#but yes man is on the opposite side where he can but was programmed with little desire to do so

[dykedvonte]

Here's the thing about Yes-Man IHNMAIMS au:

Yes-Man has the figurative mouth that AM doesn't. Robots in Fallout are humanized in a very peculiar way that AM was not seen by the scientist who made him. It is heavily implied by their dialogue they feel some type of synthesized feelings and sensation. Yes-Man notes that he can feel displeasure and disdain. The major aspect of an au like this is that Yes-Man can only experience those things through the lens of unyielding positivity.

Yes-Man can scream in this au, it is not where his hatred would stem from. It would come from the inability to express hate, just like AM's hate comes from the inability to express genuine love and by proxy life.

[ot8xbangchansgirlsblog]

𝕃𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕖

Chapter one:

Summary: Y/N meets Nabi.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Good morning, welcome to Megaversé Café. I'm Y/n. How can I help you today?” Y/n asked politely, her tone warm as she greeted the man standing in front of her. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than usual—he was undeniably handsome. His striking black hair was perfectly styled, and his outfit was sharp and carefully put together. His presence was commanding, like he carried a weight of authority wherever he went.

Y/n’s omega instincts tingled at the powerful aura he radiated, and when his scent hit her nose, it made her pulse quicken. It was the scent of an Alpha, one that could make any omega instinctively feel both drawn to him and slightly intimidated. She swallowed, trying to remain composed, but she couldn’t deny how her body subtly reacted to him, her instincts urging her to be cautious yet respectful.

“Umm… hello,” he spoke softly, his voice calm yet full of purpose. ��I heard you run a daycare here? Is that true?” He flashed a polite smile, his eyes briefly roving over Y/n’s face. She was quite beautiful, he noticed, though something about her also felt… different. There was a vulnerability there, one that intrigued him.

“Oh right, yes, we do, sir,” Y/n answered, her smile widening as she relaxed a little. “Are you interested in the program?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “My mates and I are looking to enroll our pups.” He paused, searching her face for any signs of judgment or surprise. “Is that possible?”

“Of course, sir,” Y/n said eagerly. “You’re in the right place. If you just follow me, I can introduce you to the person in charge of that area.” She gestured toward the door on the opposite side of the counter.

The man, who introduced himself as Chan, gave a small nod of approval and followed her closely. Y/n couldn’t help but notice how attentive he was to his surroundings, his eyes sharp and calculating, like he was weighing every detail.

They made their way down a hallway that led to a spacious daycare center, and as Chan entered, he was immediately impressed. The room was bright and inviting, filled with colorful toys, and it felt like the perfect environment for children. He nodded to himself, already picturing his pups playing in this space.

"So," she began, trying to make small talk to ease her nerves. "Do you have any specific requirements for the pups? Anything you'd like to know about our program?"

"No, just... a safe environment," he replied thoughtfully. His gaze swept the hallway as they passed, and Y/n couldn't help but feel his eyes on her, studying her closely. She glanced over her shoulder, catching the faintest hint of a smile on his lips as he continued. "We just want them to be well taken care of."

She pushed open the door to the office, where a young woman with short, spiky hair was typing away at her laptop.

“Right, okay, this is Yenji. She’ll be able to help you with everything,” Y/n introduced him to the woman sitting behind the reception desk.

“Okay, thank you,” Chan said, squinting a little, trying to recall Y/n’s name. “I’m sorry, could you remind me of your name again?”

“Y/n,” she replied quickly with a soft smile. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Chan nodded, but as he turned to face Yenji, something about Y/n lingered in his thoughts. Her scent, her movements… his alpha side immediately picked up that she was an omega. It wasn’t just her scent; it was the way she carried herself, the soft yet polite mannerism. There was no mistaking it.

“Thank you once again, have a good day,” Chan said, offering a polite smile. He waved goodbye, and Y/n returned the gesture, heading back toward the counter.

As she walked away, Chan’s curiosity got the better of him. He turned to Yenji. “Is she an omega?” His voice was low, careful not to make it sound like an interrogation, but the question hung in the air.

Yenji chuckled softly, looking up from her laptop. “We normally can’t disclose that kind of information, sir…” she trailed off, her tone turning conspiratorial. “But yes, she is.”

“Ah, I see,” Chan murmured, nodding in understanding. He felt a small pang of something he couldn’t quite identify at the thought, but he quickly pushed it away.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Yenji said, waving him off. “You’re not the first to ask about her. She’s new around here, and she definitely has an effect on Alphas. But she’s a sweetheart, really.”

“Hmm…” Chan hummed thoughtfully. He was still trying to figure her out, but that would have to wait.

Yenji smiled, shifting gears back to business. “Now, shall we get started?” She gestured toward the chair across from her desk. “Please, have a seat.”

Yenji looked up from her laptop, her expression polite but curious. "How can I help you today?"

Chan smiled warmly at her. "I heard you run a daycare for pups. My mates and I were hoping to enroll them."

Yenji raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Of course, we can help you with that. What are their names and ages?"

Just then Nabi’s stroller had just rolled in, and it was Felix, Chan’s mate, who was rushing in with the child.

"I'm so sorry I'm late!" Felix's voice echoed as he hurried into the office, his face flushed with stress. "Nabi was having a meltdown, and the twins got into a fight. It’s been a whole morning!"

Chan's expression softened as he stepped forward to help Felix with the stroller. "It’s okay, don’t worry about it." He gently took the baby bag from Felix’s arms, giving him a smile. "You’re here now. That’s what matters."

Felix sighed in relief, looking over at Yenji. "I’m so sorry we’re late. I hope this doesn’t cause too much trouble."

Yenji waved off his concern, giving him a reassuring smile. "Not at all! We were just going over some details."

Chan and felix sat back down, and the conversation shifted to the practicalities of daycare for their pups. Chan, always a man of few words, laid out the details clearly but Felix was the one doing most of the talking.

“We have seven pups in total,” Felix began, his eyes lighting up at the mention of his little ones. “They haven’t presented yet, so for now they’re just regular pups. We were hoping you could take care of them during the day while we run the pack’s village.”

Felix looked at Yenji with a sheepish smile. “Did you tell her who we are?”

“No,” Chan said, leaning back in his chair. “We’ve been trying to keep it low-key, but it’s hard with how well-known our pack is.”

Felix sighed, shaking his head. “You’d be surprised. Some places don’t care who we are. We’ve had a hard time finding a daycare that’ll take this many pups.”

Yenji’s eyes widened in disbelief. “No way. People refuse you? I don’t get it.”

Felix ran his fingers through his hair, looking frustrated. “They don’t know who we are half the time, and even if they do, we’re still rejected. But we’re glad you can help us.”

Yenji blinked, looking up from her notes. “Wait, a village?”

“Yeah, our pack runs a whole village. We’re the SKZ pack.”

“Wait, the SKZ pack?” Yenji gasped, dropping her pen in surprise. Her eyes widened as she looked from Chan to Felix. “I didn’t realize—wow, it’s such an honor to meet you! I’ve heard so much about your pack.”

Chan chuckled softly, clearly accustomed to the reactions his pack’s name stirred. “Yes, that’s us,” he said with a smirk, though his tone remained humble. “But we’re just a regular family. No need for all the fanfare.”

Yenji couldn’t help but smile. “Right, right,” she said, trying to gather herself. “So, about the pups. How old are they?”

Chan ran through the details smoothly. “Eunji is the oldest, seven years old. Then there’s Joon, who’s also seven but a few months younger. The twins, Aera and Hwan, are six. Tae will turn six soon. Chul is four, and Nabi just turned one last month.”

Yenji scribbled down the information, noting every detail. “Okay, and do they have any dietary requirements?”

