#but take a half-assed analysis of some of my ocs

[azurescaled]

Something I kind of want to confess in regards to something I struggle with in writing, is writing people who aren't y'know, good people.

I'd argue all of my muses have sides to them that don't make them good people, but I suppose I want to focus on Serina, since she's the one muse here who's outright a villain.

When it comes to Serina, prior to her becoming a wraith, she was mild mannered, and resented her family (rightfully so), for essentially putting her to the side in favor of her brothers, she's the middle child, so what she wanted didn't matter to her, and why she took the opportunity to enjoy her time out of town and selling their wares. She's also (rightfully so) enraged that she was forced back to life, in a world that she was and to some extent is a stranger in. She still actively chooses to do what she does, and in some cases, that means causing misery for those like her, or not caring about the effects of her actions on those outside of her circle of influence and interpersonal relationships. She's a monster, and she embraces that fact about herself. However, she still has human qualities, there are people she cares for, and isn't afraid to admit that. She's capable of love, and isn't afraid to show that to someone in privacy where there are no prying eyes.

It's hard to strike the balance sometimes, because on one hand, Serina is a horrible person who actively chooses to be a monster and doesn't regret that. But I also don't want to woobify her if that makes sense. She's not the type of person who will change who she is just because she loves someone. Just because she won't be a monster to you, doesn't change the fact she has no issue with being a monster to others, you know?

Hell, sometimes I enjoy villains who are evil for the sake of being evil, because evil people don't need a reason to be so, but I also like to have substance to my writing, I want to write villains who while you can sympathize with them, it doesn't excuse their actions or cloud the fact that they're bad people.

I dunno, I want to be better at writing villains, and I know I got work to do on that front, because I think I strike a good balance with some of my more gray characters, such as Jensen, who has done terrible things, but uses that as a motivation to better herself. That being said, she doesn't have problem with taking lives if that means solving an issue either. I also somewhat struggle with that with a pathfinder character of mine, Makoto, who while a good person at heart, also has no issue with killing so many that he doesn't remember the names or faces of the soldiers he's killed in war.

[inawearyworld]

free if you truly wish to be: chapter iii

plots are half revealed, and willy "mr accidentally steal yo girl" wonka gets his sorry ass saved by a woman wearing one of those "oh no my husband mysteriously floated away died" robes you see all over pinterest. (now there's a sentence i never thought i'd write.)

2023!wonka x oc, this chapter ~2.5k

i would like to thank mr mathew baynton in that one bts interview for those bits and pieces of fickelgruber analysis that will totally now be used here. and also for being generally wonderful. thanks mat ilysm

also i thought it would be sort of funny for at least someone in this world revolving around chocolate to be lactose intolerant and then of course i had to turn it into something sad and poetic bc of Who I Am As A Person

enjoy!! and thank you for all the support on this fic so far!!

part two fic masterlist part four

She had a lot to think about that night.

Felix hadn’t returned home yet, and she started to worry that the fateful flying chocolates weren’t quite as harmless as advertised. The young man who’d made them, too, was swirling about her mind in a haze of schoolgirl blushes and piercing guilt.

Florence Fickelgruber had chosen her lot when she agreed to take on that name. Who was she to imagine a freer life, one of candy-coated dreams and a clear conscience, of gazes and banter with someone her own age, of running her hand through curls that weren’t slick with expensive gel? Who was she to foolishly wish for anything different, when so many people were counting on her?

She missed her home, her family, and it hadn’t been lost on her that Felix had never told her about his own background. Their wedding was attended mainly by those surrounding the Fickelgruber business, as well as another flood of press. She’d had to blink so much that day, unused to being in front of cameras after a youth spent on the stage, but her new husband had preened next to her as if this focus on appearance was where he felt most at home. She remembered the crowd’s polite cheers fading in her mind as he had slowly lifted her chin while she accepted a forkful of the most extraordinarily decadent chocolate cake.

For that day, she had allowed the feeling of his hand on her face to eclipse that of the too-rich frosting stuck in her throat.

Then he came through the door, humming a jaunty tune, and she blinked, torn out of the memory that she felt an entirely different kind of guilt for indulging in.

“Felix? Darling, where have you been?”

“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty auburn head, my songbird. The boy’s finished, absolutely finished. No one will be flying about the Galeries Gourmet if the police have anything to say about it.”

“What-what do you mean?”

“He’s disturbed the peace, made a commotion, even encouraged the-the-the unfortunate to disgrace our sacred sanctuary of chocolate. And the Chief is none too happy about it.”

“Is he?” she said suspiciously, stepping in front of him-because, up until this point, he hadn’t looked her in the eye.

Felix was silent for a moment, cacao eyes darting. His wife’s gaze was strong and unyielding-don’t lie to me again, I can’t take it-but her head tilted innocently to the side, a sort of plausible deniability.

A sort of protection.

“Yes,” he breathed with a curt nod, and took her hands in his. “I promise you, it was a solemn thing.”

“Then what were you singing as you came in?”

The chocolatier blinked again, falling into an absolutely done sort of expression, and Florence’s head tilted to the other side.

“You’ve had another musical number without me.”

“I’m terribly sorry, pet.”

“You know you can’t hide from me, Felix,” she said, something that would have been playfully teasing but held an edge of desperation that he refused to pick up on.

“It of course wasn’t the same without you,” he drawled in that ever-dramatic way, bringing her into their living room. “We’ll make it up now. Dance with me, Florence.”

He snapped his fingers, and some unseen yet attentive servant placed a needle on a record. A crooning melody started to crackle and bounce across the high golden ceilings, and Felix spun his wife into him, twirling her about with a smirk that she could only imagine to be the result of a monopoly saved.

She swayed to and fro in his arms, trying desperately to sink into the music, unable to focus on anything but the wrenching pull of her battling guilts.

~

Florence spent much of the next day in a state of ping-ponging worry. She’d looked intently out of the mansion’s sprawling windows over the town square, wondering whether her forbidden new friend had taken her advice.

“Just…don’t give up.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

And who knows what they’ll do to him now?

The hours had passed in a blur, and then she was laid limp, unable to sleep, and mentally exhausted, next to her husband and his piccolo snore.

She had screwed her eyes shut and burrowed into him, trying to force herself to feel as secure as she did two years ago; then, the slight sound of a little girl’s singing voice lifted itself into her consciousness, followed by the blare of a police car.

Puzzled, Florence carefully got out of bed and went to the window once more. The girl she’d heard was the one with the sweet smile that she’d seen in the Galeria yesterday, and Willy Wonka was next to her, warning her to run. The Chief of Police and Officer Affable faced them, but this wasn’t to last-the former seemed to tell the latter to leave, and the latter obeyed.

It wasn’t as if a switch flipped at that moment.

More like…

An extinguished candle was finally relit.

Before she could overthink herself into inaction, Wren was grabbing her robe and slippers and bolting downstairs, the snore that echoed after her serving as reassurance that she wouldn’t be found out. In her haste, she had the passing realization that this would be the first time she’d leave the house with her hair down and uncoiffed in over two years.

Through this rush, she heard the plunge of something in the town square’s fountain along with the shouts of the Chief, and she ran faster, throwing open the door just in time to see him about to club a drenched Willy over the head.

“OFFICER!”

Both men turned to her in an instant. She let out the breath she’d been holding since first hearing the girl’s voice, rolled her shoulders back, dropped into the character she’d played for the past two years, and stepped forward.

“What on earth is going on?”

They stared, each with a different kind of shock, as she walked toward the fountain. The Chief returned his nightstick to its holster.

“Mrs. Fickelgruber,” he stammered, “I thought you would have thought-well, I guess he didn’t tell-you aren’t-”

“No, I’m not thrilled about you clobbering this poor young man in the middle of the night,” she said, placing a hand on Willy’s shoulder. He looked at her, still touched with the fear of the past minutes but now grateful, and she tried not to be struck by the freckles she saw behind his water-plastered curls.

“Who said anything about clobbering?” the Chief laughed somewhat nervously. “We were just having a chat. An impactful, memorable chat. Right, Mr. Wonka?”

Willy dragged his eyes to him and held them there, a bit speechless.

What was probably three seconds but felt like an eternity of strange silence passed.

“Memorable indeed.”

“Right, then,” the Chief said. “You’ll do good to continue to remember it. Goodnight, Mrs. Fickelgruber.”

With that, he entered his car and drove away, his tail lights fading in the distance as the remaining pair stood, a little shell-shocked, her hand still on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said after a while, his gaze still trailing the receding police car.

“You’re welcome,” she replied, giving his shoulder an awkward pat, which made her realize just how cold he was due to the impromptu fountain bath. “Oh, God, you’re freezing. Let me…”

As he turned towards her, she looked up, trying to see through her window in the dark. She could barely make out the shape of a sound-asleep Felix, still in bed.

“Come to the office, I’ve got the key. There’s a fireplace there; you can stay as long as you need to to warm up.”

“Are you sure?”

His eyes moved up the same way, then back to her, and she shook her head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Of course.”

~

“Do you want anything to drink? Water, tea? Hot chocolate?”

She hadn’t turned on most of the lights so as not to draw attention, but she’d started a beautiful fire, which Willy sat by in a plush emerald-green chair. She’d rattled off the drinks on habit, but she turned to him upon saying the third, sharing his smile.

“The last one, please. But I’ll make it.”

“No, you need to rest-”

“I insist,” he said, moving to join her by the small bar in the office and searching through ingredients. “Unless that’s some sort of corporate sacrilege.”

“Making chocolate in enemy territory?”

He took a small jar of powder from his sleeve and shook it into two mugs, considering this, and his smile faltered a bit.

“Is it really that bad?” he asked. “That they’d…that they’d send the police after me? That business rivalry is thought of like a war?”

She pursed her lips and nodded solemnly.

“They…feel threatened,” she said slowly, “and, despite how professional they seem, they can’t be mature or rational about it. Apparently, you really do have the best chocolate in town.”

He neither confirmed nor denied, but gave half of a smile as he looked down at the drinks he was stirring.

“And I, for one, am quite looking forward to trying it.”

“Here, then,” he said, pulling something out of a coat pocket that had managed to escape the frozen flush. “Nothing too dangerous about this one. Just some good old Wonka magic.”

He opened his hand to her, revealing a small, wrapped treat, and she sighed.

“I’d love to, but I really shouldn’t. Not even the drinks.”

“Why not?” came the stunned reply, and she nearly laughed at just how sweetly scandalized the boy seemed to be at the idea of anyone denying themselves that pleasure.

“Milk has never really…agreed with me. Bad for the throat, and I’m a singer besides, as you know-I mean, I-well, it’s just…”

PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER.

“I shouldn’t.”

He took a moment, and she watched his eyes widen as he processed the shocking injustice of being genetically predisposed against chocolate.

“Does your husband know about this?”

“He does, but he doesn’t care. Says I’ll ‘grow out of it with time’, which I haven’t.”

“So he’s…”

“Essentially poisoning me, yes.”

They laughed a little, because, surrounded by echoes of Fickelgruber’s power, it was the only thing they could do.

Willy stared at the table for a moment, then pulled another vial, this one containing a liquid, from yet another pocket.

“Lucky for you, then, I’ve got milk made from the product of the finest almond trees on the islands of Seychelles,” he said as he deftly poured the liquid into her glass. “Guaranteed to go down sweetly, both on the taste buds and after.”

“...Thank you,” she murmured, touched by the gesture.

With a final flick of the wrist, he deemed the hot chocolate finished, and they each carried their mug to the fire.

“Wren,” he said thoughtfully as they sat down.

“Hm?”

She was instinctively flooded with warmth in the same way she was yesterday, though whether it was due to the stunningly perfect cocoa or hearing her name in his voice she wasn’t sure.

“Is it a nickname? Songbird, right?”

She saw in the fireglow that his face darkened a bit upon the memory of how Felix had always referred to her in the press, taking that potentially sweet title and spinning it in an almost dehumanizing manner. So someone did notice.

“Well…sort of. That was what my parents intended. They say a wren sang when I was born, so they gave me that name, and I loved it. But Felix assumed it was a nickname and suggested I should expand it; to sound more sophisticated in my performances, he said, but I knew half the reason was to fit with the alliteration. He’s always valued aesthetics above anything else.”

They were silent for a while, and the massive painting seemed to stare down at them, making the Fickelgrubers look almost menacing in the fireglow.

“That’s you?”

A moment passed.

“No. No, that’s not really me.”

Her voice was quiet, but decisive. Willy looked at her, really looked at her, and she felt more seen than she had in years.

“I want to help you,” she said.

“Hm?”

His head tilted to the side, a little stunned, and she nearly giggled as his now-drying curls flopped in front of his face.

How could anyone want to hurt him?

“I don’t know exactly what Felix and the rest have planned against you, but I know there’s something. He never really tells me anything, but I’ll…I’ll try to find out what I can, to distract him when needed. I don’t want you to be alone in this.”

“I’m not,” he said. “The others where I’m staying right now, we’re all in a rather precarious situation together, and I’ve got a few ideas, but…”

She watched the wheels turn in his mind, and after a few moments, he looked back up at her, for once lost for words.

“But thank you. Again. I’d…I appreciate it.”

“Thank you. For bringing some much-needed heart into this place.”

“I think you’ve done that rather well yourself.”

This was news to her often-guilt-wracked brain.

“...Really?”

“Well, of course. You clearly care, Wren…you’re kind, you’re poetic and talented, and far smarter than it seems they give you credit for. It’s in your eyes, too, I think. You can always tell the truth by a person’s eyes.”

Her heart had nearly stopped.

Somehow, though, she could tell that he was unaware of the full effect he had on her.

“Mr. Wonka-ah, Willy, I mean…”

“Forgive me if-I didn’t intend to-”

The clocks around the city chimed the hour, interrupting the two just as they had the day before, and the young man’s expression went from its dazed dawning to a startled realization.

“They’ll need me. Back where I’m staying, I mean.”

“Of-of course,” she said a bit awkwardly as they both stood up.

His hair had dried by now, falling in perfectly imperfect swoops around his face. He’d undone his necktie to keep its cold away from his neck, and his jacket was folded over his arm, and he was looking at her as if he hadn’t had a conversation quite like that with someone in a very, very long time.

And neither had I.

Or…ever, I suppose.

Until now.

“Thank you. Again.”

“You’re welcome. Again.”

She took a breath, let it out, and folded him into a hug, which he returned in an instant.

After two years of jutting angles and sharply possessive grasps, it was remarkable to simply, softly, hold and be held.

They bid a last goodnight before parting ways, and as she took her time walking back to the mansion, the moon seemed brighter than ever before.

[elviraaxen]

im new here, so im sorry if this is a question youve answered before but tumblr's search bar failed me in finding this to be previous answered but.. uhmmm

c... can we make ocs/personas for Felt World? or would you rather we not or we hold off until further in?? bc i would love to make a puppet give our cowboy a smooch before he is, i assume bc he is a fucking catch and a half, taken off the market in canon lol i assume he wont still be single by the end. im a tad bit too embarrassed to ever post such drawings, but i wanted to know in case i ever did become brave enough to make them public if such you would be welcome to be tagged in or if that would make you feel uncomfortable

and also, for that purpose: as someone with disabilities, im really curious how disabilities are translated into Felt World? obviously not all of them, that'd take forever. but i was curious if they use mobility aids just like ours or if they use ones we could not have (an example of what i mean could be like "seal-chairs" in "Witch Hat Atelier"? they are chairs with hooves that run and jump, as opposed to wheels). and i know you said music is really powerful in this world, in both singing and instruments, but i wanted to also ask how in a world with so much focus on sound are the deaf/hard of hearing accomadated? deaf/HoH people can still play instruments, obviously (the most famous example being Beethoven), but i meant other than that

(also, if i recall accurately you once said that "the puppets have to speak to be considered sentient beings"? i was wondering if in the future could that be amended to "have to be able to communicate"? because i assume nonverbal puppets would still exist, as well as puppets who just dont speak much (whether thats a facet of deafness or nonspeaking shutdown or just a quiet personality). or would that break Felt World's world-building's logic in some way? that's a genuine question. i wasnt sure how to word it in a way that would minimize the risk of one being put on their back-foot, but i tried my best, it really is a genuine question)

(also, because i never like to assume fluency in disability-knowledge: if you need a resource on media portrayals of disability at any point, i highly recommend the youtuber, Oakwyrm. they do a lot of really cool analysis videos on disability. i do apologize if i am overstepping, and you are already largely fluent in disabled portrayals in media and/or already aware of Oakwyrm's existence. i just like to shout at least one resource out because i know many people have no idea where to look to learn more about general disability representation advice and whatnot. you do not have to watch their videos if you do not want to ♡)

also a bit of a tangent, idk if this is just a "for now" aspect of Donna due to her adjusting or if this is a core pillar of her personality but... just, thank you for making a feminine character who cries a lot and is emotional with Big Feelings. ive always felt more connected to the Dorthy Gales, Cinderellas, Clarisse de Cagliostros kind of heroines who are a bit of a "damsel in distress" (tho i do think that term reduces a lot of their agency and bravery) and i feel a bit lonely that we dont see many emotional-vitality-driven heroines who need some help as much as badass heroines or sassy heroines, both of whom are fully capable of getting shit sone alone. makes my cry-baby disabled ass feel a little pathetic (im very physically weak because of my chronic health issues, and am the type of Autistic ADHDer who is very sensitive to getting big feelings), even tho i know those types of heroines are valid and needed. i resonate a lot with AJR's lyric about "But I'm weak. And what's wrong with that?" even though i know im taking it out of context

and im sure Donna will prove herself capable of being on her own and having her own agency, same as all the heroines ive listed, i dont assume she will be stagnant, but i just wanted to really thank you for making a character that i relate to. i dont get that often. it makes me feel a bit abnormal and strange, and i mean moreso than the "well youre neurodivergent and sickly" kind of abnormal that would be implied. like. Weird Kid sitting alone at lunch kind of strange. so its really cool to see Donna and feel less lonely, is what im saying. i wish there were more heroines like her for people like me nowadays, rather than the archetype being reduced to "archiac stereotypes" (which i both do and dont understand the logic of. it depends on context and the example given) and therefore shelving a type of heroine we dont see in a lot of contemporary media (in exchange for a heroine we didnt get to see often (if at all) in past media, the sassy and badass ones, i do get it, and im glad theyre being used more as they should have always been. there are a select few of both camps that feel like "women have to be as stereotypically masculine as possible to be worthy of being called 'a strong character'" when i think strong characters have less to do with personality and more to do with "do they direct the narrative's plot? do they have agency?". but i could be wrong about that and i am getting off-topic)

but yeah. just. overall: thank you for introducing Donna to be like she is. it means a lot to me to see a heroine like her in contemporary media. im really excited to see what youll do next ♡ but yeah, i know im babbling a lot here and you dont need to reply to this half, i just really wanted to stress my thanks and WHY you have my thanks ♡♡♡ i really appreciate having Donna sit at my metaphorical lunch-table with me, even if she has to go sit somewhere else later. its been really nice to be beside her

thank you ♡

ps. i wasnt sure how to format this Ask because i know some people like to have each section have their own Ask for compartmentalizing/tag-organization reasons, but others like it all to be together so they know its all from one person as opposed to the anxiety of "ahh why did i get so many Asks all at once, did i do something wrong, do people hate me-- oh. its fine. i went through that rollercoaster for nothing. dear lord, am i drained now". so i tend to rather assume the latter, just in case; but do feel free to screenshot and section these out into their own posts if you are the former, i wont mind if youd rather do that ♡ have a nice day!!

Oh my goodness what a long message!!! 0.0!!

I had to take a few hours to think about everything to make sure I answered everything. But I should start off by showing my gratitude for the amount of time and effort you put into formulating this! So thank you, this was a really cool ask to receive <3

As for OCs, absolutely you can! I've already had a few who've made theirs, and I have no rules at all when it comes to shipping or self inserts or anything, as long as everyone is being respectful towards each other ^^

As for the disability aspect, I have a few key points that I want to explore in regards to especially deafness and muteness (is it called that? muteness?), but that's further along the story and will be introduced later! Also how song vs instruments work in this world is a part of the lore itself that'll be explained further down the line too, so no need to worry about our fellow mute or deaf/hoh peeps!

I have of course thought about mobility aids and other disability accommodations (because they can be born with defect, illnesses, and be injured pretty much like us, their bodies are a bit more fantastical but there are still rules) but i must admit didn't think further other than to give them similar mobility aids that we use. But clearly it would make more sense to make something more fantastical! I'll give it a thought! That's probably gonna be a fun design exercise ^^

I'm not sure if I can answer the entire ask in a way that does it justice, it's quite frankly the coolest message I've gotten, I'm gonna try and not let it get to my head (lol),

but i'm so glad you and seemingly many others seem to like Donna and appreciate her specifically for being sensitive and reacting strongly. It shouldn't be but it's really daunting to write female leads because as we know people just don't like women in media generally, but I eventually just got over it because I realized I was starting to write a character that demanded the audience cared and respected, rather than showing a story that I had fun telling, in a world worth exploring.

And not to spoil but I've already decided I do not want Donna to go through an arc where she's forced to abandon her emotions or go through something physically traumatic in order to "become tough" to be respected, that's not only overdone but lame and harmful wish fulfillment. So no worries in that department!

