with two duffel bags in his hands, just as you get done explaining.

"Wait, he said nothing about where he is or what he's been doing?"

Dean doesn't want Sam to know where Castiel is because Ezekiel will leave Sam and potentially kill him.

"This is Cas. In case you forgot, he's not exactly Chatty Cathy."

"So, what are you two even doing? This is barely a case."

"That's why we're going to go check it out. It's only a couple of hours away. We're not going to waste manpower if it turns out to be nothing," you point out.

"In other words, a perfect excuse to bail out on research," Kevin says.

"Yes, Kevin. Exactly," you roll your eyes and turn to Noah. "Stay here. We'll call when we get there."

"I want to go with you. Please?"

"Bring the kid," Dean shrugs.

"Fine. Pack some clothes."

Noah gets up excitedly and rushes to his room to gather whatever he can. He comes back ten minutes later with a backpack filled to the brim with things. The girls are still sleeping, so you'll let Sam and Kevin watch over them along with the two dogs.

Dean wants to keep Castiel out of this as much as he can, so you head to Rexford without him. By the time you get there, you and Dean are dressed in your FBI clothing, and Noah is dressed in the nicest clothing he has. He stays by Dean the whole time, and you watch with a smile.

He really looks up to him, and he hasn't even been with you for a week.

The local sheriff met you outside of the crime scene. Joe, the person who died mysteriously, was staying in a cabin on the outskirts of town. As soon as the sheriff sees Noah, he shakes his head and heads over.

"This is no place for a child, ma'am."

Blue magic swirls at your fingertips, and the sheriff's eyes flash the same color.

"He can be here. Now, why don't you focus on telling us what's going on here? There have been four missing people?"

"Four dead. I just got confirmation."

The sheriff escorts you closer to the cabin but not yet inside.

"Are there any common threads you can think of that link the four victims?"

"Well, Joe in there had the suicide hotline on speed dial. The gal before him was a shut-in. She had enough antidepressants in her medicine cabinet to stock a pharmacy. The first victims were a married couple out of Sugar City. They're pretty much a walking billboard for no-fault divorce."

"Were they all basket cases?"

"If you asked me to make a list of this county's saddest sacks, these four would've been right on top."

"So, you have four unhappy people with one of them being suicidal. Why did you rule out suicide?"

"You're going to want to put these on."

The sheriff hands you, Dean, and Noah a pair of gloves before taking you inside the cabin. The entire inside of the cabin is awash with pink spray paint, and someone wearing a hazmat white plastic suit is kneeling on the floor scraping evidence. Upon closer examination, you realize that it isn't spray paint... it's blood, guts, and everything else that was Joe. You turn Noah away from the danger, but he manages to still take a peek.

"Does this look like suicide to you?"

"Is this blood?"

"If the tests come back the same as the others, it's everything--blood, skin, hair, nails, internal organs, and even clothing fibers. It's like these poor souls got shoved through the world's finest wood chipper."

"What about witnesses?"

"It's the same as the rest. Neighbors reported some kind of a pink flash. By the time we got here, all that was left was this."

"We should go to Castiel. He might be able to help," you whisper as you head back to the car.

"Yeah, probably."

Castiel is only five hours from where you are, but when you get there, you don't automatically walk inside. You want to check in with Sam and see how the Angel tablet is coming along. Right in front of you is the Gas 'n' Sip that Castiel works in, and you can see him talking to someone inside. You take out your phone to call Sam, and Noah tugs on Dean's sleeve.

"Let's play."

Noah takes out a football he stored away in his backpack, and Dean looks at you in thought. What would a five minute break do? Dean shrugs and takes the ball before putting some distance between himself and Noah.

"Hey," you say once he answers. "How is it going?"

"We're almost through the texts over here, but we got nothing."

"Have you tried Professor Morrison?"

"Yeah, he's unreachable. He took a sabbatical to live amongst the Trobrianders of Papua New Guinea. Needless to say, we're pretty burnt."

"I hate that I'm even suggesting this, but you can use Crowley. If we have him chained up, may as well use him."

"It's worth a shot, I guess."

"Just be careful, okay? Don't let Kevin get himself in trouble."

"Noted. So, what about you two? How's Cas' lead panning out?"

"Four victims suddenly exploded. We tried EMF, hex bags, and sulfur. We can't find anything."

"Spontaneous combustion? Maybe the Thule?"

"That's what Dean thought, but he ruled them out. The bodies were vaporized not burned."

"That sounds like a real case. Y/N, I should be there."

"Look, give us a couple more hours, and if we still can't figure it out, then you can come down here. Right now, Dean and I have this. Okay?"

"Yeah, fine."

You hang up and turn to look at your husband. He and Noah are chasing each other on the small field while tossing the football to each other. All Dean needed was time with Noah, and he'd fall in love with the idea of another child regardless of how he came to be.

"Dean, we should go," you call out after giving them five more minutes.

Dean and Noah jog across the street to you, and you place Noah's backpack in the car since he won't need it in here. You grab his hand and walk inside the gas station with your husband.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[ineffable-snowman]

(apologies in advance to the people who followed me for Good Omens. I’m diving headfirst into a new fandom, so I’m afraid there’s going to be a lot of Sambucky in the next three weeks at least...)

I wrote a fic inspired by episode 3 of FATWS. Read it here or on AO3.

Trouble Man

“It is a masterpiece, James. Complete, comprehensive. It captures the African-American experience.”

What kind of passive-aggressive bullshit was that? It was annoying enough that Zemo insisted on calling him ‘James’ in that patronising way of his but now he tried to lecture him or rather tried to make him look stupid, uncultured and ignorant. Bucky wanted to laugh at Zemo’s comment that sounded more like he was quoting a Wikipedia article to appear sophisticated, but then Sam spoke up.

“He is out of line – but he is right.”

Fuck Zemo. Seriously, Bucky had enough reason to hate Zemo but this was on another level. This was personal. He made Bucky look stupid, uncultured and ignorant in front of Sam. And the thing was, he was mostly ignorant about Marvin Gaye. He had listened to some of the tracks from Trouble Man just because they were on Steve’s list, and had quickly decided that it was not his kind of music. Now he wished he had at least listened to the whole album so he could contribute more than a weak “I like Marvin Gaye”, which fooled absolutely no one. He had no idea how a simple conversation about music had escalated like this. It had seemed like perfectly normal banter, Sam making fun of him for being old-fashioned, and then Zemo had interfered with that comment and it was downhill from there.

For some reason Sam was very passionate about Marvin Gaye and Bucky was intent on finding out why. Also, he needed to find out how music could be “complete, comprehensive” and “capture the African-American experience.” In his experience, music was used for dancing and for fun and that’s all there was to it. He stared at the notebook. There was some really good advice in it, like Thai food or Star Wars. So far, Bucky had not seen the appeal of Marvin Gaye. But apparently Steve had. If Steve had adored the music so much, why had he just simply crossed it out in a neat line and not, for example, put an exclamation mark behind it? Bucky added two exclamation marks.

Right, how to do this? Not for the first time he regretted just getting a simple flip phone instead of one of those fancy smartphones. When the shop assistant had told him that he needed a phone for taking photos and listening to music, Bucky had almost laughed at him. Talking about stupid… He could really use Youtube or Google now.

“Do you have a computer with internet?” he asked Sharon.

She looked at him like he was stupid (it was becoming a theme) but showed him to a computer and even gave him earphones. Then he started to listen to Trouble Man and this time did not skip any tracks but listened to the whole songs. He also googled the lyrics but that did not leave him any the wiser. Doctor Raynor would probably tell him to use his goddamn mouth and just ask someone, for heaven’s sake. He would rather get frozen again than ask Zemo. But it also felt extremely wrong that Zemo, who was supposed to be one of the bad guys, seemed to know and understand Sam better than Bucky, who was supposed to be Sam’s…whatever. Were they friends? Bucky certainly considered Sam a friend (although he never would say it out oud), probably the only friend he had left. Someone who texted you and asked you how you were and invited you to lunch was a friend, right? Someone who even saved your ass and (repeatedly) broke the law for you was a very good friend. But did Sam consider someone his friend who did not text back, who repeatedly got him into trouble, kept things from him and had even tried to kill him? Bucky stared at the screen. It was a miracle Sam had not tried to kill him yet. It was even more of a miracle that he was still being nice (sometimes). He googled “Trouble Man” and “African-American experience”. To his disappointment, it was not a quote from a Wikipedia article. So Zemo knew what was going on and Bucky did not. He turned up the volume and tried to make sense of the lyrics (“Got me singin' – yeah, yeah – Hoo“).

“Finally doing some catching up on the good stuff?”

Bucky turned around so quickly that the earphones were ripped out of his ears. Sam had put up his hands in defence and was babbling something about attacking or not attacking or whatever.

“Jesus.” Bucky consciously unclenched his left fist. “Couldn’t you just knock?”

“I did. You didn’t answer.” Sam pointed at the screen where the Youtube video of Trouble Man was still running. “I knew it,” he said gleefully. “You have no idea who Marvin Gaye is.”

“I do!” Bucky protested but then trailed off because he may have heard some of Gaye’s songs but he still did not know who Marvin Gaye was.

“So.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you think? Honestly.”

Bucky looked from Sam to the screen to the dangling earphones. I like it was not an appropriate answer. Not an honest one. “I don’t get it,” he finally said.

“No appreciation for good music.” Sam sighed dramatically. “Hopeless. Stuck in the 40s forever.”

Bucky could have left it at that. They were on common ground again, bickering but not hurting each other, it felt familiar, safe. “No,” he said nevertheless. “I – how? How is this music – how does it…capture the African-American experience? Most of the songs don’t even have lyrics.”

“You don’t need lyrics for music to be meaningful.”

“How? Is it because people listen to it in certain situations or…?”

“Alright. Ready for a lesson on 20th century music? You better take notes.”

Bucky opened the notebook and took a pen. Then he noticed Sam’s grin. Right, he hadn’t meant it literally. But now Bucky had already opened the notebook and he was determined to go through with it. So he wrote down all the names Sam dropped, the musical genres and important songs. It was a lot and, as a lot of things, it confused Bucky but he just rolled with it. So some bands destroyed instruments on stage and certain music apparently had a soul? Great. Speaking of souls, this was probably the right time for some soul-gazing to show Sam that he was actively listening. (Doctor Raynor would be so proud of him.) Sam kept bringing up the soul thing several more times until finally Bucky could not keep quiet any longer.

“What’s with this soul music? Is it, like…music for funerals?”

Sam stared at him. Bucky stared back.

“Okay, scoot over.” Sam squeezed on the chair next to Bucky so Bucky almost fell over on the other side. Then he reached over Bucky to grab the mouse, opened another tab and chose a Youtube video for Bucky to listen to. “This is soul music.”

It was highly uncomfortable because the chair was not made for two people and they both weren’t exactly small but Bucky was resolved to stay on the chair, at least with one thigh. Sam chose video after video, pointed out characteristic musical features, quoted parts of the lyrics and talked about the history or the significance the songs. It was still a lot and Bucky still did not get everything but he dutifully took notes to look up some things in detail later. When he had filled the sixth page in his notebook, Sam stopped the music lesson.

“So, 40s music. Any recommendations?”

Bucky turned to face him. They were awfully close. Sam’s eyes were somehow very soft, there was the hint of a smile on his lips and he looked very huggable in that thin turtleneck – and he looked genuinely interested in Bucky’s answer. Bucky felt hot shame flooding him. Sam could be aggravating and an outright asshole but he was too kind for this world. Too kind to Bucky.

“Nah,” he mumbled. “Music in the 40s was just for dancing, for fun. Not…not important like your music.”

“Oh, you can dance just fine to my music,” Sam said in mock outrage. “Come on.” He elbowed Bucky out of the chair and chose another Youtube video, then stood up, too.

“Soul music?” Bucky guessed when the first chords of an electric guitar could be heard.

“Funk. Close enough.”

Sam started to move to the music. It should be ridiculous, the weird moves he was doing, because that certainly wasn’t proper dancing, not the dancing Bucky knew anyway – no rehearsed dancing steps, more like a spontaneous swaying to the music and some of the moves were definitely ridiculous but Sam made them look, well, smooth.

“See, that’s dance music, too,” Sam said and came to stand in front of Bucky.

Bucky had no idea why it was even called dancing but he wasn’t going to say that because he did not want to offend Sam again.

But of course Sam had to nag him. “Spit it out.”

“What?”

“I can see the cyborg gears turning. What’s wrong with dancing?”

“Nothing. Just not what I’m used to.”

“You can choose the next song. For now – get those hips moving.” He nudged Bucky, and how could Bucky say no? After Sam had spent all that time educating him and only mildly making fun of him for his ignorance, he owed it to him.

“This is ridiculous, I feel ridiculous,” Bucky complained when he tried to copy some of Sam’s moves.

“You’re doing great,” Sam said but he was grinning, clearly enjoying how Bucky was making a fool of himself. “Maybe tone down the staring a bit.”

Well, if it made Sam happy… Bucky decided to give it his all and moved wildly to the rhythm, not caring if it could be called “dancing” or not. Nonetheless, he was a little relieved when the song was over.

“Your turn.” Sam indicated the computer.

Bucky had no idea which song to pick. He tentatively typed “Billie Holiday” into the search bar.

“Seriously?” Sam came up behind him. “You know Billie Holiday and say you don’t understand how music can capture the African-American experience?”

It was like a punch in the face. A well-deserved punch probably. “I mostly saw her as the singer of love songs, for slow dancing,” he admitted. “Never really…thought much about it.”

“So what, you’re going to slow dance with me, Barnes?” It wasn’t the usual good-natured banter but sounded more like an accusation.

“Look, Sam, I…” Bucky rubbed his temples. “Let’s head downstairs to that party to…” hopefully not dance. Whatever. Get out of this situation where, he feared, he was breaking rule #2 again.

“No, let’s do this.” Sam clicked on the first link and a swing tune started to play, Me, Myself and I. “Let’s slow dance if that’s what you do.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

It was certainly the most aggressive ask for a dance he had ever received. And he had never been this stiff during a dance before. He used to be a good dancer back in the days but now he felt clumsy when he placed his hand on Sam’s back while trying to keep as much distance between them as possible.

They had not even made eight uncoordinated steps when Sam started to speak. “Would it hurt you to use that brain of yours once in a while? It’s supposed to be working properly again, isn’t it? That’s what I heard at least.”

Doctor Raynor’s words came back to him, that he was free. To do what? Certainly to do better than hurt the man who had always had his back without Bucky ever having done anything to deserve that kind of loyalty.

“I’m sorry,” he said, unconsciously tightening his grip on Sam’s back.

“What for?”

Everything. “For being…kind of… thoughtless, I guess.”

Being so close, he could actually feel Sam exhale. “That’s the understatement of the century.”

“For being a huge dick,” Bucky offered.

“Better,” Sam grumbled. “Now, was that so hard?”

Bucky took a step back to gauge Sam’s reaction. He was relieved to find no traces of hurt or betrayal in Sam’s eyes, just the usual exasperation he put on when looking at Bucky. “Yes. Physically painful,” he tentatively tested the water. It was like a dance, back and forth, seeing how far you could get.

Sam rolled his eyes. “I hate you. And please stop staring.”

Bucky shrugged and pulled Sam close again, in fact, so close that he did not have to look into Sam’s eyes anymore but was now staring at his left shoulder. Sam was visibly relaxing in Bucky’s arms and wasn’t that a miracle, that he was still in Bucky’s arms, still allowed Bucky to hold him?

“Thank you,” Bucky mumbled into Sam’s shoulder.

“What for?”

Everything. Bucky tightened his hold on Sam (and silently thanked the autoplay function that started the next song because he was in no way ready to let go of Sam yet). “I’m a mess and you don’t deserve all that shit I throw at you.”

“Mm. You’re welcome.” Sam squeezed his shoulder, like a reassurance that he would continue to put up with all of Bucky’s bullshit. Too damn kind for this world. Good thing he had Bucky on his side who was going to beat up everyone who so much as tried to exploit Sam’s kindness. (Yes, he knew he was being hypocritical and should technically start with beating up himself.)

“Sharon was wrong,” Bucky said. “I’m not obsessed with the whole stars and stripes stuff. I didn’t follow Steve because he had that shield. And I’m – well, you might’ve noticed I’m here and not following that – that asshole. Sam, I think you should take the shield but, with or without the shield, I’ll follow you. Just so you know.”

Sam was silent for quite some time, they were just swaying gently to the music, until Bucky heard close to his ear, “That a threat, Buck?” He could almost sense the smile against his cheek.

“Just a fact. And I hate you too, by the way.”