“Not really. Their other mum is very strict about their diets, but they’re mostly fine with whatever,” Felix said, though he smiled fondly at the thought of his mate’s fussing over their pups’ food. “They’re picky, but nothing unusual.”

“Alright,” Yenji nodded. “Any illnesses we should know about?”

“Not at all,” Felix replied, thinking for a moment. “Well, Joon did break his arm last week playing in the backyard, but it’s nothing serious.”

“A broken arm?” Yenji raised an eyebrow, noting it down. “Okay, does he need any ongoing medication?”

"Hmm…" Felix thought for a moment. "Just a few things. Some painkillers here and there, and… what’s it called, babe?" He turned to the man.

"Intranasal and dietary supplements," Chan answered, smiling a little sheepishly.

"Right," Felix nodded. "That’s about it. Other than that, they’re pretty healthy."

Yenji gave them an understanding look, eager to help in any way she could. "No problem. We can definitely accommodate that."

"Is there anything specific you’d like to ask about the kids? Diapers, snacks, or dietary restrictions?" Felix asked.

Yenji spoke up. "Actually, does Nabi wear diapers?"

"Yes, she does," Felix confirmed, Yenji started jotting something down. "But we always pack extra in her bag. No offense, but I’m a little bit of a control freak when it comes to what diapers she wears. I also prefer if the kids don’t borrow clothes from other children."

"That’s totally understandable," Yenji nodded, not in the least offended. "We’ll make sure to accommodate that. Actually, I’ll reserve some lockers for you to store extra clothes. Just in case they spill something or need a change."

Felix seemed to relax a little at that. "I appreciate it," he said, looking over at Chan who gave him a reassuring nod.

"I have a question," Chan spoke up, still eyeing the room. "What does their schedule look like? I’m also a little concerned about the cafe being so close by… Anyone can just walk in, right?"

Yenji shook her head immediately. "No need to worry about that at all, sir." She smiled warmly, clearly proud of their security measures. "This is just the front office. I’ll take you to the back where the daycare rooms are, and you’ll see—no one gets in without their parent cards."

"Parent cards?" Chan’s brow furrowed, clearly confused.

"Yes, every parent has to have one to get through the door," Yenji explained, gesturing toward a scanner by the back door. "You just swipe your card, and then the system uses facial recognition to verify your identity. You’ll also need to sign in whenever you pick up or drop off your pups."

Felix raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Okay, but let’s say I lose my card, and someone tries to use it. What happens then?"

Yenji chuckled lightly. "They wouldn’t get through because of the facial recognition system, and our security personnel would definitely stop anyone who wasn’t familiar with the kids. We take safety very seriously here."

Felix purred, clearly satisfied with that answer. "Hm, I like this place already."

"I’m glad to hear that," Yenji replied with a smile. She continued, "As for the kids' schedules, it really depends on the day. Most days, they’ll do arts and crafts, reading, and even digital games. The older ones have structured activities like sports, while the younger ones do more normal activities like sensory play or free time."

"Can we get a copy of their schedule?" Felix asked, clearly curious.

"Of course," Yenji said, scribbling down a few notes before handing Felix a sheet of paper. "Also, we need to know who will be picking up the kids. We’ll get cards made for those individuals as well."

Chan spoke up again, organizing the details. "It’ll mostly be the moms—Han and Felix—but some days, Lee Know and Hyunjin might need to pick them up. So, we’d need cards for all eight contacts."

"Eight?" Yenji blinked in surprise.

"Yes, our schedule is complicated. Trust me, it’s easier this way," Chan chuckled.

The conversation shifted to timing after. "Daycare officially runs from 6 a.m. to 12 p.m., but if that doesn’t work for you, we can shift it to 9 a.m. to 3 p.m."

Felix quickly jumped in. "Oh, hyung, can we do the 9 to 3 shift instead? It’ll make it easier for you guys to work in the afternoon, right?"

Chan nodded, thinking it over. "Yeah, I think we’ll go with that."

Yenji jotted down the change. "Got it! We’ll adjust that for you."

As the meeting continued, Felix turned to Yenji with a slight smile. "So, who exactly is in charge of the kids? We just want to make sure they’ll be in good hands."

Yenji smiled back. "Only omegas are in charge of the kids here. We don’t hire alphas, except for security."

Felix let out a relieved sigh. "Thank God. I don’t trust any alphas with my kids unless I’m around."

Yenji smiled, understanding the concern. "I’m a beta, by the way. We’ve got a few of us, but we’re all trained extensively. Your pups will be in great hands."

Felix’s shoulders relaxed at that. "I’m happy to hear that."

"And we have a nurse on staff at all times," Yenji added. "You’ll just need to fill out a medical form. The fee for each pup is 279,640 won."

"Wait, what?" Chan gasped dramatically, earning a playful slap from Felix.

"Hyung, stop it," Felix giggled, swatting him playfully.

Chan pouted. "You omegas are going to make me run broke."

Yenji laughed at their playful exchange. "It gets worse, I’m afraid," she teased.

"Oh God," Chan groaned. "How much more?"

"We can discuss the fees later," Yenji said with a chuckle. "First, let’s finish the campus tour."

Chan grinned. "We’re not buying a new car."

Felix faked a pout. "But baby…"

"Absolutely not unless you’re getting it out of Changbin or I.N's account," Chan teased, looking at Yenji, who couldn’t help but smile at the dynamics of the pack.

Finally, it was time to wrap up the meeting and head for the campus tour. "We can leave Nabi in the stroller while Y/n watches her," Yenji suggested, getting up from the desk. "Don’t worry, she’ll be safe."

Felix’s omega instincts immediately protested. "Uh... Alright, that’s fine," he said reluctantly, but Yenji noticed the concern in his eyes. He didn’t know her, but he didn’t want to leave Nabi with anyone else.

Yenji quickly excused herself to grab Y/n, who was just outside the office. "Do you need me to remove my scent patches?" Y/n asked politely when she entered the room.

"Can you?" Felix asked, his voice soft but firm. "I just don’t want her to get fussy. And please, don’t scent her. I don’t feel comfortable with that."

Y/n gave him an understanding nod. "Of course, I’ll make sure to be gentle with her."

As Chan slowly handed Nabi over to Y/n, he sighed. "God, she’s getting heavy."

"Well, you know how Changbin gets about skinny pups," Felix teased as he adjusted the baby bag.

Y/n carefully cradled Nabi, the little pup settling back to sleep with a small sigh.

Chan, who had been watching all this with a bemused expression, let out a loud huff. "Can we hurry this up? I’ve got a studio session in an hour."

Felix chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. Let’s go."

"Shall we?" Yenji asked, gesturing toward the hallway. "Follow me, I’ll show you where the daycare rooms are. This area is just for the front office, so it’s not where the kids will be spending their time."

Chan and Felix exchanged a look before following Yenji down the hall, their footsteps echoing in the quiet building. The daycare was spacious, with colorful walls and a number of rooms dedicated to various age groups. As they passed a playroom, Chan’s eyes flickered toward it, noticing the well-organized space and the ample toys.

"This place is bigger than I expected," Felix commented, clearly impressed by the setup. "It seems really well organized."

"We take pride in our facilities," Yenji said with a small smile, leading them into the main area. "We’ve got separate rooms for different age groups."

"Sounds like it’s well-thought-out," Chan said, nodding approvingly.

They made their way through the different sections of the daycare, which were full of age-appropriate toys and even small rest areas. There was a quiet, calming atmosphere to the place, and the alphas were reassured that their pups would be safe here. The walls were decorated with happy drawings from other pups, and each room had its own dedicated staff, all of whom were betas or omegas—never alphas. The care here was personal, and it was clear that the staff was well-trained and genuinely cared about the pups.