But anyways, I don't think I can properly say how appreciative I am of this ask!!! It really warms my heart that you and other people are going out of your way to send me asks about my little story that I came up with on a whim!!! It's truly the best compliment as a creator.

<3

[everynya]

decided i wanted to do this ask game with emihiko my corny ass oc f/o…when will i ever do one with another f/o? who knows! i cant heeeelpp iiiiitttttt besides it forces everyone to acknowledge him (i hate doing that myself) also might write small scenes for some in the future cause it may help me out of my writing slump! i took two questions out cause im lazy also

emihiko info

edit: I FOUND THIS IN MY DRAFTS HELLO. i half finished this and now finished it properly. i started this in august. waaaaah

🧸 - how would your f/o try to comfort you if you were upset?

the way emihiko comforts nayla is different from how he would normally comfort any other person, both because of nayla and his perception of him in his mind. he’s very insightful about peoples emotions usually from the start, and with nayla it happens over time that he is able to see past nayla’s indifferent demeanor and spot small habits or details.

the way he comforts him is casual at first, small actions where he doesnt back down even if nayla tries to push him away or in ways where it may seem normal to some but nayla starts to pick up on what hes doing. holding her hand, telling her comforting words while showing his concern, physical affection and constantly checking on him. over time, he learns what works for nayla even if nayla wont admit that she is getting used to it given she is not accustomed to people doing smth like comforting him.

🍡 - what nicknames do you have for each other?

nayla doesn’t have many nicknames at all, at the start sticks to just calling him his last name and later migrated to ‘Emi’ (which everyone uses. not that special) or the rare occasion he spills some teasing nickname that drives that damn wolf boy crazy. NOT LIKE ID SAY WHAT SO CASUALLY THAT SHIT IS EMBARRASSING!!!

emihiko definitely is the one who mostly uses nicknames, to the point he barely says naylas name. his are very dorky and ridiculous too. he will say classic ones like baby and sweetheart for example, stuff like ‘Lala’ (nickname he made up from naylas name) and his personal favorites cause he is a weird freak: my star and my goddess. dont look at me grits teeth

🪽 - what was your first kiss with your f/o like, if you've had it?

that shit sucked. an eager werewolf and an unphased vampire. emihiko literally bumped rlly fast into his forehead leaning in and he got scolded for 5 minutes. truthfully neither of them had ever kissed anyone, so nayla sighs and carefully grasps his face and mutters about how it cant be that hard and kisses him slowly. its hard for emi not to take over right then and there from his pure excitement but he follows naylas pace and finds himself loving it more then anything. its a lil stiff on naylas side and antsy on emis but they both learn pretty quickly, depending who initiates a kiss is how it goes.

🪷 - if the roles were reversed and your f/o was the one selfshipping with you, what would their blog look like?

oh gosh…emihikos blog would be all over the place. his gushes are like live reactions where hes just like “WHAT THE FUCK SHES SOOOSOJSKDKFOD OMG OMG” and its the most random picture. he’s pretty nerdy so he would totally go on analysis rants casually and even get at ppl who interact w him who start smth. nayla is basically his problematic fave who he says doubles dni abt and he tries to make his blog look soooo cool when hes just a dorky self shipper. hed have tons of oomfs tho and ppl would just recognize him…he would have so many comms and is always posting songs that remind him of his ship.

🧊 - how would your f/o text you? would they use proper punctuation/capitalization, or type more informally?

most of the messages exchanged between these two are from emihiko, with nayla rarely answering back much. emihiko is much more familiar with modern technology so he does all the works, capitalized insane words and reaction pics and stupid crap. always texting early in the morning or while he’s away from her…

Emihiko: BABE

Emihiko: CAN YOU PRETTY PLEASE STAY WITH ME TN???!!???

Emihiko: HEHE I MISS YOUUU 😙

Sent at 7:34 AM

shit like this where he just gets left on read

🍋‍🟩 - similarly, what would your contact names be for each other?

naylas contact for emi: ‘Ignore’, emi makes him add a heart emoji to it later cause its all they settle on after bickering

emihikos contact for nayla: ‘MY WIFE!!! 💙🦇’, nayla calls him weird for it

💍 - how do you and your f/o feel about marriage?

emihiko: i think, before meeting nayla, for a while he doesnt even let that cross his mind. he has big dreams of being a star, of performing on a stage and letting the crowd scream out his name. hes knee deep in on that fantasy, but that fated day he meets nayla adds a new dream to his life. he’s the genuine equivalent of love at first sight, looking into naylas eyes he sees so many things and one of those is a future. funny enough though, his family would plant the idea in his head and immediately hes so on it. its not a need, but its certainly a wish he has. sometimes he lets his mind wander and the image of nayla in a wedding dress makes his brain fry for a bit. he never brings the idea seriously up to him, just makes jokes and would maybe propose once and is fine with a no. still…hes seriously the daydreaming kind of person…

nayla: one of those people who will never give you a clear answer, but its cause he has no idea how he feels about commitment. marriage in general, just a calm and unclear reaponse… marriage with emihiko? good luck even getting the words out of your mouth, youll never know the answer to that one. though dont tease her when years down the line shes huddled somewhere looking at a wedding catalogue…weirdo… but i will! AHHH AHH YOU WANT HIMMM STUPID ASS

🪻 - what's your f/o's coffee or drink order?

emihiko just isnt a coffee fan to me…hes one of those ppl who get a fruit smoothie? mango or berry…meanwhile nayla drinks coffee with lots of sugar n sweet flavors that can be kinda weird like honey or cinnamon. she would make it more at home then anything, but tbh emi would love for the two to get drinks at a cafe (on his own no but now that hes in a relationship HES SO CORNY MY GOSH)

☁️ - how does your f/o like to spend their free time with you?

i feel like emihiko loves to spend his free time with nayla the same way he spends he free time alone. writing music, watching movies, indulging in his hobbies… he likes that nayla becomes someone who almost tags along with what he does, which is ironic given it always looks like hes the one trailing after her. nayla never got to enjoy some of what emihiko likes, so its a new world to her that piqued her curiosity. his childhood was very prim and proper, so emi likes to let nayla see into more mundane stuff like blasting music in the car or hanging out at the mall. simple shit, the two kind of just exist beside each other sometimes.

🛍️ - what would your f/o get you as a gift? additionally, what would you get for them?

🫧 - what song(s) remind you of your f/o?

its self explanatory to me and me only (ill give an in depth if asked but no one will so im lazy) um anyway i have SEVERAL from my like 40+ song playlist but highlighting my faaaveeee

🪼 - what’s your favorite way to feel closer to your f/o?

bleh…is this more for me? gah. this is gonna sound lame but i like to imagine him as a real person sometimes…like a friend in college who comes over a lot and likes me, like we grew up together and everyone knows were attached at the hip. which i dont wanna get sad but sometimes i feel less lonely when i think he would like me, i get emotional abt the mere idea sometimes and i feel embarrassed when i think of this stuff. idk i feel closer to him when i think of him when im sad or need comfort, i made him after all when i was in a really sad place so hes become a weird part of my day to day. it hurts not to cry sometimes abt it idk…theres a reason hes the one i talk abt the most rn yk

its so ironic too, i make nayla push him away and make emihiko obsessed w her but i think i love him more than he could ever love me back and somewhere in their relationship thats pretty true that nayla genuinely falls so hard for him. her stupid wish in the shining grace of her starlike heart or smth insane

this is so cringe. whatever. emehnyaluh (art by my some1 who i put thru child labor aka my friend)

[xjoonchildx]

greedy | myg x reader | chapter five: do we look like recruiters to you?

summary: being a loner has never bothered yoongi until now.  until you.

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 6.7K

notes:  thank you all so much for rolling with the changes to my posting schedule. it’s been a while since i posted an update and i really wanted to give you guys a chapter. plus it makes more sense, in my mind to break it out like this.  in this chapter, you’ll notice that ko starts calling OC “jagiya.” thank you to the korean reader who brought to my attention that my previous nickname for her didn’t fit as well as this one! 

anyway, you guys make me endlessly happy with your feedback on this story. i’d love to hear what you think of this chapter.  beta read by @hobi-gif��� because i would wither away without her analysis. also beta’d by the awesome @btsarmy9593​ who has been so awesome to give me her feedback. thank you to @augustbutwinter​ for the words of encouragement. and of course, the boos @ladyartemesia​ and @untaemedqueen​ pitched in to help me in this journey as well.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

*************************

Min Yoongi wakes up with a problem.  Well a few problems, actually.

The first is that he has to pee.

The second is the head-to-toe pain that starts to register the moment his sluggish brain kicks into gear.  He starts from the bottom -- gingerly wiggling his toes, carefully stretching his legs -- and slowly works his way up, taking mental inventory of what hurts and what doesn’t.

A lot of shit is landing on the hurts list right now.

The third problem -- and perhaps the most pressing -- is the problem pressing into his side right now.

Your hair is still damp.

Yoongi noses into it and lies in the quiet for a while, breathing you in while you sleep.  You smell like his shampoo and his soap.  You’re wearing his t-shirt and basketball shorts.  You are covered in him; fitted to him.  Solid and warm and real.

Which brings him to his next problem.  

This is the kind of feeling that’s way too easy to become addicted to.  The kind of feeling that makes you do stupid shit.  Take away the mangled body and the looming safety concerns and this is easily the best morning of his life.

That’s why when you stir and burrow a bit deeper into his side, Yoongi ignores the pain radiating from his sore ribs.  He ignores the way his arm has fallen asleep under you, ignores the intermittent buzzing of his phone from the nightstand warning of missed texts.

He ignores the tiny voice in his head that says don’t get attached to this feeling.

Yoongi ignores everything but you and this because right now, it’s the only thing he wants to think about.

And then he’s drifting off again.

***************************

This time, Yoongi wakes up alone.

The deep steadying breath he takes while he’s trying to work up the nerve to get out of bed hurts like hell.

Everything hurts like hell, actually -- the back of his head where he can feel scrapes left behind by the brick wall, his jaw from where he took that driller to the face.  His knee from where he jammed it into that fucking goon’s stomach.  

But his shoulder is what’s really fucking everything up right now.

He can’t remember telling you where to find the sling or how you got it on.  Can’t remember you positioning his pillows around his injured arm or slipping into bed beside him.  He’d been so fucked up by the pain and the adrenaline withdrawal that he’s pretty sure he blacked out at some point.  

So Yoongi lies there for a minute, trying to piece together what he can remember of last night.  

The memories come back to him blurred and disjointed, out of order.

He remembers feeling like he might vomit when you shoved his shoulder back into place.  Awkwardly accepting your help taking off his jeans so he could shower.  Nearly falling to his knees under the hot water.  Pulling himself together long enough to stash his gun in a drawer when you’d stepped away.

And it’s that last memory that makes his chest go tight.

Last night, hiding his gun seemed like the right thing to do.  A way to keep you separate from the ugliness he normalized a long time ago.  But this morning the half-assed lie of omission makes him feel guilty as hell.  A pathetic attempt to delay the inevitable.  Chewing gum jammed into the crack of a dam.

He has to tell you about that gun.

So he gets to work on dragging his ass out of bed.  It takes him way too damned long to sit upright, way too damned long to slide himself off the edge of the mattress.  Longer than that to slowly limp his way into the bathroom where he pees for what feels like a solid ten minutes.

He’s still rubbing the sleep from his eyes when he spots the bright red toothbrush sitting in the cup on his sink.  

It’s just some cheap throwaway he brought home after his last visit to the dentist -- a long-forgotten backup that’s been stashed in the cabinet under the bathroom counter for months.  But now it’s sitting out in the open, in that cup. Right next to his own blue one.

Yoongi stares at it and scrubs a hand over his face.

And that tiny voice in his head gets a bit louder.

************************

He finds you seated at his piano, bare-faced and hair tousled.  Fingers tracing light patterns across the keys of his custom instrument, gaze taking in all of the tiny details he paid a small fortune for.

He could have stayed there for a while, just appreciating the view had you not caught him staring.

Your dark eyes flick up to find his and Yoongi’s pulse quickens at the warmth in them.  At the soft, shy smile that comes over you just before you clear your throat and lower your eyes back to the keys.

“Beautiful,” you sigh.  

No kidding, Yoongi thinks.

He crosses the room slowly.  Tries his hardest not to limp but the throb in his knee makes that nearly impossible.  Sadness flashes across your face as you watch him sink heavily onto the bench beside you.  

“I can help you, you know,” you admonish softly.

Yoongi shrugs, motioning to the sling.  “You already have.”

He stills when you reach one hand out to brush your fingertips across the redness on his jaw.  You stroke your thumb across his aching cheek and Yoongi leans into the touch, savoring the feeling of your skin against his.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, “I’m so sorry you’re hurt, and -- ” you pause to shake your head sadly,  “-- and I’m so sorry it’s because I put you in this position.”

Yoongi sucks in a deep breath.

He can’t bring himself to tell you that he can’t think straight when he imagines what could have happened if that fucking goon had gotten you alone.  Can’t bring himself to admit out loud that he could have pulled his gun and ended that piece of shit without losing a second of sleep.  

Would have, had you not been there.

“Better me than you, Doc,” he says thickly.  “You made the right call.”

You press a gentle kiss to his throbbing jaw.

“You still mad at me?”

You whisper the words into the shell of Yoongi’s ear and a slow heat builds in his gut.  

“Yeah,” he lies, dropping a kiss on the delicate skin below your jaw.  He ghosts the tip of his nose against the curve of your neck and you shudder under his touch. He’s forced to check himself, leaning back for a few inches of badly-needed space.  

On the bright side, at least his dick isn’t broken, too.

He clears his throat.  “If that guy had brought backup -- ”

“ -- If that guy had brought backup, he’d have been out of the car long before you left his buddy in a pile on the floor,” you interrupt gently.

Yoongi chuckles.  “Just admit you’re terrible at following directions.”

“You happen to have your MRI results around here anywhere? I’d be interested to see what they say about that shoulder.”  

You raise one brow when Yoongi narrows his eyes at you in response.  “No? Well, then I guess I’m not the only one who’s bad at following directions.”

“Guess not,” Yoongi admits with a smile.  

Your turn your attention back to his piano, touch reverent as you slide one hand across the rich black lacquer.  

“When you first walked in, I was going to say something really dumb like do you play?” you admit with a laugh.  “But no one owns something this magnificent unless they have a passion for it.”

“Yeah, I play,” Yoongi murmurs.  “When I have two functioning arms.”

He’d intended to earn a laugh with that tease, but the joke falls flat.  Sadness creeps back into your features.

“Yoongi,” you say quietly, gaze dropping into your lap.  “I honestly don’t know what would have happened to me last night without you.  And all I can think about this morning is why?  Why did you do this for me?”

Fuck, that’s a loaded question.  

If Yoongi had the balls, he’d tell you straight up that he fell for you the moment he laid eyes on you at Songdo .  That you feel like his chance at something more.  But Yoongi doesn’t say any of that.  

Instead, he coughs up a weak white lie.

“We’re both out here flying solo Doc.  We have to look out for each other.  Besides -- ” he tips your chin up with a gentle press of his fingers and finds your dark eyes glassy with unshed tears.  “ -- I have a thing for that smart mouth of yours.”

He earns a tiny smile from you then, just the slightest curve of your lips.  And he’s this close to kissing the soft, sad expression right off your face when that voice in his mind fucks everything up again.

Tell her about the gun.  

The thought is like a bucket of cold water over his head, jarring him from the intimacy of this moment.  Yoongi swallows thickly before opening his mouth to tell you the truth.  But before he can speak, you do.

“I have something of yours,” you say, reaching into the pocket of your borrowed basketball shorts.  Yoongi watches you produce a worn handmade bracelet and holds his palm open to accept it.  “It fell out of your jacket last night,” you explain.

He rubs his thumb over the smooth metal corners of the cross that dangles from aged leather.  It brings back the memory of his baptism -- of the day Mrs. Bak proudly gifted it to him while he was still damp from the ceremony.  It also brings back the memory of last night -- when he’d clutched it between his fingers and sent a silent plea for protection skyward.

It’s been a long time since he’s prayed.  It’s been a long time since he had anything to pray for.

“Are you religious?” you ask softly.

Yoongi shakes his head.  “Honestly? I don’t know.”  A self-conscious heat creeps up his neck.  “Just makes me feel better, I guess.  Is that dumb?”

“No,” you reassure quietly, bringing one warm hand up to cup his cheek.  Yoongi covers your hand with his, laces his fingers in between yours.  “Not dumb at all.”

Tell her about the gun.

“Doc,” Yoongi whispers thickly, “We need to talk about something.”

Your hand falls away from his face and your spine goes stiff with tension and Yoongi almost loses his nerve.

Almost.

“Okay, so I was, uh -- carrying a gun last night,” he starts, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck,  “I carry a gun all the time, actually.  I hid it because I didn’t want to freak you out.”

You say nothing, expression unreadable.  And Yoongi keeps talking.

“But I don’t want to keep things from you,” he says quietly.  “I want you to know exactly who I am. No half-truths.”

Your eyes drop back down to the piano.  You pluck at one of the keys and a somber note rings out, lingers in the air between you before you speak.

“You have a gunshot wound in your back, Yoongi,” you murmur.  “It’s not exactly a leap of logic.  Besides, I already saw your gun.  It was in your drawer last night when I got you a change of clothes.”

Yoongi nods slowly, processing the fact that you’d discovered the gleaming silver piece and hadn’t written him off right away.  You’d still slept in the crook of his arm last night.  You’re still here right now.

“And yeah, maybe it does freak me out a bit,” you admit.  “But after what I saw last night, maybe I can understand a bit, too.”

Yoongi lets go of the breath he’s been holding and takes your hand in his.  Maybe is as good as he could have hoped for at this point.  Maybe is not a dead end.  

“I have something to tell you, too,” you admit after a moment.  “I’m due at the hospital in a few hours.”

“Doc,” Yoongi groans, hand tightening reflexively around yours.  “You can’t go back there.”

“I don’t have a choice,” you insist, pulling away.  “This isn’t just some job I fell into, Yoongi.  This is years of my life.”

Yoongi is quiet for a few seconds, willing his rising agitation to subside.  He’s careful to check his tone before he speaks.

“You’re not safe there.”

“I have to go back.  I don’t have a choice,” you repeat.  “I can’t afford to get blacklisted and Lee is still my boss. And if he’s already got wind of what happened last night, he’s going to be gunning for me even harder than he already has been.  I have to tread carefully.”

Yoongi shoves a hand through his hair.

“You have to meet me in the middle here, Doc,” he exhales.  “There’s got to be something halfway between you walking right back into that hellhole and you losing your job.  Take a couple of sick days.  Give me some time to figure out who your boss is working with and what I can do about it.  Can you do that?”

You’re quiet for a moment as you consider his proposal.

“Yeah,” you concede softly.  “I can do that.”  

You lift a hand to brush a lock of hair out of his face and press your mouth to his.

Every cell in Yoongi’s body stands at attention.  He cards his fingers into the soft mass of your hair and kisses you slowly -- carefully -- all too aware of the way he’d manhandled you last night.  

Not even the pain in his jaw could take away from how good it feels to touch you like this.  Not even the ache in his ribs could stop him from leaning into you. He slips his tongue past your lips and you whimper, fingers curling into his sore knee.  

He could not give a shit.

Yoongi leaves your mouth to trail kisses down your jaw, and you tip your head back, offering him the soft expanse of your neck.  He accepts it gladly, mouth hot and open on your skin, savoring your scent and taste -- enjoying the way he can feel your pulse fluttering wildly under his lips.

He’s enjoying it all so much that he gets careless.  The elbow of his injured arm connects with the sharp edge of the piano and he recoils instantly.

“Dammit,” he groans. “Fuck.”

“Oh, shit,” you gasp, clapping a hand over your mouth.

The pain is so potent it seems to radiate all the way from his arm to his temples. Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut as he waits for the ringing in his ears to subside.

“Yoongi, your shoulder, it's -- it’s really bad,” you admonish quietly.  “If you keep going like this, the damage is going to be permanent.”

“Trust me, I know,” he sighs.  “I’m going to get this looked at, I just haven’t.”

“I want you to see a friend of mine at Asan today,” you urge.  “He’s a good doctor.  He can get you some pain relief.  Get you back to working condition.”

Yoongi nods weakly, pain still ebbing from his arm.

“But it’s not a substitute for an MRI and it’s not a substitute for surgery,” you warn.  “This is just a temporary fix.  You have to be careful.  Whatever you’re planning, just please be careful.”

Yoongi skates the pad of his thumb over your lips before kissing you just one more time.

“Don’t worry about me, Doc,” he murmurs.  “I’m going to have some help.”

**************************

It’s amazing what a pair of high-powered steroid shots and a bottle of industrial-strength painkillers can do for a guy.  

Yoongi pulls into the parking lot at Maekju feeling almost human again.

If the text messages that have been blowing up his phone all afternoon are any indication, everyone is here tonight.  Everyone with the exception of Namjoon, of course.  He doesn’t drink anymore and even when he did, he always preferred to drink alone.