[bluewahhh]

Soft Sorrow (3)

I finally figured out who the director chose to write about the recent murders. I was hoping it’d be me but I guess this was bound to happen one way or another. She’s not bad on the eyes, but that’s not entirely important. I’m curious to see how she chooses to write about Ghostface though. Danny thought. ‘I really started that off badly, I thought she would’ve liked straightforward people.” he sighed and laid back in his chair, facing a sort of cork board full almost completely of different Ghostface cases. All accompanied with a complimentary photo of each victim mutilated beside it. He greeted the ceiling with a wide and unsettling grin, if fear could kill, anyone in front of him would be dead. As you type away at your desk Alice comes into your peripheral vision, looking as sly as ever. “Ohhhh y/nnnn~,” she said. You don’t bother to look up, pretty engrossed in your work you mutter out a small hum of acknowledgment. “Want to accompany me to a bar tonight? I wouldn’t want to risk getting killed by a specific killer now would I?” She knows her safety is your weakness. You let out a breathy groan, “Alice, I have a lot of work to do, maybe some other day ?” “Oh come on, you always manage to finish those articles in time, and they’re always great. Soooo.” she yanks your arm slightly. How does a grown woman still manage to act like a high school girl? It kind of takes me back, she reminds me of my youth quite a bit. Maybe that’s why I care for her so much. After much coaxing, you finally agreed. The walk was nice and quiet, she spoke softly over how lucky I was to get to write the Ghostface articles. Which I kindly ignored. She then went on to talk about the stars, and how she and I were compatible based on our birth month. I was too tired to pay attention but it was comforting nonetheless. We finally made it and I realized it was more of a restaurant when we entered it wasn’t too loud. The music overpowered most of the conversations. We took a seat at the small bar and ordered our two distinct drinks, Old fashioned and some color-changing cocktail. She watched her drink change from deep indigo to magenta, completely mesmerized. I smiled at her expression. After it completely changed colors she looked back up to face me. “Are you gonna be okay?” she asked in a serious tone. I’ve never heard or seen her express this much concern towards me, so I realize having to work on these cases must be detrimental once you do it for so long. “I can always convince him to change it to m-“ “No” you interrupt. “I know you’re just looking out for me but I can handle this.” you lean over your drink. “What if they come after you though.” You lifted your head up, surprised, you hadn’t thought about that. “I mean..what if you write something they don’t approve of.” “I’ll just be selective with my words, I’m sure I’ll be perfectly fine” you manage to say calmly. In reality, you were kind of freaking out, what if they DID try to kill you. That’d honestly not be very cool. You exhale a bit and turn to your drink, “is this the only reason you called me here?” Her flushed cheeks confirmed your suspicion. “I assure you I'll be perfectly fine. Worry about your own skin, ‘Kay?” “I will, I will, I'm just worried about you. You were always like a sort of sister to me. I just don't want to lose you to some psycho.” Your face warmed at her tender words. You put a hand on her shoulder. “Alice, I assure you I'll be perfectly fine, and I'll do anything I need to make sure you're okay too. They won’t get either of us. Promise.” Her face warmed into a smile as she hugged you. After a few words over drinks, the night ended with you going back home. Feeling ever so slightly closer to Alice. Finally making it home and letting loose, you begin removing your makeup, suddenly your phone goes off breaking the agonizing silence. You pick it up and answer, semi groggily. “Hello? Who is this?” A familiar voice answers you. “Hey, it’s Luke, uh Alice’s brother.” You heard his voice crack slightly at Alice’s name. “Oh, uh hey. What is it? Don’t tell me Alice lost her

phone again.” you sighed with a snicker at the end. “That’s the thing, she-” his voice broke as he let out a choked sob. Your smile faded as quickly as it came. Everything clicked together as you realized the tragedy that had unfolded into your life. HAHA not sorry for the cliff hanger ! normal posts will resume next Sunday. I hope this makes up for the lack of length part 2 had ! have a good day !

[sylvie-writes]

Can you do a part two of what you just posted of Chris announcing your pregnancy? And have it be of them announcing the birth of their baby? And him talking about how they waited so long (6-8 weeks maybe?) just to be able to enjoy being new parents without the media involved and have him do a huge photo dump of newborn photos with dodger and him and the reader? And then maybe add in some fan comments giving them nothing but all the love and support in the world?!

Side note: I’m literally sobbing because your writing is 12/10!

LIVESTREAM

a/n: sorry for the wait, lovely. and now i'm sobbing because of your very sweet note. while i go get some tissues, enjoy the story! 

Part 1, Big Brother Dodger, is on my masterlist! 

“Chris, honey, you ready?”

You were sitting on the couch, phone propped up on the coffee table, prepped and ready for a live stream. It had been a few weeks since your son was born and you and Chris were finally ready to share the news. For the time that you had him to yourselves, it was very much enjoyable and you were able to make many memories, but now was the time you’d share with the media and fans. When it came to anything related to your baby, the world normally went into a panic, but a positive one. You really did enjoy reading some of the kind words from Chris’s fans. 

Soon footsteps clobbered down the stairs and you saw Chris, hair a bit disheveled from running, but looking good nonetheless. In his arms, was your son who was dressed in a little patriots onesie that your husband insisted he wear for the livestream. You agreed as long as your son wore the matching hat, which surprisingly he didn’t fuss about. 

Taking a few more strides, Chris joined you on the couch, one arm around your shoulders, the other supporting your son. 

“Okay, we’re live in three, two, one.”

The camera started to stream and your face drew into a happy smile upon seeing hundreds of people gather into the livestream. As they entered, hundreds more of comments flew by, mostly talking about your son who squirmed in Chris’s arms, making his presence known.

After a few seconds, a couple hundred people were in and you began talking.

“Hi folks! I’m sure you’ve all been along this journey with Chris and I, so we’d like to proudly announce the arrival of our son, (your son’s name)!”

Chris lifted up the baby to sit in his lap, grabbing the child’s chubby arm and waving at the phone, a silly smile on his own face. 

“Today, my wife and I are going to try our best to answer your questions, so drop them!”

Squinting, you started to see and read more and more comments, catching a few. 

“First question! From Elise, she asked how old is our son? He looks a bit older than a newborn.”

You look to your husband, who takes the question.

“Nice detective work, Elise,” He laughs, “(your son’s name) is 8 weeks old. We kept him a little secret so we could get some time in with him, ya know?”

As Chris finished the question, a bunch of hearts and puppy dog eye emojis zoomed by. Soon, another question came onto the screen, this time your husband reading it to you.

“Scott Evans asks, will you share pics of the baby and dodger?”

Immediately, Chris burst into laughter seeing as his brother had weaseled into the comment section.

“My brother in law, ladies and gentlemen,” A few giggles slipped from your lips, “But yes Scott, we are going to share photos.”

For a good hour or so, you and Chris answered many comments from the fans, even receiving a few that were just compliments. One viewer was so kind and sent you the sweetest message, making your eyes water a bit. 

“Hi (y/n)! I just wanted to say, I really admire how you’ve been so open with us, as we know you and Chris had some trouble. You’ve been an inspiration to me, as my husband and I have had the same problem, but I wanted to say congrats on your bundle of joy! We love you so much! - Anna.”

You read the message and felt the tears prick at your eyes, without second thought you sent the woman your love. Chris noticed how emotional you were getting and leaned to kiss you on the temple.

“I have to agree with Anna.”

Looking up, your husband smiled down at you, and you both knew the viewers were eating up the moment. There was no doubt that you wouldn’t be on ET tonight.

When the livestream was over, Chris went to go place the baby down for a nap, as the little guy experienced a pretty long day. He soon returned, plopping down onto the couch beside you, where the phone was now in your hand, the media already posting about the events prior. In particular, you saw an article titled, “Why Chris Evans and (y/n) Evans is Hollywood’s best couple.” You read the article just for the thrill of it and came across the picture of Chris kissing you earlier. Feeling a bit flustered, you smiled to yourself, which made Chris sneak a peek at your phone. He saw the picture and decided to kiss you again. Gently, the man brushed a piece of hair behind your ear and kissed your neck, making you lean into his touch. His hand was resting on your shoulder, as you closed your eyes, leaning against said arm. You just sat there in bliss as your husband planted fluttering kisses to your neck, especially the sensitive spot that made you titter a bit. 

A few days later, Dodger was resting on the back porch with you, sitting on the outdoor sofa enjoying the nice weather. You decided to bring the baby and Dodge out for fresh air while Chris did a zoom interview. He was supposed to be out in an hour, giving you some nice downtime outside. Currently, Dodger was curled up on the couch beside you. Baby in your arms, you snaked a hand out to pet him. Suddenly, Dodger shifted and laid his head on your thigh, looking up at the baby. He looked so precious and was so great around your son, that you lowered the sleeping baby to Dodger’s level where he softly sniffed the boy’s tummy. You grinned at the sight of your two boys interacting and you wished you were able to get a picture.

Wish granted, your husband had sneaked out of the office early, and watched the whole thing go down. He thought to himself that this would be the cutest first picture of the many that would ensue. Discreetly, Chris took the picture and walked towards you, now gaining your attention. There was just one cushion left on the couch, large enough for the man to squeeze himself onto. Just as you were about to ask Chris to take a picture, he pulled out his phone, showing you the picture he’d taken and how he had posted it on instagram. 

@chrisevans- They are definitely Momma’s boys 

You laughed at his creative caption and turned to kiss his bearded cheek in gratitude. It had only been posted for 40 seconds, yet thousands of fans had commented. Chris was never one to comment and like the fan comments, but today he was feeling extra appreciative of their support. He did his best to like all of the lovely comments as you did the same. 

[solitaria-fantasma]

Um for the Super Ghost AU I am just imagining that The Question managed to figure out basically everything about Gawain and the Mystery Skulls, but instead of it being his paranoia getting to him it's because he accidentally learned Gawain was a ghost, wanted to learn why he's a ghost and then he was going down the rabbit hole and by the time he climbed out of it he's just wondering what is Gawain's life, unlife, whatever and the life of his brother. Just, this came to me and refused to leave.

((*cracks knuckles*))

Question hadn't seen sunlight for nearly six days, and it had finally paid off.

He leaned over his hands on the edge of the desk, staring at the pin board before him. It was crisscrossed with color coded strands of yarn, and little push pins that held up photographs, newspaper and magazine clippings, and printed Internet screenshots. It wasn't the most complicated web he'd ever built, but it tied up neatly, and that was enough. Not every mystery had a a million twists to unwind.

The trail started in London, England, and stretched all the way across the Atlantic to a tiny town in Texas, USA, barely large enough to be a speck on a map. He had birth records, school enrollment records, science fair awards, promotions, Visa applications, mortgages, home appliance purchases, swing dance trophies, company picnic photos, a missing person's report, and an obituary, all leading to a giant question mark scribbled over a photo of a young blond man, with the word 'whereabouts?' written beneath it.

This photo connected to the next item in the chain with a quick arrow of blue, and another long, arching arrow connected a birth record from earlier in this leg to the same thing - a newspaper article from that small Texas town, talking about the mysterious case of a young boy with amnesia being found on the steps of a local restaurant. There was an article about the boy's adoption just a few months later, and then another article congratulating three local kids and their dog for solving a small time mystery.

The chain ran through several articles like this one, and the kids grew older as their mysteries evolved from misplaced mail and lost pets to package theft, poltergeist activity, and cryptid sightings. More and more, the articles talked about ghosts, creatures of urban legend, and even sightings of demons and occult activity. Around 2008, the newspaper articles became printed blog posts, and seemed to be written by the kids themselves.

Question laughed quietly to himself. Kids after his own paranoid heart, all three.

The articles came to an abrupt halt in 2014, with a missing persons report for the amnesiac boy (now an adult), and a series of articles about a groundbreaking prosthetic limb, developed by a genius young man who tested his prototype on himself after tragically loosing his own arm. There were a few more articles about the prosthetic, and a few photos to go along with them that showed the blond man from previous articles, and then there were a few clippings of local tabloids from a truck driver who swore he'd been carjacked by 'a flaming skeleton with great fashion sense'.

There was silence for a month or two, and then concurrent newspaper articles and blog posts about the miraculous return of one Lewis Pepper, thought to be dead from the same tragic caving accident that cost his best friend his arm. The blog posts about the supernatural returned, and the prosthesis research seemed to slow down. Coincidentally, a young man named 'Merlin Knight' with an eerily familiar face was hired at the local auto shop.

Question wondered if the entire town was playing dumb, or just stupid. The only real change was the clothing, and that long blond hair being braided.

This employment record connected all the way back to the obituary from the first leg of the chain, and proceeded on to connect with screenshots from a social media account of a robotic body, and the building of what would be, within a few month's time, the town's own local hero.

Question breathed out through his nose. A local hero who would go on to help save the world, and found the Justice League itself. Had that been part of the plan?

The web wrapped itself up quickly from there. Supernatural skills and abilities not possible by modern science, knowledge of other realms and creatures only known to mythology, and the tiny little clues he'd been hoarding and observing for a full year all pointed to the same conclusion. It wasn't as fantastical as it sounded, in all honesty, though Green Arrow had looked at him stranger than usual when he'd first said his conclusion out loud.

There were legitimate aliens, sorcerers, and demons in this reality - why not ghosts, too?

There was one final piece missing from the web, however, and he was out of clues to tie in. There was a near twenty year gap between the last known sighting of Gawain Kingsmen, and the appearance of 'Merlin Knight'. What had the man been doing for all that time? There had been no sightings of anyone even remotely matching the appearance of Gawain or 'Merlin' anywhere in that time, and without even the slightest whisper of a rumor on an Internet forum or library archive, there wasn't much more he could do to find out.

Question straightened up from the desk, and rolled his shoulders to try and stretch them out. There was no way around it.

He was going to have to get more...direct from here on out.

.......

"What does a dead man do for twenty years?" Gawain froze with a potato wedge half-raised to his shoulder at the question, and Bran - unwilling to wait for her snack - leaned her head down to snatch it up anyway. Gawain turned his yellow LED eyes over to Question, who had planted himself in the chair across the table without so much of a 'hello', and tilted his head.

"...I'm sorry," He apologized. "But I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"I know you do." Question leaned one elbow on the table. Bran nudged Gawain's still-raised hand, hoping for more potatoes, and the hero absently picked up another wedge to feed to her. "I know most people believe the 'advanced AI' cover story, but I'm not most people. I know you're a ghost possessing an armored suit like that old anime." The potato wedge vanished, and Question wondered if the little ghost was actually eating it, or just storing it for later.

That was a mystery for another time, regardless.

Gawain had turned to face him fully, now, and his two other ghostly companions were now peeking out of hiding from behind his shoulders. They weren't hostile, but their stares were, nonetheless, intense, and Question smiled behind his mask. He knew he had their full attention, now.

"How did you find out?" Gawain asked, keeping his voice low.

"I saw you from the ground in that fight with Mr. Sorcerer Superior, Magnus Creed." Question replied. "You ran into that warding slip like a bird into a clean window. A robot wouldn't have been stopped by mere paper and superstition." Gawain tilted his head slightly to one side.

"Some superstitions hurt." He argued, just the slightest bit defensive. "...what was your question, again?"

"What does a dead man do for twenty years?" Question asked. "There's a two decade gap between your presumed death and your reappearance. You could stand to work on that secret identity, by the way." He advised. "Someone's going to notice your resemblance to a dead guy from twenty years ago, if you ever let down your hair." Gawain's LED eyes narrowed, and one of the spirits - Chopper, the one with the upright spines - hissed in response.

Vixen walked by with John Stewart at her side, and both Chopper and Gawain made a visible effort to drop any outward signs of irritation. Question remained where he was. People were used to seeing him tense and suspicious, by now. It wouldn't raise a single eyebrow.

"...I was lost." Gawain spoke up quietly once Vixen and John had passed out of earshot. "I woke up in the middle of an unfamiliar forest, and I just couldn't get out. Not for a while."

"You were lost in a forest for twenty years?" Even Question sounded skeptical. "I've seen what you're capable of. You should have been able to handle a little thing like being lost."

"It was ten years," Gawain retorted sharply. Bran raided his plate for the remaining potato wedges. "And I wasn't just...born being able to do that stuff. I had to grow into it. I had to learn." A strange gust of air blew past the table, scattering someone's forgotten paper plate and napkin to the floor, before Gawain unclenched his fists, and visibly calmed down. Question still didn't move.

"Death...does things to you." Gawain lowered his voice again. "To your mind. You can't think straight for...a long time - and that's if you're lucky." He lowered his hands to the table, and Bran automatically wound herself around one arm with a pleased sound. "I found my way out of the forest after ten yes, and then I went...home. To Tempo."

"Your parents had moved away by then." Question knew. He knew how the story of the living family had played out, from there. "Your brother was living with your uncle, and your friends were off at college." Gawain's shoulders drooped, and the third spirit - Griflet, if he remembered right - patted at the side of his helmet sympathetically. Chopper was still glaring at him.

"They had." Gawain made no effort to hide the disappointment in his voice. "I guess I couldn't fault them for not wanting to stay in town after all they went through, but back then, I didn't know it had been ten years. It only felt like a few days, to me."

"That must have been difficult." Question said, and he meant it. Sympathy wasn't really his thing, but Gawain was being cooperative, so it was the least he could do. "And the other ten?"

"I was hiding." Gawain laughed humorlessly. "I somehow convinced myself that my family-...that my brother, and my uncle, would be afraid of me, if they saw me like that, and I just...never came forward." He shrugged. "I just sort of watched, and listened, and followed them for another ten years, and I thought that was pretty good, you know?