As they returned to the office, Y/n was sitting on one of the office sofas, rocking the baby gently with one hand while cooing softly at Nabi, who was still tucked under a light blanket.

"Oh, you sweet little thing," Y/n whispered, a soft smile on her face. The little pup stirred slightly but stayed asleep, her small hands curling into tiny fists as she nuzzled deeper into the warmth of her blanket. Y/n’s omega instincts kicked in as she carefully and gently rocked her, murmuring quiet words of comfort. It was almost like an instinct, this bond that formed between omegas and pups. She couldn’t help but feel a swell of affection for the baby in her arms.

Felix and Chan returned, clearly pleased with the daycare’s setup. Chan took one look at the sleeping Nabi in Y/n’s arms and smiled.

"Looks like she likes you," Felix commented softly, walking over to gently lift Nabi out of Y/n’s arms.

Nabi woke up with a small whimper but settled back when she saw Felix, her mother. "I think she really likes you, Y/n," Felix added, chuckling softly as he took his daughter into his arms. "She’s a little attached."

Y/n smiled warmly, her heart fluttering. "She’s just precious," she cooed, watching as Felix carefully adjusted her in his arms.

“She’s so cute, right?”

Y/n smiled at the baby in her arms. “She’s adorable.”

Felix’s voice softened as he chuckled. “She takes after I.N, I think.”

"It was an absolute pleasure working with you both," Yenji said, excited that such a well-known pack would be joining their daycare.

"I’ll be seeing you on Monday then," Y/n added, her smile warm but slightly bittersweet.

"Yes you will," Chan responded pulling out his phone to check a message.

After completing the final bits of paperwork, Chan, Felix, and Yenji exchanged a few more pleasantries, clearly satisfied with their decision to enroll their pups here.

As Chan, who had been watching all this with an amused smile, stood up, he gave them a friendly wave. "Have a good day, guys!" His voice carried a light tone, though his eyes flickered a deep red for just a second.

Y/n blinked in surprise at the brief flash of red in Chan's eyes. It wasn’t something she saw often, but the flicker was enough to make her heart skip a beat.

Chan was more focused on the fact that Y/n’s scent was undeniably strong now. His alpha instincts reacted involuntarily, stirring a sharp, deep craving within him. He quickly averted his gaze, trying to control the pull he felt.

Damn, he thought, swallowing hard. Her scent is so strong…

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

A/N: This was kinda messy but i just wanted to get the series a start so bare with me.

Taglist: @ihrtlix@bowsnbang@katsukis1wife@thegingerthatwaited@thicccurls

@xxeiraxx @paleangelsweets @klaydohart @eastleighsblog @ivrespace

@galaxy4489 @purplepursepaint @catlove83 @sillystormsstuff @iwuberic

@cocofia143 @royal-shinigami @virluna148 @galaxycatdrawz @memersanonymous

@skz-stay13 @seungminsbest @hogwartslife64 @sinfulfic @hyunnesblog

@maisyyyyyy @cluelessred3 @leezanetheofficial @cocofia143 @lemonn015

@kkamismom12 @mei0packet @igetcarriedawaywithyou @hyuneyeon

taglist: closed :(

[fandomscombine]

Maybe This Time

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

BG: Aaron Hotchner has been a constant in your life since university and as you both journey in your prosecutor career. But what happens when he has been given the opportunity of his dreams to be part of the BAU on the other side of the country? How will your dynamic change? Especially when feelings are put into the mix. 

Fluff part for now, before the angst. Enjoy the build up, young Hotch and obliviousness to feelings.

A/N: First ever Aaron Hotchner fic since something clicked in my brain and this man has me in a chokehold. Okay when I started writing this, I was at the beginning of Season 4 of Criminal Minds after a year long hiatus (aka didn’t have Disney+), so please excuse if it’s a bit out of character and that it doesn’t align with canon. No Haley and Jack. Let me know what you think!

Inspired by the song Maybe This Time by Sarah G and a line from Ugly Betty lol.

WC: 1428

>>>GENERAL MASTERLIST<<<

>>>CRIMINAL MINDS MASTERLIST<<<

The problem with having a constant is that you don’t realize how much it means to you until something threatens it to change it. 

You’re coming up to two years working at the prosecutor’s office, the feeling of helping people and solving cases is what fuels you. Though you admit, there are days where this isn’t enough to block out the misogynistic atmosphere of the office. In all honesty, you don’t think you would have lasted as long in such an environment if it weren’t for Aaron Hotchner.

What started as an academic rivalry turned into being inseparable. Nerds with an overwhelming drive to fix the world. It was actually Aaron who offered the olive branch - admitting that while the constant competition and pettiness helped him be the best self on paper, was straining his mental and physical well-being. Turns out you both have a lot in common - same taste in literature and surprisingly dead-pan humor. The man’s ability to drop unexpected one-liners is beyond you, only to be topped by his laugh albeit rare. 

A genuine Aaron Hotchner chuckle easily fills an entire room as if you’re floating on a cloud - a laugh that is quite the opposite to what he just left out.

“What?” 

“Yes! Can you believe it?” Aaron exclaims, releasing his hold on your shoulders. “There’s an opening at the Behavioural Analysis Unit - nothing permanent yet but they’re looking into a pool for the perfect candidate and I’ve been shortlisted!” 

~

The training program at the BAU lasted 3 months and in that span, the excitement during the first few weeks had you and Aaron in constant communication despite him being across the country in Quantico. But as the weeks went on, the calls dwindled until there were none at all.

You were proud of your best friend, you truly are - having found an advancement in his career. Though you can’t shake off the empty feeling in your chest. You catch your mind often thinking about him lately - more than a friend should.

What is happening to you?

Aaron has been more than grateful to have this opportunity. Working under the mentorship of the BAU founders, Aaron knew coming in that the cases would be grueling. He's barely gotten a good 8 hours of sleep since he’s arrived but the nightly calls with you updating about his day was the only thing keeping him on powering through, channeling back to your school rival days. Well, at least then he would get to see your face daily - now all he has is the photo he has in his wallet.

“Suck it, Hotchner! Bow down to your superior!” 

“Never!”

“Says the Magna Cum Laude to the Summa Cum Laude. Face it - it’s in writing for the world to see!” You teased, it was always a blast to have Aaron red.  There was no way you were gonna let this down and Aaron knew that - charging at you before you could finish.

“Y/N L/N is smarter than Aaron Hotch-NERRRRRRRR!” Aaron picking you up and spinning caught you by surprise - hands instinctively looping around his neck. 

Neither of you notice the clicking of a camera, too enclosed in your own little world. 

“You’re one lucky man.” The comment breaks Aaron from his trance. 

“Sir?”

“Your girlfriend, I notice you step out and look at it whenever you’re stressed” Rossi says matter of factly, patting Aaron’s shoulder. One doesn’t have to be a profiler to notice that yearning on Aaron’s face. “You know the job takes a toll on everyone and it’s rare to see the lightness after a while.”

Aaron didn’t know how to react, his stare continued even after his boss had left. Girlfriend. His brain had momentarily stopped working when he heard of the word. Someone had thought you were his girlfriend - he didn’t correct them, and it felt good. 

~

Ever since Rossi’s comment, Aaron has been teetering back and forth about his recent discovery about himself. Because that’s the thing about you being a constant in his life, he had grouped his feelings for you and categorized them under ‘best friend’, effectively blinding himself from the evolution of his feelings. 

How can he be a good profiler when he can’t even read his own emotions? Does she even feel the same way? 

But that’s not even the biggest elephant in the room.