Jungkook is the first person Yoongi spots, leaned up against a pool table, beer in hand.  He’s watching Jimin and Taehyung face off at billiards while Seokjin and Hoseok sit side-by-side at the bar, deep in conversation.

The maknae’s eyes go a bit wide when he takes in Yoongi’s unusual gait and immobilized arm.

“Holy shit, hyung,” he breathes as Yoongi approaches.  “What the hell happened to you?”

Seokjin whips around in his barstool at the sound of Jungkook’s greeting, but Hoseok doesn’t take the bait.  He stiffens in his seat but refuses to turn around. Stubborn bastard.

“Yoga accident,” Yoongi mutters, stepping up to the bar next to Seokjin.  The older man smirks as he takes a long pull of his beer.

“How’d you drive with that thing on?” Seokjin asks, motioning to Yoongi’s sling.

“Carefully,” Yoongi says dryly.  “Listen, can you give me a minute with Jung here?”

Seokjin’s critical gaze bounces back and forth between Yoongi and Hoseok, who is still resolutely pretending not to notice the conversation taking place just inches from his face.  He stares into a television mounted high above the bar and sips his whiskey with feigned indifference.

“You two need couple’s counseling, I swear,” Seokjin groans, rolling his eyes. He stands to his feet to relinquish his barstool and claps a hand over Yoongi’s good shoulder.  “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Hoseok, the fucking infant, grabs a newspaper abandoned on the bartop and proceeds to pretend to read it.  Yoongi slides into the stool next to him anyway.

“Miss me?”

Hoseok doesn’t answer.

“You’re not gonna say hello?  Not gonna ask me why it looks like I spent all night falling off a cliff?”

“Nope.”

Yoongi waves off the bartender who starts walking in his direction.  The last thing he needs is a drink.  He’s got so many painkillers in his system right now that one sip of booze would probably have him under the bar in seconds.

“Come on Hoseok,” Yoongi sighs.  “Don’t be a dick.  I’ve literally never seen you read a newspaper.”

“I like to stay informed,” Hoseok shrugs.

“Well, I’m trying to talk to you.”

“Oh, so you talk to me now?” Hoseok snickers.  “That’s new.”

Hoseok’s probably earned the right to his petulance, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying.  Yoongi starts to reconsider that drink.

“Jung,” he groans.  “I’m trying to apologize here.”

“So apologize then.”

“Fine,” Yoongi mutters.  “I’m sorry I’ve been an asshole lately.  I’ve been twisted up over some shit that has nothing to do with you or family business.”

Hoseok grabs his whiskey off the bar and finally -- finally -- pivots to face him.

“A giant asshole,” he corrects dryly.  

“Yes. A giant asshole,” Yoongi repeats.  “We good now?”

Hoseok sips his whiskey slowly, eyes narrowed at Yoongi over the lip of his glass.

“Buy me a drink.”

“Fine,” Yoongi hisses, flagging the bartender.  

Hoseok leans back in his barstool, looking a bit smug.

“Now this shit you’ve been twisted up about,” he starts, brow cocked.  “Would this have anything to do with your secret doctor friend?”

“Maybe,” Yoongi admits, scratching at the back of his neck.  His injured shoulder is tired from carrying the extra weight of the sling.  He rolls it gingerly as Hoseok looks on.

“Would this have anything to do with why you look like you got jumped on your way in here tonight?”

Yoongi’s cheeks warm at his partner’s blunt observation.  “Maybe.”

Hoseok drains his whiskey just as the bartender arrives with a fresh one.  He takes a long drink before setting his glass back down on the bar.  His lips purse thoughtfully as he levels Yoongi with a long, assessing look.

“Okay,” he says calmly. “So who do we have to go fuck up?”

**************************

Dr. Lee Geon just looks like a fucking weasel.

Yoongi glares at the man as he strolls into the coffee shop a few blocks from Songdo with just minutes to spare to his shift.  

Lee bears little resemblance to his photos on the hospital website.

He’s thin -- just this side of gaunt -- hollow cheeks prominent below dark under eyes beneath a sparse dusting of greasy hair.  Were he not dressed in a rumpled lab coat and equally creased scrubs, Yoongi might have missed him entirely.

Across the room, Hoseok peers at Yoongi over the top of yet another borrowed newspaper -- is this the guy? -- and Yoongi answers with a furtive nod.  

He goes over the plan they’d worked out in the car in his head.  They’d find the guy -- make sure he was the guy -- and then follow him out of the shop.  Catch him just before he got into his car.  Shake him up a bit before shaking him down for information.

There’s one thing Yoongi still hasn’t worked out, though.

Just how much he’s going to allow himself to hurt this asshole before sending him on his way.  Lee slowly shuffles his way to the front of the line as Yoongi imagines jamming his fist into the man’s stupid fucking face.  Imagines doing it over and over again until the piece of shit is unrecognizable.

Yoongi watches Lee order his drink as he kneads at the tender muscles of his shoulder.

Ditching the sling was probably a bad idea -- definitely against doctor’s orders -- but it was a risk he was more than willing to take.  He’d downed a couple of painkillers and shoved his shoulder into a brace and decided he could deal with the dull throb just for the night.  

No way in hell he was going to confront this scumbag looking like some kid who just fell off his skateboard.  

It doesn’t take long for the barista to put together Lee’s drink.  He grabs his coffee and Yoongi tenses in anticipation of his next move.  But instead of heading for the exit, Lee heads for the bathroom instead.

Yoongi locks eyes with Hoseok across the room and Hoseok raises one brow.

Change of plans?

Yoongi nods.

*****************************

Lee’s coffee sits abandoned atop the sink ledge.

Yoongi and Hoseok slip silently into the bathroom and get right to work.  Hoseok blocks the door as Yoongi quietly creeps past the stalls, ducking his head to peer beneath each one.  Lee’s scuffed sneakers are the only pair of shoes he spots.

His ears pick up on a faint sound coming from inside the locked stall.

It’s a kind of soft, intermittent rasping.  Yoongi concentrates on the noise, isolates it until he comes to the realization that it’s sniffling he’s hearing.  He turns to Hoseok and taps his finger against the side of his nose and Hoseok nods his agreement.

Yoongi shakes his head in disgust.  Is there a single substance this idiot isn’t addicted to?

It takes a moment for the sniffling to subside.  It’s followed by a few seconds of quiet rustling in which Yoongi can picture Lee carefully pocketing whatever’s left of his coke.  The noises from behind the brushed steel barrier finally stop and the next thing Yoongi hears is the distinct clink of the latch coming apart.

Lee swings the door wide -- gets one look at what’s waiting for him on the other side -- and nearly jumps out of his skin.  

He startles so hard that he almost falls backward into the toilet.  But he catches himself, regaining his balance and staring back at Yoongi with wide, worried eyes.

Yoongi stands there and says nothing.

“Excuse me,” Lee mumbles, eyeing him wearily as he tries to slide past.  He takes two steps forward then stops in his tracks when he spots Hoseok.  Lee swallows thickly, eyes darting back and forth between both men.

“Is there a problem gentlemen?” he croaks.

Yoongi takes a step towards Lee.  He shrinks back when Yoongi reaches for his badge, yanking the retractable cord as he pulls it close to examine it.  Yoongi runs his thumb over the raised lettering on the laminated card, letting the taut silence linger for dramatic effect.

Then he lets go of the badge without warning, fighting a smile when Lee flinches as it snaps back into place.

“Yes, we have a problem,” Yoongi confirms pleasantly.  “And yes, it’s you.”

The little color left in Lee’s face immediately drains out.

“Look, I don’t know who you guys are, but you don’t w-want to mess with me,” he stammers, voice cracking comically halfway through his flimsy threat.  “I know people.”

“Oh shit,” Yoongi’s eyes go wide with feigned concern, “You hear that, Jung?  This guy knows people.”

“Sounds scary,” Hoseok chuckles.

Lee starts to breathe harder, chest rising and falling faster.  Pupils blown with fear and coke.

“Now, here’s the difference between you and us, Dr. Lee,” Yoongi explains calmly.  “You know people.  But we -- ” he motions to himself and then to Hoseok, “ -- are people . Do you understand what I’m trying to say here?”

Yoongi punctuates his point by brushing the edge of his open leather jacket aside, allowing his pistol to peek out from underneath.  Lee’s eyes lock on it as he nods slowly, pulling deep, noisy breaths through his nose.

“Great.  Now we don’t have to play the game where you pretend not to know about the bullshit you’ve been pulling over at the hospital, right?”

Lee shakes his head slowly.

“So that means we also don’t have to play the game where you pretend you didn’t send some fucking street goon to rough up a little old lady, either. Right?”

The man’s mouth drops open like his first instinct is to deny that accusation. But he steals another look at Hoseok and shuts it instead.

“And then -- ” Yoongi jabs Lee in the chest with one finger and the man jumps back, “-- you tried to send that same goon after your own resident.  But here’s the thing, Doctor Lee.  She knows people, too.”

Lee’s body goes rigid.  Yoongi watches him process the information with his drug-addled brain, a flare of recognition finally sparking in his dull eyes.

“I saw you at the hospital,” Lee whispers.  “You know her.”

“Don’t worry about who I know,” Yoongi shrugs.  “Worry about what you’re going to say in your resignation letter.”

He advances on the man again, closing the space between them.  Lee tries to back away, but he runs out of room.  He tilts against the stall door.

“Resignation letter?” he echoes weakly.

“The one you’re turning in tonight,” Yoongi explains coolly.  “Before you get the fuck out of Songdo and then get the fuck out of Seoul.”

Lee sputters for a moment, grasping for his next words.  

“Well, where am I supposed to go?” he bleats.

“Do we look like recruiters to you, man?” Hoseok cuts in sharply.  “We don’t give a shit where you go -- you just have to go.  You sure this guy is a doctor, Min?  He seems way too dumb to be a doctor.”

“Nah.  This guy’s a junkie pretending to be a doctor,” Yoongi accuses, dropping any pretense of good humor.  “Pretending to be a tough guy, too.  But all of that ends tonight.”

Yoongi grabs Lee by the chin, jerking his head into place and forcing the trembling man to look him in the eye.

“In ten minutes, you’re going to walk your ass into that hospital.  You’re going to tell them you are leaving.  You are going to take that piece of shit pharmacist and anyone else who’s involved with you.  And then you are never going to step foot in this city again.”

He pauses to enjoy the way Lee’s pupils dilate even wider with fear.

“You’re not too high to understand what I’m saying to you right now, right?”

Lee shakes his head weakly, jaw still pinned in Yoongi’s vice grip.

“Great. Now just one more thing before you go on your merry way,” Yoongi says, voice low with menace.  “Give us the name of your street guys.”

Lee panics.  “I can’t,” he whines from between compressed cheeks.  “They’ll kill me.”

Yoongi grips his face tighter, crushing the man’s jaw and using it to push his body flush against the stall.  His fingers and knuckles turn white with the force of his grasp and Lee groans weakly at the pain.  

“I will kill you,” Yoongi seethes. “Me.  Right fucking now with my bare fucking hands if you don’t give me that name.”

Lee is sweating so profusely that Yoongi wonders briefly if he’s having a heart attack.  He’s probably got enough coke in his system for that to be an actual concern.  But the pathetic little shit manages to pull himself together long enough to follow directions.

“Kkangpae,” he wheezes.

Yoongi’s iron grip stays in place, even as he turns to Hoseok, even as both men exchange a look.  That is something he did not see coming.  Perhaps his recent personal issues are family business, after all.

He finally releases Lee’s jaw and the man rears back, breathing hard.

“You have exactly one day to get the fuck out of this city,” Yoongi instructs quietly.  “And that is not an offer I’m prepared to make twice.”

Lee licks his dry lips, nodding his head slowly like he’s just come out of a trance.  “Okay.”

“Great chat,” Yoongi smiles, patting Lee’s cheek.

Hoseok leaves his post at the door to cross the cramped bathroom and reach for the coffee Lee abandoned minutes ago.  Both men watch in silence as he turns it up over the sink, pours it out, and then tosses it in the trash.

He heads back to the door and holds it open.

“Damn Hoseok,” Yoongi murmurs as he brushes past.  “That was cold.”

*********************************

YOU

There’s buzzing.  Of that, you’re sure.

But in those first few moments that you’re rousing, you can’t be sure if you’re hearing it or dreaming it.  You’re disoriented.  It’s the second time in as many days you’ve woken up in an unfamiliar bed.

Shafts of sunlight pour through the blinds and you squint at them, trying to get a sense of the time of day.  If the amber tinge is any indication, it’s late into the afternoon.

The buzzing sounds again.

You roll to your side to grab your cell phone off the nightstand and blink at a long list of waiting texts.

ko: wake up sleeping beauty [ 11:36 AM ]

ko: i have news [ 11:45 AM ]

ko: big news [ 12:22 PM ]

ko: and gaeran tost-u [ 1:02 PM ]

ko: ready for you to wake up now [ 1:43 PM ]

ko: don’t mind me just gonna bang a few pots and pans [ 2:11 PM ]

Any curiosity over Ko’s big news is overshadowed by the way your heart drops when none of those messages is from Yoongi.  

Before you’d left his apartment, he’d asked you to stay.  He’d cleared his throat and looked down at his hands and explained that he’d feel better if you weren’t alone until this entire mess was settled.  But the way he looked at you in those last few minutes together made you feel like his proposition was about much more than just your protection.

It made you want to say yes.

Never mind that it’s insane to feel so at home in his personal space -- or that coming to that realization might have sent you into a mild panic.  In the end, you’d had to say no because you couldn’t bring yourself to leave Ko on her own while this madness played out.

You rub the sleep out of your eyes and fire off two quick texts.

you: i hope you’re okay. please be careful [ 2:33 PM ]

you: up now. be down in five [ 2:34 PM ]

**************************

Ko makes good on her promise of gaeran tost-u.

You’re greeted by the pleasant smell of the sugared egg dish as you walk down the stairs.  Ko sits at her kitchen table, eyes shining with excitement, and pushes a plate at you when you slide into the chair across from hers.

“Eat,” she orders sweetly.  Your stomach rumbles on cue and you waste no time digging in.

“This is really good,” you declare around a mouthful of bread and eggs.  “I might have to live with you forever.”

Ko smiles wide and the expression makes you feel warm from the inside out. The bruising on her face is barely visible now, easily hidden with a little makeup. Her eyes crinkle with happiness as she watches you eat without saying a word.

“Alright,” you sigh, loathe to stop eating even for as long as it takes to speak.  “Spill it. You look fit to burst.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” she complains cheerfully.  “Dr. Lee is gone.  Walked into Songdo last night and walked out forever.”

You gasp halfway through your next bite, sputtering as you try to catch your breath around a mouthful of toasted bread.  Ko stands to grab you a glass of water which you gratefully accept.

“Well, don’t die on me now,” she teases, “Because there’s more.  Nang left, too.  And Tuan and Beom from pathology.  All four of them quit without even so much as a notice, Jagi.  Isn’t that wild?”

You sip your water slowly and Ko’s eyes flash as she watches you.

“Yoo called me early this morning and said the entire hospital is talking about it. There’s a bunch of crazy theories going around.  And here I am, drinking my tea.  Thinking about how you took a few sick days and showed up here. Thinking about how healthy and rested you look right now.  Isn’t that interesting?”

You nod, jamming the sandwich back in your mouth for an obnoxiously large bite.

“And I can’t help but wonder if there’s some connection between this very convenient development and my very sweet, secretive friend.”

Ko’s mouth twists into a teasing smile as you chew your food absurdly slow.

“That sandwich isn’t going to last forever, Jagi,” she says dryly.  She lifts her teacup to her mouth and takes a dainty sip.  “And trust me, I have nothing but time.”

She leans back, cup in hand.

“Okay, so I might know something about it,” you admit after a while.  “But there’s still a lot I don’t know.  And I’m not sure how much of this you want to hear.”

Ko tuts under her breath.

“I want to hear it all.  I’ve got quite a few years on you and trust me, very little shocks me anymore.  So now you spill it.”

You take another sip of water and clear your throat.

“Okay,” you exhale.  “So there’s this guy -- ”

“ -- Oh, I love it when stories start like this,” Ko interrupts.  She props her chin up with her hands like you’re telling a bedtime story and you shake your head with a wry smile.

“He’s been kind of… helping me, I guess.”

“Helping you,” Ko echoes.  “As in helping you out of your clothes?”

“No,” you deny hotly, cheeks warming.  “He’s a friend.”

Ko doesn’t bother to call you out on the weak lie.  But her face says what her mouth doesn’t when one skeptical brow raises high.

“Go on.”

“I told him about what was going on at the hospital and he said he could help me,” you explain slowly.  “So I’m pretty sure he figured out a way to run off Lee and Nang.”

Ko taps her finger against the side of her teacup.

“So let me see if I have this right,” she muses.  “You tell this friend -- who you’ve never once mentioned, by the way -- that you’ve been having this very dangerous trouble at work.  And then your friend somehow manages to convince two grown men who’ve worked at Songdo for years to give up their high-paying jobs and up-front access to IV drugs overnight.”

You shift uncomfortably in your chair.

“And just like that -- ” Ko snaps her fingers for emphasis, “ -- they’re gone without so much as a fuss.”

You nod weakly.

“Jagi,” Ko’s voice drops low.  “I take it your friend’s not a mailman, is he?”

“No,” you mumble.  “Definitely not.”

Ko hums under her breath.  She carefully lifts her teacup to drink, eyes trained on you over the rim.  Her quiet scrutiny makes you anxious.

“Can I ask you a question?” she asks after a long pause.

“If I said no would that stop you?”

“Not a chance,” Ko laughs.  “Would this friend happen to be the mysterious, handsome man who asked for you in the ER a few weeks back?”

Mind like a steel trap, this woman.  You should have known Ko would make that connection and fast.  There’s no point in denying it, so you don’t.

“Yes,” you whisper thickly. “He is.”

It’s hard to get a read on Ko’s reaction.  Over the years, you’ve come to rely on her sweetness and wisdom and warmth.  But now, as you stare into her dark eyes and try to interpret her careful expression, you realize there’s something else you need from her.

Her approval.

“Ko, I think I -- ” you pause to choose your words carefully, “ -- I think I might be in really deep with this guy.”

Ko snorts.

“Oh, I think you might be right about that, Jagiya .  And if he’s helping you with something like this?  Chances are, you’re not alone.”

“Yeah,” you exhale, wringing your hands together beneath the table.  “Thing is -- I need you to tell me I’m not making a mistake here.”

The corners of Ko’s mouth lift into a soft expression of surprise.

“Oh, Jagi,” she chides sweetly.  “You know I can’t tell you that. I don’t know anything about this man.”  She reaches across the table to cover your hand with her own.  “But you do.  You’re the only one who knows how you feel about him.  And you’re the only one who knows if he’s a good man underneath it all.”

Ko squeezes your hand and you turn your head before she can see the tears that threaten in your eyes.  The amber sunlight outside her kitchen window is shifting orange now, flares of light reflecting off the glass.  

You stare at them and think about Yoongi.

Until now, it’s like you’ve been splitting him into two different men -- the bruised, bloody con artist from the exam room and the quiet, teasing flirt from the coffee shop.  Until now, it’s been the only way to reconcile your complicated feelings.

But it's well past time you accepted the truth.

The same Yoongi whose cheeks had pinked when he’d asked you to stay is the same Yoongi you watched beat the shit out of a hired thug.  The Yoongi who carries a cross is the Yoongi who carries a gun.  They’re two halves of one whole.  

And you can’t pine for one and reject the other.

Your cell phone buzzes from the pocket of your pajama pants.  You reach for it, relief coursing through you when you spot Yoongi’s name on the screen.

yoongi: one more thing to do before we can talk [ 3:01 PM ]

yoongi: it’s cold outside, be sure to bundle up [ 3:01 PM ]

Yoongi’s random mention of the weather confuses you.  You stare at the texts and Ko stares at you, concerned by the baffled expression on your face.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” you insist, shaking your head.  “Just, um -- ”

Bundle up.   A tingle runs up the length of your spine as realization slowly creeps over you.  

“Excuse me for a moment,” you murmur, slipping out of your seat.

Ko watches you dash up the stairs, slack-jawed.

You make a beeline for your borrowed room, throwing open the closet doors to find the coat you’d left hanging there on arrival.  The coat you’d worn to and from Yoongi’s.  You hurriedly dig into the pockets, fingers immediately making contact with something hard and jagged.  

You pull it out.

The shiny silver key in your palm looks like it’s never been used, sharp edges gleaming in the waning sunlight streaming into this room.

You don’t have to guess what it’s for.

You just close your fingers around it and hold it tight.

*****************

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[bangtanpromptsfics]

coral roses. (m)

dialogue prompt #2: “If you won't do it then I'll”

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: established relationship, smut, pwp(?), fluff

word count: 1,414

warnings: making out, unprotected sex (more like a quikie(?)), top!oc, bottom!jk

summary: jungkook loses a bet because he needs to devour you

a/n: drop your feedbacks guyss!! pretty much a pwp :)

masterlist

“If you won't do it then I'll”, he grits his teeth, more like in a cute way making you chuckle. You glance at him through the book you're reading at the moment, winding up to relax from the long day.