"I couldn't interact with them, sure, but at least I could still see them. It was...better than nothing." The hero fell silent, for a few moments, and then looked Question in the eye. Or...as close as he could get. The featureless mask tended to throw off people's frame of reference for facial features. "What are you going to do now?"

"Absolutely nothing." Question casually leaned back in his own chair. "I've already put the pieces together. This was just the last piece I needed to finish the story." He stood up, and pushed the chair in under the table. "This time, I just wanted to satisfy my own curiosity." Gawain seemed surprised, and remained sitting as Question walked out of the cafeteria.

He could feel four pairs of eyes burning into his back, but for once, being watched didn't bother him. Curiosity killed the cat, they said, but satisfaction brought it back, and Question was very much satisfied with this answer.

Now, he could focus on more important matters...like the long-ignored connection between Girl Scout cookie sales and the appearance of crop circles in Midwest America.

[floralamongtheclouds]

Hi! I hope you’re having a great day/night! I was wondering if I could request Gauche and/or Luck finding out their S/O is a royal from the Spade Kingdom, but ran away cause their family was horrible to her?

Hello! I’m having a pretty good day, actually. I finally had a day off, so I was able to get a lot of these requests done, which made me happy! I kind of already did something like this with Luck here so I’ll be doing just Gauche, but if I find the time, maybe I’ll rewrite it for this request specifically 👀

GauchexRunawayroyal!Reader

Warnings: Mentions abuse

-You always kept the fact you were originally a royal from the Spade Kingdom a secret, especially with news coming out that the Spade Kingdom was planning to attack its neighboring kingdoms with the help of a demon.

-However, when your boyfriend Gauche suggested to the Black Bulls that you two do some research on the Spade Kingdom, you started to panic. Your family was a pretty prominent royal line, so you knew that somehow, some way, there would be a photo of your family (perhaps even one of yourself) in the books you were studying.

-In the library alone with him, your panic started to rise. On one hand, you knew the right thing to do would be to come clean with your secret, but another part of you was rushing through all the Spade Kingdom books in hopes that you would reach anything about your family first and you could keep quiet about it.

-One of the books you were currently reading was a collection of news articles. It wasn’t too surprising when you ran across something about yourself.

- ‘Royal Child Still Missing: Large Reward If Found and Returned Safely’ it read ‘Royal child from royal family Y/L/N mysteriously disappeared Monday night two weeks ago, still with no clues of their whereabouts or where they may have been going. We reached out for comment from the parents, but they were still distraught over what could happen to their child and only wish for their safe return. Currently they have a handsome reward for whoever can find and/or return their child to them.’ Below it was a zoom in of your frowning face from a (then) recent family portrait.

-You remember the day you left your home kingdom vividly. It was only a few days before your birthday when you fled to the Clover Kingdom for a new life. Your parents had always been terrible to you, only getting worse the older you got. It first started out with verbal abuse and slowly transitioned to physical whenever you made even a small mistake. They had a life planned out for you that you didn’t want, so you ran away.

-When Yami found you wandering around aimlessly with nowhere to go and offered you a place with the Black Bulls, you thought you could leave your old life behind you for good. You vowed to never talk about your past, but you didn’t think it would be rearing its ugly head once again.

-The article made you sick. Your parents didn’t actually care about you or your safe return, they only cared about appearances. You were glad no one found you. Otherwise you wouldn’t had been able to build such an amazing life with the Black Bulls with Gauche at your side.

- “Did you find something?” Gauche’s question pulled you out of your reverie. He noticed that you were spending a lot of time on that one article.

“O-oh,” you started. Well, it was now or never, “Not necessarily, but Gauche, there’s something we need to talk about.”

- “Alright.” Gauche said perplexed, but put his own book aside nonetheless.

“Now, before I get into it, I understand if you get mad, but please try to understand where I’m coming from,” you took a shaky breath, “I-I’m actually from the Spade Kingdom. More specifically, I’m royalty.” You looked over to him to gauge his reaction, but he stayed silent and looked lost in though, which caused you to panic. “B-but I haven’t been back in years. I had run away from there long before you even met me. I didn’t say anything to you about it because I wanted to leave that part of me behind, but there are stuff in these books about my family and I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea if you saw something. I’m sorry I lied to you, I just never wanted you to hate me and-”

-Your ramblings were cut short by Guache leaning over to hug you tightly.

“I could never hate you,” he soothed you, “I’m glad you were finally able to tell me, but why did you leave your home?”

-At this point, you couldn’t help the tears that flowed freely from your eyes as the memories you tried suppress for so long resurfaced, “They were all so terrible to me. I hated it there. I was in pain for so, so long until I finally left.”

-Gauche’s grip on you tightened at your confession. He only pulled away slightly to graze his lips over yours as he murmured, “I promise that I’ll make sure you never feel like that again.” 

[hwayoungscorpioshin]

Filthy Rich, Spoilt Rotten | fourteen

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Summary: Seungwoo covers up corruption and you are an activist in your spare time.

Also known as Seungwoo’s life as your employer

The last time Seungwoo has been to Hong Kong is about half a year ago and while he cannot say that nothing has changed since then, the city does not feel the same either. It is almost nightfall when they arrive at the hotel. The girl has surprisingly — and pleasantly — kept herself together quite well. A slight nausea and a bit of dizziness are all that's happened to her and since they have stepped onto solid ground again, she has looked better.

Still, when they approach the reception desk, she takes a step back to let him talk to the receptionist himself. So much for being the boss, Seungwoo thinks jokingly. He seriously doesn't mind. In fact, he would rather her act towards him with a little bit more familiarity than what is she currently doing. But he doesn't know if they're close enough to be like that.

"Let's go?" the girl asks as she tugs at his sleeve.

Seungwoo realizes he's been staring into space and shakes his head briefly before falling into step with her. True to his promise, his father has booked them a suite for that personal task that he's assigned to Seungwoo. It will be a chore to keep the girl preoccupied, but it will definitely be a lot harder to explain to her the current situation. So, as they get on the elevator shaft, Seungwoo thinks hard of what errands he should give her.

"A penny for your thoughts?" she asks him suddenly.

"What?"

The girl flips her hair over her shoulder, "You've been in your own thoughts since we got in the car until now," she explains.

Seungwoo tilts his head to the side, "Have you been watching me, miss?"

"Never mind that I asked, then," she huffs and then, makes a face.

Seungwoo smiles, "You sure you're not curious?"

"No..." she shakes her head but the slight hesitation in her voice says otherwise.

The elevator bell dings as they arrive on the tenth floor. The girl leans away from the railing to get out first. Seungwoo lets her have her little fit before following suit. He can't say he's not enjoying teasing her from time to time but he'll have to tell her eventually.

As they walk down the hall, the girl faces him again, walking backwards as they move further into the hall, "Hey, do you want to go grab something to eat later?"

"You want to go outside?" Seungwoo asks.

She nods her head like it's the most obvious thing on Earth, "Don't you want to?"

"Well..."

"That's great!" the girl exclaims, "I don't know if cheap ramen is your thing but trust me, I know this place with a really good menu."

For a ramen house with such cheap, good food, Seungwoo is surprised that they don’t have as many customers as he thinks they should have. The place is small but it’s not cramped and him and the girl can easily have some privacy while eating without him having the need to rent out the entire place. If his brother Hangyul can see him right now, he’ll probably laugh and tell him that this is not his scene. And he’ll be right, but as he listens to the girl talking about the history of the place and how she’s found it, he realizes he cares none about how cheap the place is.

“And that’s how Minhee and I ended up eating here every time we visited,” she finishes.

“You and your brother seem really close,” he comments.

The girl smiles faintly, “Yeah,” she sighs as if she’s remembering something, “He can be annoying sometimes, but yeah, I think we’re pretty close.”

Seungwoo senses that there must be more to the story but he doesn’t press on it. If she wants to talk about it, she will.

“You know what,” he whispers, “I could use a walk after this heavy meal.”

She takes one look at him and his hand rubbing his stomach, “Who knew a giant like you can have such small stomach?” she teases, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I’m not a giant, you’re just tiny,” Seungwoo replies and ruffles her hair.

The girl rolls her eyes at him as she stands up and picks up her coat and bag, “You coming?”

He grins at her cheekiness and follows suit. The owner thanks them in English as they rush past him in the entrance which they both return. The air is cool and light when it hits Seungwoo in the face and only then does he realize that the ramen house they have just been in has no air circulation whatsoever. No wonder the place is cheap, Seungwoo thinks.

He takes out a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the back of his neck which he now feels is drenched with sweat, “What the hell? It must be a hundred degrees in there,” he complains.

“Hey,” the girl turns to him with her hands in her pockets, “I said I knew a place with good ramen, not fresh air.”

Seungwoo shrugs. No need to complain about it now that they are out of the restaurant, anyway. He follows the girl as she skips towards the less busy part of the city. Seungwoo’s mother would have a fit if she sees her jumping around like that just right after eating. Nonetheless, he strolls right behind her, watching her hair bounce with each step.

“Where are we going?” he calls after her.

“You’ll see,” she replies, smirking.

He trails after her, tempted to ask some more, but as they pass the quieter part of the city and go into some sort of residential area, the scenery calms him into silence. The quiet doesn’t last long, though, because as soon as they turn left to a community playground, the girl’s phone rings which shocks both him and her out of peace.

She must have felt annoyed by the disturbance because then, she swings open the gate to the playground rather harshly before digging her phone out of her pocket. The place itself is illuminated by the street lamps littered everywhere but when the girl pulls her phone up to her face, the irritated look on her face is amplified. Seungwoo has never seen her with this expression before so, he says nothing and decides to wait until after she either rejects the call or answers it before saying anything.

“What do you want, Minhee?” the girl hisses.

Once he hears this, Seungwoo walks over to a swing set and settles into a seat to give her some privacy. He tries not to watch her as she paces back and forth about twelve feet away from him. It must be something really sensitive, he surmises. It’s not like her to fight with someone over the phone like this, but something inside him tells him that he hasn’t known this girl for so long. Who is he to know what she’s actually like outside of work?

He shakes his head. It’s a thought he doesn’t want to entertain.

The girl finally walks over to him and he hears her tell the person on the other line to call her later. Her dismissive tone must have prevented the other person to argue some more because she pockets her phone right away. That or she hasn’t not really bothered to wait for a reply.

She shoots him an apologetic smile, “Sorry about that.”

“No worries,” Seungwoo shrugs. He doesn’t want to expound on it if she doesn’t want to.

“I love my brother to death but sometimes you just want to punch them, you know,” she chuckles as she lowers herself on the swing seat next to him.

Seungwoo laughs. So, that’s it.

He raises an eyebrow, “I have four brothers. I know exactly what you mean.”

“Oh, that’s right. I haven’t met the other two, though. Like, officially,” the girl lifts her head up as if she’s remembering something, “I mean, like, I’ve seen them in photos before, but I haven’t seen them in person,” she stammers.

“You’re not missing much, to be honest,” Seungwoo jokes.

She smiles, deep in thought and then, turns to him. “All of you seem really close. You guys ever fight?”

“Well, yeah, that’s pretty normal in a family. Don’t you think?” the metals creak as Seungwoo plays with the swing, “Why? Did you and your brother get into a fight?”

The girl shakes her head, “No. He’s just so nosy. I might end up getting mad for real.”

“I’m sure he only has your best interests in mind.”

“That’s the point, though,” she says in a slightly raised voice, “It’s my best interests, shouldn’t I be the one to determine that?”

Seungwoo stops playing on the swing to take a good look at her. It seems to be a more serious conflict that he has initially thought.

“I remember when my brothers and I were in high school — when we were in high school,” he starts, completely avoiding her question, “I had this huge crush on a girl and they kept on pestering me to confess to her even though I wasn’t ready then. They never stopped telling me to confess until graduation.”

“Well, did you do it?”

“No,” Seungwoo shakes his head wistfully, “I never had the courage.”

The girl leans away and only then, does Seungwoo notice that she’s been leaning closer to him all this time as she listens. She looks relieved, but he doesn’t trust the lighting in the playground. It could just be his imagination again.

He clears his throat, not wanting to stay on the topic for too long, “Anyway, I’m just saying, maybe you should give your brother a chance with what he’s telling you. Just hear him out, you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

A conflicted look passes over her face, “I guess…”

A/N: I took that headline from an actual news article since I can’t write a headline for shit. I hope you guys don’t mind 🥺

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[heymistercory]

7 Tips To Obtain New Inventors Believing Like Effective Developers

Specifically, as a more recent financier, try to keep in mind that slow and stable success this race. Don't rush anything; your perseverance will certainly pay off as long as you are careful.

Investing in each action of the invention procedure reciprocates in both the short term (your first patent, and so on) and the longer-term (an understanding of exactly how this process is repeatable). Also find out InventHelp Crunchbase

1: Do Not Tell The World Concerning Your Invention Suggestion...

I received an e-mail lately that appeared like it was from Wal-Mart. Become a fraudster seeking to turn me into a target.

In 2015, my bank card was reported as utilized in Florida when I remained in New York City-- for $4,000.

There was even a Vice President at one of my old businesses who took my idea for an analytics reporting system and also shared it with the entire company as his very own.

What's the point of these tales?

The world has lots of people seeking a shortcut or an easy way to get rich.

They are probably heartless contrasted to you; predators.

Don't let somebody take advantage of your idea-- who recognizes, it could be a million (or billion) buck idea!

The last point you desire is to see it on the shelf understanding it was your brainchild, however, you do not obtain a cent in royalties for it. So try to keep your suggestion under covers, specifically in the early stages of the invention process.

2: Study The Need For Your Item Idea.

Eventually or one more, we've all had great concepts ... or so we thought.

In 3rd grade, I would have vouched that a double-sided toothbrush was going to save the globe about 25 seconds of their morning.

That was till I damaged a toothbrush as well as glued the head to the back of an additional full toothbrush. When I stuck it in my mouth I understood that I was mostly brushing (or stabbing) the inside of my cheeks.

I handed down that, thanks - It was better to enjoy the various other children explode volcanoes full of food coloring at the scientific research fair.

I was lucky though.

The study it took me to understand my intention was not possible was just about 10 minutes.

The truth is, if you want your invention idea to appear, you'll need to spend time and also resources in investigating the concept to identify if there is a market for your product.

Here are just a few of the concerns you'll wish to respond to when you're starting.

What problem does my item resolve?

Has this issue been addressed before (or tried)?

Just how will my item be made use of?

Will my product sell? (Exists industrial stability?).

To whom? (Target audience?).

Is it like anything else in the marketplace? (Elaborate on this, certainly - what fads are taking place in the market? Just how jampacked is it? Are people spending essentially on products I might take on? What're the social networks buzz around my specific niche?).

What marketing difficulties might I encounter?

A lot of innovators avoid this action as well as I completely comprehend why they do.

Two factors.

It can be lengthy.

It can seem (or be) costly.

I get it. You're delighted concerning your product so you feel like the world will certainly be delighted - certainly, there is a requirement, you're fixing a problem!

All that time and all that money invested in research study as well as answering concerns will only confirm what you already know, best?

Not always.

The successful ones are the ones that do their research.

Those who fail to spend ahead of time are supplying the typical death penalty to their invention. As a financier, you require to comprehend if the market demands your service You can also check https://www.wikidata.org/wiki/Q64627233

3: Record WHATEVER.

From the minute that suggestion precipitates, it's paramount to monitor every facet of the concept.

No matter if your concept changes a hundred times over, you always want to be the proprietor, the owner, of every idea that went into the invention as well as ultimately became the product.

So, specifically, what should you be recording?

Every thought and suggestion that at all concerns your invention (I uncommitted if you dream it ... PAPER IT!). You can always return to these notes, repeat on them, incorporate them in brand-new means, and so on. Much more notably, if anything is ever doubted, you have proof that the suggestion is yours.

All information that you can think about that helps you explain the invention.

Usage instances. What is your product for? What does it do? What problem or difficulty does it address? That will be utilizing it?

Where do you think it could be sold? What kind of shops? Is it part of something that currently exists?

How will it be made? Out of what?

Just how will you construct a prototype? Will you require aid?

To find full-circle right here, simply DOCUMENT EVERYTHING! I do not know if I can pierce this in any additional:-RRB-.

Why you ought to record your invention.

At some point in the invention cycle, you might need to prove that you are the proprietor of your suggestion. You may also need to confirm that you thought of a particular element of your invention.

Taxes! That's right - you can use your notes as well as files on costs for tax deductions.

Maintaining solid, systematic documentation of every idea you have and also every action you take allows you to take advantage of in-depth research and examine your work in the future so you can obtain innovative as well as build even more on it.

You're taping every little thing regarding your invention so you never forget also one thought you had regarding your idea.

4: Look For Professional Assist With Patents.

If you are new to investing, you'll intend to discover as high as you can around licenses (in addition to trademarks and also copyrights, yet that is a later lesson).

A research study ought to be an everyday activity for you.

Patents are a vast topic; it's the ocean of the invention procedure.

It's additionally a subject in which oceans of information are offered ... and also not all of it is true.