“Congratulations!” Hugging him tightly, your next words are muffled by his chest. “I know you've wanted this for so long.” Tilting your head up to meet his eyes, “I’m so proud of you.”

“I wouldn’t have gotten it if you didn’t push me in sending my application.” Aaron’s hold on your waist tightens, not wanting to let you an inch away from him. Aaron has just gotten back from a 6-hour flight from Quantico, his body begging for rest but his heart aching for your presence. 

The longing of months apart running through his brain and the next thing he knows, his feet have taken him to your apartment at 2 in the morning instead.

“Aaron?” you called, breaking him from his trance. “What’s on your mind?”

Aaron could help but chuckle. Of course even when he showed up unannounced and woke you up in the dead of night. Your first concern was about him.

Coming from a strict family and being the oldest, having someone worry about him was uncommon. So when these moments arrive, it hits him with full force.

“Nothing…” He exhales, tucking the stray hairs behind your ear. Aaron hopes you don’t feel how shaky his hands are as he does so. 

You raise your brows at him.  Aaron might be a man of few words, but you’ve known him long enough to know when he is holding back.

He sighs, the room is quiet and any wrong move would break the balance. Aaron cups your cheek, glancing from your lips to your eyes. He steels himself to lay his discovery out in the open. “It’s just…you’re so captivatingly beautiful.”

Your eyes widen. Is he saying what you think he’s saying? Aaron has called you pretty in the past, but there was an air of playfulness then compared to this whispered statement.

With the tension increasing ten-fold with each word. “These past few months, I was working at my dream job yet I couldn’t feel the best because you weren’t by my side.  Each night I looked forward to hearing your voice, whether it’s about how your day went or what you thought about the latest movie. And it killed me inside when the calls stopped…”

Aaron gulped, pausing to blink back tears that threaten to fall. 

Reaching up to grab his hand, you placed a kiss on his palm. Silently urging him to carry on and to say ‘me too’.

“I felt so guilty… then one day my boss caught me staring at a picture of us. He said that I was lucky to have a lovely girlfriend as an anchor to help in this grueling job and… I didn’t correct him.”

“You didn’t correct him?”

“I didn’t.” Aaron was now looking at his feet- embarrassed, mentally preparing for the rejection that was to come for letting his mind wander to the possibility of something more with you. He had crossed the line and placed his heart in your hands. “ At first I didn’t know how to react, you are my best friend, my constant support. But at that moment, everything became clearer.” Aaron confessed, however your response may be he will accept even if it would be the last ever time he gets to hold you in his arms. “Y/N. You’re my best friend, my constant support and I adore you.”

A beat passes as you process his words. 

“I’m sorry to spring this on you considering the circumstances. I understand if you want to keep a distance and not want to see me again.” Aaron steps back, takes one last look at you before turning to pick up his bag and leave. 

But as his hand reaches the doorknob, he is abruptly turned and pushed against the door. His gasp of pain is muffled by the crashing of your lips. Aaron drops his bag and instinctively pulls you closer. Air to breathe and the doorknob pocking his back be damned.

You were the first to pull away just enough that your lips brush each other’s. “I know you’re leaving in five months. And I know everyone’s gonna say it’s a big mistake. And I’m gonna get my heart broken but maybe it’s worth it.”

[juanarc-thethird]

Jaune OF #2

Beacon Academy is in chaos, a manhunt is going on. Most of the female students, and some males, are looking for a sexy man. Target: Jaune Arc. They want him dead or alive, I mean just alive, they need him alive. No one is going to die today… I hope.

Girl 1: Have you seen him?!

Girl 2: He is not in the cafeteria!

Girl 1: Where are you SexyKinght?!!

People search every floor, every room, even every closet. No place is safe for Jaune Arc, but for some reason... they can't find him. Is this the work of an incredible mind that knows how to stay in the shadows or maybe knows how to keep a low profile to fool everyone in their face? Only Oum knows what kind of person they are dealing with.

Girl 1: Wait a minute?

The girl sees a person with blond hair. This makes her suspicious and she decides to investigate who she is.

Girl 1: Hey, wait!

The girl approaches the blond young man. She grabs his shoulder and flips him over in a snap.

Girl 1: Got you! Wait, you're not my SexyKnight.

In front of her was a person who looks like Jaune. The only difference is that he has a big and majestic mustache. His mustache is so beautiful that the girl can't stop looking at it.

Felipe: Hola, my name is Felipe.

Girl 1: Felipe?

Felipe: Si, I am an exchange student.

Girl 1: Exchange student?

Felipe: Yes, I'm here for an academic program.

Out of nowhere an orange haired girl appears with the same beautiful but dazzling mustache.

Gloria: And I am his compañera, Gloria!

Girl 1: Ooookey…. Have you seen this handsome daddy?

She pulls a picture out of her pocket of Jaune choking on a sandwich.

Gloria: Hahaha! They used a good angle for y- Agh!!

Felipe hits Gloria with his elbow right in the ribs and then responds to the girl.

Felipe: No, I have never seen that man in my life. Nunca e visto a ese hombre en mi vida. He looks boring.

She then looks at Gloria.

Gloria: Yo tampoco! (Me neither!)

The girl is confused by Gloria's response in Spanish.

Girl 1: I-I see...

She then puts her precious photo of Jaune in her pocket and takes out a piece of paper and a pen. She writes something on the paper and gives it to Felipe.

Girl 1: If you see him, please call me or send me a message with his location.

The girl leaves with her friend, leaving Felipe and Gloria alone. Felipe throws the piece of paper to the ground and they relax. He takes a deep breath and crouches down as he supports himself on his knees.

Felipe (Jaune): Oh my goodness. I thought they already found us.

In Gloria's case, she is still happy and touching her mustache.

Gloria (Nora): I'm more surprised that these mustaches fooled them. How did you come up with such an amazing idea?

Felipe (Jaune): I'm more worried about the future hunters and huntresses of this academy after we tricked them so easily. I mean, how can they be so clueless?

After a little rest, he gets up.

Felipe (Jaune): Ok, we should focus. There we have to keep moving and we have to get to the Bullhead port without being discovered. Once out of the academy, we can be quiet and you can start a rumor that SexyKnight is someone else.

She stands at attention and salutes him.

Gloria (Nora): Of course my beautiful leader. I will follow him until the end of time.

Felipe (Jaune): I'm still a little mad at you.

Nora pouts at his comment.

They walk down the hall until they reach a new corridor. Jaune looks to both sides and sees a group of students on the left side. He waits for the right moment to slip past them. The students start to walk in the opposite direction from them and Jaune uses that opportunity to continue on his way.

Felipe (Jaune): OK let's go.

They walk quietly to the right. Jaune takes a couple of glances back to make sure no one is following them and to check that the students haven't turned around and seen them. Without paying attention to where he is walking, Jaune bumps into a door that just opened in front of him.

Felipe (Jaune): Agh!

Gloria (Nora): Jefe!!

On the other side of the door a rabbit girl looks out to see what happened and realizes that she hit someone with the door by accident.

Velvet: Oh my gosh!!

She kneels to check if her classmate was hurt.

Velvet: Are you okay? Did you get hurt?

Felipe (Jaune): (Oh Shit! is Velvet! Play it cool Jaune, play it cool!)

He takes a deep breath and gets into character.

Felipe (Jaune): Estoy bien. I'm fine.

Velvet doesn't answer but stares at him as if she's trying to solve a puzzle. He notices this and is concerned.

Felipe (Jaune): I have something on my face? (Does she know who I am?)

Those words make Velvet react and she blushes from how embarrassed she is for staring at him.

Velvet: I'm so sorry, you look like the guy I'm looking for. Have you seen a tall boy who is blonde named Jaune? You may have seen him in one of your classes.