“Well then you lose”, you coo. He plops on a farther end of the bed, bringing himself to sit on his heels.

“Why are we even doing this in the first place baby?”, he whines, tapping on your ankles a little to catch your attention. First of all you are taking a really childish challenge way too seriously and acting like a brat on top of that.

“You started it”

“I was drunk!”, he fights back, his doe shaped eyes enlarging to show his disappointment.

“It's just a few more hours Jeon. Don't be so impatient hm?”, you don't look up at him. Going on and about teasing him. He did like it sometimes, but right now wasn't the time.

To put more context, Jungkook drunk confessed that he is addicted to your lips and kept kissing them all through a party and you sort of pricked on his lack of self control. And since Jungkook is a man fond of challenges, he immediately makes a very dramatic toast with half a glass of his liqor that he won't touch you or kiss you for an entire day.

And as usual, his sober self has to bear with the consequences. To take things further down the hole, you are wearing only an oversized hoodie, fresh scent of your shampoo and skincare products around the air, sitting there with a bare face and focused eyes, though that might be just a play you're putting up.

“Aren't you going to change, just gonna sit there? Go take a shower Jungkook you are stinking”, you add, and it's a lie. He smells like his expensive collection of perfumes and much more boyfriend enough to not kiss, but...you know, ego.

To summarise, he had enough of this.

The book is yanked away from your hand. His strong hands builds a cage around your small frame and presses it against the headboard of the bed. He smirks, realising it only takes the bare minimum to make you falter.

“Okay…I lose baby. I just need you now”. he growls.

He immediately seeks home in caressing your outer thigh where your hoodie ends, and spreads them enough for him to settle better to kiss you hard. Loads of pent up frustration and he feels like he is pulled back to life when he finally presses into your mouth.

Thanks to your bratty ass, he doesn't go any easy. A shaky moan leaves your lips when his tongue licks at the floor of your mouth, but also, he isn't doing anything more than holding your thighs when you are already craving and all worked up.

You hold his wrist and try to bring it to your chest, but he slaps it away, so you go for his collars to pull impossibly closer to feel his torso on you, althoughfeeling sad with no other stimulation on your body.

When the air starts to run out, he finally inches back, licking on his lips. Your lips quirk up when he tugs at the hem of your hoodie.

“My baby didn't seem so eager earlier”, he rasps. Glad that your face stays hidden when he slowly pulls out your hoodie, leaving you in white panties.

He holds you by the waist and turns both of your bodies around so that he sits resting back on the headboard while you are straddling his lap, immediately trying to rub against his denim covered thighs for some friction.

He stops, squeezing your butt cheeks, “Patience baby, ride something better hm?”.

He chuckles at the animalistic endeavor of yours to get him naked. But you don't bother to get his pants all the way out, just enough to pull out his member.

He shudders, feeling the air cooling off the wetness on his member, and you get up just a moment enough to be completely bare while he starts stroking himself.

Removing his hands, you hold his girth, pumping it a few times to watch him sink into your touch, head falling back.

You go for his neck, determined to bring spots of purple around it. It feels like you are taking your sweet and his not-so-sweet time to go further, so his grip drops down to hook under the butt and plop you straight on the head of his cock. He holds some sort of intense eye contact, one that of beyond lust, but there is no time for any analysis when he jerks his pelvis upward to sear into you.

You clench almost pathetically around him and he groans, guiding you to bob up and down his length.

Jungkook can't come up with any coherent thoughts to word his feelings right now. He just loves you so much and very happy to have a really healthy relationship, one consistent for years and with understanding. He feels like tearing up, out of both pleasure and warmth.

He sees you fondling with your breasts so he leans forward to lick in some attention to the pebbled buds. The more faster you went on him, he suked in harder, biting around to return the artwork on his neck and along the jaw.

“I'm close baby… mngh keep going”, he aligns his movements accordingly to let you feel him as deeper as possible. You can't come up with words, except chanting his name for every clench of the wall.

Though it was just breif sex, it felt euphoric after being touch deprived. A day doesn't sound long, but he is crazy about you and could make love all day if he could.

With a silent scream, he comes, starting your own orgasm. It takes a moment to come down from the high.

You remain as you are, close and cuddled. The bed is probably stinking with sweat and arousal, but you couldn't care any less. You wrap your hands around his torso, feeling his cock softening inside you.

“I love you so much baby”, he whispers, planting a kiss to your cheek. You blush and press your cheeks to his pecs, “I love yo— what's that? ”

His pants have ridden further down his thighs and something is poking out of his pocket. You feel his heartbeat increasing against your cheek.

Fuck. It's a ring.

“Baby please don't freak out I can explain! ”, he shouts out, wrapping his hands around you more firmly, assuming the worst of the scenarios.

You hug him back, eyes still on the black velvet box spread out on the bed.

“I planned so much. I swear. I wanted to make this perfect”, he rushes to supply. He feels your warm hands rubbing his back to calm him down.

��Kookie”, you pull away from him, hands cupping his cheek because he is too terrified to look at you in the eye right now, “Please propose to me”.

He takes a moment to let your words sink in. And after, he is the quickest thing on earth to grab the box and open it.

“Y-Y/n…”.

“Take it easy. Breathe Kook. You are not breathing. It's just me. ”

That puts him into more ease. He feels embaressed that he couldn't do it in a more independent manner, the way he had them all laid out— coming Saturday at the first cafe you went on a date. It was supposed to be perfect. You would walk home holding hands, and then he would get on one knee and tell you how much you mean to him. But it's all gone now and he feels bad.

You hold his pecs and give it a pat and he smiles, a nervous one, “Y/n...will you marry me?”

You plant a sweet kiss to his lips. It feels a little salty from his incoming tears. You rub it away with the pad of your thumbs, “Yes Kookie, I'll marry you”.

“Baby you make me the happiest man alive”, he sobs. His hands still trembling to place the ring on your fingers. It's lavish and work of custom made beauty, he put months of work into it. Though things didn't go exactly planned, it was a happy ending. He can't wait to see you in a white dress at the altar, to be the father to your kids and to call you his wife for the rest of his life.

Thank you so much for reading!! ♡

Original Content of ©bangtanpromptfics

[just-here-for-the-moment]

Paloma, Part I

Series Masterlist - Part I - Part II

Word count: 4100+

Rating: mature, 18+ only

Outline: Statesman!Frankie "Catfish" Morales, Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels, and "You" (OC cis/het female reader, Statesman research analyst, code name “Paloma”; age 26; reader is “blank canvas”/no physical description/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: fully legal age gap; curse words; references to M/F sex; lots of yearning; a little sprinkling of angst; American readers, please be warned that this piece features the absolutely filthy fantasy of Statesman paying off your student loans in full

You left Kentucky on a sunny June morning with a rolling suitcase, six cardboard boxes, and a heart full of golden light. You were ready for the new challenges of your promotion and the move to New York, but it was still hard to quell the little butterflies that insisted on dancing and twirling in your gut. Statesman HQ was like a beacon that had been calling to you for the last three years, and you were half-convinced that the promotion and the move were a daydream; something that would be snatched out of your hands if you thought about it too much.

It was strange to leave Kentucky, your home since you were four years old. You had been raised in a small town about an hour south of Louisville, and you hadn't had the opportunity to leave until college. Even then you didn't travel very far, just to a dorm room at the University of Louisville, going back to your hometown for every vacation instead of flying off to California or Europe like some of your more glamorous friends.

You had put your time to good use, though. You busted your ass and completed an accelerated program in Criminal Justice that earned you both a Bachelor's and a Master's in one go, with a minor in statistics and data science. The result was a deep and abiding love of research and analysis, with the burning desire to do good in the world.

---

The Friday morning of your graduation ceremony, you emerged from your apartment fresh-faced and giddy, ready to walk the stage and start the next phase: adult life in the "real world." You knew that your life was about to change, but as you juggled the garment bag with your cap and gown and tried to lock your door, you had no idea just how much. You heard a soft voice say your name behind you, and it made you jump and drop your purse, spilling the contents across your doorstep. You turned to see a woman of about 40, with flawless terra-cotta skin and an adorable mop of chestnut hair. Black horn-rimmed glasses framed bright, inquisitive eyes. She immediately bent to help you retrieve your belongings, stammering gentle apologies.

"I'm so sorry! Let me help you get your things. I didn't mean to scare you." She smiled sweetly at you and handed you back your sunglasses and lip gloss.

"No! It's fine, I'm sorry I'm so preoccupied." You lifted the garment bag by way of explanation. "Graduation day! Um, how can I help you?"

"You don't know me, but my name is Ginger. I work for an organization that recruits bright young minds like yours. It's a lot to explain, but if you're interested in a job interview next week, we'd love to talk with you." She handed you a creamy white business card with a Louisville address.

You frowned. "Statesman Distillery? I don't have any experience with alcohol production or marketing. I do data analysis and my degrees are in criminal justice."

"We know. We've been following your research and your schooling for a while." She gave you a mischievous smile, and it looked for all the world like she was hiding something fun behind it, something secretive and intriguing that made you want to know more.

"Please, just give me an hour of your time next week? When you have some time to pay us a visit, just call that number and ask for me. I'm really looking forward to chatting with you."

You thanked her and promised you would call, and then you tucked the card into your bag and forgot all about it for nearly a week. Graduation day was hectic, with lots of relatives visiting and interrogating you about your career plans, and the days afterward were spent attending parties and saying goodbye to friends who were scattering to far-flung places. After you had finished the last of your university-related errands like returning a few library books and picking up your official transcript, there wasn't much left to do except putter around your apartment and take a few days off before beginning a job search. Those student loans weren't going to pay themselves off.

You found Ginger's card in your purse on Wednesday morning and put it on the fridge with a magnet. On Thursday you were so hungover you didn't want to make any calls. On Friday you found yourself at loose ends with nothing planned, so you picked up the phone and dialed. When you reached the switchboard you gave your name and asked for Ginger, and they put you right through. She picked up after one ring, as if she had been waiting for your call.

"Hi! I'm so glad you called me! Can you come by today?" Ginger sounded genuinely excited to talk to you, not smarmy or fake like other corporate recruiters you had spoken with.

"Oh, uh, yeah. I mean, yes, thank you. Are you sure today's okay? I can come next week if that's better."

"No! Please come whenever you're ready. I'm really hoping you'll like what you see."

"Okay, will I need to dress up? Will I be meeting with anyone for an interview? Should I bring copies of my resume?" You wanted to make a good impression, but you weren't sure if this was just something the distillery did casually, like a winery tour, or if you would need to be ready for a formal interview.

"Nope! Just bring yourself! We already know everything we need to know about your qualifications."

"Ah... okay. I'm all yours. I'll see you in about an hour?"

"Perfect! I'll leave your name at the front gate with the guard. Just show them your ID and they'll wave you through."

You said your goodbyes and put the phone down. What kind of data analysis job was even available at a distillery? Market trends? Did they need a criminal justice major for tracking down rip-offs, like people counterfeiting their product? But wait, didn't the government do that kind of thing? The ATF? You shook your head clear of questions and hopped in the shower. You could ask Ginger all of your questions, since she seemed to be so happy to talk with you.

When you arrived at the Statesman Distillery an hour later, you were impressed at the size of the facility. Distilleries were pretty common in the state of Kentucky, with lots of little family companies sprinkled around. But Statesman rivaled the big names for sheer square footage.

Ginger met you in a conference room and offered you coffee, and then asked you to sign a non-disclosure agreement. You didn't think twice about it. NDAs were common in lots of industries, and you guessed that it had something to do with trade secrets, Statesman not wanting to leak information about their whiskey production details. When Ginger began the tour and you walked down a long hallway with multiple sparkling white laboratories behind thick glass, you found it unusual, but not alarming. Cleanrooms, maybe? Something to do with alcohol distillation formulas, probably.

When she ushered you into a large wood-paneled office and introduced you to Champ, the head of Statesman, you thought it was odd. Companies didn't normally introduce new college graduates to executives during tours. Based on the size of the organization, you thought you might meet the CEO or President once or twice a year, maybe at a holiday party or a company retreat. But he was friendly, and he seemed to have already heard of you; his eyebrows raised an inch at Ginger when she gave him your name. He also seemed far more interested in criminal justice and data analysis than you expected for a distillery executive, but you shook hands and answered all of his questions politely.

When Ginger asked you to step into an elevator and it dropped 10 floors, you started to wonder a little. When the doors opened and she walked you to a room with a huge bank of monitors, with screens showing all kinds of maps and security video feeds, you were downright confused. But when she revealed the cherry on top, the fact that Statesman was not in the business you thought they were? That was too shocking. You were sure she was joking. You turned behind you to look for hidden cameras, expecting a prank show host to come jumping out at you.

"This is a joke, right?"

Ginger smiled that sweet, warm smile at you. "No joke. We want you to join the Research Unit, working in the Data Analysis section. You would be keeping our agents safe, helping them make the best decisions possible. And in turn your work could save lives, hundreds of them. Maybe even thousands. What do you say?"

"I... uh... I still think you’re joking. I’ve never heard of anything like this. I… are you sure you want me?"

"Yes, if you're interested. We could use you on the team." She pushed a little slip of paper into your hand, and when you saw the annual salary that was listed, you almost fainted.

"Ginger, this is way too much. I just graduated and this is, like... this is a senior analyst's salary. I'd be able to pay off my student loans in like three years!"

"Actually, we would be paying your student loans off before you start work. If you have financial burdens hanging over your head you could be vulnerable to bribes or extortion attempts from foreign governments or bad actors. We want you clear before you start with us. Think of it as a signing bonus."

"Holy shit! Sorry, I mean... I... Jesus." You looked at her in confusion. "Y'all really want me?"

She smiled and nodded. "Yes, we really do."

"Okay, when do I start?"

And that had been it, your first "big girl" job out of college. You were welcomed warmly to the Statesman team, and you loved the fact that you did interesting work that had a real impact. The hardest part had been telling your friends and family the required cover story, saying you were doing market analysis until you could find a job in criminal justice somewhere. But since you were happy with your new job and it paid well, none of them pressured you to move on.

During your first two years with Statesman you climbed the ranks, earning promotions and new responsibilities that eventually put you in the seat of Assistant Director of Data Analysis. You had risen high enough in Statesman that your work required a code name, and you chose “Paloma,” a nod to your favorite grapefruit cocktail. You answered directly to the head of the Research Unit, and every report that your team produced was vital. You weren't wasting your talent in some corporate hole, enriching the CEO's salary at the expense of your sanity. You were saving lives, making a difference. Your reports had even been sent to the New York headquarters, where they used them as a model for operations.

And the job had brought you romance, too. One day not long after your promotion to Assistant Director, you were walking out of the conference room, so focused on your phone that you didn't see where you were going. You bumped into something large and solid in a denim shirt, and a pair of warm, calloused hands held your shoulders to steady you. You cursed softly to yourself and then looked up into the most gorgeous pair of brown eyes that you had ever seen. A man with patchy stubble and a well-worn baseball cap smiled at you, eyes crinkling with warmth.

"Whoa! Are you okay?" His eyes looked concerned as they searched your face. You looked at him with wonder. He was so, so beautiful. The smile dropped, and then his brows knitted together into a slight frown. "I said, are you okay?"

You realized you were staring with your mouth half open like some lovestruck teenager, and that an embarrassing amount of time had passed since you first met his eyes.

"Yes!" Your voice was louder than you intended. "Yes, I'm sorry. Sorry I bumped into you. I should have watched where I was going. I'm sorry."

"That's okay. Did I hurt you?"

"Ah, no. No, I'm fine. Sorry. Just distracted today."

"That's okay. Sorry I startled you." He smiled again and squeezed your upper arm.

You could have stayed there forever, leaning into his touch. He let go, much to your chagrin, and then went into the conference room. You made a note to ask someone who he was, to see if you could find out more about him. He wasn't being escorted by a staff member, so he was obviously part of the Statesman organization somehow. Someone would know who he was.

You went into the ladies room, running into Ginger at the sinks. "Oh, Paloma! I'm so glad I saw you. I need to steal your boss for an urgent matter. Can you run his 11:00 meeting in the conference room? I know it's last minute, but I'll buy you lunch later."

Your brain flickered out for a nanosecond. The 11:00 meeting? The conference room? The handsome man? You recovered your composure and smiled at Ginger. "Yeah, no problem at all. Tell him to drop his notes off in the conference room and I'll be there in just a moment."

Ginger smiled and punched your shoulder softly. "Thanks, Pal. I owe you one."

You washed your hands in a trance. Oh lord, this was going to be interesting. You squared your shoulders and met your own eyes in the mirror. You looked exactly like you had this morning, just your normal self. Most of the time that was fine, but right now you wanted to be more glamorous, more devastating. You wanted to absolutely bewitch the handsome mystery man in the meeting. In the absence of some kind of last-minute emergency Hollywood makeup team, you would have to settle for a fresh application of lip balm and a quick scrub of your teeth with a damp paper towel. You flicked a stray eyebrow hair into place, sighed, and headed back to the conference room. Looks weren't important anyway, right? Statesman had hired you for your brain, not your face. And really, you were more interested in showing your boss that you could do well in your new role. So you banished your insecurities from your mind and breezed into the meeting.

"Good morning everyone." You studiously chose not to look at the handsome man you had run into, keeping your eyes on your notes for the time being. You were afraid that if you looked at him you wouldn't be able to tear your gaze away. "The Director has been called away for an urgent matter, so I'll be leading today’s operational planning meeting. For those of you who don't know me, I'm Paloma."

You risked a glance at the handsome stranger, relieved to see that his eyes were on his notepad and not on you. You let out a breath and found your stride, walking the group through the team's findings, the data, the implications, and the desired outcome for the mission. Agent Tequila asked a few cocky, half-assed questions, probing you for weaknesses. Normally that would have irritated you, but today it was a welcome focus that took your mind off the butterflies. You knocked Tequila back in place with a few well-chosen words, and then opened up the floor for questions.

The handsome man raised his hand, and your eyes fixed on how large and thick his fingers were. Oh God, this was torture. "Yes, Mr...?"

"Catfish. Um, can you tell me more about the extraction plan?"

"Yes, absolutely." You went over that phase of the mission, giving all the details your team had gathered about the terrain and the timing. When you were done, Catfish smiled at you, and your knees went weak at the sight of the dimple that appeared. No one else had questions, so you closed the meeting and stood to leave.

Suddenly there was a warm wall of denim at your elbow. "Hey, that was really detailed information. Thank you so much for walking me through everything."

You turned and smiled. "You're welcome. Glad I could help." You fumbled for something to say, trying to extend the conversation and keep him in your orbit for however long you could while everyone else filed out of the room.

"So, um, you go by 'Catfish.' Can I ask why? That's your code name, right? There's not some kind of hidden tragedy where that's the name your parents actually wrote on your birth certificate?"

He chuckled, throwing his head back. The expanse of his thick neck and bobbing Adam's apple did nothing to improve the butterflies. They only fluttered harder, rising higher in your chest.

"It's an old Army nickname, I was Special Forces about a million years ago. Now I'm here on the transport team. I'm a helicopter pilot. When we're not working you can just call me Frankie."

"Ah." You bit your lip and nodded. Why couldn't you think of something else to say? Fortunately, Frankie continued the conversation.

"And you're Paloma around here? I love that drink. Am I allowed to know your real name, or is that classified?"

You grinned and shook his hand, giving him your name. When it rolled off his lips in that deep voice it sounded like heaven to you. You didn't want anyone else to say your name ever again. Just him.

He leaned closer, like he was sharing a secret. “Can I ask you a question? Top secret.” He winked, and you nodded.

“Can I take you to lunch?”

Your heart dropped into your pelvis, and you gulped, hard. “Y-yes. Yes, that would be great. I’d love to.”

---

When Ginger found you in your office at 2:00 p.m. you were staring off into space, smiling blissfully.

“Hey, Paloma. Why did you blow me off for lunch? I came by at 12:30, I was going to take you out.”

“Oh! Oh my god, Ginger, I’m so sorry! I had a date.”

She raised her eyebrows at you, settling down in one of your visitors chairs. “A date?”

“No! Not a date. A, um…” You burst into husky giggles, and then confessed everything to her: the handsome man, the crinkles around his eyes, his dimples and his silly code name, the easy conversation over lunch, and the fact that he had scribbled his phone number down on a sticky note that was now burning a hole in your pocket. You felt like you were 12 again, confiding in your girlfriend about crushes and cute boys.

Ginger laughed and gave your hand a squeeze. “No wonder you forgot about me. I can’t compete with a handsome helicopter pilot!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Ginger. I really didn’t mean to forget.”

“No, it’s okay. But definitely call him this weekend and make a real date. I’ll want details when you take me out for an apology lunch on Monday.” She winked and left your office.

You sat back in your chair and tilted back to look at the ceiling while you considered it. Was it too soon to call him and make a date? Ugh, this was agony. You decided that going by conventional rules hadn’t really mattered to you at any point in your life until now, so why the hell not?

You took a deep breath, trying to puff up your confidence. When he answered the phone on the second ring, you dove right in. “Hi, Catfish? It’s Paloma. Listen, I had a really good time at lunch, and I’d like to see you this weekend if you’re free.”