If you don't do your recon, it's a type of simple to get misguided or, also worse, capitalized on. As well as all of us recognize misaligned folks are plenty.

One terrific resource is constantly the United States Patent & Hallmark Workplace (USPTO). Nonetheless, in full disclosure, their site can be rather difficult to navigate and follow. It might befit you give some people there a call to ask certain concerns (though I'm not exactly sure the length of time delay time gets on their call center).

Another thing you can do is talk to a patent lawyer.

Below's a free life hack for you, some patent advice you probably won't find in other places:

Provide out concerns you want to ask the initial one. With those responses, try to ask smarter, much more enlightened questions to the 2nd one ... and so on - you get me.

5: Learn Exactly How To Present And Pitch (yes, I indicate OFFER!).

When I watch Shark Storage tank, I always keep a close eye on the instance each individual makes to the Sharks for their invention or product.

There are specific qualities I search for and also in my head, I generally rank each business owner weak or solid on each (or, in some cases, simply terrible).

The characteristics fall into 2 categories:

The speaker.

The discussion.

The owner of the suggestion or invention, the speaker, ought to show some innate top qualities if they intend to be perceived as a person a Shark can do service with. Before I provide those qualities, I simply want to mention "innate" ... meaning, some individuals are natural at specific points.

What I wouldn't condone is attempting to entirely be something you aren't.

If discussions, as well as sales, aren't your strong suit, I suggest training.

I've recently added an article regarding pitching your concept, whether it's to a shark or other investor, to a business, or a prospective partner.

To me, the best presenters are positive.

They make eye call, talk eloquently, and rely on their words.

When you do that, when you control the space fearlessly, you start to regulate the audience to pay attention to what you're stating.

As soon as you've "hypnotized" them, you can start to throw off Subliminals (such as a nod when you desire the possible buyer, investor, or Shark to believe "yes" in their head).

If you present self-confidence as a presenter, your distribution will constantly go from a 6 to an 8, specifically.

An additional quality of a wonderful presenter is going to hold your horses.

You work out persistence by paying attention, taking in, as well as analyzing things as you are offering your presentation.

Don't quickly look to be listened to; you'll get your chance.

Slow down, listen to what a prospective investor is stating, as well as see just how you can empathize.

The toughest presentations need to be tales, computer-animated by utilizing the brand name photo, look, and also really feel.

Stories have a beginning, middle, and end, as well as they always have a point.

Props must be utilized as required.

I when saw a person who developed a canteen that opened up on both sides (for far better cleansing). It was geared towards the athletic neighborhood as well as sporting activities gamers.

When he came on Shark Container, he had Costs Walton as his mascot - what a mind-blowing concept! (Particularly if you take into consideration that Mark Cuban is a Shark ... as well as he got a handle him).

If you have an invention and you wish to sell it, simply remember that you eventually need to sell it in some way.

You'll require to pitch the suggestion probably numerous times before it begins to materialize. Function on that lift pitch and also never stop boosting it from there.

6: Learn About Appraisal, Equity, Accountancy, And Organisation Money.

You wish to be fiscally responsible with your invention idea. I can't claim it any less complex than this.

As the proprietor of an invention, you definitely must know what the invention is worth.

Know your numbers.

As well as when you do, you sure better understand why it's worth that.

I have discussed research many times in this post, and also it's a popular string throughout this website for a factor: If you're not knowledgeable, you can pretty conveniently end up on the wrong side of a bad deal.

I recommend you do some analysis regarding bookkeeping, personal financing, company valuation, and various other financial subjects.

If time is way too much of a commodity, find out exactly how to take in info various other means - podcasts could be an excellent technique.

You'll intend to be a master of numbers.

It guarantees you aren't taken benefit of.

Second, when you do go pitch this concept or invention to investors, you'll likely be prompted on-the-spot to chat numbers. You better understand them. And when a person starts to make a deal, you wish to ensure the numbers they are offering are in the array you valuated your invention or business.

The evaluation of inventions is vital when identifying the general value.

Yet valuation is a pretty complicated subject; this is hardly introductory to Assessment 101.

And the truth is that evaluation can come down to a mix of complex calculations, extensive projections, and a peppering of ordinary old intestine instincts.

If you can confirm out that your invention fulfills an unmet demand or gets over a typical obstacle that appears to bug a big number of individuals, after that you can make a fairly strong situation for an economic benefit (and a good one for buy-in from investors) ... however, that doesn't suggest a real worth can be established.

With gray areas, the best point a brand-new investor can do is develop their abilities on the financial side of points. Math ninja would certainly be excellent.

7: Be Reasonable. You, Will, Requirement To Invest Time & Money To Make Money.

It takes a lot of individual financial investment to succeed as a capitalist.

That investment is available in several means: You'll be investing time right into establishing your suggestion; initiative into your patent; money right into your model; personal room and/or family time to make ends satisfy ... you get it.

This isn't a very easy roadway. Nothing beneficial was ever that easy.

And also as much as you're an optimist, be open to the potential of not making it, specifically with your initial invention.

It's OKAY to stop working.

A fantastic capitalist as soon as claimed "A creator can fall short 999 times, as well as if he is successful once, he remains in. He treats his failures simply as method shots.".

[scriptaed]

ink nemesis. 06

Genre: Angst/Fluff || paparazzi!au; fake dating!au;

Pairing: Reader x Yoongi

Length: 5.6k

Synopsis: As an aspiring writer drowning under the public’s radar, a click of the pen is all you need to accept your supervisor’s offer to co-write an article for the SS - Secrets Spilled, a regular section of your company’s weekly tabloid; but fabricated stories and invasive details aren’t all that you write when you discover Min Yoongi’s dirty little secret. 

...who? 

Yourself and your grotesque reflection that distorts by the second of every day or the daughter born with a silver spoon and your man so tactfully wrapped around her little finger? Whom is it whose influence you had thought to be completely ridden of, despite the endless hours they have managed to thieve from you as they incessantly creep along your conscience even in the darkest of nights? Perhaps, is it a disgraceful force manifested from the wants of your body as it lusts for the warmth of the man who had betrayed your utmost trust? 

Who is it whom has left her here, aloof, abandoned, and so pitifully desperate for affirmation that even you would have scorn her had it not been a spitting image of the current you? 

You fear the answer; so, instead, the little girl in you ill-advisedly persists to indulge in a cyclical wave of toxicity. 

[Anonymous 01:23 AM] Damn how does Ink Nemesis get all of this? She must have worked at Dispatch before haha I love her content but she’s an apologetic asshole

[Anonymous  01:25 AM] To be honest, the CEO’s daughter is so much prettier than his current girlfriend. Yoongi must be regretting his decision.

[User124930 01:26 AM] His current gf isn’t even good looking or wealthy. I wonder what he sees in her? 

[Anonymous 01:27 AM] Switching to his new chick was the biggest mistake of his career 

[Anonymous 01:29 AM] IN, I loved all of your content up til now, but this was a step too far. You knew he had a girlfriend, so why would you release this picture now? It’s irrelevant. Honestly, fuck you. 

On tails, they love you when they need you. On heads, they toss you to the curb when you needed them. Where were all of your supporters in this very moment when you needed them most? Akin to the flip of a coin, loyalty is nothing but an occasional typo on the internet. 

It’s a hard pill to swallow but you do it, nonetheless; in fact, you take them, one every scroll and another every comment until you’re lying in bed—cold and numb, chest wrenching, heart twisting, and mind scavenging for an explanation. 

What did you do to deserve this? 

What could you have done better?

How should you respond to the public?

Should you lash out at them? But what if they condemn you even further? What about your career? Could you survive the fall? Would your dwindling supporters remain by your side? Probably not, considering their silence, right?

Maybe they were right,. Should you not have posted that photo?

Should you not have gotten involved with BTS in the first place? 

What could you have done to avoid falling for Yoongi? 

“Hello? Is anyone in here?” 

A series of hard knocks on the door interrupts your state of panic. Your legs swing over the side of your bed as you propel yourself onto your feet, completely upright and alert at the sudden visit. 

Who could it be? One of his fans? How did they get your address? Has their malicious intents transcended from virtual and into reality? 

Did they really hate you that much? 

Cautiously, you grab your phone and stealthily creep toward the door with a thumb hovered over the emergency dial. The floor barely creeks but the painful pounds of your heart echo in the deafening silence. The blinding blue light of your phone is all that guides you through the pitch black apartment. With red eyes that were sore from hours of scrolling and a mind so physically and mentally drained that you couldn’t even process the potential danger of the situation, you peek into the peephole—not with courage, but rather, with a mind absent of sense. 

Fortunately, the woman who stands on the other side of the door is not one requiring the courage of a lion. At least, physically, she is not one you would fear of; mentally, however, she poses an ongoing threat to your state of mind. 

Her doll-like physique with those doe-like eyes and red popping lips present unpleasant flashbacks of a particular picture you had spent the entirety of last night staring over. 

Her lips on his. 

His lips on hers. 

Jealousy courses through your veins, serving as your only source of courage to face the victim of your schemes head-on. 

“Oh!” the doll jumps backwards once the door swings wide open to reveal a room as dark as the night. “I thought you weren’t home considering…” her sentence is completed by the glimpses she grants around your apartment. “I’m not sure if you know me but allow me to introduce myself. I’m—”

“—I know very well who you are,” your curt interruption catches her off guard. “Why is Yoongi’s girlfriend paying the fake one a visit? How the hell did you even get my address?” 

 “Actually,” she nibbles the inside of her lower lip, slightly nodding her head in submission, despite retaining a firm lock to your eyes. “Yoongi gave me your address… to clear up some things.”

You quirk a brow at the mention of his name. 

Who knew it would actually hurt even more to hear his name than to read it over text? 

“I’m…” she struggles to get the words out. “I’m not actually dating Yoongi. Well, I never was. You were the first one he had ever seen. Yoongi made sure I was going to make that clear to you.” 

“What… what do you mean?” you frown, clearly distraught by the sudden turn of events. Any information just turned into jumble at this point. 

“My father, he’s the CEO of another company that has close ties with BigHit. He wanted to arrange a relationship between myself and Yoongi for publicity purposes, but when Yoongi’s producer explained the plan…” she forces out the remainder of her sentence, “...he objected.” 

Oh is the only expression you could make. Had Yoongi not been lying to you after all? Does his omission of the complete truth still anger you so? You’re not completely sure how you feel, even knowing that he had sent her here as an olive branch and to clear the truth. Still, why didn’t he come here to speak these words himself? 

“But…” your brows furrow and her glance lifts from the ground. “What about that... photo... that’s been circulating online?”

“Photo?” her eyes widen and her mouth falls agape when she realizes your reference. “Oh, that photo of me and him on the balcony?”

She doesn’t know it was you who posted it. Truthfully, you’ve never felt so two-faced as you do now, omitting the truth as Yoongi had done to you. 

Nonetheless, you nod hesitantly. 

“I, um,” she breaks eye contact for the first time and gazes off to the side. Her voice becomes hush and you nearly have to lean in to hear her over her mumbles as her cheeks gradually flush beet red. “...I forced that one on him.”

“What?”

“My father and Bang PD still managed to arrange a few dates between us two… and I,” her eyes flicker between you and the door, “I just couldn’t help but notice how great of a guy he is.” She continues in her reverie, gaze hazey with a grin whisked by the thought of someone dreamy. “I really liked him. More than anyone I had ever seen before. He’s nice and caring, quiet but thoughtful. I could tell he would treasure his woman and treat her well when he found the right one; and even if I wasn’t that woman, I still fell for him.” 

So that was all there was to that accursed photo. 

It takes a full minute for the answer to dawn upon you, the one whom you had feared the most. 

“Right,” you say under your breath, completely defeated. “He does have that effect.” 

“But I didn’t know you two were dating until the news broke out that night!” she nearly yells, eyes widening with panic. “I’m sorry, I swear I wouldn’t have done it if I had known!”

It seems even she doesn’t know the brittle foundation of your relationship with Yoongi. 

“No, no, that’s fine,” you hastily assured because you should be the one apologizing right now if anything. “You should apologize to Yoongi, not me.”

It’s all fake. There’s nothing for her to apologize to you. You want to tell her the truth, but the thought of further ruining his career refrains you from doing so. Why do you want to protect him still? Is it the guilt that plagues you this very moment, now that you know the truth? Or is it the desire to prolong this hoax of a relationship founded upon a delicate lie? 

“I did as soon as I found out,” she dips her head low, “I just didn’t have the courage to find you until Yoongi gave me a reason to.” 

“So,” your face contorts until a concerned frown, “where is Yoongi? Why didn’t he come here to tell me himself?”

“Oh, I…” she hesitates to explain. “I don’t think he’s in the right... mindset to visit you right now. Did you two get into a fight recently…?”

So he doesn’t want to see you.

“Well—” your screams against his yells from last night still pierce your ears“—yes.”

“Maybe it’s time to make things right again now that you know the truth,” she gives you a soft smile of assurance. 

Turns out, the woman you despised the most was all that you needed in the lowest moments of your despair. As if on cue, you absentmindedly nod your head and hurriedly return to your apartment to grab your purse and keys before running out of the musty cave. Holding her hands in yours, your words of gratitude are scrambled by the wind of your haste as you sprinted to the elevator with nothing but him in mind. 

Why did you have to upload that photo? How selfish and spiteful could you have become, to the point of hurting the one you had held so dearly? Does he know of your deeds? 

He would never love you the same if he were to know if what you had become.

What could you do to make things right? 

Could anything make things right?

-

“Yoongi! Yoongi, I’m sorry,” you manage to blurt out in between your heavy breaths as you burst through the company’s doors and spot Yoongi standing in a circle with the rest of the boys. Your gaze locked with his own stern, unfazed ones before he turns his back on you with no intention to acknowledge your presence. Disgruntled by his welcoming, you storm through the front entrance with your last bit of energy as you tried to conceal any signs that you had sprinted here as if your life depended on it. 

Every one of the boys but him stares at you in wariness. The air shifts until it’s painfully stagnant; but no one speaks. 

“Yoongi, c’mon. We need to talk. Listen, I’m sorry about last night. Can we please just talk?” 

Yoongi remains still, affixed to his stance, eyes looking straight ahead and arms crossing as if it was just a meeting between him and the boys. Even at a standstill, the huffs and silence exchanged between you and him are enough for anyone to see the impending storm. 

“Yoongi,” Jimin utters, “you two should really talk it out.”

Yoongi doesn’t answer. 

“Yeah, let’s give them some time alone,” Namjoon gives you a slight nod of acknowledgement before directing the others upstairs. 

The only people left in the room are the two of you. The longest minute passes by and neither of you manage to one-up the other’s stubbornness until, finally, you grab onto the hook of his elbow and turn him around to force him to look at you for once. 

He’s ever-so-silent but his eyes speak more than a thousand words. Fiery, dark, and ablaze, his stern gaze fixate on yours from above. The storm in his eyes brew of the inner turmoil he failed to put into words. You can see your reflection, eyes equally furious as his. You had come here with the intention of apologizing; but now that you've arrived, you realize you were much more than knees-deep into the water. 

The hopes of reconciliation were slim yet true; but now, for the first time ever, you’re truly scared of that dimming possibility. 

“Can you at least say something?” you brows furrow. “Look, I came all the way here because I wanted to apologize about last night, for yelling at you and not trusting you. I heard about your relationship with… her, and I really fucking hate myself for jumping to conclusions. I had my reasons for my distrust because I gave up so much on the line and I felt like I wasn’t getting the same thing in return.”

He remains silent, eyes still burning. 

“Still, you could have at least explained to me. Why were you avoiding my questions? Who were you texting and why you couldn’t tell me? Why did I see her that night in front of my apartment? If nothing was going on, then why couldn’t you tell me—”

“—the photo.”

His words cut like a knife. He speaks slowly, but each and every word demands obedience of its own. 

“Did you post that photo?” 

Time stops and your heart drops. Every hammering against your chest reverberates with pain that courses through your veins to your extremities. His eyes never leave yours as you mull over your options.

What do you say? Should you be honest? Is there a point in lying if you’re so sure he already knows the truth? 

“How…” you frown, shaking your head in denial.

“How do I know?” he reiterates with a twisted snigger, letting out a breath of disbelief. “I wake up with thousands of texts from my company telling me that the internet has been losing their minds over a dumbass picture of me that I never consented to, spend the next hour looking through the SS, only to find an audio of a performance that was only meant to be heard from person I thought I could trust most because — “ he pauses, struggling “ —I really thought she was the one.”

“Yoongi, I’m sorry—”

“—you’re not sorry,” he scorns. “You didn’t come here with the thought of confessing. You came here hoping to apologize because you couldn’t trust me even though I gave you my all. You put my entire career at risk out of spite. You hurt my family, the agency, and the boys because you were too damn selfish.”

“Well,” you snort, “you have to at least admit that I had reasons for not trusting you.”

“You’re right,” he cocks his head with his arms still crossed. “I shouldn’t have avoided your questions. I should have just explained everything to you. Maybe I could have worked on that with you for the sake of our relationship, but there’s nothing to work on now.”