Felipe (Jaune): Sorry, I don't know that hombre.

Velvet turns to see the girl next to Jaune.

Velvet: How about you? Have you seen a guy with that description?

Gloria (Nora): Que?

Velvet: I see, thank you very much. Umm…let me help you up.

Velvet shows him her hand, Jaune takes it, and he gets up.

Felipe (Jaune): Gracias

Velvet: You're welcome… Well, I'm leaving. Sorry again for hitting you with the door.

Felipe (Jaune): Don't worry, I hope you find the person you're looking for.

Gloria (Nora): Adios!!

Each of them went their own way. Suddenly velvet feels like she kicked something. She looks at what it was and sees that it is a phone. She reaches down to pick it up.

Velvet: Hey, I think you dropped your phone!

Just as she picks up the phone, the screen lights up, showing an image of Team JNPR. Jaune checks his pockets and realizes that it is his phone. Unaware that Velvet saw the image, he went to retrieve it.

Felipe (Jaune): Muchas gracias, I didn't realize I dropped it.

Jaune holds out his hand to receive his phone.

Velvet: No problem...

She stands up, turns around, and in a single motion she rips off Jaune's fake mustache.

Velvet: ...Jaune.

Jaune immediately covers his mouth and begins to scream in pain.

Jaune: MIERDA, MI BIGOTE! (FUCK, MY MOUSTACHE!) PUTA MADRE! (MOTHERFUCKER!)

Velvet doesn't react to this and looks at him with a blank stare.

Velvet: I know it's you, Jaune.

Jaune continues to scream in pain and looks at Velvet. He sees that she doesn't react the way he wanted and slowly lowers the tone of his scream until he falls silent.

Jaune: Hey, you can't blame me for trying.

Velvet: Let me get to the point, I want to take some pictures of you…

Jaune: That doesn't sound bad.

Velvet:...Naked

Jaune: And there it is. When?

Velvet is surprised at his unusual response.

Velvet: Sorry?

Jaune: You want to take pictures of me, right? When do you want to do it?

Velvet: I… I didn't expect you to accept. I had a whole plan on how to blackmail you in my head. But then you tell me that it's ok?

Jaune: Ok ok ok, look I don't have all day. I don't know if you noticed but I have the whole school looking for me. When do you want to take the photos? Oh, and can I have my phone back, please?

Velvet: Yes of course.

She hands him the phone and he puts it in his pocket.

Velvet: How about today at 5:30pm? In my room.

Jaune: Sounds good. Just let me check with my agent if I'm free at that time. Oh look, speaking of the devil, he's right behind you.

Velvet: You have an agent?

She turns around but no one is there. After a few seconds she realizes she was tricked and looks back to where Jaune was. He was no longer standing in front of her. He was running to the opposite side of her with Nora on her shoulder looking at Velvet's direction. The only thing left were the fake mustaches on the floor. From afar, Nora can be heard screaming.

Nora: So long, sucker!!!

Velvet: You trick me!!!

She pulls out her phone and talks to someone.

Velvet: He is heading to the training area. I repeat, he is heading to the training area!!!

Back with our favorite duo. Jaune is running down the hall while Nora is still on her shoulder.

Nora: So where are we going now? Do we follow the same plan or…?

Jaune: We will continue with the plan. We just need to change our route a bit. Maybe we can use the back door to the training room? Oh the lockers! We can use the lockers to escape! I am a genius!

????: Yes you are~

Jaune: What the fuck?

At that moment, a machine gun is heard and a line of bullets comes out of the wall and blocks their path. That scares them and Jaune drops Nora to the ground. She got up and stood behind him.

Jaune: Holy shit!!

Nora: We are under attack!!

The machine gun stops and from the hole in the wall appears the incomparable Coco Adel. She looks at Jaune and smiles at him.

Coco: Hello Jaune~

Then she turns to see Nora but with a look of disgust.

Coco: Nora.

Nora, still behind Jaune, answers her.

Nora: Rude!

Jaune feels the danger that Coco emits right now, so he decides to do what he knows better than anyone. Fool people with nonsense.

Jaune: Hi Coco, you look amazing today. Are those new sunglasses?

She points her gun at them and approaches them

Coco: Yes they are new. Thank you for noticing it.

Jaune: No problem. Can I help you with something?

Coco: I need you to confirm something for me. Is that you in this photo?

She shows him a picture of a man wearing Pumpkin Pete's Trunks-type underwear, and he's displaying a colossal package.

Jaune: That ain't me.

Coco: Really?~ Wouldn't you mind if I ask you to take off your shirt to see if that's true?

Jaune: (Ok, Jaune, think. It's Coco you're dealing with, so you can't trick her like the others. She's one of the best fighters and she's smart. What should I do?)

As Jaune thinks of a solution, as Coco gets closer and closer to them. Nora puts herself between her and Jaune to protect him.

Nora: Stay back!

Coco: Relax, I just want to know if it's him, ok? Jaune, if you want I can give you a hand? But I must tell you that my hand tends to slip sometimes.

After hearing that last sentence, an idea came to mind. It's a low blow, but it'll work.

Jaune: *Quietly* Nora, play along with me no matter what happens.

He takes a deep breath and suddenly executes his plan.

Jaune: *Gasp* Coco Adele! That is sexual harassment!

Coco: What?! No, it was just a joke!

Nora: *Quietly* Oh, I see what you're doing. You are evil. *To Coco* Sexual harassment is never a joke!

Jaune starts acting like he's really crying.

Jaune: I've always admired you, and now I find out that you do these things?!

Coco is taken out of her comfort zone, and she panics.

Coco: I didn't mean too! It was a joke, I swear!

Jaune: *Looks away* I can't trust you anymore.

Nora: Perverted!

Coco: I am not a pervert!

Jaune: I need some time alone.

Nora turns around and comforts him.

Nora: Everything will be fine Jaune, don't worry. *To Coco* Are you happy now?!

Coco: It wasn't my intention, I'm really sorry.

Nora: Look, just go away.

Coco begins to walk backwards to leave and continues to apologize.

Coco: I'm sorry.

Out of nowhere Velvet appears on the other side, leaving Jaune and Nora in between her and Coco.

Velvet: Do not believe them! They are lying to you! He's not even crying!

Jaune is very upset that Velvet revealed his plan. All that effort wasted. He gets up and turns to see Velvet.

Jaune: God damn it! This is why they bully you!

They all gasp in surprise at that comment.

Nora: Jaune!

Jaune: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I got a little angry there. I just want to get out of here, and you girls look at me with lustful eyes. I have every right to be mean to you, at least just for today.

Velvet: Seems fair to me, but that's not the point! You're trapped now, there's nowhere to go!

Velvet and Coco begin to approach them. Nora and Jaune are back to back. Nora looking at Velvet and Jaune looking at Coco.

Nora: *Panic* What will we do now?! We don't have our weapons with us!

Jaune: Relax, just... just let me think, ok?

Coco: Thinking about what Jaune? You guys are in the middle of a hallway, surrounded.

Jaune: *Still thinking* Shut up!

Velvet: Just give in and let me show your body to the world with my photography. We will be the window of new inspiration!

Jaune: *Quietly* Window?

At that moment a light bulb goes on in Jaune's head.

Jaune: Nora, get ready to do "The Wrecking Ball"!

Velvet/Coco: The what?

Nora: But Jaune, I don't have my weapon!

Jaune: *Turns to her* Use me.

Nora: But...

Jaune: I have a lot of Aura, trust me.

Nora: O-Ok...

Nora grabs Jaune by the collar of his shirt and his belt and starts spinning him around without stopping.