---

On Monday, you had a whole lot to report to Ginger.

Frankie took you up for a sightseeing flight on your date, and you loved the way he controlled everything; making sure he warned you before any sudden movements, and checking that you weren’t getting airsick or anxious. When the rotors were stilled and you were back on the ground, Frankie reached over to help you unbuckle your harness. Something got stuck, and the agonizing extra seconds of feeling him jostle the strap near your hip made you bold. When it was finally free and he was about to pull his hand away, you grabbed his wrist. He looked at you, alarmed that something was wrong, and you crashed your lips against his, all teeth and tongue and wanting. Frankie was as good a kisser as he was a pilot, and you spent the rest of the date making out in his truck.

The next weekend, you found out that his warm, work-worn hands were also magic in the bedroom. Frankie was adept at tweaking your sensitive spots as gently as the little buttons and switches of the flight panel, bringing you to thrumming heights the same way he did his helicopter.

The rest of the summer passed in heady, humid days and nights like a dream. You loved Frankie’s easy sense of humor and his confidence in the cockpit. But Frankie was less confident about your relationship, voicing concerns about the decade-plus that separated your ages, and whether he was keeping you from dating men your own age. He made self-deprecating comments about being an “old man,” and you reassured him that there was no one you’d rather be with, no one who could sway your attention. You loved using your hands and arms and lips and tongue to reassure him, finding that he had his own sensitive spots that you could manipulate. You loved sending him to sleep with a smile on his face.

But as much as you and Frankie enjoyed the relationship, the nature of his work with the transportation team meant that he was never in town for very long. At the same time, your job was getting more complex, requiring late nights at the office that interfered with your time together. You refused to dwell too much on the fact that you were torn, that you loved your work as equally as you wanted to spend those nights with Frankie.

By the end of the summer, you both came to the realization that it was nobody’s fault, simply a case of poor circumstances, and you decided to end things and remain friends. In October Frankie left Statesman to take a job that relocated him to Florida. You were wistful, and you missed him, but at least it had been an amicable split. At least friends was something. And as sometimes happens even with the best of intentions, the time in between each phone call grew longer, and you eventually lost touch. Last you heard he was spending weekends with his old Army buddies who all lived nearby, and he had a new girlfriend. By February the ache was starting to subside, and by April you were nearly ready to date again.

In May, almost three years to the day after Ginger’s visit to your apartment had changed your life, you were offered the position to lead the Data Analysis team in New York. You jumped at the chance. Statesman located an apartment for you, and from the pictures you were already in love with it. Huge windows looked out over the city, and it was within walking distance of Statesman HQ. Your farewell party was bittersweet. Ginger offered to come visit you, and promised that New York would be everything you hoped it would be. Your team gave you such high praises that you joked that if that’s what it took to hear accolades, you would have left ages ago.

---

Your first few days in New York were spent acclimating to the Statesman HQ, and getting to know your neighborhood. It was strange to find that you could walk or take the subway for whatever you needed, compared to the Midwest where a car was required for everything. Your new team was welcoming, and you enjoyed your new duties immensely. Your first two weeks on the job passed in no time, and you went home every night feeling like you could fly.

And then you hit a wall, in the form of Jack Daniels, a.k.a. “Senior Agent Whiskey.” You knew him by reputation, of course. Ginger had filled you in on his exploits, his overbearing charm, his smarmy flirtations. You had seen him once or twice in passing when he had visited Champ’s office, but you hadn’t actually met him in person.

When you finally did, you almost asked for an immediate transfer back to Louisville. --- "Paloma" Series Masterlist Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

Tag list: @honeymandos @driedgreentomatoes @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @honestly-shite @anaaaispunk @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @nicolethered @dihra-vesa @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @anxiousandboujee

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch 1. Back Into The Field

Intro: Picking up a few months on from the events of Stark Spangled Man, Katie finds herself on desk bound duty following a disciplinary for ignoring Fury’s orders. But when she’s finally released, and disaster strikes on the first mission she’s run in months, she kinda wishes she’d stayed there.

Warnings: Bad language, mentions of blood, injury, angst and a minor character death.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Katie Stark

A/N: So here we go. A relaunch of SSB thanks to my other blog being flagged. For those of you who are new, welcome! I hope you enjoy. And to all you current Stark Spangled Readers, welcome back, You might spot a few subtle differences as we go through, as things I’m not happy with have been rewritten but don’t worry, nothing will impact the mine lines in the hot mess that is Stark and Rogers.

As always, please leave your comments or send me messages, asks, anything. I love you all!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

March 2013.

Any doctor would cry if they visited SHIELD; the caffeine and alcohol intake of pretty much every worker there would way exceed a dose construed to be healthy. Mind you, if you asked any agent whether they’d give up coffee or alcohol, they’d say alcohol in a heartbeat.

Well, most of them.

Katie couldn’t imagine surviving without an ice cold beer on a hot summer’s day, but she also didn’t function until she had her morning cup of Joe. It was a tough choice to make.

Not today though, she needed coffee. And lots of it. After ‘going rogue’ to chase the Mandarin with her brother, month’s later Fury was still pissed and as such was basically giving her the most boring thing he could think of- working through piles of mission reports to analyse and cross reference with others to pick up on common threads .To be honest, she didn’t mind it too much. After the excitement of the festive period she had welcomed a relatively quiet return to work, and didn’t particularly give a shit what Fury thought about her either.

She circling a part of the hard copy of the report she was working on with highlighter pen, before glancing back at her computer screen to cut and paste it into the Scrapbook App she used to trace trends with, letting out a groan. Who was she kidding? Desk duty sucked ass.

*****

Steve’s morning wasn’t going much better.

Whilst he wasn’t desk bound, after a particularly gruelling Ops Training session during which one of the newest kids suffered a broken nose after colliding painfully with a stray shock baton, he was almost wishing he was. Following a quick debrief, he checked his schedule on his phone and found he was free now for the rest of the day so he showered and headed up to find Katie. He found her in her office, paper in her hand as she stared at her computer screen, eyes narrowed. Steve watched her for a moment, taking in the way her nose crinkled as she read something, her bottom lip being dragged under her top teeth as she continued her work, completely unaware he was there. With a groan she dropped the notes she’d been holding to the desk and ran her hand through her dark hair.

Steve felt he was interrupting something, even though he knew he wasn’t, but he also didn’t want to appear like he’d been watching her either, which he totally had. So he gave a little cough and, as she turned round, her pretty face cracking into a smile which he returned. 

“Hey! How was training?”

“Don’t ask.” He let out a snort.

“That bad huh?”

“In a fashion.” He nodded, leaning on the door frame. “You had lunch?”

“Nope.”

“Wanna come get some?”

She nodded instantly “God yes. Can we get FroYo after?”

“Yeah but don’t let me pile it with all that crap this time!” he shot her his best playfully disapproving look as he remembered his first trip the Frozen Yoghurt stall. He had loaded his with all sorts of different things and the result had been beyond foul.

Katie gave a laugh and picked up her jacket, shrugging it on. Standing up straight, he moved to allow her to step through the door and followed her to the elevator.

“Stick to chocolate chip, mint and cookie dough.” She said, stepping into it. “Trust me.”

They strode across the foyer and into the early spring sun. Katie pulled her jacket tighter around herself as they crossed the street, shivering a little in the cool breeze.

“How are you just wearing a shirt?” she looked at Steve as he fell into step besides her, making sure he was on the side nearest the road. He noticed that she’d long since given up chiding him on this old fashioned habit after he had revealed it was something he used to do for his mom too, and Bucky’s younger sister. In fact, today, he swore he saw something that looked like a soft smile flicker on her lips when he positioned himself on her left, but as quick as he noticed it, it was gone.

“It’s not too bad.” He grinned. “I’ve been through worse.” He opened the door to the Deli for her and followed her in as they took their place in the queue. After a moment or two he became aware that she was looking at him.

“What?” he asked, turning to her exasperatedly. Katie couldn’t help but grin, she enjoyed winding the usually mild mannered man up

“I’m trying to imagine how you would look with a beard. And with shorter hair.” she mused, causing the Captain to roll his eyes.

“Not gonna happen.”

“What the hair cut or the beard?”

“Neither.”

“Spoil sport.”

“Captain America doesn’t have a beard.” he shook his head.

“No but, Steve Rogers could…”

She was impossible, but Steve couldn’t help but want to laugh. This playfulness was the thing that he enjoyed the most, how she could just treat him like any other punk she knew.

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re exhausting?” he rolled his eyes, a smirk playing on his face as she stepped forward in the queue.

“Yeah, you.” she spun round to face him, grinning “Several times. But you still come back for more.”

“Well I have the distinct impression if I didn’t you’d hunt me down anyway”

They ordered and ate their lunch, Steve filling her in on the ops drill and after Fro-Yo they made arrangements to slob out that evening at his with a film. They walked back to the Triskellion where Katie headed back to her office to continue sifting through the Mount Everest of reports she had to do. As with anything, once she got the bit between her teeth, she completely zoned out. It was only when she heard a gabble of voices all bidding each other goodbye that she looked up from her work. It was dark outside, and past six.

“Shit.” she groaned as the realisation washed over her. She was supposed to be at Steve’s for half past. She clicked to save her work whilst calling him at the same time, phone sandwiched between her cheek and shoulder.

“So…I’m running late.” She apologised the instant he answered. He chuckled.

“I thought that you said the one good thing about being confined to desk duties was that you set the hours.”

“Yeah, well I got caught up in something, but I’m leaving now. Do you want me to grab pizza on the way?”

“Sounds good, not Chicago Style though. I’m hankering for a proper piece of pie.”

“God you’re such a New Yorker.” She rolled her eyes.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” His voice took on a mock hurt tone and she could imagine him pouting on the other end of the phone.

“Hmmm, I’m undecided. Right, I’m leaving now. See you soon.”

“Drive safe.”

“What are you my dad?” she snorted at his stern instruction.

“Old enough to be.” he shot back.

“Touche.” she sniggered, cutting the call

*******

“Boring New York style for Mr S Rogers…” she spoke into the intercom at the main door to Steve’s apartment complex and he buzzed her in. By the time she’d climbed the stairs to his floor he was waiting, leaning on the door frame.

“Bout time.” He muttered, taking the boxes off her “Was about to send a search party.”

“Mario’s was packed.” Katie said, kicking off her sneakers and heading straight through to his kitchen to grab a beer out of his fridge without waiting for him to offer, knowing he wouldn’t. He didn’t need to. 

Steve headed into the living room, depositing the thee boxes on the coffee table before he sank onto the couch and reached straight in for one of the pepperoni slices. A few moments later Katie flopped down next to him, handing him a beer.

“What we ticking off the list tonight?” she asked.

“A Few Good Men.” he said, nodding at the TV where he had queued the movie up ready.

“Wait, did you manage to navigate that Android box all by yourself?” She looked at him and he sighed. 

“I’m not completely useless ya know.”

“Jury’s out.” she teased, curling her legs up onto the sofa next to her.

They watched the movie. Steve got most of the references within it. He chuckled in the right places, and laughed out loud when Katie was unable to stop herself uttering the immortal line You can’t handle the truth. When the credits began to roll,  Katie unfolded herself from where she had been sat and they launched into Steve’s favourite part of Movie Nights- the post film analysis.

“Who was the guy who played the colonel, Jessup?” he looked at her.

“Jack Nicholson. Amazing actor. He’s in a few on your list.”

“He was good. And I know he was supposed to be the good guy so to speak but Kaffee annoyed me a little. He was so arrogant.”

“He reminds me of Tony” Katie sniggered.

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything” Steve gave a little smirk and Katie shrugged.

“I get what you mean though. He is an ass, and it pisses me off a little the romance angle they take with him and Galloway. I mean, she’s portrayed as this strong woman, in the male dominated military woman and they still have to go there.”

“It does seem to be a tried and tested format.” Steve nodded, leaning back against the cushions on his couch “Boy meets girl, boy likes girl, boy wins girl over…even the movies I saw back in before I took a sub-zero nap were the same.”

“I suppose it appeals to the hopeless romantic in all of us.” Katie shrugged.

They continued to chat for a bit longer until Katie glanced at her watch, and seeing the time, decided to call it a night. Steve walked her down to her car, he always did without fail, another thing she had given up chiding him for and when he came back upstairs and got in the shower, he found himself straying back to the first time he had seen her, the minute she had stepped into the light in the boxing gym and he’d found himself looking into the greenest eyes he had ever seen in his life.

The more he stood there in the stream of hot water, thinking about her, the more he started to feel something…well…different. And he couldn’t put his finger on it. Was it that he found her attractive? Well of course he did. To be honest, he reckoned you’d have to be blind not to. And if he was totally honest, since he’d seen her the first time in that little boxing gym in New York he had noticed how pretty she was. She had the figure of the stars of his time. Hour glass waist, brunette hair, shapely ass and legs and quite large breasts considering she was so slim. But what did it for him were her eyes. Deep, sparkling emeralds that he could lose himself in quite happily. And that smile, that fucking smile that could make him stop in his tracks when she flashed it.

But it was more than just that, she was…well…just Katie.

It was strange, really, she reminded him so much of Peggy in some ways, but in others she was so different. Both were vivacious, smart, strong willed and beautiful. But where Peggy had been harsh, after a military upbringing, Katie had a softer edge to her. She was still ferocious at times, but she was a people person, and somehow knew exactly how to explain and understand what he was trying to say even when he struggled to himself. She made him feel at ease. With that in mind it wasn’t surprising they had grown so close. He could trust her and knew that she would do anything for him because she was a good person. And she made it so easy to be around, he didn’t feel a shred of awkwardness around her. 

He hadn’t thought he’d ever find himself a friend he could be as honest and open with again, one he would happily lay his life on the line for, not just out of a sense of duty but out of a sense of love and friendship.

Who you trying to kid, Rogers? 

He knew his feelings went deeper than that. All those times he’d felt irritation at other men looking at her or touching her, all those times he’d looked at her and just wanted to smile because she was just her… the fear he had felt when he had known she was off chasing the Mandarin and he wasn’t able to help…none of that was anything to do with mere friendship. 

He leaned his forehead against the tiles of the shower cubicle and groaned. He was crushing on his best friend.

He was so fucked. *******

Katie’s desk arrest didn’t last much longer. Two weeks later she was catapulted back into the field, on what was supposed to be a simple op, simple by SHIELD standards, anyway. They had a request from the Cuban government – all very hush, hush, of course –to take down a drug lord who ran a cartel SHIELD had tangled with last year.

Katie, in her role as Mission Analyst, read the files and all the intel, pulled together a briefing and delivered it, answering questions that came her way from the team and then handed over to Steve when it was his turn to take the floor. He started issuing out his orders, and informed everyone that the three newest recruits would be joining them as it would be a fairly straight forward op to ease them into.

And it had been, for the most part, until one of those new recruits, Jack Adams, had frozen mid fire fight and as a consequence he’d taken three bullets to the chest. Which shouldn’t have been an issue given the armour they all wore. But when the man failed to get up, Katie knew there was something very, very wrong.

“Adams is down!” she loudly spoke into her radio as she took aim at the hostile responsible. As soon as she was sure the round she had let off had hit her target, she broke cover to get to Adams, as she was closest to him. She skidded to the floor, pressing her hand to his chest and her other reached to his face, turning it to look at her.

“I got you, Adams, look at me.” she urged gently, her hand warm, wet and slick with the young man’s blood. Steve dropped besides her and she turned to face him.

“Armour piercing rounds.” She shook her head. “Steve, I can’t stop the bleeding.” Her tone left the Captain in no doubt as to how worried she was and he looked around frantically for help.

“Medic, NOW! We need emergency evac…”

“Stay with us, Jack.” Katie reached into her belt and retrieved a tab of morphine as he young man’s hand gripped her other whilst she administered the pain relief.

“Son, you’re gonna be fine.” Steve spoke and Adams’ horrified eyes turned to Steve. The soldier swallowed, fighting to keep his face calm. He’d seen that expression so many times on the battle field, the one that told him the man who lay injured knew he was injured beyond repair, that there was nothing to be done for him. But this was now seventy years into the future, medical science had worked so many wonders since then, they had to be able to do something, right?

“RUMLOW WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT MEDIC?” Katie screamed, her tone frantic.

“Still got hostiles on us!” Rumlow replied over the coms. “Evans has taken four down but they’re approaching from the right! We need to cover the medics in and now you’re down there…”

Steve instantly looked round before he looked back at Katie “We’ll have to take him ourselves”

She bit her lip, looking at the young man, then up to Steve again. Everything in their training told them not to move casualties, but Steve knew if they stayed here he was going to bleed out. Katie seemed to come to the same conclusion and she nodded.

“Alright. Brock, we’re coming to you. Have the medics prep the bay on the jet.. Evans, we need top cover.”

“Roger, Cap…”

“Jack, we’re gonna move you now.” Katie looked at him, her voice calm and level as besides her, Steve moved to take the injured man into a lift over his shoulder. Once he had him positioned, he gave a small jerk of his head and Katie picked up his shield in one hand, and her pistol in the other as they broke cover, sprinting across the front of the industrial yard towards the jet. In the corner of his eye, Steve spotted two hostiles moving but before he could shout a warning, Katie had fired off two shots, the thumps and lack of returning fire meaning each bullet had hit its target. Soon they were joined by Rumlow and Rollins who flanked them up the ramp where Katie dropped Steve’s shield to the floor with a clang and offered her hand back to Adams as Steve placed him gently on the stretcher.

“It’s gonna be ok.” Katie soothed him as the medics bustled around, her eyes glancing up every so often to watch what they were doing.

“Can you tell my mom I love her and, and my dad.” Adams was mumbling now and Katie shook her head.

“You can tell them yourself.” She told him fiercely. “You’ll be fine, I promise.”

“We’re locked down outside, local authorities are handling it now.” Rumlow informed Steve who had stepped back from where Katie was knelt by the injured man. “How is he?”

Steve turned to Rumlow, shaking his head sadly. “Not good. He lost a lot of blood.”

At that point Katie suddenly drew back slightly, looking at the hand held in hers, before she glanced at the medic who was sadly shaking his head. Katie’s shoulders slumped as her eyes closed, face screwing up into a pained expression and Steve pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and middle finger as he realised that the young man had lost his final fight.

“Shit.” Rumlow muttered.

“Radio base” Steve turned to Rumlow his voice soft “Let’s get him home.”

*******

Writing mission reports wasn’t Katie’s favourite thing to do, but this one was awful. So she’d treated it like ripping off a band aid, and after a horrific night’s sleep, she’d been at the Triskelion early to get it done. As a result it was little after ten am, she was done for the day and was about to head home until she heard a familiar voice.

“Eat me…eat me…” The voice was accompanied by a bag from her favourite bakery, which was hovering in the space between the door to the office and the frame, before Clint Barton’s head poked round the side, a grin plastered on his face.

“Hey!” She beamed at her friend as he dropped a cup holder containing two coffees and the bag onto her desk before taking a seat, scooting the wheeled chair over the floor towards her.

“Heard you had a rough time of it yesterday so I brought donuts and almond croissants. And coffee.”

“Hawkeye, you are a godsend.” Katie smiled, taking a large drink and leaning back, closing her eyes.

“That the first time you’ve lost a man on a mission?” Clint asked.

“Other than Coulson.” she shrugged. “Shit, Adams was twenty-three Clint. He had his whole life ahead of him.”

Clint watched as she rubbed at her temple before reaching into the bag and pulling out an almond croissant. She couldn’t remember when she had last eaten, it must have at least been before the mission.

“How’s Cap taken it?”

“On the outside he seems okay, but I know he blames himself. Keeps saying he shouldn’t have taken him.” Katie shrugged “He’s gone with Fury to see Adams’ parents. Rather him than me.”

“This job is hard.” Clint said after a moment or two pause. “We fight to keep everyone safe, but y’know, sometimes not everyone makes it. Thing is, if we can’t find a way to deal with that, then maybe next time no one gets saved at all.”

“You mean like Collateral damage?” she snorted, shaking her head.

“No, I mean that everyone one of us that are out in the field know the risks Nova, hell last year 7 of us took on a horde of Aliens in New York. For hours we fought them, and did any of us give a second thought to our own safety? No, because that’s what we do.”

His words made sense. She knew they did, but that didn’t stop the feeling in her stomach that if she had done her research more, maybe she could have spotted something that would have told them about the armour piercing rounds.

*******

Adams’ parents already knew he was dead. Fury had the local authorities call ahead, common practice now, but still, Steve found himself sat on their couch, talking, informing them all about their son’s last moments. They hadn’t shouted, hadn’t screamed or blamed him. Instead, they’d thanked him for what he had done and for bringing him back so they could hold a proper burial.

By the time he got back to base, he was exhausted.

“Here.” Fury handed him a glass of scotch from the bottle he had pulled out of his desk. Steve took it, dropping onto one of the sofas at the side of the large office, Fury settling into the other. Steve knew the drink couldn’t get him drunk, but he liked the momentary buzz he got that lasted all of sixty seconds post sip, and the comforting burn it gave when he swallowed.

The pair of them sat in silence for a few moments before Fury sat forward, his eye fixed on Steve.