“There’s ‘nothing’ to work on now…?” you repeat in a mutter. “What do you mean…? Are you breaking up with me?”

Yoongi fails to answer, eyes softening in regret even if just the slightest. 

Letting out a sharp breath of disbelief, you shake your head in an attempt to prevent the impending waterworks. “Look, I’m sorry. I really do mean it. I fucked up. I fucked up big time. But do you think I wanted to get into this mess? Do you think I wanted to be so publicly exposed in a world like yours? Do you think I would have descended into this fucking madness that I have if it weren’t for you?” 

Finally, his gaze shifts off to the side. Your snort in response to his silence is nothing but a coping mechanism because it would be impossible to deny the drop in your chest as the seconds pass by and the reality of the crumbling relationship sinks in.

“You’re really serious about this, huh?” you bite your bottom lip to distract you from the pain within when he turns to give you one last, melancholic gaze. 

Stop it, don’t even pretend like this hurts you. You wish you could utter those words to him because it pains you to think that you were the cause of his hurt. 

Nodding your head, you lower your head in an attempt to hide the shame plastered across your face. “Alright then, I guess… this is it. I hope you’re well. You deserve it. And I’m sorry… for everything.” 

Yoongi doesn’t respond, because what else did he have to say at this point? He probably just wants you out of his life as soon as possible. In fact, you wouldn’t even blame him if he were to glare at you in complete disgust—because even you had done that to yourself in the recent months; and it irks you, pains you, even, to see that lovingly gentle look of his that conveyed to you the strength it’s taking him to hurt you in this way. 

Because even if you hate it so, this entire mess was incited by the love you held for him.   

But alas, this is for the best; and, so, you slowly stumble backwards until you meet the automatic door and a blaze of wind awakens something within you as you stood there alone in the streets. 

Why did he have to figure it out? 

Would everything have been fine if you had just covered your tracks better? 

Then it dawns upon you: what if someone had told him?

“Y/N?” a familiar voice calls out to you. “Y/N, I told you not to use SS anymore!”

“Solji…” your meek voice fails to register over the motherly scold. 

She hastily makes her way to you from across the street, her bright orange locks tousling in the wind—everything in slow motion. 

“Y/N, what on Earth were you thinking?! Why did you post that photo of him? You had to have known it would damage his career. Don’t you care about your boyfriend’s career?!” It’s no use. Her voice is completely muffled in the background. It’s almost as if you’re drowning underwater. “Y/N? Y/N, are you listening?!” 

“Solji…” you mumble, eyes looking straight ahead at the red light that had just turned green. “...were you the one who told him?”

“What?” she furrows her brows. “Told who what?”

You turn to glare at her, “did you tell Yoongi that I wrote for the SS?”

“What?” she narrows her eyes at you, agasp. “Why would I ever tell him that?” 

“Then how did he figure out?” you continue to drill, voice rising by the second. “Why are you here outside of BigHit’s building? Why are you always so worried about what I do with SS?!”

“First of all, I don’t know how he found out. I didn’t even know he found out until you told me. Second, I’m here because our boss sent me to settle any lawsuits against defamation that your actions might instigate. Lastly, I’m worried because I’m worried for you, Y/N. I don’t care what you do with SS. I built it up from the ground up but your mental health is my priority,” she sighs in disbelief. “After all that I’ve done for you, do you really think I would do that to you?” 

“I don’t know who to trust at this point, Solji,” your voice ascends into a shrill. “I don’t fucking know!”

“I’m disappointed in you, Y/N,” she shakes her head, backing away toward the building. “Take a break and reflect on yourself, because I’m the last one you should be accusing right now.”

“If it’s not you, then who the hell was it?!” your yells fall on deaf ears as her silhouette fades off into the distance and cold tears stream down your cheeks. 

Your hands begin to fumble as they pull out your phone in a hurry. Dialing another familiar number, you start cursing under your breath. 

[Dialing Xiao Lin]

“Pick up the phone, hurry up and pick up the fucking phone,” your mutters intermix with the chattering of your teeth. 

“Hey girl, what’s—”

“—did you fucking tell Yoongi I wrote for the SS?”

“No…?” she pauses. “Why would I?’

“Look, I don’t know why you would. Maybe this gives you something to write for your own tabloid. Maybe you hate seeing me happy and wanted to ruin my relationship. I don’t fucking know, but you’re the only one who knows the true identity behind Ink Nemesis!”

“I have absolutely no reason to do any of that,” she firmly states, slowly but surely. “I promised you I wouldn’t tell anyone. Can you not trust a friend—”

“—you’re not my friend. We work for fucking tabloids, Lin! Our friendship and our secrecy is based off of a damn picture that just keeps coming back to haunt me.”

“Well, alright then,” a snort of offence travels through the line. “You’re being incredibly unstable. One second, you beg me not to release the picture. Me being the foolish person I am in having a friend like you, wager my job in order to protect your relationship. And now, the next second, you’re releasing the picture yourself.”

“That’s none of your business—”

“—it’s not because turns out we aren’t friends. All I wanted was to befriend someone and you seemed like—no, you were—someone I could trust. I don’t know what happened to her, but I would rather have no friends in this industry if it means having friends like you.”

“Xiao Lin, don’t twist this into my fault—fuck!”

The phone falls helplessly to your sides. Cars zoom by, throwing a gust of wind into the air in every which way. Your already disheveled hair tousles mercifully. Your heart beats but remains still, untouched by the winter chill. Cars honk into the bustling streets, but your ears drown out the life of the outside world. 

Affixed to your spot for seemingly perpetual hours, you begin to wonder who could slay the immortal being on BOT Street? 

“...that’s Y/N.

“Isn’t that it?”

“It looks just like the picture.”

“I feel bad for them but I also kind of hate them. Must feel bad for being the last resort. I wonder why he picked her.”

A group of whom you could only presume to be fans had gathered outside the company, forming a line across the entrance to the sidewalk where a lavish black van parked. They whisper amongst themselves, discerning over the subject matter that receives nothing but disgust, as if the subject were a beast in itself. 

“Oh my God! Look, they’re coming out!” 

The entire swarm of girls turn in one swift, synchronized motion before their screams were all that were heard within the proximity of a dozen blocks. Seven boys exit the entrance, face much more covered than this morning which seems like an eternity ago. One by one, you gradually catch your eyes hunting for one particular man…

...but when you finally find him, all air escapes your lungs and somehow you’ve forgotten how to breathe. 

You want to hide. You’re ashamed. You’re pitiful. You’re everything that Yoongi did not fall for and you would do anything for him to immortalize that perfect image of you that he did come to love and know. He can’t see you like this in your lowest state.

Security guards begin ushering the encroaching crowd back into the already tightening circumference of a bubble as the boys make their way through the narrowed pathway. Cameras were flashing in every direction, questions were being yelled and unanswered into the air, and fans were crying out their woes to the sudden news of Yoongi’s supposed affair. Pulling the collars of your coat over the lower half of your face, you continue to observe from afar, careful to conceal your identity from further instigating trouble for the boys.

One by one, you watch as they board their ride. One by one, you let out a sigh of relief when they fail to recognize you amongst the crowd of swarming fans. Alas, it doesn’t take very long for you to notice the last member to board the van. You’ve gotten to know every habit of Yoongi’s over the course of your relationship to know that he has never been the type to stall. In fact, he’s never been the last one of the group in anything, especially in public; but when his eyes skim through the crowd and cross yours for a brief moment before returning to lock eyes with the woman he had caught, you—fully dressed, covered, and aloof in the corner—stand there stunned, a chill running down your back. 

He recognizes you even in a mass of hundreds. 

Even the most brief of hesitance incites confusion from the crowd, for some of them recall your presence and begin to turn toward the direction of his gaze. 

“I forgot that she was here.”

“What is she still doing here?”

“Is that her? Are they still dating?” 

Panic settles into your pumping veins as you try to conceal your identity even further when, suddenly, Yoongi curses loudly—a habit you’ve come to adore, but a habit he has made a conscious effort to keep hidden from the public. 

With the order of a simple word, he manages to recapture the attention of the crowd. 

“Suga! Did you hurt yourself?!”

“Please be careful!” 

“I will protect you no matter what!” 

“I love you more than anything!”

It would be ignorant of anyone to deny that he had every individual wrapped around his finger, including you, for silence ensued from the previously mass hysteria when he feigns a trip and a few stumbles toward the van, whirls around, and clears his throat. 

“I’ll be alright, guys,” he raises his hand to rest the impending screams. “Just make sure to take care of yourself and love yourself first before you try and help others, okay?”

Maybe it’s just you and every other person in this crowd, but it’s almost as if he’s speaking to you.

Would it be foolish of you to think so? To hope so?

You had thought your breakup with Yoongi earlier in the morning would have been the last you would see of him. The chaos that ensued, your mental breakdown, Solji’s disappointment, and Xiao Lin’s scolding left you all alone. You thought Xiao Lin would be the least to abandon you. It doesn’t occur to you until this very moment, as he gazes at you with those doting, bittersweet eyes of his for the shortest of seconds before he speaks and boards the van, that you realize...

“I’ll miss you.” 

...he’s the last one to abandon you.

-

i say semi because this isn’t my last announcement and it doesn’t explain the reasons as to why i’m “leaving.” 

yes, as you’ve probably seen from all the messages scattered throughout my blog, i am indeed ink nemesis. i need a mental break to reflect on everything i’ve done. I’m sorry for disappointing you. i plan to take a break, a leave, whatever the future entails for it to be from here. the decision was cemented just a few days ago, but the thought was one that plagued me for many months on end. 

due to the possibility of plagiarism while i’m gone or less active to remain vigilant over my works, i’ve taken down all of the fics i have on my masterlist. i apologize if there were any works you wanted to reread or works that you’ve been wanting to read but never got to. it truly bums me out that i have to be wary of plagiarists and ruin the fun for you guys. 

as of this moment, i plan on taking a temporary semi-hiatus from this blog. i will still be here to answer messages, maybe drop a few random posts about my life, possibly even drop a few random fics (probably my usual crack/fluff drabbles) here and there, but i probably won’t be doing much other than responding to messages. 

bygones of the sun will be completed, but i’m setting it aside for now until inspiration sparks some motivation in me. i want to write for me, for those who see me as a human being who happens to write for fun, and i want to find the love i once had for this niche of mine. if inspiration strikes me in the middle of my hiatus, then so be it! an update will be dropped sporadically if that were to happen, so what a nice bonus for those who decide to stay, eh? 

i will, however, be completing my last series before my hiatus officially begins. the reasons for my departure will all be laid out there in full detail. so for those of you interested in that, see you then.

and for those who aren’t, thank you for staying up ‘til now. i hope to things to return to the way things were, even if it’s foolish for me to hope so. i will try once again to find the path that allows my ink to do all that is good. 

signing out for one last time, xoxo ink nemesis.

[Posted 11:35 AM]

Papers flipping under the mercy of its filer, journalists scribbling viciously against its pitiful victims that is paper, and printers reviving with a huff only to be used to its death once again, cabinets squeaking open in pain, whispers in the breakroom now gossiping over your recent dismissal at work, and the mocking tick of the clock that takes you back to a time you had thought would have been your worst case scenario—if only the past you could have seen the substantially worse circumstances you have to face now. 

It’s funny how things work out sometimes. Your writing blog, the one world of solace you thought could eternally replace reality, has somehow become the very source of sorrow and self-hate in the recent months. You thought the world would end if you were to disconnect from your one passion in life; and yet, here you are: alive, breathing, seeing, hearing, and lifted from the burden of a mere site, all from the simple click of a button.

There it is. The truth is out there in the world for everyone to see. The identity of Ink Nemesis has been unveiled and you could no longer hide behind the mask of a pen name. To ruin your reputation and destroy the blog you had so tirelessly worked hours on end to build was the last action you wanted to take; but if this could somewhat atone for the troubles you’ve brought upon your loved ones, then it was a necessary one. 

Heaving a loud sigh, you lay your head back into your chair, eyes staring straight up at the mundane gray ceiling lined by cold white lights and feet swiping across the floor to swivel you in an endless cycle around and around the comforts of your soon-to-be empty cubicle. 

The SS is discontinued and your own writing blog is down. Now, truly and surely, it’s just you.

And for now?

That’s enough. 

Boxes in hand filled with piles of scribbled paper, stacks of pens emptied of ink, and countess drafts of works that would never see the light of day, you hustle to the elevator and out the door of a company you had grown to love yet hate in the past years. You paid no attention to the whispers and glares of your colleagues. You were used to that at this point. 

After severing the trust of the only person who could truly understand you in this universe, who could hurt you worse than yourself? 

Perhaps it’s the reality of being fired that’s finally settling in, but the winter chill hits you harsher than it ever has before. Your hair momentarily shrouds your view of the bustling streets as the wind pays you a brief albeit impactful visit. As your locks return to settle into place, a freezing droplet of water drips onto the tip of your nose as if to beckon for your gaze upward. 

Tilting your head back and craning your neck for a full, uncloaked display of the sky’s vast expanses, the universe’s gray puffs echo your latest sentiment. 

Ah, so even the sky can hear your cries of pain? 

One drip, two drip. The sky cries along with you. 

Three drip, four drip. You can’t even decipher between its cold tears and the warmth of your own. 

The drizzling quickens its pace into an endless stream of droplets that rain upon you like a shower head cleansing you of dirt. Your shoes fill with water and your skin shivers in the waves of an ocean that never ceases to end. 

Updates. Hatred. Expectations. Obligations. Work. Yoongi. Love. Friends. Solji. Xiao Lin. Yourself. 

Drip by drip, a burdensome weight melts from your shoulder and flows into the drains of the city sewer; because when you finally return home, toss your purse onto your bed, and glimpse into the mirror, you meet a pleasant surprise of a friend whom you had falsely presumed to have long bidden farewell to. 

With a wet collared white shirt stuck to reveal the flesh of your skin, hair dripping in the wake of the sky’s calling, and mascara running down your flushed cheeks, you smile because at long last...

you are finally clean.

[things2mustdo]

In a previous article I discussed the possibilities of increasing your safety online by using measures such as encryption, VPN and Tor. Nonetheless I did not cover all possibilities and most importantly it was a practical discussion rather than a theoretical one. This article will be a theoretical dissection of online anonymity tools and their weaknesses.

Why do people get caught despite using Tor? Can anyone be truly anonymous online ?

This article will be a summary of the work of Tom Ritter, presented at DEFCON 21, the annual hacker conference. His video presentation can be viewed here and the printed version of his article here.

While doing a great Job, Tom’s work is heavy on tech jargon and might confuse laymen. So I will summarize his work and explain the strengths and weaknesses of modern anonymity tools. His work was published in 2013, but remains relevant today as well.

In his work Tom talks about 4 anonymity technologies : SSL, Tor, Remailers and Shared Mailboxes. Let’s discuss them one by one.

SSL

SSL stands for Secure Socket Layer and is a common online security standard used by the likes of Facebook and other major websites. The way SSL works is that it creates an encrypted tunnel of communication between 2 parties so that third parties cannot read the messages they are sending to each other. Despite being secure on paper, it can be circumvented rather easily. To understand how, first we must talk about metadata.

Metadata

Metadata is data that describes other data. For example, library cards which hold the name of the book, its publishing date and its location in the library is a form of metadata. Metadata is also used in IT.

An example of metadata is the EXIF file in photos. When you take a photo with a camera you not only register the photo, but usually your device also adds extra info such as the date the photo was taken, the GPS location, phone brand, etc. and stores it in the photo file.

Other form of metadata is not registered but can be inferred. For example, someone created a program that can discover which parts of Google maps you are looking at based on the size of map tiles you are downloading.

When you are using SSL you are unwillingly lending third parties metadata which can lead to your discovery, particularly the time the message was sent and the size of your messages.

This allows for attackers to do something called a correlation attack.

Correlation attacks are primarily of 2 types : Time-based attacks and Size-based attacks

Time-based attack

In order to perform a time-based attack a party sends a message in an encrypted stream, then it looks at who receives the message. Since SSL communication is instantaneous, you can easily infer who is behind the SSL stream. The third party sends a message at 15:59 and whoever happens to get the message right afterwards must be the person they are looking for.

This type of attack was used against the person who dumped Stratfor mailpools. The way it worked is that government analyzed the time he was logging in on the internet and noticed it coincided with the time the person they suspected logged on to a secret chat through Tor. Not only that, rumor has it the government cut electricity to his house at a certain hour and noticed that the user of the secret chat logged out at the same time. The coincidences were too much, so he got caught.

Size-based attack

In order to perform a size-based attack, the third party sends a file of an unusual size, and then whoever receives the file must be the person they are looking for. Since most people on Facebook send small messages to each other, one only needs to send a very large message and see who happens to receive a message of that size afterwards.

As you can see correlation attacks render you vulnerable if you use SSL as your only line of defense. The reason is because the Third Party can not see WHAT you are sending, but they know that you ARE sending something, WHEN you do it and HOW BIG is the file. 

Ideally they should not even know you are communicating with anything at all. So, let’s see what other technologies have to offer.