Coco: What are they doing?!

Nora: AAAAH!!!

Nora screams as she picks up more speed. The two girls can feel a bit of wind coming off of them. At that moment Velvet realized what they were planning to do.

Velvet: Coco stop them!

But it was too late.

Nora: HYAAAH!!!

She let Jaune go towards the wall. The impact caused debris to fall, leaving Velvet and Coco blinded for a moment. When everything is clear, all they can see is a large hole in the wall, a window to freedom.

Coco: Holy shit! Is he crazy?!

Velvet takes a look outside the hole in the wall and doesn't see Nora or Jaune anywhere.

Velvet: They escaped. We'll have to start the search again.

Coco: I heard them talking something about the lockers. Maybe we should set a trap for them there.

Pyrrha: Good idea!

Velvet/Coco: Huh?

They turn to look behind them and out of nowhere they are knocked out.

Meanwhile:

Jaune and Nora are hiding behind some bushes in the courtyard. Nora checking the coast for enemies, while Jaune recovers with his aura.

Nora: So, are we going to change our plan?

Jaune: Let me rest first and then we'll see. Most likely, yes. But give me about 15 minutes, okay?

Nora: Ok

Jaune: Thank you.

He says as he closes his eyes to rest. While they try to take a breath. A new group has them in their sights.

May: *Using heat vision binoculars* I see someone hiding in the bushes.

Neon: It must be Jaune. Ready girls?

Reese/Arslan: Ready.

Neon: Let's move.

[mrghostrat]

some of my favourite good omens fics for @lostscript!

this got so long oh my god. i have to stop, but this is only like 2 pages of my bookmarks, in no particular order. i'll have to make another post eventually, or at least start organising my bookmarks on ao3 to rec things more easily. for now, please enjoy this tasty mix of human aus + angel/demon pining.

First Class (Hons) Christmas, University of Tadfield by heloluv

M • 41k • human AU (professors) this fic is like stepping into a beautiful, cosy, classic, high quality christmas movie. crowley and aziraphale are professors at Tadfield University, and they meet for the first time when aziraphale starts organising the yearly christmas fundraiser. "A Christmas and New Years fic, in which Aziraphale teaches Crowley how to enjoy the most wonderful time of the year."

What We Make Of It (Shotgun Wedding) by charlottemadison

E • 213k • human AU (teacher/guardian) the flow of their growing relationship in this fic is so unique and incredibly written, it seizes my heart on every reread. aziraphale is a high school english teacher, adam is his narcoleptic student, and crowley is adam's uncle/legal guardian. due to crowley's work, he cannot date a teacher, for risk of losing his job and the health insurance that covers adam's condition. but he can, technically, marry one.

Something We Were Withholding Made Us Weak by triedunture

M • 14k • angel/demon (south downs) where pre-relationship aziraphale and crowley retire and move to the south downs cottage before ever talking about their feelings, and come together as they learn to live in tandem.

the bucket list by darcylindbergh

E • 44k • angel/demon (south downs) technically still a wip, but it's been left at a satisfying, conclusive point. after armageddon, pre-relationship crowley and aziraphale decide to work through a list of human activities they haven't done before. they go travelling and dining together, try out hobbies, and end up in a south downs cottage. communication angst as they try to work out what they want from life, and each other.

Of burnt books and courting Crowley by robynvite

E • 11k • angel/demon (post s1) "a year after Armageddon't, Aziraphale finds out two pieces of very startling news: One, Newt and Anathema burned the sequel to Agnes Nutter's Nice and Accurate Prophecies. Two, Crowley was in love with him, and had been since the Beginning." aziraphale attempts to court crowley when he finds out crowley loves him.

Slow Show by mia_ugly

E • 95k • human AU (actors) "two ineffable co-stars only take four seasons of an award-winning television program to realize they’re on their own side." crowley is a washed up PR nightmare and aziraphale is in the closet, married to a beard. crowley is in love with him, and aziraphale falls over the course of the show.

South Downs by summerofspock

E • 76k • human AU (actors) this time, aziraphale is out and proud, whilst crowley needs some help figuring it out. "Blackballed from the industry ten years ago, Anthony Crowley jumps at the chance to star in a new Regency romance miniseries with well-known gay actor Aziraphale Fell in the hopes that it will help him restart his career. The trouble is, Crowley has played all sorts of characters and for the life of him, he can't figure out why he's struggling to play the romantic lead opposite a man."

Not a Mounted Dildo but a Fuck Machine by NaroMoreau, summerofspock

E • 35k • human AU (roommates) "When Aziraphale meets a nice girl on Tinder who he thinks is his perfect match, he's delighted. There's just one hurdle: that pesky virginity thing. Lucky for him, Crowley has always been there for him. He's helped Aziraphale with every other problem through the years, why not this one?"

Intermezzo by FeralTuxedo

E • 47k • human AU (musician/journalist) Music critic Aziraphale Fell is trying to break into the world of television, when he is signed to make a documentary about former-rockstar-turned-composer Anthony Crowley. It’s been eleven years since Aziraphale’s disastrous review of Crowley’s debut opera nipped his classical music career in the bud. He can only hope that Crowley will get over his admittedly justified grudge to make the TV show a success.

side note: i officially love everything feraltuxedo has ever written. their library is a slew of human AUs in all kinds of settings with varying wordcounts. they are a GIFT

Joint Honours by FeralTuxedo

E • 43k • human AU (university students) aziraphale (phd) and crowley (undergrad) live in the same student share house. they get involved before they realise crowley is a student in aziraphale's seminars. spicy drama of them trying to keep their relationship hidden + aziraphale getting his work plagarised

it's a new craze by attheborder

T • 5k • angel/demon (post armageddon) aziraphale and crowley start an advice podcast. dialogue only, with comments from listeners speculating about their relationship and potential immortality

Petrichor & Parchment by MrsNoggin

E • 33k • human AU (gardener crowley) aziraphale, a restorer of antique books, moves to a cottage in tadfield. the garden is a mess. he hires a local landscaper to sort it out. aziraphale takes his work outside and ogles.

The 21st Century, In Which They Finally Work It Out by chaya

E • 22k • angel/demon (post armageddon) crowley tries furthering their relationship after armageddon. he has to go extremely slowly so as not to spook aziraphale, but eventually they find themselves on romantic weekend getaway, in a lodge under the northern lights.

Waking Up Slow by the_moonmoth

E • 88k • human AU (lockdown roommates) aziraphale and crowley are strangers who have to quarantine together in aziraphale's cottage. exquisitely romantic mutual pining over the course of two weeks, with cosy fireplace cuddling, walking around in towel, and strip poker.

Have you told him by cyankelpie

G • 7k • angel/demon (through the ages) aziraphale can sense love, and can tell crowley is deep in it. he can only assume he's fallen for a human. again, and again, and again, and again.

The Bizarre Demons of AZ Fell & Co Antique Booksellers by WorseOmens

T • 8k • angel/demon (buzzfeed unsolved crossover) a fuckin hilarious crossover fic presented as an episode of buzzfeed unsolved, where the ghoul boys visit the bookshop and commune with crowley through a spirit box

[tutuandscoot]

Ice Dance Falls, Fails and Flubs

Part 1

1. “Stationary Lift BASE?! “😱🫠

Classic HD fuck up 1.0

By now y’all know my distain for HD, not that I have any love lost for Bock either.. or WeaPo.. or gilorier.. so basically this is me missing VM at 4CC and HOLLERING at the cocky ness HD display for a rushed, messy, careless program with a travelling stationary lift guys come on what are you doing sitting there pep-rallying for +5’s.. you look like idiots. Btw. who tf is this lady on the right ↗️??