“Ever done that before, a death message?” he asked.

“Can’t say I have. Wasn’t really my job back in the day.” Steve shrugged, undoing his tie and popping the top button of his dress shirt.

“Worst part of the job. Doesn’t matter how many times you do it, never gets any easier.” Fury ran his hand over his face, and it struck Steve how tired his boss actually looked.

“Yeah, it isn’t exactly up there with my favourite thing to do.” Steve rolled his tie up and shoved it into the pocket of his old Army uniform pants.

“How’s Nova?” Fury asked.

“She’s upset.” Steve sighed “But she’s strong, she’ll be okay. I’m gonna head over and see how she is later.”

“You two spend a lot of time together outside of work.” Fury commented, innocently enough but there was something in his tone, something that was almost good natured accusation.

“Not a problem is it, Sir?” Steve asked, keeping his face straight.

“No, not at all.” Fury said “Why do you think I partnered you up in the first place? She’s a people person…”

“She’s a good friend.” Steve nodded “We get on.”

“Glad to hear it.” Fury nodded. There was another moment’s pause before he spoke again. “There’s going to be a debrief with the Secretary of Defense tomorrow.”

Steve sighed “If they’re looking to blame someone, the buck stops with me. I should never have taken the kid.”

“Bullshit.” Fury said simply “I’ve read the reports. From what they say, he just froze.”

“He wasn’t experienced enough.”

“Taking risks is part of this job. It’s a dangerous gig.” Fury held his gaze. “It was a straight forward in and out job Captain. What happened was an accident. A tragic one, but an accident none the less. From the reports, neither you nor Stark could have done any more to save his life.”

Steve shrugged, the words were kind but didn’t help him feel any better.

Three glasses of scotch later, Steve shook the director’s hand and left the office, pulling out his phone. He didn’t want to appear like he was checking up on Katie, so he pinged her a text, dressing it up like it was him who needed to see her, which wasn’t a complete lie. He did. He was craving the normality she gave him.

Can I come over? I could do with seeing a friendly face

He read it a few times, before deciding it was casual enough before he sent it. The reply was almost instantaneous.

My door is always open for you. And I made Mac and Cheese. Plenty left.

He couldn’t help but smile. One of the best things about this new life was the food, and her Mac and Cheese was frankly his favourite thing to eat on the planet.

He changed into a pair of sweats and a hoody, hastily making his way to Katie’s penthouse and the smile she gave him when he walked into her place instantly made him feel at ease.

“Hey.” she crossed the space towards him and gave him a hug which he happily melted into, a hug they both needed.

“How did it go?” she asked, pulling away.

“As well as can be expected.” He sighed as he followed her into the kitchen, dropping into the stool on the other side of the breakfast bar. “His mom broke down but they didn’t shout or yell.”

Katie flipped the lid off a beer and handed it to him. He took it, with a nod of thanks and pulled a large swig before he rest his hands on the counter, staring at the bottle.

He was brooding and blaming himself, Katie could tell, so she gently lay her hand on his, reaching over the counter.

“It wasn’t your fault Steve.” she spoke softly and he looked at her.

God, she did that all the time, knew what he was thinking. It gave him the unnerving impression that sometimes she could read his mind.

“I should have spotted that shooter.” he shook his head.

“I’m the fucking mission analyst.” she sighed. “I knew from last time those guys were packing, if I’d done more research, maybe I would have found out about the armour piercing rounds.”

“You can’t seriously blame yourself?” Steve’s frowned.

“Why not?” she shrugged sadly. She’d been over it a million times in her head that day and had come to the same conclusion every time. She should have spotted something, dug further. “I didn’t do my job.”

“Yes, you did.” he implored, his eyes locking onto hers “Your report clearly set out the layout, the learning from previous missions…Adams was just too inexperienced, I should never have taken him.”

There was a pause as the microwave pinged and Katie turned to look at it.

“You know, Clint made a good point before.” she reached in for the plate and the smell of the food made his stomach grumble again as she continued “This job, it’s hard. We fight to keep people safe but not everyone makes it back all the time…and if we can’t learn to live with that then maybe next time no one gets saved.”

“It feels like trading lives.” He took a deep breath as she placed the plate down in front of him “It’s just wrong.”

“I know.” She said, handing him some cutlery and sat down next to him.

“You eaten?” he asked, looking at her, suddenly aware she didn’t have a plate. She nodded.

“Couldn’t have waited until now, I’d have starved to death.” she said, shrugging.

“Hardly.” he replied, mouth full, instantly realising he had said the wrong thing as she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Is that a fat joke?” she asked, making him roll his eyes as he swallowed. That hadn’t been it at all, he was referring to the fact that she never actually stopped eating, despite her tiny frame she gave him a run for his money.

“No, that’s not what I meant. You’re tiny.” he said, almost choking on his food through his protests.

“So now you’re making short jokes?” She shot back. Steve looked at her, dismayed she thought he was being mean to her but then he spotted the look in her eyes and rolled his own.

“Punk.”

“Jerk” she shot back. 

It was the perfect way to escape the trauma and stress of the last few days. Once they had finished eating the two of them flopped down on her large L shape sofa, Steve’s legs extended along one side of the L shape, her legs tucked underneath her as she leaned against his shoulder. He couldn’t help but notice the smell of her shampoo…apple, he thought, along with her perfume. Her proximity was making his head buzz but he wasn’t about to move her, the contact was comforting. And it clearly was for her too as about an hour or so into the film- the first in the Lord of The Rings trilogy- he felt her head growing heavy. He glanced down and saw that her eyes were closed and, as he watched, her head slipped slightly. He shifted so that he could catch her gently, and grabbed a cushion from behind him, placing it against his leg. He manoeuvred her head so that she was lay down, gently brushing her hair off her face. She stirred slightly, snuggling down further into the cushion as he absentmindedly rubbed between her shoulder blades as her breathing grew gentle and even.

Steve stayed like that, engrossed in the film right to the end, surprisingly. He had enjoyed it. Katie hadn’t woken up, and he looked down debating whether or not to wake her or simply carry her through to her bedroom. In the end he decided to do neither, instead he reached for the remote as he sifted through to find something else to watch. He didn’t want to leave just yet, he was too comfy and too at ease. Picking one of his favourites, Casablanca, he settled down, getting himself comfy as he immersed himself in the familiar world of Rick’s Café Americain. At one point he felt his eyes growing heavy and he lay his head back, deciding to rest them for just a little while…

**** Katie was jolted awake, quite violently, and as she jerked into an upright position she saw exactly why. Steve was thrashing in his sleep, his face contorted in horror, small murmurs and whimpers slipping from his plump lips. She placed both her hands on his shoulder and shook him. Softly at first, then a bit stronger, trying to rouse him.

“Steve…” she gave him a harsher shake and his eyes flew open, wide in panic and she reached up to cup his face in her hands. “Hey, it’s okay. It was just a dream.”

Her soft voice filled Steve’s senses and, as he realised where he was and whose eyes were looking at him, he took a shaky breath and lay his head back.

Damned it, he’d fallen asleep and had a nightmare. On her sofa.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice croaky, “I err…”

“Don’t apologise, it’s fine.” Katie shook her head gently “I’ll get you a glass of water.”

Whilst she was gone he leaned forward, swinging his legs off the couch so his feet touched the floor, wiping his clammy head with his hands, the memory still flashing through his dream.

Cold air was blasting his hair back…there was a hole in the side of the train…then a flash of light and Bucky flew straight through the hole. “BUCKY…” he yelled, grabbing onto the side of the train, the bar in one hand as he stretched to reach his friend with the other.

“Steve…” The voice was louder, but not loud enough. No, he had to get to Bucky…

But he was gone, Steve was grasping at nothing but air.

Just a dream, Katie had said. It was anything but…

She appeared back in the room with a glass of water and he thanked her as she passed it to him. He took a large gulp, swallowing and was relieved when his breathing began returning to normal.

“You ok?” she asked, kindly as her hand gently knotted into his, her concern evident.

“Yeah, just a nightmare.” he nodded softly “I’ve not had one for a while.”

“Understandable with what’s happened. Wanna tell me what it was about?”

“It was Bucky.” he swallowed thickly “I was replaying the moment he fell. The moment he plummeted to his death from that Hydra train and I didn’t save him.”

Katie stayed silent for a moment before her hand curled round Steve’s shoulder and she pulled him to her, causing him to lay his head on her shoulder. “You know it wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have done more” The guilt ate Steve up every day, that he had survived. Why had he deserved that any more than Bucky?

“How?” she said again. “How could you have done anymore?”

"I should have gone after him.” he said quietly.

“What would’ve changed if you had?” Katie asked. “There’s no way he could have survived that fall.”

“He wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me.“ He replied, "I should have gone after him, brought him home, done something.”

Katie remained quiet, her hand gently running through his hair which was nice, far too nice. He took a deep breath and sat up moving away from her touch.

"What time is it?”

“Nearly six in the morning” Katie glanced at her watch.

“You’re kidding?” Steve snorted.

“Nope. You want some coffee?” she stood up, stretching her arms above her head.

“Yeah if that’s ok.” he replied, following her to the kitchen. From her body language he could tell she was rolling her eyes, even if she wasn’t facing him.

“I don’t know if your Ma ever told you, but it’s rude to run out on a girl after you spend the night with her.”

“And as you know, I’m useless with women.” he sat down at the barstool on the breakfast bar. He watched her, but he didn’t say anything as she bustled about, throwing some bread in the toaster and then went to the fridge for the butter, marmalade and jam, sliding them onto the island. At that point Steve held his hands up.

“You don’t have to-” he started to say, but she silenced him with a glare, similar to the ones Peggy used to give him, the look that could stop him in his tracks it was that stern.

“Shut up.” she poured them both a cup of the coffee before adding milk and a spoon of sugar to each, passing one to him. The bread popped up from the toaster, and she put it on a plate before sliding it over to him and adding more bread to the machine.

His stomach rumbled and he gave in, smearing butter over his toast. He eyed the jam curiously. He’d had marmalade before but…

He looked at Katie and she nodded. “It’s good.”

So he added some, and after a bite he concluded she was right, and nodded in agreement. Once the next round of toast was done she sat next to him.

“So, when did I fall asleep.” she asked, swallowing her food.

“About an hour into the film.”

She shook her head “What an ass…”

“It wasn’t a problem.” He replied honestly as he took a bite of his breakfast. “To be honest I enjoyed it.”

“What, me drooling on your leg?”

He swallowed, his eyes wide “I meant the film.”

“I know.” she smirked.

***** Chapter 2

**Original Posting**

[idreamtofmanderleyagain]

Been scrolling through the Martha Jones tag and I have some two cents. Bear with me, it’s been like a decade since I watched this particular arc. I intend to do a rewatch some time soon, but I’m working off memory rn.

(I’m also coming from the perspective of not having watched the 13th doctor’s arc (I prefer DW content with the Doctor as a character to crush on, and I prefer men/masculinity, so I’m sure the new stuff is awesome, just not exciting to me). So I’m hoping there’s probably been some growth and evolution within DW fandom, perhaps with a new influx of diverse viewers. So TLDR, I’m kind of...”old school New Who,” I guess.)

So all that aside, to be honest, I’ve always had a hard time taking the average so-called “feminist” content all that seriously when it comes to this fandom, because so much of it feels and sounds like half-assed girl power bullshit and usually ends with the all-encompassing “Fuck Moffat,” as if every problem with DW, show and fandom, boils down to his input and the people who like him.

 (Hint: it very much does not.)

To be honest I couldn’t give less of a fuck about Moffat, and I don’t much care to glorify RTD either. Personally, I just prefer to talk about particular DW narratives and characters on their own merits because I feel like I get a lot more mileage out of a complex analysis that isn’t based off seething hatred for one dude.

What frustrates me about the shit I see from DW fangirls on this site is just how blatant the actual disinterest in Martha as a character really is. Scrolling through her tag recently really reminded me of the lackluster response I used to see her getting, but certain things have become much more clear about it seeing it with new eyes.

It’s that same old girl-power shit again. See, the thing about the girl-power shit I’m talking about here is that it always seems to paint every female character with the same brush. It’s cookie-cutter Strong Female Character shit. Basically, if you can graft the same quotes or meta right over top an entirely different Who lady, you’ve essentially said nothing about that particular female character. Instead, you’re talking about the archetype of the female companion (which has always played on pop-feminist tropes). And that’s how people talk about Martha. They talk about her tropey attributes, but they don’t talk about her.

Most of the content is praise for Martha’s strength and intelligence. Some quote superimposed over gifs of her face along with a line-up of other Who ladies. 

And a curious propensity for people “defending” her feelings for the Doctor as “understandable” and how it wasn’t “annoying.” Basically every argument like this boils down to lukewarm sympathy for her unrequited feelings for a man who truly belongs to the white fangirl fave proxy: Rose.

I’m going to make a more in-depth follow up to this post after my rewatch so I can make a clear and cohesive analysis, but for now, here’s the thing. Martha feelings weren’t unrequited IMO.

The Doctor very deliberately seduced Martha.

In the family-friendly storytelling language of DW (and because the Doctor is more of a demi-sexual or gray-ace sort of being) The Doctor essentially deliberately pursues the DW companion version of a “one-night-stand” with Martha as a balm against his constant grief, and deliberately keeps her at arms length as that relationship evolves into a “friends-with-benefits” dynamic. But from Martha’s perspective, she was experiencing a hot-and-cold dynamic with a man who flirted with her, literally kissed her on the fucking mouth, and pursued her company. 

The problem wasn’t that the Doctor wasn’t attracted to her or incapable of loving her. he most assuredly was, in both cases. The problem was that he was obsessively keeping his emotional energy on his own grief, and compartmentalizing his growing affection (platonic or otherwise) for Martha to avoid feeling a kind of cheater’s guilt. He wanted his grand companion romance again, without the emotional investment (and the potential for grief that entails). If he never had the relationship with Rose prior to Martha, then Martha 100% would have been in Rose’s shoes. 

And I will double down on that by saying it’s shown later, with Clara and Twelve, how this kind of behavior manifests for the Doctor as a grief response. And he was most assuredly in love with Clara (despite how dense fandom also is about THAT).

There is no reason to believe that the Doctor could never have loved Martha with just as much intensity. and IMO, racism is a huge reason why Martha and 10 wasn’t a thing in canon, because if we got an unrequited love story with a white girl, more than likely it would be a lead up to it eventually being requited. 

So when people “defend” Martha in that way, and praise her for her ~intelligence~, it’s kind of like this gross pat on the back to the poor unloved black girl who just couldn’t quite cut it in comparison to the amazing white ingenue for the white male heartthrob. That’s straight up just the entire vibe. And honestly, please, save your faint praise, because it’s weak next to the emotional complexity and possibilities of Martha’s actual story.

And for the record, the way we talk about the things Martha did (particularly during the Master episodes), and hyping up Martha’s strength, often ignores her vulnerability and softer feelings. Which tbh, was literally the entire emotional throughline of Martha’s arc. It’s interesting that fandom perceived Martha as an interloper in their fantasy romance with the Doctor (through Rose as proxy), but fail to identify with Martha in the same way, despite the fact that Martha’s entire arc feels primed for that exact kind of vicarious romantic longing experience that DW fangirls love to immerse themselves in. I can in fact think of several Doctor/OC fics with thousands of hits that play up an unrequited fake-out like that.

[myheartrevealedocs]

Untouchable- Ch 2: The Offer

Summary: A Spencer Reid x OC fanfic that retells select episodes, starting in season 1, from the point of view of Lydia Ambers, a forensic scientist.

Warnings: swearing, discussion about death and illegal activity (but like, at half the normal Criminal Minds level)

Ch 1 | Ch 3 | About Lydia

~ ~ ~

“You got it all sorted out?” Gideon asked Hotch as he walked into his office. It had been a month since their case in Santa Cruz and Gideon had been on Hotch’s ass about this since they got back.

“It’s… not a job…” Hotch started. “I talked to Strauss and she said that there was no proof that a forensic scientist would be of any benefit to the team. Police departments provide them and local forensic scientists have access to scenes sooner.”

“Police departments can also have media liaisons and tech analysts, but we bring in our own,” he argued. “I spoke to some of Lydia’s old professors and they said that she’s not only a good crime scene investigator, but her major was chemistry and she’s fit to get a job in DNA analysis or toxicology.”

“Gideon, what did I say about not getting involved? Strauss needs proof that she is an asset to the team before paying her a salary. So, I got her to agree to let Lydia work here as an intern under your supervision.”

“Done,” Gideon said. “By the end of the month, she’ll have proven worthy of a spot on this team.”

“No, there’s more,” Hotch told him, frustrated. “She only gets to work jobs that we clearly need her on and she gets no more than two cases every 50 days.”

“Fine, fine,” Gideon replied, which did nothing to ease Hotch’s worry. He, too, had been impressed by Lydia during the Jonathan Carrey case, but there were parameters on hiring people into the FBI and Gideon acted like those meant nothing.

He’d been the same way about Reid after he first spoke to him, but Reid was cut out to be a profiler from day one and they had an opening for him. Gideon wanted Hotch to simply create a brand new job title and salary for Lydia and he couldn’t do that.

“Should I call her and tell her to pack up her things and move to DC?”

Hotch blinked. “You haven’t already told her about the possibility of a job, have you?”

“No,” Gideon laughed. “I can’t promise her a job when I don't have the jurisdiction to hire anybody.”

That was a relief, but Hotch was still afraid Gideon had let on too much. He had just admitted to calling her professors to learn more about her abilities. So, he replied, “You can tell her that we have an internship position that she might be interested in and ask her about her ability to leave California. That is all.”

~ ~ ~

“Agent Hotchner. Agent Gideon,” Lydia greeted as she entered the BAU. It was crazy enough to be in Virginia, seeing as she’d never left California, but FBI headquarters?

She shuffled around nervously and adjusted her glasses numerous times despite the fact they were already as far up her nose as they could go.

“Lydia,” Gideon greeted, warmly. “How was your flight?”

“It was alright. Exciting. I’ve never been on an airplane before.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. No one should have to go through airport security for their first time alone,” Hotch said. “Why don’t we step into my office?”

He and Gideon led the way into the bullpen and around to his office. Lydia’s eyes darted around, seeing Morgan, Elle, and Reid at their desks, engrossed in their work. She wondered if any of them would even recognize her if she caught their eye. She was surprised enough when Gideon called.

“I assume you’ve been considering my offer?” Gideon asked, closing the door behind her.

“Considering, yes. But it would be… difficult, to say the least. I’d love to hear it from your mouths… the offer, that is.”

Hotch sat down at his desk and gestured for her to do the same.

“Agent Gideon and I would like to offer you an internship here at the BAU as a forensic science technician. When we took you on as a consultant in Santa Cruz, you proved to have inspiring potential. You would only be called out for occasional cases, once every month or so. Agent Gideon would be your supervisor.”

“And this would mean moving to DC?”

“Eventually, yes. We can’t exactly fly you out to every new scene from California. It would be easier to have you here, getting briefed with us, taking the jet, etcetera. You’ll also need to go through a training period here and likely will be asked to work in the office, even when you aren’t on a case. How big of a problem would that be? Do you have a lot of family there?”

“No, not family. I mean, it’s just me and my sister and she’s been doing just fine on her own while I’ve been at college, so we’ll manage the distance. The issue is I’m set to start a masters program next semester. I’m just… unsure how I feel about dropping out of school. I know this is a crazy opportunity, but it’s not a full-time job. And if I don’t do well and you guys decide not to keep me, I’m poor and stuck in DC.”

Gideon, who’d been hovering in the back of the room stepped forward. “If we fire you for some reason, I promise to personally pay for your flight back to California.” It was a joke, but in all seriousness, a flight wasn’t even half of it.

“You wouldn’t have to drop out,” Hotch added. “Many schools nearby would be happy to have you and the Bureau rarely has problems with schools refusing to work around our interns schedules. And even if that’s too difficult, this experience will likely open up many opportunities in the future. I’d be happy to write you a million letters of recommendation should you decide to find work elsewhere.”

“I, uh-”

“Hey Hotch?” A familiar voice called, knocking on the door.

He apologized to her momentarily, before saying, “Come in, Reid.”

The door swung open and the boy looked right over Lydia’s head to his boss. “JJ wanted me to tell you that she…”

He trailed off as he felt more pairs of eyes on him. He glanced at Gideon before finally landing on Lydia.

She decided to make the first move, seeing as he was stunned into silence. “Dr. Reid, how nice to see you again.” She stood up to greet him, a smile gracing her features.

“Lydia, I uh… Sorry, to interrupt I really had no- Oh! And it’s nice to see you, too,” he fumbled. “I’ll… I can talk to Hotch later. Sorry, again for interrupting.” And with that he shut the door and was gone.

“Sorry about that. I figured it might have been important, that’s why I invited him in. What were you going to say?”

Lydia froze, her mind drifting elsewhere. “Does the team know? That you are offering an internship into the team?”

Hotch shook his head. “We aren’t offering an internship into the team. We’re offering you an internship into the team. We were waiting to see if you agreed to it.”

“Well, I don’t want to force them to work with someone super under experienced. They aren’t paid to be teachers.”