Tor

Tor is a custom browser based on Firefox with extensions that works on the principle of connecting to a few nodes so that when you look at a website the only thing the website can see is the last node you traveled through and on the opposite side your ISP (Internet Service Provider ) can only see your first node, not the whole route.

This is already getting better. However it does not add that much anonymity since now third parties do not know WHO is communicating, but they can still see that it DOES happen, WHEN it happens and HOW BIG the size of messages are.

Not only that, but there are known vulnerabilities, particularly of 3 types.

You are viewing a website in the country you are in.

This allows advanced opponents calculate that it was YOU who was using Tor. It is difficult, but not impossible. This is bad news since a lot of people from US view websites stored in US. And so do dissidents from China or Iran.

Every single node you pass through is compromised

In my previous article I mentioned that the government can set up Tor nodes that they monitor. But to successfully pull an attack they would have to monitor EVERY node you go through.

This requires NWO level trickery, but again, we already have examples of this happening already with VPN agreements. Countries in the Anglosphere have an agreement to give away information regarding VPN usage by suspects from respective countries. This agreements is called Five Eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised if a similar thing is organized regarding Tor nodes.

Passive traffic analysis

Although not mentioned by Ritter in his presentation, it is common knowledge that an opponent with a lot of resources, mostly governments, could analyze the whole network and correlate patterns to discover who is viewing a certain website or communicating with someone.

To give an analogy, it would be like the police heavily patrolling every single street in a city and every single car , so that even if your car had fake plates they could notice patterns and discover its owner.

The problem is, this approach can create false positives, with a 10% chance of error, which is why these analyses are not accepted in court as proof. But you can rest sure if such an analysis points to you, you will be put under further investigation and it only gets worse from there.

So what can be used to further aid us ?

Remailers

Remailers are an interesting concept. The way they work is that people pool their mail messages on a server, after which some time passes and all mails are sent simultaneously at the same time.

This is supposed to protect from Time and Size based correlation attacks.

The problem here is that it still allows third parties to see that you ARE sending a message, WHEN you sent it and HOW BIG it was. But they can’t see the other end. For the receiver, he has the same problem. Third parties can’t know WHO he got the message from, but they can still see WHEN he receives it from the remailer and HOW BIG it is.

On top of that, for Remailers to work lots of people have to use them at the same time. Otherwise if there are few users, an enemy can still use size-based correlation attacks.

It’s hard to use size-based attacks when thousands of people are sending messages of various sizes, but if only three people at one time are using a Remailer, then it is very easy to do a size-based attack.

Shared mailbox

Shared mailboxes are the most out-of-the-box anonymous solution.

The way a shared mailbox works is that users share a mailbox. They cannot delete messages from it, but can only add encrypted messages to it. And when they want to check if they received a message they download all messages and use their key and try to decrypt the header of all of them and see if any of the messages belong to him.

It is a resource-tedious process, but it offers a great payoff. For the receiver this is great because when he downloads the whole mailbox third parties can’t know if he received a message, maybe he did, or maybe he didn’t. For the sender however, the equation stays the same as before.

This is for the moment the most powerful anonymity solution out there. However it has a few issues. In order to use alt.anonymous.message (the shared inbox) you need to have some degree of technical skill, and user inexperience leads to issues.

In order to be easier to use alt.anonymous.message allows the use of nymservers. Nymservers act as regular mail addresses, which when sent to, automatically post them to alt.anonymous.message .

There are however issues with AAM and Nymservers.

1. Poor network diversity

The number one issue is there are currently two main node operators: Zax and Dizzum, which are responsible for the trafficking of messages to alt.anonymous.message. If both were to retire or be arrested it would the death of alt.anonymous.message. As you can see, network diversity is horrible.

2. Poor encryption used on messages

Another issue is the type of encryption used. Some messages used the outdated MD5 encryption standard which is easy to crack.

Also, the title of messages are encrypted less strongly in order to be able to determine quickly which belong to you and which don’t. Subjects can be encrypted using either hsubs or esubs. Esubs is an older and stronger standard, but hsubs have grown in popularity in recent years.

3. Pattern analysis due to use of same subject line and same remailers

A lot of messages use the same subject over and over, people tend to reply to a particular subject. On top of that most people also usually use the same remailer over and over, you can start noticing communication patterns :

4. Custom Remailer command errors

There are different type of remailers. The old school one was called Type 1 and lives on in the protocol of Mixmaster. It allows a lot of customizing options for the header. The users often screwed up the name of the command, which ended in the title of a message.

For example if you write “X-No-Archive Hello Friend” it would turn into “Hello Friend” and the X-No-archive would be interpreted as a command to not archive. But if you wrote “no-archive-x Hello Friend” you messed up so the title would become “no-archive-x Hello Friend”. If you do this multiple times, you would be identified as a unique user since your titles would all contain “no-archive-x” or uncapitalized “x-no-archive” or whatever other combination of mispelled commands you use.

Since most people used the same commands over and over and did the same mistakes they became quickly identifiable as unique users.

5. Imperfect Remailers

There are different types of remailers. Currently there are two types of remailers in use, MixMaster and MixMinion. MixMinion has certain advantages over MixMaster. But both suffer from certain problems.

6. Nymservers which do not protect from size-based correlation attacks

Nymservers themselves have problems. Zax’s Nymserver is instantaneous which allows for size-based correlation attacks. However even Type 1 Nymservers (older ones) which are not always instantaneous still allow for size-based correlation attacks given a bit of perspicacity.

Therefore we identified main issues with AAM (alt.anonymous.message):

1) Giving users options allows for segregation and profiling 2) Some encryption is weak 3) It can be complicated to use and allows for beginner mistakes 4) Weak network diversity

Nonetheless, Ritter identified the most secure way of using AAM :

1) Use a strong passphrase and hsub 2) Use Type 3 PGP packet (Key Stretching) 3) Use Remailers 4) Do not use extra headers or options

The issue here is that if you do it properly you will still be part of a small community of people doing so (around 500 – 1500 people), which will make you looks suspicious and will cause the government to look closer into you and maybe add you to a database.

Solutions of the future

Pynchon gate

Pynchon Gate is a project meant to replace shared mailboxes. It uses Private Information Retrieval. It exposes less meta-data, scales better and resists flooding and size-based attacks. However it is currently work in progress

Improved Remailers

MixMinion is currently the best remailer protocol and as such should be used as a basis for future improvement. Planned improvements include things such as improving TLS settings and moving to a new packet format.

What is currently lacking

As of right now, what is lacking is some tech that could be used to anonymously share large files. AAM and such are low bandwidth, which means it can only be used to share small files like text messages.

A new service needs to be created to cover this niche. In the words of Tom Ritter :

But what I keep coming back to is the fact that we have no anonymity network that is high bandwidth, high latency. We have no anonymity network that would have let someone securely share the Collateral Murder video, without Wikileaks being their proxy. You can’t take a video of corruption or police brutality, and post it anonymously.

Now I hear you arguing with me in your heads: Use Tor and upload it to Youtube. No, youtube will take it down. Use Tor and upload it to MEGA, or some site that will fight fradulent takedown notices. Okay, but now you’re relying on the good graces of some third party. A third party that is known to host the video, and can be sued. Wikileaks was the last organization that was willing to take on that legal fight, and now they are no longer in the business of hosting content for normal people.

And you can say Hidden Service and I’ll point to size-based traffic analysis and confirmation attacks that come with a low-latency network, never mind Ralf-Phillip Weinmen’s amazing work the other month that really killed Hidden Services. We can go on and on like this, but I hope you’ll at least concede the point that what you are coming up with are work-arounds for a problem that we lack a good solution to.

Conclusions

As we can see true anonymity online is non-existent. At the very least, third parties can collect meta-data on you and use correlation attacks, when ideally they shouldn’t even know you are communicating at all. Moreover, even strong anonymity tools like Tor have shown to have known vulnerabilities.

However, what matters is not whether something is vulnerable in theory, but rather does it keep you safe in practice? And so far, the tools we have at our disposal are pretty powerful.

As I have mentioned in my previous article, using TailsOS off a flash stick in a public wi-fi area with no cameras + VPN/Tor seems to be the best solution for now.

The testament to the power of anonymity tools is that pedophile rings and drug dealers have managed to escape persecution by multiple world governments to this day using them.

And that’s what I will talk about in my next article. We will analyze the electronic operational security of pedophile rings and how one infamous one managed to escape unscathed after years of being searched. Stay tuned.

Read More: 12 Ways To Increase Your Anonymity And Security Online

[rixxy8173571m3w1p3]

Sweater Weather

I enjoy the headcanon of Doofus Rick having a variety of sweaters. And after looking at stock photos, I was inspired to write this fic. Hope you guys like it.

In this fic Ricks sweater causes some conflict.

____________

In the great vastness of space, one could learn the true meaning of loneliness. For miles upon miles, floating upon nothing, you could say it was like sailing across the sea. Yet, unlike the salt or crashing waves of the ocean, you two would navigate across star systems or avoid asteroid fields, while at the same time enjoy the peace which comes from being somewhere uncongested. However, as fascinating as it was to go on intergalactic, space adventures, one of the things you didn't enjoy was the extreme temperature changes; most of the time, you'd stay in the ship or stay home if a planet's climate was too cold for your taste, but on this occasion, Rick needed an extra pair of hands when you two stopped on Mars after spending most of the day at the Jerryboree.

After Zeta-7 had traded a few items of his own to obtain what he came for at a reduced price, you two ran as fast as you could back towards the ship, but by the time the ship was out of the Martian orbit, you were chilled to the bone. Rubbing your arms, you shivered. "I wonder if I'll ever get used to this."

Your breath came out like a cloud of smoke and the cold that had seemed mild at first had numbed your face and extremities. Rick turned up the heat, as well as turned on the seat warmers and offered you a freeze-dried Phytonian branch worm, but you passed on the offer. You knew it would have warned you up straight away, but the last time you tried one of those things, you had a stomach ache for three days. Concerned, he placed the ship on autopilot and did his best to search around in the back seat for anything you could use to warm up, but then as though it struck him on the head he groaned. "Darn it, I-I forgot that I removed the spare blanket to wash it."

"Where is it now?"

"I-I left it in the dryer."

You thought of telling him that it wasn't his fault he forgot it since you had distracted him this morning with a video about ninja cats, but it wouldn't have helped the situation. "Ricky," you tried to ease him with a weak smile but your teeth chattered. "it's not a big deal. Besides, we're not that far from home."

However, he wasn't convinced. You weren't as experienced when it came to space travel, but you knew well enough of the possible dangers associated with extreme body temperature shifts. The chill you had spread deep into your bones until you thought you'd rattle if shaken; a lick of fear traveling down your spine but otherwise you didn't feel too bad. Nonetheless, Rick was concerned for your well-being, and knowing you two were hundreds of thousands of miles away from your dimension's version of Earth, he made a decisive decision and started removing articles of his own clothing. "Whoa, what are you doing?"

With a blush, he handed you not only his knitted Jerry sweater but also his labcoat; leaving him in a thin t-shirt which had a snoopy patch on the right shoulder; how cute. "I hope it'll s-suffice until we get home."

"But what about you? What are you going to wear?"

Flashing you a stern look which left little room for argument, you slipped on his sweater and lab coat, and was delighted to feel a little more like yourself and relaxed by its scent; it was his essence; that of vanilla, of his home, and something you couldn't quite think of; chemicals perhaps. "Hmm, your clothes are a lot more comfortable than I expected them to be. How um…..how do I look?"

Turning down the lights and switching back to manual, he nodded. "It suits you m-mi corazón."

You admired its softness and passed your hand over the tight, twisted knit. It was a lovely shade of light sage green, and had a picture of a smiling Jerry holding a titanic ship model; you thought it was sweet that it was a picture of his friend. So many things this man-made or owned had a purpose or a story; this piece was most likely made to brighten up the day that the Jerrys in his care were having. Your Rick really was a good man; better yet because he saw the value in regular folk who probably didn't see it in themselves. "I like your clothes, Rick," you commented; your heart warmed by his goodness. "they seem to carry bits of you in them."

"Th-that could be said about any piece of clothing that's been worn. They carry bits of our DNA." he stated matter of factly.

"Eh….that's... I mean I get that, but that's not where I was going with this. I meant that they're soft and warm like you Ricky. You enjoy dressing comfortably, don't you? You own a variety of sweaters."

"Wh-who doesn't? I've sort of been dressing th-the same way for the last twenty or so years but when I met you, I had more opportunities to dress up. However, the older I get, the more often I'm in need of something a-a bit warmer and gentler on my skin. Actually, some of my clothes are locked to my particular genetic signature so that they'll or adjust according to the weather or climate. That way, I'll have less t-to carry on certain excursions."

"Incredible, that'll certainly come in handy, but can I ask you something?"

"Y-yes?"

"I know you're focused on driving," you started, wondering if your assumptions were correct. "but is there a reason why you haven't looked me in the eyes since we left Mars, or am I just thinking too much?"

He visibly stiffened, but he still didn't face you. Rick seemed troubled, for he tightened his grip on the wheel. Maybe this hadn't been the best time to ask, but what else could you have done? If you didn't ask, how else would you have known? Still, if you had waited, you would've noticed the red light blinking on the control panel sooner. It was a caution light, but you weren't so concerned, but you should've been.

Rick had opened his mouth to answer, with a faraway look in his eyes, but in the blink of an eye he made a sharp left turn around some space junk; jostling you two as well as the cargo. That was another thing you hated about space was Earth's contribution to its pollution. Unknowingly, you two had deviated from the usual course by a few miles, leading you two into a dangerous situation. Whether it was the fault of his navigation equipment or his lack of focus you didn't know, but it took a couple of minutes of evading space junk before you two could breathe a sigh of relief. And at the first opportunity, he switched the ship back to autopilot. "I'm s-sorry about that. I'm usually a better driver." he started, scratching the back of his neck as he glanced out the window in search of an answer in the emptiness of space. You couldn't see anything except for a few stars and the Earth straight ahead, but you had a feeling that where he was looking was somewhere you couldn't see. When he was ready, he turned around in his seat to glance at you, but then quickly turned back to face the steering wheel. How odd. "T-t-to answer your question," he stammered. "y-you're not thinking too much. I've just been distracted."

"Oh, okay."

"Are y-you alright? Nothing hurts does it?"

"I mean, other than feeling wide awake now, no harm was done I guess, but what happened? It isn't like you to let your mind wander while we're out here. Rick, would you like me to take over the wheel so you can straighten out your thoughts?"

"No, it's not - I can do it. I got this."

"Are you sure?"

"Mhm, as long as I-I focus on the wheel."

He hadn't really answered your original question, but since you guys nearly avoided death, it probably wasn't a good time.

________

He parked the ship in his garage, and since it wasn't that late, you two walked over to your home. Rick hadn't said much since earlier, but you figured he'd let you know what was bothering him later. As soon as you crossed the threshold of your home, you started a pot of coffee for Rick to drink when it was ready. Then, you got a blanket from the closet and offered it to him just in case he was cold, but he didn't care for one. He was still in a mood, and you wondered if the reason you'd upset him was that you were still wearing his sweater. "You probably want this back right?"

Slipping out of his sweater and labcoat, you felt the temperature difference immediately and took up the blanket you had taken out and wrapped it around yourself. "Thanks for letting me borrow them. I'll be sure to pack something with me next time."

"I'm n-not sure if that's such a-a good idea." he said with seriousness.

"What do you mean?"

The lines around his eyes deepened, as well as the creases of his forehead, and there was a pensive cloudiness of his usually electric blues. Frustrated, he bit down on his lip almost hard enough to make it bleed. "B-because it's distracting."

"What?"

He continued. "I-I should've brought you home first or gotten the parts a different time."

"But I thought you wanted help." you sniffled.

"Y-you don't understand."

"What's there to understand?" you retorted; sinking into the couch as tears stung the back of your eyes, and threatened to come out. "You...you don't want me to help you anymore? I thought we were a team."

Your saddened state shifted his sour mood, and he apologized. "Gosh, please don't cry mi corazón, I-I didn't mean it."

"But you sai-"

"I'm not upset at you," he reassured you. "I'm disappointed in myself for allowing this to happen. I've become complacent and I-I should've been prepared. You could've gotten sick, hurt, or worse just because I got distracted. Next time I'll bring you your own sweater and snacks or whatever you want."

"Is it because you don't want me wearing yours? Did I ruin it or something?"

"No, it's because," he swallowed, unsure how to broach the subject. "cuando lo usas, es… es apretado."

What? You understood the part where he said you used it, but not the rest. Pulling out your phone from your pocket, you asked Google what all of that just meant, but the answer you got didn't help. "Rick, should I be offended?"

"I-I hope not. I promise it's not what you're thinking."

"Then what is it? I'm not getting any clear answers here."

"I um - I'm sorry if I offended you. It's not what I intended to do. I know what I'm about t-to tell you sounds silly since I had hoped I'd outgrow this, but I still feel shy around you."

This much you did know. He was overly conscious of himself, his actions, and how he might disappoint or be lacking, but most of all was hateful of his own inadequacies. Yet, for where he found fault, you found virtue and you would remind him of that, but in this case, you simply needed to listen. "That's okay, I already knew that."