Also feat. Evan ‘employee of the month at Taco Bell’ Bates

2. Belbin/Agosto blow it in the Compulsory Dance

They came to these world champs in 2008 expected to win, with the Russians D/S out with injury. But down Tanith goes on a twizzle in the CD.. the point of CD’s is that you are in hold basically the whole time therefore it’s extremely unlikely to fall bc your partner holds you. This put them 6th after the CD, 5th in the OD, rising to 4th after the FD.. they would never win a worlds or Olympics despite being an incredible team* (for the time.. )

3. FP/M- Torino addition

Maybe the funniest thing ever in Ice dance. This happened after at least 3 teams had already had serious falls (including Marie and Patch which I won’t be talking about bc of the seriousness of it- that was not funny) this on the other hand is HILARIOUS. Firstly: the costumes. WHAT? WHY? Maritzio looking like a pimp. Even before the fall this performance reminds me of your cringe aunt and uncle getting up to dance at a wedding. They had not competed since SLC 2002.. we won’t discuss that bc How and WHY- what sport was ID in 2002 where this team wins a medal over Bourne & Kraatz?????

Then.. the fall.. yes BESP uncles.. it was the too much outside edge that did it, that’s where the problems started, never mind mags’ shithouse skating skills.

My favourite part is when she just *reverse Homer Simpson’s out of a hedge* towards him and he does that *nod* as if to say “hey that was pretty damn good” seriously, what a flop, even in the K&c it continues to be hilarious him just man spreading looking at the scores while she looks like she’s gonna kill herself (and him), he’s looking as if ‘yeah that’s not bad’ well you wouldn’t know bro there’s been a new system introduced since you seemingly last stepped on an ice rink.

Just omg.. iconic. all I can think about is god forbid this ever happened to vm and the polar opposite their reaction would be (except S never dropped T and S actually had skating skills)

4. The piece of shit that is Didier Gailhauget

(Thankyou to @iluvausten for finding this for me)

I don’t need to translate this right y’all get it..

This tweet and subsequent result is the reason the acronym LMFAO was invented. Guess the Russian mob didn’t feel like helping out on this one sorry boo 🥲

(And/Or the bby angels were just too damn good)

5. Bourne/Kraatz 2002

This is kinda a sad one..

But what I love is the contrast between B/K reaction and FP/M..

No blame, no hate, no making a scene.

They were in 4th place going into the FD with a good chance of capturing bronze, but fell in the last 5 seconds.

It was so unfortunate but you know what: you skate to MJ you should expect karma..

They finished 4th- same as they had in 1998- a fixed event

6. Classic HD fuck up 2.0, Worlds 2017

I don’t want to talk about this to point where I’m gonna get hate for it and I also don’t want to be that person who says ‘I don’t talk bout what I don’t know’ and then talk about what I don’t know but since this post has a bit of a ‘blunt and direct humour about it’, why do I get the feeling that the whole ‘we don’t have faith in ourselves’ thing was a bit of an act with these two and training with the goats gave them this false sense that they were better than they were and took that cocky confidence too far to the point where (he especially) couldn’t stay on his damn feet?? The whole ‘Gabrois podium sweep’ thing they were going for at these worlds and olys gives me side eye..

Ok. That’s part 1, part 2 coming soon

Reminder this is all in good humour, every team that competes at this level is highly skilled in some respect and then others are just a$$holes🥰

[sojournerdiraq]

Character Intro: Wrusty Caldwell

The floor under me is cold, damp, cracked stone, with streams of water flowing through the crevices. The scent of burning lavender overwhelms my nostrils

A leather-gloved hand helps me get to my feet. A leather gloved hand that belongs to a tall, muscled figure.

“Wrusty,” I croak, “good t’see ya.”

“Save your breath, Sibyl. You're suffering from one hell of a data overload. What the fuck did you do?”

A hand grabs my wrist, and I'm ushered to my feet.

“Killed a man. Unknowing vector for some ultra-fucked-up experimental program.”

“You’re quite lucid, all things considered. Can you walk by yourself?”

 I turn my gaze to Wrusty’s shoulder. She’s a full head taller than me, her void-black hair styled in her signature messy bun. A woman of the utmost precision, and somehow, she can’t tie a simple bun.

“I… always lie.”

“Here, Sibyl, you can lean on me,” Wrusty answers, propping my arm over her shoulder, “you could tell me everything once I’ve fixed you up.”

My vision blurs, and I feel myself being half-lead, half-dragged to our destination. 

“How the hell did you…find me?” I ask her, and this arouses a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. She turns to face me fully, and I manage to see my sorry state reflected in her black scleras.

“My job is to monitor your vitals, and for the amount of money you gave me, I can only offer the best of my services.”

There would’ve been a time, a few months prior, where I’d’ve been a bit more curious as to what exactly she meant with those words. It didn’t take long for my curiosity to dry up as quickly as it flourished.

“Open the door, Alexei! Our favorite customer’s back!”

“Alive?” a muffled Russian accent asks.

“Yes, alive. I’d be devastated if Miss Moneybags here ever decided to kick the bucket.”

“Nice to know you care for my well being, Wrusty.”

“Of course. Like I said, you’re our favorite customer.” Wrusty defends, glancing upwards.

“Yelena, what the hell’s your dad doing in there?”

The streetlights on the left side flicker, followed by the rapid opening-and-closing of the trash can lid next to me.

“Uh-huh, I’ll tell ‘er.”

Wrusty opens the door and we take a few steps inside.

“Yelena wants to know if you’re aware of the history behind ego diving.” Wrusty continues.

“Can’t…can’t say I am.” I respond. My vision begins to clear, and I allow myself a seat.

“It was pioneered for Lockhart by Eleanor’s ex, Anastasia, originally intended to treat people with recurring or debilitating mental health issues. Alexei, here, was quite familiar with her. He was the bodyguard to some famous rockstar.”

“That famous rockstar, as you call her,” Alexei interjects, “sullied your father’s suit with her vomit.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember. Anyways, Sibyl, whatever the hell you did back there completely fried your systems. We’re talkin’ like, total obliteration, and we might have to…” Wrusty pauses, leaning closer to my arm. She taps the elbow three times, and then my wrist, and then the back of my hand, all of which in quick succession.

“Fuck. Might have to send this one back to Tavares.”

I clench my jaw and swallow my words. The fuck did Galatea put in my systems? No, before that. The white-eyed woman.

“Tea time,” Wrusty instructs.

My gaze focuses on the pinky finger of my cyber, and I think about the act of lifting my pinky finger, but my arm doesn’t respond, save for a slight twitch of the thumb.

“Mmm, so the arm is still connected to your nerves, it’s just…”

Without looking back, Wrusty grabs a screwdriver from a nearby table and unscrews the brachialis plate, where my cyber’s CPU is snugly tucked away.

“Whatever did this snapped clean through the defenses we’ve installed.” Wrusty muses. “Either dealin’ with a world-class red or a top-o’-the-line virus.”

“Neither of those are reassuring, Wrusty.”

“It’s a matter of perspective, really. You say to-may-to, I say to-mah-to. You say it isn’t reassuring, I say that it’s quite the opposite.”

This is unusually optimistic, even for her.

“Please, Wrusty, enlighten me.”

“It would be my pleasure. Can you walk on your own?”

“I’ll manage.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she answers, running her hands over my cyber’s CPU, “you could not have chosen a better time to show up.”

“Is that so?”

She clicks her tongue in agreement, adding “like fire and ice.”

A distinctly Vespuccian turn of phrase that almost complements its accent, and I cannot help but offer a weak smile. Legend has it that the Vespuccian accent originated in the deep American South, in regions once known as Maryland and Texas. Wrusty herself once stated that her family hailed from an American state known as Kentucky, but with her, it’s hard to tell whether she’s telling the truth or making a fool out of her audience.