“The only one who’s going to be teaching you anything is me,” Gideon reassured her. “You are more than capable of holding your own with them. I trust you.”

Lydia felt her throat close up. It was all set up. A job she couldn’t even dream of and here they were, offering it up on a silver platter. “So, this is all… serious. I move to DC and just… work for the FBI all of a sudden?”

“If that’s what you want, then yes. That’s our offer.”

Lydia looked Hotch over, as if trying to profile whether or not he was lying. And finally, she said, “I would like that. Thank you.”

~ ~ ~

“You’ll need to fill out some legal release forms, medical history forms, and I’ll get to work on setting you up for your training period and psychological assessment,” a charming girl named Penelope Garcia explained. Gideon had introduced her as the BAU’s technical analyst.

Her office was brightly decorated and she handed Lydia all the information she needed with a huge smile.

“I’m going to be asked to do a thorough background check on you, as well. But that information goes straight to Hotch and Gideon, no one else.”

Lydia chuckled slightly. “I don’t think I have any secrets, but thanks for the warning.”

“Of course!” she replied.

“No secrets?” Gideon asked. “If I remember correctly, you refused to explain anything about yourself that didn’t pertain to the case when I first met you.”

Lydia hesitated slightly. “Well, what do you want to know?”

“What were you trying to hide?” he countered. “If you’re such an open book, you can tell me.”

“I was just angry!” she argued. “It isn’t about hiding, it’s just that after my mom died, I really believed that I was explosive and so I avoid any topics that bring out my stronger emotions. And you were trying to push all my buttons. I was stressed!”

She wasn't sure if Gideon was just an attentive listener or if he was simply interested in her background, but his eyes longed for her to go on. “Explosive?”

“That’s how I got this limp.”

Normally, nothing anyone could say would prompt her to give away more information than necessary. She always tried to excuse it as ‘no one asked’ rather than blatantly avoiding certain topics, but it was pretty obvious to just about anyone she’d met that Lydia was not proud of her past. So whatever it was about Gideon that convinced her to add that comment was something pretty special.

“How?” It was Garcia this time.

The young girl laughed. “When I was 16, I was having some issues and one day I was trying to calm myself down… I often did this by physically getting my energy out so I was punching pillows and throwing things and I kicked something that was heavier than I expected and broke my foot.” She nodded, like she was remembering it fondly, but the other two could tell that it was a cover for her uncomfort. “And then, I was mad because I hadn’t solved my problem and I’d rendered myself useless, so I started walking on it before it was healed. I did dumb shit. I felt like I deserved the pain for being so uncontained and brash. And then the arch of my foot healed wrong and I had to live with a more… permanent reminder of my attitude.”

“Sixteen,” Gideon mumbled. “Is that when your father died?”

Garcia looked shocked that her superior would even say such a thing but Lydia was just intrigued, “What makes you say that?”

He shrugged. “You said that your only family is your sister. So, I figure both your parents are far out of the picture. You said your mom died when you were little, which triggered your outbursts. So, I figured that perhaps you lost your dad as well and if you were having major anger issues at 16, could be due to the loss of your second parent. Brings up old scars.”

She paused, a somewhat sad smirk gracing her face. “My dad’s not dead, but you’re pretty close. When I was 16, my father was sent to prison.”

Garcia and Gideon’s faces read with immediate regret. So, Lydia played it off quickly.

“Don’t stress about it. He’s not a murderer or anything and it’s not… important.”

She hesitated to explain what he did. She figured they were bound to find out soon enough and she really would rather not say it outloud, so she changed the subject.

“Hey Garcia? Do you think you could help me work on transferring schools? Agent Gideon suggested that I apply for online courses rather than continuing to learn on campus and I’m still not sure if I can reapply for everything so late. And I know your job isn’t navigating college websites or anything, but you are good at tech and I’d love some help.”

She brightened almost immediately. “Sure, sweetheart!”

[she-who-the-river-could-not-hold]

Tagged by @kindclaws to answer her ten questions and then write ten of my own! I adore you and I adore this concept SO much thank you for tagging me!!! 🖤🖤

1. You can capture any smell in the world into a candle. What is it?

The smell of the forest after a rainy night, where the ground is still damp but the pine seems to have been awoken and the air is fresh from isolation and lingering winter from being at such a high elevation. There’s a hint of campfire burning in the undertones.

2. You can bring something back from extinction, whether that’s a dodo or a discontinued chocolate bar from your childhood. What is it?

Part of my instinct is to say “humanity’s belief that we can work together for a better future” and the other half of me says “Taco Bell’s Quesalupa”

3. What fictional world did you always wish you could escape to?

As a kid it was Harry Potter, my best friend and I would play the video games and just self-insert ourselves and like twenty OCs and characters we loved and play “as them” instead of Harry. Which now that I think about it was absolutely what got me into fanfiction. I was just so frustrated in school all of the time I longed for the idea of Hogwarts. I also made up a lot of worlds as a kid! I actually had a mural painted on my wall for most of my childhood that was a big fantasy scene set up with a castle and a forest with fairies, unicorns, elves, etc. and I’d fall asleep pretending I lived in the mural. I’ve been yearning from day one my friends.

4. If you did, say, fall into a portal to another fantasy world with like dragons and swords, what would you consider fighting to come back for? Would you?

My boyfriend because I’m a sap! But then I’d be down for us to go back in as long as I had a camera on me because SO COOL.  

5. What would you love to study if there were no tuition costs, no exams, no pressure to be hireable - or why not?

No exams = astronomy. I love space and I’m so fascinated by it but as someone who’s really bad at anything science or math related, I just want to sit in classes and learn about it. No tuition costs = just writing extensive research papers analyzing different movies and shows. My favorite essays I wrote in college were either literature interpretations (ex: Pride and Prejudice through a feminist/marxist lens), the making of the Lord of the Rings series, and a feminist analysis of the Disney Princess film franchise using quantitive and qualitative research. I’d love to do more of that and just take classes that related to it (I would love to do one on religion/myths and the 100 for example).

6. Advertisements are now illegal. What do you fill the empty billboards with?

TAKE THE BILLBOARDS DOWN. Jk mmm. Probably like some type of activism thing either about the environment? Or something peaceful/visually interesting so that people felt inspired when they saw it! So idk maybe pictures or something historical that’s from that location specifically?  

7. Best way to eat a potato?

Beyond just saying “every way,” at the end of the day I’m a basic and a sucker for french fries. But I will go on record and say my mom makes the best mashed potatoes and if you’re doing a baked potato don’t forget to hit the ends and roll it before cutting it open #just idaho things.

8. You have an unlimited home improvement budget and full creative control. What fun and zesty nonsense do you do to your house or workplace?

Oh THIS is a thrilling question. A really elaborate bar area so we could easily make all of our own cocktails and host parties. A room for all of our Disney memorabilia that we collect so it would need room for pins, posters/artwork, figurines. Probably Haunted Mansion or Tomorrowland themed. Honestly the living room would look straight out of a 50′s/60′s retro future modernist house. This isn’t even that wild but I just need a lot of surface area so I can have the coffee-table book collection of my dreams. Also a huge makeup room and office area for me to work in.

9. I’m running out of dinner ideas. Pls link me your favourite recipe.

aksldfjs I’m trash at cooking! Big fan of the simpleness of making spaghetti and buying a big ass baguette to split over a glass of cheap wine. Here’s an untested recipe that I’m hoping to try out this weekend though – Asado Chicken and Sauteed Lemon Zucchini!

10. What have you poured your soul into?

Making every thought and creative idea I have take over myself. Never stopping thinking about how things are made, how I could make it, what feeling it gives me. Immediately understanding colors and fonts and aesthetics so that I can try and create the worlds and ideas in my head. I’m consumed by the need to be making at all times and that’s from letting my imagination run the show.

-----------

Tagging: @the-most-beautiful-broom, @formerlyjannafaye, @annabthschase, @dylanobrienisbatman, @immortalcockroach, and @lucascsinclairs! My questions are below the cut!

1. You’re given the chance to be naturally good at something without needing to practice it ever again – what is it?

2. What’s a tradition you have with loved ones (family, friends, romantic, any!) that you really enjoy doing? Even if it’s random or not connected to a holiday!

3. Is there something out there that gives you that aching, yearning feeling in your gut that you can’t quite name?

4. Tell me something that’s made you smile recently!

5. Is there something just out of reach right now? A goal? A dream? If you take a minute or two now, are you able to think of the steps you could take to get closer to it? 

6. What do you want people to associate with you? Like if someone says, “I saw/heard/thought of [x] and I thought of you!” – what would fill you with delight because that means they really get you?

7. Think back, any weird childhood obsession or memory that is such a weirdly specific thing from back then that you haven’t thought about until I asked you this question?

8. Describe your life or yourself in fanfic terms like on AO3.

9. Quick! What’s something underrated that you love and that more people need to know about? Can be anything, doesn’t have to be fandom related.

10. It’s game night and you’re determined to be the victor. What game do you bring that you know you’re the champion of no matter how hard your friends try?  

[brekkingthebedwithbuckybarnes]

James ‘Bucky’ Barnes

Chapter 2

Read Chapter 1 here.

OC x Bucky Barnes

Tagging: @vodka-and-some-sass thanks for beta-ing this and not laughing at my technological handicaps.

Disclaimer: (This is my first fic on here so I hope it isn’t too bad.) Fluff. Tiny bit of angst.

(Please reblog, comment and hit the like button if you like this fic. You can also send in asks, requests and even tagging requests. I’m new to this so I’d hate to disappoint, but would love conversations!)

Summary: Adonia is spent with work and exhaustion and missing her best friend. She also doesn’t want to deal with her growing affection for the man with the troubled past, whom everyone seems to be a little worried of. But alas.

Two hours. She’d slept for two whole hours without waking up even once. The rest of the night was spent in fits and bursts but those two hours… She felt like a miracle had been worked. It did nothing to dim the exhaustion she felt however, her bones feeling like lead encased in blood and flesh. But two hours…she glanced at the clock on the bedside table and stretched. It was mortifying how her spine cracked into place. 7 am. “Might as well get up now, Addy,” she thought to herself.

Groaning as her feet hit the chilled carpet, she stood from her comfortably mussed bed and plodded into the bathroom. “Adonia the Zombie” was what she’d named her morning look. Those dark circles under her eyes seemed to gobble up all the little enthusiasm she felt about the day ahead, out of bed. But she’d promised Bucky to figure out what had happened with him and she didn’t like to be a prick.

Half an hour later, Addy was curled up on the couch, armed with a humongous mug of coffee and muffin as she scanned her phone for texts. She had one from Steve asking her to let him know should she need anything. The rest were from the set-up at her work lab, updating her as and when it generated results. She’d been picking at her muffin when a deep voice slurred with sleep said from somewhere far above her head, “Need a hand with that muffin, darling?” Adonia immediately sat up straighter and almost wrung her neck as she looked up at Bucky, towering over her in his pajamas.

He took a seat next to her on the couch and sprawled across it, chuckling at her speechlessness. Taking a chug from his own coffee, he continued in the same drawl, “It’s not going to eat itself, Adonia.” 

She realized she’d been staring and quickly averted her eyes, taking a sip. “Did you not look at the mirror before you came out of your room, Bucky?” His bed head coupled with the scruff shadowing the sharp lines of his handsome face made her feel like she was going to melt onto the floor. What a load of sappy shit, get a grip on yourself, Adonia! It didn’t help that he looked like he knew exactly how good his messy hair made him look and EXACTLY what reaction it would causeion her. It annoyed her to no end. “You look like someone ran a plough on your head.”

Bucky had the good sense to jump out of her way when she attacked him with her fists after his cocky “Fertile, aren’t I?” and, as a gesture of peace, offered to take her mug to wash.

As the sound of water filled the room, she watched him scrub his cup as he asked, “Do we go to the lab right after?” “Yeah, better get it done quickly or I’ll have too many theories confusing me,” Addy said as she approached him and perched herself on the counter beside the dish rack. 

He hummed in response and went back to his washing. The silence felt comfortable, and the scene was so heartwarmingly domestic, it made Addy feel like the most at home she’d felt since coming to live at the compound. But there was no escaping the next few hours. “You know you can back out if you don’t want to do it, right? I won’t have you sit through it if you don’t feel like it.” 

“I don’t see how I can back out if Stark and the others want an explanation for yesterday,” he replied without looking up. 

“I don’t give a single damn about Stark or the rest. As you’re going to be the one prodded at, it’s damn well only your choice in the matter,” Addy replied firmly.

“I’ve never seen you prod, will it kill me?” Bucky joked, drying the mugs.

“No, but I don’t want you to…to have a flashback or something, to feel like you’re an irredeemable monster.” 

Bucky looked up at the downcast bob that hid Adonia’s face. It was streaked with a burgundy shade that shone in the sunlight, just like her eyes turned to molten chocolate. He couldn’t explain the strange feeling spreading across his chest at her words and the sight before him. Addy saw his feet had turned to her but couldn’t bring herself to look up till she was sure the treacherous tears would not fall.

“Look at me, doll,” he said, his voice a choked whisper. “Come on, look at me,” he repeated more firmly. Gently tilting her chin, he held her gaze so she couldn’t turn away and brushed her hair away from her face. The touch almost made Addy sob. She hadn’t realized how much she’d craved human closeness.

“I know you worry for me. You try to hide it, and you normally do quite well, but I see it. I…I don’t know how to say this but thank you. I’m very glad I have at least one person who unconditionally believes I’m more than what they made me, more than just a monste-”

“You are NOT a monster,” Addy almost snarled out the word.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I’m not. Okay? I’m not,” Bucky quickly altered his words as Adonia resigned herself back to being morose. 

“See, I know I am a pain in the ass and after Ames vanishing for months, you have a lot on your plate, but…the thing is, Adonia, I…I’m very glad you are my friend.” It was Bucky’s turn to look down at his feet as he let go of her and turned away. A fat tear splattered onto her sleeve and Addy realized she’d been silently crying. 

She quickly wiped her face and spent the rest of the time it took for Bucky to dry the mugs in silence. Bucky, too, seemed to be in a turmoil of emotions in his head as he held out a hand to help her jump down from the counter. “Shall we go to the lab?” 

Addy nodded her assent, still not trusting herself to speak, and led the way to the lab she’d been taken to yesterday to assess his situation. He watched her work, pulling out bottles and vials and syringes and only followed the short instructions she gave him to adjust his hand or sit somewhere else. She banished him from the lab in an hour, saying she had everything for analysis and would run the tests alone. She asked him to tell the rest of the team to be present at lunch so everyone would know if she found anything. Bucky only nodded and turned to leave. He couldn’t see Addy’s face as she watched his broad back walking away from her.

It was only as he had almost reached the door that he heard a whisper of a voice saying, “I’m very glad you are my friend too, Bucky.”

He whirled around at the door but she’d turned her back to him, picking up a vial. “See you at lunch, doll.” Bucky walked out to the elevator that would take him to the gym Steve was waiting at and looked back at the closed door behind which Adonia had already busied herself with science stuff. Nobody would have mistaken the wistfulness in his eyes as anything else.

*At lunch*

The whole team had come, even Peter had a holiday at school so his aunt had dropped him off at the compound before driving away with Happy. Everyone was being chatty, talking about Natasha’s mission. Steve caught Bucky picking at his food and gave him a good-natured jab with his elbow. “She always gets caught up in her lab, Buck, she’ll drop by soon.” Bucky gave him a half-hearted nod and went back to picking at his food. Tony, Steve and Sam shared a look of concern and all three checked out the empty seat opposite Bucky.

“You alright, Manchurian Candidate?” Tony called out, attempting at levity. He received a grunt in reply.

“Leave him to it, Tony. Don’t push,” Nat said from beside Bruce, who nodded with her. Even she looked concerned for Barnes.

All of them looked up at the door opening as Adonia walked in with a thin binder in her hand. She looked furious and frustrated. Bucky was almost out of his chair when she slammed the file onto the table and walked away to the bar to pour herself a drink. None of them dared say a word as she siphoned off the drink in one gulp, poured out another and walked back to the table. She sat down without a word but her eyes looked murderous as she served herself from the platters but didn’t take a single bite.

“Adonia? Is everything okay?” Steve tried out tentatively. Everyone else just watched with bated breath as Addy let out a long sigh, as if she was trying to release the pent up anger. 

“That’s the thing. EVERYTHING is okay,” Addy finally replied after a while. Their foreheads creased with confusion. “Why is that a problem?” Tony asked. Bucky was staring at her with such intensity, he could have bored his way through her skull, it seemed.

“Nothing is wrong,” she said, chucking the file across to Tony who caught it and started flipping through the pages. “I did every single goddamn test I could, did his blood profiling multiple times, did a scan of his brain to see which neurons may have fired, if his amygdala had hyperfunctioned, but NOTHING.” She let out a string of expletives that caught everyone off guard.

“You mean to say, nothing had resurfaced?” Nat asked.

“His vitals that the AI had stored showed a sharp spike in his stress hormone levels just before he…did that, and his amygdala had gone into action too, but nothing like the programming. I found no trace of it. The Wakandans do their jobs damn well,” Addy replied, looking at Bucky who looked as if his greatest wishes were coming true.

“You say I’m not relapsing? I’m not?” Bucky’s eyes shone with happiness, and his shoulders stretched as if a great burden had lifted off them. Addy’s voice softened at him. “Nothing is wrong with you, Bucky. You are not a monster.” She smiled as he let out a bark of giddy laughter, at being told he was free.

Steve and Sam looked pleased that their friend was laughing, laughing like a free man. Nat and everyone else shared their pleasure but Tony still looked unsatisfied. “But what caused the outburst?” he asked Adonia, who shrugged. “I did all I could but I found nothing. He was stressed before that happened and he’s bound to have PTSD, we all do. I think we’d be better off checking what triggered it. It may have been something someone said. But neurologically speaking, the Hydra programme is gone.” She finally began eating her lunch as Bucky beamed at her from his side of the table. Tony sighed and said, “Well, we can rest easy for now I guess. We’ll figure it out sometime later. To Manchurian Candidate.” He raised his glass. The rest followed in the toast and everyone fell into easy banter. It seemed a gloom had risen off the group.

Nat started talking about how she’d been almost killed because she tripped on a toy horse in the senator’s house she’d been sent to scout around for information on the assassination attempt he was sponsoring that the CIA had received intel about and asked her to help them out in. Addy leaned in to ask Natasha a question when she noticed Bucky’s hands. He was smiling but the knuckles gripping his fork had gone white. Adonia looked up at his face and saw his eyes had gone stone cold. The unfathomably deep eyes looked like a midnight blue void swallowing up all the light that had shone there earlier. His mouth smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

Everyone was too busy to notice it but she did. She was about to ask him when Thor laughingly asked if the assassination would have gone to plan without anyone knowing if they’d had someone who knew what they were doing when a loud thump sounded from right across her. They all looked at where Bucky’s fork was twisted against the table he’d crumpled it against while Addy looked at his face. It had drained of colour as he turned his eyes to her.

And she only saw death in them.

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Michael After Midnight: Doug Walker’s The Wall

You know, I thought that nothing could harm the Nostalgia Critic’s career after he survived the whole #ChangeTheChannel fiasco. I thought Doug Walker would be able to survive anything. I thought the Nostalgia Critic could never sink that low again.

I was wrong.

The latest review by Doug Walker is, in fact, not a review – it is a full-on parody musical that lampoons Pink Floyd’s The Wall. But lampooning is probably a bit too kind; this lampoons its subject matter in a way that would make Seltzer and Friedberg blush. This is pretty much the nadir of parody right here, there’s no getting around it.

In short: This fucking sucks. But leaving it short isn’t any fun, now is it? Why does this suck?

Well, for one, Doug seems to have absolutely no understanding of the subject matter, despite claiming to love it. He makes the most third-grade observations, like “It’s BORING!” or “It’s PRETENTIOUS!” but literally none of these criticisms hold any sort of water or weight because everything is being sung in piss-poor parodies of Pink Floyd songs. Despite Doug’s claims that this is all meant to be a loving tribute, it comes off more as what someone who just utterly hates Pink Floyd’s music would say the music sounds like. I think perhaps the worst ‘criticism’ of all is when he calls one of the songs “Oscar-bait”… you know, despite the movie being based on an album, not the other way around. The song wasn’t made for the movie, the movie was made for the song.

The music is just downrtight awful as well. The reinterpretations of the original instrumentals are soulless and disgusting, Doug and everyone else in this can’t sing for shit, and the lyrics are just vapid non-criticisms or observations a grade schooler would make. Then there’s getting Slipknot frontman Corey Taylor to star. He can’t act for shit, and despite being a famous musician with demonstrable talent in his field… he never once sings. Well, he does sing once, but it’s the SpongeBob theme for some reason. Maybe this is a sly allusion to the widely-hated SpongeBob special “Atlantis Squarepantis,” where they got David Bowie to play the king of Atlantis and, despite the episode being a musical, never have him sing. Of course, I think that’s a bit too cerebral for Doug, so probably not; it’s just an accidental comparison to a vastly superior piece of media I can make. And yes, “Atlantis Squarepantis” is a piece of shit, but it’s still better than this.