"I don't feel like that all the time, but today I got embarrassed all of a sudden. I-I don't know what happened. Y-you were wearing my clothes and I saw your silhouette in the starlight and I got nervous."

Huh? That's what was bothering him?

"Why?"

"It um - it made me wonder what it'd be like if we lived together and…oh, it's embarrassing."

The hand which he had resting on the couch gripped the fabric tightly, and he was mortified because he had been distracted by you; which under normal circumstances he'd be able to remain calm. Covering his hand with yours, you gave him a squeeze."No, I would like to hear what you were thinking about very much."

Lacing his fingers with yours, you two sat there for a matter of minutes as he gathered his thoughts together. When he calmed a little, he confessed. "I thought about what it'd be like t-to wake up right next t-to you and not be alone anymore. I-I think about it a lot."

"Oh." That hadn't been what you expected. However, was it really so strange? He had intended to propose months ago, but ever since the moment had been spoiled he hadn't attempted to try again; if it had gone well, you two might've been married by now. Though, who was to say he didn't dream of it? Of what he'd always wanted, of a family or of the life in which he needed? Perhaps gentle encouragement wouldn't hurt.

"You know," you responded with a serious, but gentle candor. "you're not the only one who thinks about us living together. I'm very happy here and I love what we do together. And although we've had times where we respected one another's space, I don't mind if that changes. However, there are things that aren't so simple. For example, if I would've known that I could borrow your clothes whenever I liked I would've done so more often. Though, only if you hadn't been concerned about me getting accidentally poisoned by chemicals or radiation. Remember that time you literally fought with the laundry?"

"I do remember," he answered wistfully. "it's what prompted me t-to teach you how to use the freeze ray and laser gun correctly."

"I think the longer we're together, the more our lives will intertwine. Meaning, the more we move forward, the more training I'm going to need to fit into this lifestyle of ours. I think I'm going to need a portable scanner that'll allow me to check your clothes before I think of putting them on."

With serious, but tender eyes, he studied you. Then, he picked up his sweater which sat between you two and wondered. "Y-you want to wear my clothes? A great deal of them have seen better days. Are y-you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," you brightened. "because I love the way your clothes smell. If you were away, it'd make me think of you and it...I don't know, makes us seem more domestic. Is that along the lines of what you were thinking?"

"Y-yeah."

"Cool. Glad to know we're on the same page."

Relieved, he pressed a kiss to your temple and seemed ready for that cup of coffee. And as you stood, ready to head to the kitchen to prepare it for him, you mentioned. "And by the way, I gotta tell you something important."

"Gee, what is that?"

Striking a pose, you made him chuckle; that was a good sign. "That it's totally cool to be into me and check me out. I don't mind, and it makes me happy that I know what it takes to catch your eye. However, there's an exception: when we're driving around in space, where anything could kill us, we gotta keep our eyes on the space around us unless on autopilot. Only then," you winked. "might it be okay to be a little distracted."

Fin

[the-hidden-writer]

A Second Chance: Chapter 1

An Ace Attorney fanfic. Read on both AO3 and FF.net!

Summary:  Miles learns the identity of his "dead" mother, and the aftermath of that revelation is a tricky one. Especially when his newfound little sister is trying to turn him into a spirit medium.

AKA Miles is a Fey. Miles also doesn't really know how to family properly.

[Chapter 2] | [Chapter 3]

Comments make my day! :D

The Box

Hazakura Temple was one hell of a case, and he’d seen some weird ones over the years. It was like fate how he, Dick Gumshoe, always got roped into those weird ones. Or maybe you could say they were the exciting ones. Depends on who you ask, he thought, as he climbed the stairs of Elise Deauxnim’s cottage- each step creaking dangerously as he went.

It usually wasn’t his job to search victims’ houses, but he thought this time he owed it to Maya. The poor girl lost her mother, and if there was anything in there he could give to her he would find it.

One cupboard at a time.

Even for a famous children’s author, Elise Deauxnim didn’t seem to have many possessions. All he’d found were books and clothes. Even her house wasn’t that big, though it was pretty secluded. Which would make sense since she was Misty Fey in hiding.

God, that was weird to think about. He’d read his nieces a bunch of her stories and secretly enjoyed them too. He’d never be able to do it without thinking of the author’s corpse now.

Clink! Thud!

The others were probably packing up the silverware to give to charity downstairs. Death was so strange… one moment a person’s there, living their life as always, and then the next they’re gone.

He contemplated his own death as he sifted through the belongings of Ms. Deauxnim’s bedroom. Nothing special. There was a neatly-made double bed with a floral quilt, a small wooden bedside table with a shaded lamp, and a few wardrobes full of various clothes.

In the final wardrobe, the small white one, he finally noticed something valuable.

Among the dresses and cardigans, somewhat hidden behind them, was a familiar lengthy, deep purple robe. Dick had been to Kurain village so he knew what it was almost immediately. At least he knew they were in the right house.

At least he could give something to Maya.

Gently, he tugged at the robe. It was stuck. So he pulled again, a little harder.

It remained glued to the rail.

So he thrust his hand far into the wardrobe, half expecting to find Narnia, and felt around with his large fingers until he had a fistful of robe. Sucking in a breath, he yanked it out.

Crash!

He cringed.

Good news: he had the robe. Bad news? The clothes hanger that the robe had been attached to had fallen to the ground.

Sighing, he went to pick it up, when he noticed that it hadn’t fallen on the bottom of the wardrobe. Instead, it had fallen on what looked like some sort of gift box.

Curiosity taking over him, he carefully took it out. It had yet another floral pattern on it (she sure was into flowers, huh) though this one was a lot more faded than the one on her bed or her curtains. On the lid, written gracefully in ink, was the word “Kurain”.

Bingo!

He crouched down onto his knees and slowly opened the box. Inside, was a folded robe- one much smaller than the one hung up. Maybe once belonging to a child? Under that was an old photograph of two girls, desperately trying to fix a broken vase of some sort. It was adorable.

There was also a small pendant in the shape of a magatama, which looked like it could open.

He tried to open it, but his fat grubby fingers kept on slipping off. Maya could probably do it.

Satisfied with his find, Dick leaned over (wobbling slightly on his knees) to close the wardrobe door when he noticed something behind where the box had been.

Another, smaller box.

He took it out, and immediately almost dropped it again.

On the lid, written in that same ink calligraphy was one word.

“Edgeworth.”

Dick’s eyes went wide. What was he supposed to do? Open the box? That might cost him his salary… but he couldn’t not open it.

“Sorry, Mr Edgeworth.” He muttered as he took off the lid.

He stared blankly at the box’s contents for a few moments, the reality of what was inside not sinking in, and after what seemed like way too long he finally uttered two words.

“Holy moly.”

He needed to call Mr Edgeworth.

~._-_.~

“Mr Edgeworth, Sir!” Gumshoe cried, thrusting open the door so that it ended up hitting the wall with a loud bang.

Miles winced and sighed. At least he could always hear Gumshoe coming, so he had a few seconds of bliss to mentally prepare himself. He clicked his pen and looked up from his desk.

“Detective.” He greeted.

What he wasn’t expecting was the large man to be noticeably more out of breath than usual, huffing and puffing with a large white evidence bag under his arm.

Miles couldn’t help but groan when he noticed the lack of label on the bag. “You’re not supposed to take evidence without registering it first, Detective.”

Gumshoe scrunched his nose in apology. “I know pal, but this is important, I promise.”

He flopped onto the couch and started to fiddle with the zip on the bag. Miles sighed again. It was evening, and since Gumshoe had been investigating Misty Fey’s residence, which was a good few hours away by train, he hadn’t been expecting a visit from him today. Not that he particularly enjoyed his visits...

Tapping his finger impatiently, Miles waited for Gumshoe to finally take out the contents of the bag. He was underwhelmed to say the least. It appeared to be a small rigid gift box of some kind.

“C’mere, sir.” Said Gumshoe as he thumped the seat next to him and looked up at him expectantly.

Miles relented and stood up to join the detective.

“You know,” he said, “when I received your text, I believed this to be something urgent.”

Gumshoe shrugged. “It is, pal. I wouldn’t’ve disturbed you if it wasn’t. Don’t you trust me Mr Edgeworth?”

“Of course.” He said, sitting down. Miles didn’t, but decided that this wasn’t the time to reveal that particular secret to his sensitive colleague. “So what is it?”

All of a sudden Gumshoe visibly steeled himself. His expression became soft, but his shoulders were tense. All of his usual energy solidified into something that resembled that of a detective’s. Miles had seen this multiple times before, and it was always when Gumshoe had bad news to tell. It was unnerving to see the man do it in their own conversation.

A bad feeling began brewing in his gut.

“So, I was checking Misty Fey’s house, right?”

“Yes.” He answered, a little too quickly.

“And… she was the one who channelled your dad, wasn’t she?”

Miles didn’t have to answer that. That bad feeling only worsened.

“Well uh, I found this and…” Gumshoe paused. “I think you’d better take a look for yourself.”

Slowly, as if he were handing something fragile to a small child, Gumshoe passed the ominous box to him and gestured for him to open it. What immediately piqued his interest was the fact that it had the word “Edgeworth.” written neatly on the lid.

So, with an unhealthy amount of caution, he began to lift it...

“Hey!”

...and almost fell off the couch at Gumshoe’s outburst.

“What?” He asked, disgruntled.

The detective turned to face him. “I uh just wanted to say, whatever’s in there, that I’m here for you Mr Edgeworth. Whatever you need. I knew you should have this the moment I saw it, no questions asked.”

“I see.” Was all he said in reply, as his curiosity was beginning to eat away at him with every passing second.

He opened the box.

...and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d been half-expecting something to jump out.

A bunch of papers. Newspaper articles, mostly. He recognised the majority at once- they were all reports of his father’s death. The DL-6 incident. He furrowed his brows, wondering why Gumshoe assumed that he hadn’t read each one of these articles a million times over already.

Then, whilst removing them, he noticed more faded newspaper clippings underneath. However, this time they were ones he didn’t recognise. They were far smaller, from a local company he hadn’t heard of, and difficult to make out on the yellowed paper. But they all shared one common sentence:

“Defense attorney Gregory Edgeworth wins case.”

The original shock wore off quite quickly as soon as he thought through it logically. Reading them one by one, it started to become clear to him. It made sense that Misty Fey would have researched his father’s career- the police asked her to channel his spirit after all. And his father was good enough of a defence attorney to have various reports written about him.

This box was nothing more than an accumulation of research resources.

Through the corner of his eye he noticed that Gumshoe was still fiddling with his hands nervously. The detective caught his gaze and nodded at him to look further into the box. Obviously he hadn’t come across what he wanted to show him yet.

Great.

He tentatively took out those newspapers, flicking through them with his pale fingers to be certain that he hadn’t missed anything. See, newspaper clippings made sense for research.

What didn’t make sense was what was lying beneath them.

A photograph. Slightly crumpled, yellowed, and worn at the sides, but a photograph nonetheless. Yet the quality of the picture was of no interest to Miles. No, what immediately caught his attention was the pair of smiling faces.

The photo was of a young man and woman. His father and a woman, with one arm wrapped lovingly around his waist and a head resting on his tall shoulder. Dad and…

He gulped.

“...Misty Fey?”

He phrased it as a barely audible question, even though he knew deep down that Gumshoe was as in the dark as he was. The poor detective nodded anyway.

Adjusting his posture to rest his elbows on his knees, Miles used both hands to grip the photo tightly as if it would disintegrate in his hold.

It didn’t. It was real.

“How… how did they know…”

Again, he knew Gumshoe didn’t have a clue. He just needed to get the words out. He had a tiny, impossible suspicion that was starting to make him feel sick.

“Um, sir?”

His head snapped to look at Gumshoe, who yet again nodded towards the box. Miles just stared at it in fear.

What other secrets could this damn box possibly hold?!

Turns out, it was an open envelope. Miles braced himself to perhaps learn something new about his father. He took it out and turned it over. And almost had a heart attack.

It was addressed: “To Miles.”

Enough was enough. Quickly, Miles threw the envelope face down, held his head in his hands, and let out an odd whimpering sound.

He could sense Gumshoe shuffling towards him and could visualize him outstretching his arms.

“Don’t.” He commanded weakly, to no avail. He was still engulfed in the detective’s arms.

“Did you read it?” Dick asked softly.

“No.” Miles replied, then thought for a second. “...Did you?”

Gumshoe took his arms away from him in order to scratch the back of his own head nervously. “I couldn’t help it. If ya want I can tell you what’s on it, but I think you should read it yourself.”

Miles sniffed. He was starting to get emotional over what was probably nothing, or at least that’s what he told himself. He tried to pull away from the bigger man but didn’t really care that much at that point. He’d already read it without his permission.

He made a mental note to cut his salary later.

With a deep breath, he removed the mysterious letter.

Slightly smudged, it was written in the same calligraphic handwriting that was on the box lid.

“Dear Miles,

I’m sorry for not writing to you sooner. My name is Misty. I heard about what happened to your father, and I would like to be the first one to express my sympathies to you. He was an amazing man, the best I have ever met, and you should think yourself extremely lucky to have been able to meet him.

I want to tell you something dear, something very important. I am your mother, Miles. From what I understand, your father had told you that I died when you were young. I am so very sorry that we had to lie to you, but I’m afraid we had no choice. We are not allowed to stay together. I do love you Miles, and I always will. But the situation is very complicated at the moment.

Bad people are chasing me, so I have to run away- which means I can’t come and see you. Believe me, If I could then I would just snap my fingers and come and take you home to your sisters. That’s right, you have two sisters! A sensible older sister called Mia, and a little cheeky scamp called Maya. I’m so very sorry to say that we had to lie to them in the same way. They both believe their father died, and they don’t know that they have a brilliant brother called Miles.

Please don’t come and find me. I promise that when the bad people stop chasing me, I will come to you. Until then, stay strong. Your father would not have wanted you to be so upset over him.

Don’t forget that I love you Miles. You’re not alone. Love Misty.”

“Sir?” He thinks Gumshoe asked, but his vision was so misted over and his ears were ringing so much that he couldn’t be sure.

Miles barely registered Gumshoe holding him as he began to sob.

This was going to change everything.

[hystericalweenie]

Just Another Day at the Office Series - The Sexperiment

George MacKay x Reader Series

Part Three: Meeting Andrew

Masterlist

Summary: Y/f/n Y/l/n is doing better than ever; she’s finally in a relationship with the man she’s been constantly thinking about, she has some great friends, and she’s thriving at her dream job. Except, there’s one problem: being in a relationship with one of your coworkers can get really steamy, and can cause a lot of sexual frustration. Her new pitch idea may solve exactly that problem, but will George be okay with it?

a/n: I have absolutely no personal experience in magazine/journalism career, so the information in this fic will be provided with the knowledge I have conducted from research. With that being said, please don’t be mad if this is not accurate!!! **“The Sexperiment” is inspired by an actual Cosmopolitan article (here’s the link!) I also have no personal experience being in a rehabilitation center, so I apologize if the descriptions aren’t accurate. I imagine Andrew as Timothee Chalamet (it won’t let me put the accent over the e on here) but his description could also match Harry Styles, so choose your fighter.... you could also just imagine him however you please, it doesn’t have to be either of them :)

Warnings: This is a slow burn fic, their relationship won’t happen in one night, so if you’re not into that, check out some of the beautifully written imagines that you can most likely find under the george mackayxreader tag. I might eventually write some of my own too :P At least one person’s saying “fuck” and there’s NSFW content..aka smut. You have been warned. TW: mention of rehab and drug use. This part is kinda long :/ Sorry!

I sat in the passenger seat of George’s car, staring out of the window at the highway signs passing by us like a blur. George’s hand rested on my thigh, a foreign feeling but nonetheless amazing, as his fingers drummed against my jeans to the beat of the song playing softly on the radio. Dean insisted that I sit in the passenger seat, which I’d felt guilty about but after reminiscing on the sex George and I had just the day before on the very seat, I didn’t feel as guilty. I turned my head enough to examine George’s focused eyes, his side profile as perfect as one could imagine. The shape of his nose to his furrowed eyebrows, the way his waves were in perfect tact on his head, ruffling only when he moved his head to check his blindspots. 

As we pulled into the parking lot, he turned to me, giving my thigh a gentle squeeze before removing it from my leg and turning the car off, shoving the keys into his pocket. We unbuckled ourselves and made our way into the building, stopping at the entrance. George turned his head to me, as if making sure I was okay to go in. I gave him a nod of confirmation, following the boys inside. 

The first thing that I noticed was that the building was cold. It wasn’t warm and welcoming, and I’d hoped that the patients’ rooms weren’t as cold as the entrance. There was an older woman at a large desk, which the boys led me to. George spoke a few words to her and she gave him a clipboard. I didn’t pay attention to their conversation, instead, my eyes examined the room, noticing a woman as pale as the white walls of the building. Sickly dark circles rested under her eyes and her hair was tangled down her back. Her facial structure looked hollowed, her cheekbones sticking out and her eyes looking sunken in. I watched as she followed a doctor down a hallway, away from the entrance, away from my eyesight. My eyes stilled on the place they’d been standing, hoping that this woman would get the help she looked like she desperately deserved. 

“Y/n.”

I turned my head, noticing George, Dean, and a man looking similar to the doctor I’d seen stood ahead of me, motioning for me to follow them. I quickly caught up to them, following as they headed down another hallway and turning into an elevator. As the doors closed in front of us and the machine jerked us upward, I felt George grab my hand. I looked down at his large hand engulfing mine, intertwining our fingers. 

“How is he?” Dean asked, crossing his arms.

The doctor shrugged, the shoulders of his white coat wrinkling as he did so.

“Good,” he began. “He didn’t make a single sarcastic remark in therapy today, so that’s progress.”

The boys chuckled beside me.

“That’s him, alright,” Dean confirmed, his laugh fading as the elevator doors opened.

We piled out of the confined space, walking down a hallway with multiples of doors on each side. We turned into one as the doctor opened it slowly, leaving it open for the rest of us.

“You guys can go down to the courtyard, just have him back up here in an hour,” he notified us, sticking a block in the bottom gap of the door, and leaving back down the hallway. 

My heart raced in anticipation as a bed came into view, a man sitting upright with his legs hanging off the side coming into view. I remembered distinctly how he looked in a few of Dean’s Facebook photos, but it was much different seeing him in person. Much like the woman I’d seen before, his appearance was sickly, his skin pale and dark circles settled under his eyes. He had dark brown hair–almost black–with bright green eyes. His freckles were much more apparent than George’s as they settled on his tiny nose. His eyebrows matched the dark locks on his hair, and they were bushy alike Bree’s. 

He wore grey sweatpants and a black sweatshirt with slippers and hospital socks peeking out of them. His face brightened at my appearance and he leaned away from the bed, moving toward me. George watched with a smile on his lips as Andrew held his hand out to me, which I gladly took. 

“I’m Andrew,” he spoke, his voice deep and American, a welcoming difference from Dean and George’s accents. “AKA the drug addict.”

I snorted, giving his hand a firm shake.

“I’m Y/n, AKA George’s whore,” I mimicked him, showing him my own humorous side. 

Dean gasped a laugh and George rolled his eyes, a blush spreading over his cheeks at my bluntness whilst Andrew nodded, turning to look at his friends.

“I like her,” he stated in approval.

“C’mon, let’s get going,” George muttered, still embarrassed, grabbing my hand and leading us out of the doorway. 

We walked through the hallway in silence, heading back into the elevator we were previously in with the doctor. We entered the confined space, Dean pushing the main floor button, before the doors slid closed and we were jerked downward. George reached for my hand again, offering a comfort for the surprise of the janky machine. 

“So,” Andrew began, clicking his tongue a few times and looking around the closed-in metal walls. “What’d you guys do today?”

Dean shrugged, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. 

“Same old, same old,” he replied.

George nodded in agreement.

“This guy, must have been his first day here, whipped his dick out in group therapy; looked as cracked out as I did before I got admitted here,” Andrew explained, earning a chuckle of amusement from Dean and a groan from George.

“Can we please avoid talking about dicks while Y/n is here?” George pleaded in annoyance.

Andrew put his hands up in defense, turning toward me and bowing down to me sarcastically.

“Won’t happen again,” he apologized, making me softly giggle as the elevator doors opened.

We headed down an unfamiliar hallway, coming to a wall of windows in which two security guards were standing in front of. The windows revealed a large courtyard, including multiple benches scattered about. Walking a little further, we reached a door, which allowed us to enter the courtyard. George held the door open for us, joining my side as I slid in lastly.

They chose a bench by a tree, fallen leaves scattering the grass around it. We all seated ourselves, distinct conversations of others across the courtyard filling the air. 

“Being here is causing me to quit smoking, cold turkey,” the green-eyed man revealed, looking down at the grass below us.

“Shit, I forgot about that,” Dean admitted, bringing his bottom lip between his teeth worriedly. “How’s that goin’?”

Andrew shrugged, his slippers gently kicking some leaves aside as he thought to himself before speaking. 

“I suppose it’s a good thing,” he confessed, lifting his head to look at the fellow brunette boy. “It’s hard as fuck, though. I feel fucking awful sometimes, and there’s just nothing I can do about it.”

“You could ask the nurses to bring you straws,” I spoke up. He turned his head toward me in curiosity. “It’ll mimic the feeling and act of smoking; it could help when you crave nicotine.”

He nodded, a small smile taking form on his lips.

“I never thought of that,” he admitted, nudging my shoulder. “Thanks, Y/n.”

I smiled in response, turning my head to George, who was seated at my other side. He smiled down at me in admiration at his friend and I’s interaction, wrapping an arm around my torso and gently squeezing my side. 

“Has George cooked for you yet?” Andrew asked, changing the subject.

I nodded, a blush spreading across my cheeks as I thought about the many times George had cooked me breakfast, lunch, and dinner, the last time being the ratatouille in which I had interrupted with my appearance in lingerie. 

“Yeah, he’s an amazing chef,” I complimented, turning my head to look at George again.

His skin seemed to glow under the setting sun, his hair appearing golden and his eyes bluer than ever. He winked at me, giving my side another gentle squeeze.

“Don’t take it for granted,” my new green-eyed friend warned as I returned my attention back to him. “He used to make us breakfast and dinner everyday and all Dean, here, can do is poach a fuckin’ egg.”

I snorted at this, George joining me in laughter as Dean’s jaw dropped and defensive murmurs left his lips. 

“I can do a lot more than you can, bastard,” Dean defended with a roll of his eyes. “And, by the way, I don’t miss goin’ in the shower after you’ve had a wank.”

Andrew’s eyebrows furrowed at this allegation, George continuing to laugh at their bickering beside me.

“How the hell can you tell when I jerk off?” he interrogated, crossing his arms in his loose hoodie sleeves. 

“Oh, I can tell,” Dean replied with a scoff. 

“Guys, I said no talking about dicks,” George reminded them, still softly laughing. 

The two brunette boys looked at each other with slitted eyes of suspicion, shutting themselves up whilst their expressions continued to argue.

“One time, when all three of us were living together, we had a party,” George began, looking down at me. 

“Oh, I love this story!” Andrew exclaimed beside me, raising a shy fist in victory.

I looked at the two brunettes with curiosity, trying to decipher what George was about to say from their expressions before returning my attention to my lover next to me, looking up at him as he spoke.

“What was supposed to be a small gathering of our closest coworkers turned into a huge party with one invitation on Facebook,” George explained, motioning his head toward Andrew, signifying that he was the one that sent out the Facebook invitation. 

Dean shuffled in his spot on the bench, moving his body to face the green-eyed brunette.

“Yeah, I’ll never fuckin’ forgive you for that, by the way,” Dean groaned. “Someone broke our bloody tile floor! How the fuck do you break a tile floor?!”

“Anyway,” George interrupted, continuing with the story.

He proceeded to tell me about a story of him mistaking a pan of brownies someone had brought for pot brownies, resulting in him getting his first–and quote “most likely his last”–high. He went on to explain how he was convinced the entire flat was physically spinning in circles, causing him to profusely vomit. With cuts in from the two brunettes beside us, I was a giggling mess, imagining my lover as high as a kite. 

Before we knew it, our hour was up, and we returned back to the room in which Andrew was staying in. I stepped away to let the boys speak to him privately for a moment before we bid our goodbyes and exited the building.

After dropping Dean off, I politely asked George if he would stop at my apartment for me to “get a few things”. Without question, probably thinking I needed a tampon, he obliged. I quietly thanked him, hurriedly speed-walking into the building. As I reached the door, I sprinted inside, running to my bedroom to grab my slip, shoving it into my purse. Fixing my appearance quickly, I sprinted out of the complex into a casual speed-walk back to his car. 

As I reached his car, almost entirely out of breath, he started towards his house. With my heart beating in my ears and butterflies taking over my stomach, I awaited the exciting unknown. I watched the way he stared, concentrated on the road in front of us to distract my nerves; watching his jaw clench and unclench at the agonizing traffic. I nearly gasped as he returned his hand onto my thigh, making small, comforting circles with his thumb onto the fabric of my jeans, which I’d been gratefully able to change into before we met with Andrew. 

He turned his head to look at me, his lips turning up into a small smile before returning his eyes to the road. I attempted to bite back the grin that fought to take over my lips, resting my hand over his own on my leg. The back of his hand was smooth and soft, small valleys of his raised veins under my fingertips. My fingers drew shapes at random against his skin, attempting to distract myself from my nerves.  

Finally, we reached the parking lot to his complex. After shutting the car off, he quickly came around to my side, opening the door for me. Blushing, I got out, following him into the building. Going up the stairs, we reached his door, which he fumbled with his keys before finally opening it. Walking inside, I quickly held my purse close to me, remembering what exactly I had up my sleeve.

“Can I use your bathroom?” I asked, trying to sound the least bit suspicious as I could.

He nodded, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Of course, you don’t have to ask.”

I smiled gratefully at him, scurrying to the bathroom by the kitchen. After closing the door behind me, I looked around, noticing the similarities and differences the features of the room had with the upstairs bathroom. This one was much smaller, and had a washer and dryer in place of a shower. Don’t take too long, I reminded myself. Opening my purse and grabbing the bunched ball of satin fabric, I peeled my clothes off, including the mismatched bra and panties; the slip alone would do the job. 

Staring at my reflection in the small mirror above the sink, I admired the way the royal blue of the fabric complimented my skin. I hoped he would think so, as well. Leaving my pool of clothes on the floor, I slowly opened the door, walking out to his sitting figure on the living room sofa, his phone in his hands occupying him. Leaning against the wall, I cleared my throat, making my appearance known. Bringing his eyes up from the screen in confusion, his pupils grew large at the sight in front of him, dropping his phone in the process. Without bothering to pick it up, he stood from the sofa and made his way toward me.

He brought a palm to my cheek in which he slowly dragged down to my breasts, the buds of my nipples hardened through the thin silk. He ran his thumb over a bud once before moving his hand down to my waist, grabbing my thigh and pulling my leg to his side. I moved my hands to his shoulders, resting my weight on him whilst I brought my other leg around him. His eyes examined my face before bringing his nose to gently brush against my own. Our lips ghosted over one another’s, wanting to savor what was to come. 

Pressing his lips to mine, he began his way toward the stairs, lips gently moving against each other’s as carried me up the staircase. Holding my bum and kicking his bedroom door open, he treaded to his bed, tossing me onto it. Breathing heavily from the breath he’d lost while kissing me and the adrenaline rushing through his veins, he panted, eyes scanning my vulnerable state over his comforter, stilling on my parted legs. 

He breathed a laugh.

“No panties, again, love?” he taunted, moving closer until he was hovering over me. 

He moved his hand between us, running a finger with the gentlest touch over my entrance. I could barely feel the pad of his finger against me, and the ghost of his touch made my back arch; I needed him. 

“You’re dripping already, angel,” he whispered, spearmint breath against my face. 

My lips parted at the dirty words escaping his mouth, escaping the kissed-swollen lips of his. He brought his finger to his mouth, sucking on the skin, wet with my own juices. I watched in awe, snaking my hand around the nape of his neck and bringing his lips to mine. We kissed sloppily for a moment, tongues dancing with one another’s without any rhythm, before he pulled away to remove his shirt. I admired his torso as always, the pale, toned skin with moles scattered at random. I sat up, undoing the buckle of his jeans and pulling them down to his calves. 

He kicked the denim off, leaving him in his briefs with an obvious tent at the crotch. He ran his fingers down my sides, slipping the silk over my body with the help of my raised arms, tossing the lingerie to the floor with his own clothing. Moving himself over me and scooting ourselves up toward the top of the bed, our lips met once again. My legs parted for him, allowing him to rest himself between my legs as I tangled my fingers through his dark blond locks. He pressed his clothed bulge against my bare entrance, making me gasp against his lips at the pleasurable relief of built up tension within me. 

Smirking at my noise, he rolled his hips against me, pressing where I needed him once more. Feeling him against me again was like ecstasy, I hadn’t realized how much I needed him again already. I peeled my lips away from his own, unable to conceal my moans any longer as he continued to roll his hips against me. 

“George,” I begged, half-lidded eyes meeting his own. “I need you.”

He smirked, stopping his movements.

“Not just yet, Y/n,” he grinned devilishly. 

I didn’t have time to register what he’d meant. Within seconds, he got to his knees and rolled me over to my stomach. I gasped at the quick movement, turning to look at him in confusion. 

“Get on your hands and knees,” he ordered, yet his tone still soft. 

I smirked, watching his chest heaving up and down, his cheeks blushing, but I obliged. I got on my hands and knees, facing the headboard, my heart racing at the unexpected. I felt his hand gently grasp my ass, rubbing softly; I knew exactly what he was going to do. As soon as his hand left, it joined my ass again. I gasped as I felt him spank me, a slight stinging lingering afterward. I turned my head to look at him, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at me worriedly. I grinned.

“Do it again,” I egged him on.

A smirk took over his lips once again, grabbing my hair in one hand, forming a makeshift ponytail in his fist and bringing his other hand to spank me once more. I gasped, followed by a moan at the sensation of his hand against my bum.

“Didn’t expect you to be such a dirty girl,” he tormented, leaning his torso against my back as he whispered behind my ear. 

Feeling his hot skin against my own, his clothed cock against my core again, my lips parted in bliss.

“You bring it out of me,” I admitted, my voice barely existent through my words.

He chuckled softly; I could feel his warm breath against the back of my ear, his ghostly presence making me more eager to want him. 

“My dirty girl,” he corrected himself, his voice a mere whisper. 

His torso left my back, his fist letting go of my hair as I felt him shuffle on the bed. As I turned around in confusion before realizing that he’d taken off his briefs and tossed them to the floor, he flipped me onto my back, wrapping his arms around my thighs and dragging my body closer to his. Moving back on top of me, his forehead rested against my own whilst he rubbed his cock against my folds, his tip teasingly collecting my leaking juices before slowly entering into me. 

My legs wrapped around his waist instantly, attempting to push him into me further as I ached for any sort of pleasure I could get. Pressing a sweet kiss against my lips, he looked at me cautiously–as if he were worried he’d hurt me–before slamming his hips into mine. My back arched as my head dropped backwards, my body practically going into shock in pleasure. He moved his hips roughly against my own, his pace moving slowly but deeply. I could feel his length already brushing my most pleasurable spot within me, and I found myself moving my hips against his own in an attempt to feel him deep enough. 

HIs hips began moving faster, growing impatient himself and needing to reach his own orgasm. He moved his hand up to my neck, grasping underneath my jaw as his blue eyes watched my eyes roll back in awe at the feeling of his hand wrapped around me. 

“Faster, George,” I pleaded, my voice cracking as I watched him smirk, grabbing one of my thighs and hiking it up to reach the side of his chest. 

Finally, his length reached the spot within me, hitting it over and over again with every thrust. I squirmed beneath him, staring at his face helplessly, my stomach knotting as I felt myself clench around him. His lips parted, hips thrusting just enough to ride out my high before stilling, feeling him spurt inside of me. He released his hand from my throat, pressing a long, tender kiss against my lips before slowly pulling his length out of me. 

I laid there, chest rising up and down before moving myself to lay against him. I rested my head on his chest, a leg sprawled over him. I moved my hand to his chest as well, watching as my fingers ghosted over the auburn hairs that sprouted between his pecks. I felt his hand go to my head, combing his fingers gently through my hair as our breathing patterns calmed down. 

“Stay the night.” His raspy voice accentuated his accent.

I breathed a laugh.

“I can’t,” I sighed, my tired voice cracking. 

He pressed his lips to the top of my head.

“Why not? We can go to your apartment and get your things for tomorrow. And, we can carpool to work together,” he suggested, his voice almost a whisper. 

I lifted my head up, resting my chin against his chest whilst I gave him a look of confusion.

“Are you sure?” I affirmed. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, wrapping an arm around me and pulling me closer to him.

He began to trail his fingers up my bare back, raking his fingertips gently up and down my spine; my eyes were beginning to close as I rested my cheek back against his chest.

“Do you have the energy to get up right now?” I interrogated, my voice beginning to rasp. “Because, I sure as hell don’t.”

He sighed, rubbing my back with his whole palm, comfortingly. 

“Well, love,” he began, “if it means I get this for the night, then I’ll do whatever I can.”

He spanked my bum, making me gasp, which in return, earned a chuckle from him. I rolled my eyes, removing myself from him as he got up from the bed, stretching, before attempting to find his clothes on his floor. I watched his body contort as he slipped his clothes on, his muscles contracting as he pulled the fabric over his skin. Watching as he reached into his closet, grabbing a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, tossing them to me onto the bed. 

I didn’t hide the fact that I wanted to smell the clothes, to smell him, this time. I slipped the soft fabrics over my naked body, engulfing me with the sweet scent. 

I, Y/f/n Y/l/n, was about to sleep at my boyfriend–also my coworker–’s house on a work night, risking multiple bad scenarios involving my dream job...but why didn’t I care?