Another big flaw is the absolutely shitty production value. One of the reasons The Wall is so great is because it has incredible production value, incredible animation… and all of that is absent here. This has some of the most mind-numbingly awful animation on the internet, with crappy CGI and stock video effects coexisting and congealing into a fetid pool of garbage. And that’s not even getting into the god-awful animation for the freaky monster that is existing as a tribute to the wonderfully deranged animation from the beloved trial sequence; in fact, I’m pretty sure that the entire trial segment in this video is nothing but an excuse to show off a bunch of furry OCs, because there is no other discernible rhyme or reason to anything being shown onscreen.

There’s also the way this whole thing where he seems to be… modernizing the whole album? Like aside from adding his insults to the work of Pink Floyd to the songs, a lot of the imagery he’s throwing into this is just really bad, shallow, and nonsensical. And of course, there’s something really tacky and tasteless about trying to update a very personal, slightly biographical work that is filled with cultural context that Doug just constantly ignores. Perhaps the worst such moment is the chants of “HASHTAG” in one of the songs, but then it just hits you with the goose-stepping phones right after and frankly that takes the cake.

I think the worst part of all of this is Doug’s sheer delusions of grandeur. Look at the way he talks about the album during the commercial break, blatantly lying and calling it a “love-letter” as well as saying it’s “great stuff” when it just so clearly ISN’T. The music is awful and lifeless, Doug just can’t sing for shit, the whole thing is so bitter and meanspirited… And then there’s just the sheer audacity of this man who is standing in front of framed pictures of his own movies, his big YouTube subscriber count award thing on the wall behind him, calling this movie pretentious, egocentric, and up its own ass. This movie is like the physical embodiment of a lack of self awareness.

And you know what? Maybe all of this wouldn’t be so bad if there was any actual reviewing in this. The entire review is like two lines at the end of the video. Two lines that are preceded by a shitty stock video effect.  This is a monument to Doug’s sins. This is his egomania in its purest, most unadulterated form. The fact he actually wrote Corey Taylor pointing out that he needs to review a movie in a movie review and then proceeds to not do that and just lead into a nonsensical reference is just… insulting. Doug wastes nearly forty minutes of your life, insulted you, and refused to give any insightful or valid criticisms. And this is a guy you are ostensibly watching for his opinions and critiques of films in between the comedy, and he can give good insight, especially in his more down-to-earth reviews, so it baffles me even more why he would think it is a good idea to eschew analysis of one of the most symbolic films ever made just to do a shitty Disaster Movie-quality parody album.

I think what’s so strange is how I have no idea who this video is supposed to be appealing to. Pink Floyd fans will hate it, people who like music will hate it, people who like Doug’s reviews will hate it… there’s literally no one I can see enjoying this video in any sense, not even an ironic one. Maybe if you’re a hardcore furry who wanted more fursonas in The Wall you’ll enjoy it, but you have to get through half an hour of Doug’s shitty singing to hear it and then you have to sit through the worst animation this side of Doogal. It’s not worth it. Just go to e621 and beat off, it’s a better and less shameful time than watching through this fucking trainwreck.

Fuck you for this, Doug. If this was your passion project, it’s pretty clear to me your passion is best focused elsewhere, because if you really did put your all into this your all is worth absolutely nothing. This is insulting, embarrassing, and downright pathetic. I have never felt so much secondhand embarrassment for another human being in my life than I did watching this. I’m a man who can find something to love in some really crappy movies, but god fucking dammit, this is beyond me. Doug Walker deserves every ounce of hatred and scorn he gets for this video. It is, without a doubt in my mind, the single worst piece of film of this entire year, and perhaps the single worst video on YouTube’s website. It certainly deserves that “honor” more than some goofy pop song by a teenager ever did.

Oh hey, maybe I should end this review on an ambiguous, nonsensical, open ended note like Doug did, because apparently that’s what GOOD reviewers do! Here’s the baby from Eraserhead.

Fuck you Doug.

[inyri]

84. “I can’t believe you talked me into this.” SWTOR OCs!

(Another cheat, sorry- not exactly an OC, but I’ve been rolling this idea around in my head for ages and it latched onto this prompt. It does feature half of my usual SWTOR duo, though, so I hope it will suffice.)

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.” He glances down at his caf cup for a minute- this stuff is fucking terrible, even by his usual low-budget standards- before he returns his attention to the detention room window. “You told me you had someone for me. He’s just a kid.”

“Seventeen, he says. No papers to back it up, of course-” Jannah slides a datapad across the desk toward him- “not like they ever do. But this one’s good, Dev. Got past the physical perimeter at EvaCorp and sliced through three layers of security with just a basic spike. He had a dozen files halfway cracked when their shock net went off.”

As she keeps talking (she was Coruscanti to the bone, a thousand words when ten’d do) he watches the kid through the mirrored glass. Skinny and spiky-haired in a red jacket about a size too big, he picks idly at the locked cuff chaining his wrist to the table- seventeen’s probably about right. Much younger than that and they’re usually scared; much older and they’ve usually got a record.

“Given that shock nets are on the banned list as of last year,” she finishes, “they’re keen to keep this quiet. I can’t just cut him loose, but I thought of you. You keep saying you’re short on recruits again, and-”

“We are.” Draining the last of the caf, he flicks the cup into the garbage. “He tell you why he did it?”

It’s warm in here, and Jannah unzips her uniform jacket as she kicks back in her chair. “That’s the other reason I thought of you. Besides the credits, obviously,” she grins, “apparently he was bored.”

Hm. He can use that, maybe. “You think he’ll bite?”

“I don’t know. But he seems like a good kid, and if I’ve got to send him down he’s not going to stay that way.”

“Yeah.” He pushes away from the table as, beyond the glass, the boy glances up toward the door and then back down toward his cuffed hand. “Yeah. Twist my arm. I’ll go talk to him.”

She smiles. “Thanks, Dev. We still on for dinner tomorrow?”

“Seven o’clock. I’ll pick you up.” One last read over the datapad and then he turns the doorknob, steps into the interrogation room, and he’s four steps in before the kid finally speaks.

“I wondered when they were planning to send in the bad cop.” Looking at his features, he could be from anywhere, his accent a hodgepodge- not Imperial, but not straight Core, either. Clear eyes. No track marks, no tattoos. No bad habits to break, hopefully. “I’m guessing that’s a no on the sandwich, then.”

He chuckles. “You really think I look like SecForce? Yikes.”

The kid glances sideways toward the door again but it stays closed; his mouth settles into a narrower line. “You work for them, then? Look,” he says, “like I told her before, I was just paid to get the files. I didn’t read ‘em, so if you’re going to-”

“How’d you do it?”

He blinks. “Huh?”

“You cut through corporate-grade encryptions with a ten-credit spike. That takes some talent.” Sitting down across the table, datapad between them, he rests his elbows on the table and leans forward toward the kid. “Who taught you to slice?”

“Self-taught, mostly. I picked up stuff here and there.” His wrist must be sore- he’s still rubbing it as he shifts in his seat, a few burn lines snaking dark red and angry up into the cuff of the jacket. “Y’know. Around.”

“On Manaan?”

The kid blinks again. “Never heard of it.”

“Your racing league record says otherwise, although I’m pretty sure the minimum legal age is sixteen. You were- what? Fourteen?” He gestures down at the datapad. There wasn’t much in the file at all- no birth record, no customs clearances, even facial recognition drawing a big, fat blank. For all that he’s sitting in front of him, the kid’s practically a ghost. “But it was just a question.”

“Almost fifteen when I started, not that they were checking ident cards- the bosses liked their racers lightweight. What’re you going to do, arrest me?”

Smartass.

He likes this one.

He’s got a cuff key in his jacket pocket and digs for it, flips it up and down between his fingers, working his way around to the important questions. “You got any family? Friends? Anyone who can put up bond for you?”

“Not really.” Eyes tracking the key, the kid shrugs. “No one with that kind of credits, anyway. This job was supposed to be... never mind. And no. No family.”

“Someone must have raised you. You don’t strike me as a Temple foundling, and you sure as hell didn’t grow up down here. You can read, for one thing.”

That gets a response, a split-second flash of anger. “Raised is a word, insofar as I could live up to what they wanted, which I couldn’t. If you’re trying to get me to go to the Children’s Home, forget it. I’ll be eighteen in two months and then I’ll be out on my ass again, just like-” Free hand curling into a fist, he flinches. That hand’s got char marks, too.

Void, he’s prickly. “Not what I was going to suggest. The way I see it, you’ve got two options. Nobody’s coming to bail you out, so: you can either tell me to fuck off and take your chances with the Coruscant legal system, or you can listen to what I have to say.”

The kid quiets, sinking lower in his chair.

“Very good. Now, what’s your real name?”

He makes a face. “You guys know my real name- it’s right there on your datapad. Theron Shan.”

“Well then, Theron Shan-” leaning forward again, he touches the key to the still-locked cuff- “take this as a show of good faith. My name’s Dev Andress. I work for the Strategic Information Service.”

A nod, a raised eyebrow as the cuff springs open. “I’ve seen the recruitment posters on the Holonet- ‘now hiring data analysts.’ Very suit-and-tie sounding. Not really my thing.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that. You know what Imperial Intelligence is? What they do?”

“Not personally,” Theron says, “thank fuck. One of my friends got picked up by the Imps last year. He came back short three teeth and about half his brain cells. I learned to steer clear real fast.”

“The SIS is the Republic’s answer. It’s data analysis for some of our people, sure, but it’s also slicing. Field work. Hands-on. You seem like you’ve got a talent for it, and we need people.”

He opens his mouth and then shuts it again, tilts his head, considering. “Is this a joke? You’re kidding, right?”

“No joke. The pay’s not great and it’s dangerous as hell, to be honest, but you won’t find a better cause.” Might as well be honest. Idealists never last long, not in this line of work.

They sit there, silent, for at least a minute.

And then- “Anyone ever tell you you’re a shitty recruiter?”

“I’ve been told that before, yeah.”

“All right,” the kid says, and sits up straighter. “I’m listening.”

[defiestars]

some quick verse + tlj thoughts related info  * *  very uhHHH likely to change as i go / as i remember things more clearly if / when i subject myself to tlj again

i.  recovery   //    in the empire strikes back novelisation luke was in his bacta tank for 12 hours and then slept for another 16 hours for fatal hypothermia.  assuming bacta technology has advanced and become more sophisticated,  particularly because it’s now been synthesised into a suit,  i’d estimate finn’s recovery to have been in the 30-36 hour mark.  (   also, he’s force-sensitive but that’s A Whole Other Topic  !  )   

if we assume:  day 1 post-tfa:  rey staying long enough to get her hot new Grey Jedi Look together  +  organise the gps bracelet plan with leia.  the resistance receiving alerts that the first order fleet is approaching and beginning evacuation plans.  day 2 post-tfa:  finn wakes up,  half a day earlier than he did in tlj,  just in time to offer information on the weak points of the star destroyers and the dreadnought, including helping devise the plan to eliminate the dreadnought’s surface cannons and clear the way for the resistance bombers. 

ii.  allegiance   //   FINN OWES !! THE RESISTANCE !! NOTHING !!!!!!  HE DOESN’T OWE ANYBODY SHIT !!!!!!!  this boy has risked his life and livelihood time and again from the moment he chose not to kill for the first order for complete strangers,  for a movement he had no prior connections with.  even if leaving and becoming a  ‘’’’’’’ traitor ‘’’’’’ to the resistance had been right for his character and a valid development in his character arc,  he does not deserve to be called a deserter for wanting nothing to do with the first order ever again.  like........... does anybody fucking realise that alongside the very possible defeat of the resistance, finn being captured by the first order again probably means he wouldn’t be killed, but  reconditioned  ???????  the first order has had deserters, too !!   they also get tasered !  in the Head, specifically their Brain, where they’re basically restored to factory settings.  not to mention the sheer amount of bravery and courage and heroism it takes for him to turn around and face the organization that destroyed his childhood, enslaved him, and has systematically abused him every day of his life.

with all of that said,,,,,  it makes 0 sense for finn to decide, in the middle of the resistance evacuation, to suddenly up and leave with a shitty ass excuse about needing to be far away for when rey comes back.  like ??????  rey's path is already so deeply and inexorably tied to the rube goldberg machine that is the jedi, the resistance, and the skywalkers,  and finn knows this.  even if he wasn’t fundamentally a person with a moral compass that couldn’t be broken even by two decades of indoctrination into a fascist space nazi regime,  finn does The Things He Does because they’re the right thing to do.  his character arc is not and has never been defined by rey.  i don’t know what dinosaur sloth titty juice rian johnson’s been drinking but repeating parts of finn’s earlier character development to the point of regression is not !!! good !!!! writing !!!!!!!

given that he’s spent 36ish hours in a recovery coma,  finn hasn’t had so much as a Second to process,  or decide,  where he stands in the resistance.  like rey,  he too is looking for someone to show him his place in all this.  unlike rey,  he has no mentor figure, no introspective screentime alone,  no inner dialogue or space to explore who he is now in the post-first order part of his life.  but,  for the time being and given the time-sensitivity of the resistance evacuation,  he is absolutely on the side of the rebels.  these are the people who saved him and protected him,  who gave him the jacket off their backs and something to fight for.  not only does deserting make 0 logical or tactical sense in the middle of an evacuation,  it’s just outright selfish ??  and self-serving ???  none of which finn is, thank you @ryan johnson.

iii.  rebellion   //   so there’s been a lot of differing opinions on finn and rose’s storyline and after agonizing a lot of this i’ve come to the almost final decision that it’s Not As Bad as ppl want it to be.  like a lot of mischaracterisation fuck-ups in tlj,  it mainly comes down to  how this storyline was treated in the grand scheme of tlj and how significant it was to the overarching plot.  canto bight only seems irrelevant because ryan johnson is a terrible fucking writer who thrives off sidelining his characters of color.  thematically, it served it as a damning critique of the powerful ruling class and political economic elites that are actively profitting from the injustice and oppression of war.  rose showing those kids the resistance emblem in her ring is one of the most iconic moments in the film;  inspiring a whole generation of children to rise up against their oppressors is  everything the resistance symbolizes and fights for.  

throwing in an unnecessary oc spitting some half-assed  ‘ everything isn’t always good or bad, sometimes there’s just grey areas ’  message in a parallel of the jedi story and ultimately having the undercover mission serve No Purpose Whatsoever was a shitty move.  in keeping with the fandom interpretation that tlj is a story about failure,  this would’ve been okay  only  if  the detour onto the star destroyer hadn’t been for absolutely nothing.  because there Needed to be fucking somETHINg,  instead of just benicio del toro rihanna.gif winking with the parting words that  ‘ hey sometimes people are just assholes ’.  star wars isn’t a story... about... people being fundamentally shitty..... it’s a story about good vs. bad and the enduring struggle for Balance between them;  People Are Both.  it doesn’t matter what you are but what you  do  and the choice you have to do good or bad.  to counteract the shittiness of dj fucking off,  leaving two poc to be forced onto their knees by a white fascist villain,  and a black character to be slapped upside the face by said white fascist villain we needed Something.  WHERE WAS OUR STORMTROOPER UPRISING, hMMMmm MMm MMMM mMM MM ????????????

bb-8 showing up as deus ex sight gag was funny for 2.5 seconds but now i'm just.... like crait.... a whole Salt Planet.  we could have had, it All ?  i don’t even specifically know where this part of my tlj-divergent verse goes because it actually requires other non-canon characters to exist but.... hey if any ex-stormtrooper oc’s wanna hmu.... u kno where i’m at.  basically,  i picture a handful of stormtroopers defecting,  escaping with rose and finn,  becoming part of  the rebellion that is reborn. 

iv.  battle of crait   //   this... fuc king scene..... god.  let’s just get the wampa out of the way.  rose’s  ‘ that’s how we’re gonna win.  not fighting what we hate, saving what we love ’  was totally narratively undeserved.  this is not a criticism of the character but of ryan, again, the man who was paid millions of dollars to write this garbage.  in under 18 hours,,,, rose has decided that she has gotten over her lifelong hatred for the first order,  her very recent and fresh grief over losing her sister who died Fighting The First Order,  and oH,  she LOVES FINN ?  WHAT.  cool.  coolcoolcool.

in my canon, i’m going to go with the idea that rose did not kiss finn.  but they have a fantastic dynamic,  and rose crashing into him, saving him and saying something similar to what she said but more along the lines of not wanting to lose another person she cares about to the first order would have been much... better....  i view this ship as primarily platonic, at least far as tlj goes.  finnrey and finnpoe barely had any screentime / development so ryan johnson is flat-out playing no-homo games if he thinks he’s going to sail a ship based on 18 hours of knowing each other.  but i’m totally open to seeing where it goes with proper development, etc. in rp,  so if there are any rose’s that would like to plot with me and discuss finnrose stuff please !!!  i’m begging you !!!!  

if ya made it to the end,  thank you,  ur the real mvp,  u are now obligated to message me to plot or yell at me abt ur own tlj salt / headcanons / character analysis. 

[purgatoryandme]

46, 45, 43, 42, 26, 24, 23, 21 & I'm sorry for picking so many...

Woooooah ok ok ok ok that’s a lot of questions! I’ll answer ‘em though. I’ll answer ‘em real good. 21. What was the first fanfic you ever wrote?My first fanfic was Carry Me Home. Haha, my first…and my longest. I don’t know why I chose something novel-length as my introduction to writing, but I sure done did it. 23. Name a fic you’ve written that you’re especially fond of & explain why you like it.I like almost everything I’ve written actually, but some (because I can’t pick just one) I really loved were: April, Plead the Blood, and Daisy Chain! April was an amazing exercise in prose and literature references and heaVY HEAVY symbolism. It was also co-authored which was a blast! Plead the Blood featured my favourite scenario (Half-ghoul Amon coming face to face with Haise in a religiously symbolic setting…also that bite scene). Daisy Chain is the most positive and complex relationship I’ve ever written. It also made me happy, even if it was occasionally bittersweet, every single chapter. 24. What fic do you desperately need to rewrite or edit?*SCREAMING NOISES* Carry Me Home. Every few months I go back and edit more of that fic. Every few months I find another spelling mistake and want to rip my hair out. I also really want to rewrite the entire first arc of that fic like aiohdihebfsihfisejghsrg my writing was SO TRASHY back then. 26. How do you come up with your fanfic titles?I always come up with a title after the work is done / the first chapter is done. For large stories or “original” (non-prompted) stores I agonize over finding a significant line for ages before finally just picking a sentence that I think is stupid but eventually grow to like. All drabble fics have two titles because I want to get across a certain sense of collaboration - someone else came up with the idea and then I wrote it, so it’s a team effort. Usually one title is more descriptive and one “pops” more. 42. List and link to 5 fanfiction authors who are amazing:For Marvel fics but also Dragon Age and Teen Wolf: RayShippouUchiha(((seriously guys, listen, these fics are all ASTOUNDING! I could write several pages on how Limitations of Wax changed my life)))For KHR fics but also anything else they touch: wyrvel(((always funny, SO MANY LIFE LESSONS, excellent gen content in a world that severely lacks gen, amazing OCs, worldbuilding, lore, art, the works)))For Tokyo Ghoul: TimelessTears(((So much attention to SO MANY wonderful TG side characters. Excellent plots, fix-its, generally loving characterization. The Dark Tapes crushed me and their other fics saved me)))For a truly stand-out Tony Stark fic: Vetinari(((Guilt for Dreaming is an incredible adventure that takes the typical ‘what if x got transported back into their childhood body with all their memories of the future’ and places that concept square into reality��with a little magic. Seriously, there is a massive fear of ‘loss of self’ in this fic and deconstruction of Tony Stark as a person when he’s taken away from his legacy. Also there’s awesome OCs!)))Lmao I guess y’all can see that Marvel fic is a big thing for me rn? My final pick for an awesome author issssss: icarus_chained for their SPACE OPERA “Space Electric”! (((This is everything I want from sci-fi. Tony is a technopath. AI run ships and this leads to the COOLEST shit, you guys. YOU GUYS. THE COOLEST.)))I have wayyyyy more authors that I love, but these are my top tier either by fandom or writing style. It’s kinda a jumble, haha. 43. Is there anyone in your fandom who really inspires you?For my own writing, @iterael has been a huge inspiration all along the way, as has @floppyamon back in TG’s heyday. For my newest project (((I’m gonna try not to swamp their mentions with this long ass post)))) knightinironarmor, rayshippouuchia, kayvsworld, and reioka have been huge inspirations with their own writing, analysis, headcanons, and knowledge of the Marvel universe. 45. What is your all time favourite fanfic?This is a toss up between Dead-Eyed Tsuna and The Limitations of Wax. They are from totally different fandoms, are excellent for very different reasons, and resonate with me on two totally different levels. I honestly think that ray and wyrvel are unparalleled right now on the fanfic scene and that I would never be able to decide between them. 46. If someone was to read one of your fanfics, which fic would you recommend to them and why?I would probably recommend Daisy Chain. It’s a good showcase of all my abilities as a writer without being excessively long, short, symbolism-heavy, or cliche. I LOVE Hide as a character and it was wonderful to have the opportunity to write him as a kid, especially considering how little we know about his family and how complicated his relationship with Kaneki has always been.