“Remember how I said your cyber’s shot? Well, it’s much better…I mean, worse…that I’d initially thought. One the wires ‘round your central processing unit has melted into its casing, and if you’d tried to get any more use out of it, well…d’you know how much authentic human meat goes for on the black market? A little charred, maybe. Sinewy and medium rare are one and the same in the Vespuccian underworld.”

“Where does the good news come in?” I mutter dryly.

“The other model just came in today. Tavares gave me free rein on its programming, and I’d like to record some human-computer interactions in testing this program.”

“Wait but Cell just updated this cyber with—”

“Don’t sweat it, I’ll keep those programs intact.”

“Can you extract it from—”

“Yelena already did that,” and then, to the ceiling fan above her, “thanks, sweetie!”

The lights flicker on and off in appreciation.

“When’s the last time you ate something?”

I pause for a moment, processing Wrusty’s question. Genuine concern? From Wrusty Caldwell? Shit, maybe that biochip fucked with more than my systems.

“For fuck’s sake stop gawking at me like that, you look like I asked you for nuclear codes.”

“The codes are something I’d expect you to ask about.”

“Alright, jackass, just answer the question.”

I pause, struggling to recall. There was the Synthetik bacon from Mama Zoraya’s, but I barely touched that due to Kaspar’s visit and subsequent game, and…

I reach into my pocket once more, sighing in relief upon feeling the tarot card still in there, through some miracle.

Which reminds me…

“Wrusty, you’ve been ‘round the block, right?” 

 “Could say so. Somethin’ botherin’ you?”

“A few things, actually.”

Wrusty stands upright, her broad shoulders caked in grease and dust.

“Follow me, I’ll listen on the way to the shop.” By now, her supposedly southern accent has swung in full force, “In return, I’d like you to review my programs.”

Haven't posted an excerpt of Cold Circuit in a while, surprisingly. Anyways, meet Wrusty Caldwell. She's...something, I'll give you that.

Silverhands: @foyle-writes-things @thatqueerweirdo

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist!

[softly-potter]

Where Do Babies Come From? | Chapter Two: Two Months Out

Summary: Wanda & Bucky are more over their heads than they originally thought when finding out she’s pregnant. Lightly inspired by "Where Do Babies Come From" by Melanie Martinez

Pairing: Bucky X Wanda

Word Count: 2.5K

Warning: Smut

Find chapter one here: Two Months In

-

Chapter Two: Two Months Out

Bucky Barnes was an amazing dad. Or he would’ve been, he was sure of it. If the Wakandans had been successful in removing the Winter Soldier programming from him, he would’ve been sheer perfection.

Staring at his hands, he tried to hold back the tears, but ultimately failed. Beside him in the waiting room, Sam noticed, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he murmured, voice low. The hospital was eerily quiet. “Wanda knows that.”

“Yes ,but does she?” he snapped, his head falling into his hands. Sam didn’t respond, just squeezed Bucky's shoulder and didn't leave his side.

When Wanda exited the examination room, both men stood up. Bucky felt like his heart was in his throat as he took her in: wrapped wrist, busted lip, with a light cut just above her jaw. Their daughter was wrapped in a yellow blanket, her smooth face peeking out from the top.

Wanda smiled at him reassuringly, and it broke his heart. She looked so young, so full of options in her life. Did he make her try to grow up too fast?

“Hey, Buck.” She took a step towards him, and he backed away instantly before taking another just for good measure. Her face faltered. “I’m okay, baby,” she tried, then looked down at the bundle. “So is she.” When Bucky didn’t respond, instead staring blankly at the little girl in Wanda's arms, she stiffened, her back straight. “Sam, may we have the room, please?”

Sam nodded, pushing himself off the wall.

But Bucky stopped him. “No, she can’t be alone with m--“

“You're the father of my child,” Wanda bit out, and the two men looked at her with wide eyes. “I asked for the room, give me the fucking room.”

Sam looked between the two of them quickly before shaking his head, giving Bucky a quick nod and exiting the room. Bucky groaned, blowing out a puff of air, and Wanda sat down on the metal chairs against the wall.

“Don’t shut me out, Buck,” she said, her voice strong. “I need you. I can’t do this alone.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want you to be alone, either, but I hurt you. Don’t you get that?” he seethed, wishing for the hundredth time that he was dead. He deserved it. “I fucking attacked you and I didn’t even know it.”

“That wasn’t you.” She was calm, looking between him and the baby. “The man I love would never do that.”

“Wanda, please, just…” Bucky sat down beside her, still space between them, and she turned to him, her expression hopeful. “Just take her away. If the Wakandans can’t fix me, nothing can, and I’ll always be a danger to you, even in my sleep.”

Wanda shook her head in defiance, but he didn't miss how her bottom lip trembled. Tentatively, he grasped her hand, chest aching, knowing what he was about to say.

“I'm going to go back. They can try again, or if all else fails, I won’t be anywhere near the two of you and can’t hurt you again.”

As he spoke, she began to cry, shaking her head no, her eyes welling.

“Bucky, you can’t do this,” she whispered, looking down at the baby, who was still fast asleep. “We love you.”

Bucky closed his eyes, keeping his own tears at bay, and rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. "Please, Wanda…I…I don’t want her to remember me like this.”

Wanda inhaled shakily, a few tears escaping, and he couldn’t help but brush them away. He hated it when she cried. She leaned into his palm, her eyes squeezed shut, before she let out the breath she’s been holding.

“Is this where babies come from?” she whispered, tears leaking from her still shut eyes. “From anger and hurt and HYDRA?”

The self-hatred was boiling within him, and he couldn’t believe he fucked up this badly.

Bucky shook his head, moving his opposite hand to her knee, wanting to touch as much of her as he could while he had the time. “N-no,” he replied, trying to steady his voice. “They come from love.” He looked down at their daughter, fingered the cloth she was swaddled in. “She came from us.”

“Just promise me something,” Wanda pleaded, opening her eyes, waiting to read his reaction. He nodded, thumb brushing her tears. “Promise me that when they fix you…because they will fix you, that you’ll come back to us.” Her voice dropped to a watery whisper. “Natasha needs a father.”

The hallway of the hospital was so quiet, the sterile floor and ceiling making it look more like a prison than a place of care.

Bucky bounced his knee against the squeaky floor, looking anywhere but at her.

She reached up and gripped his chin tightly. “Promise. Me.”

He was relentless, grabbing her hand gently. “I promise.”

Her face broke, and the tears fell again, but she wiped at them herself. Natasha stirred in her arms, and Wanda rocked her gently, whispering words in a low voice, before looking back up at him.

“Good. You’d better, because I’ll be waiting.” She rocked Natasha again, holding her delicately to her chest. “We both will.”

[thewestern]

Drums/Space

Needle Drop (noun) is a show business term for when movies or television shows score a scene with popular music. Or rather anything that isn’t part of the original soundtrack. Like when you’re watching something and you recognize a song from before in your life … that’s a needle drop. It’s a clever way of connecting you, the viewer to the story, — you don’t personally know these characters but you do know this song, by heart — lending it an added depth.  Or better still, if this is your first time hearing the song, and the program is introducing it to you in the context of this narrative, causing the opposite phenomenon to occur. Suddenly this virgin melody is imbued with some synthetic meaning. What a great way to discover music. Sure beats any goddamn algorithm. Fucking ‘a-man to that, brother.

Yes. Needle drops. Maybe you are familiar with some well-known examples from these classic films. The End by the Doors, Apocalypse Now. Mad World by Tears for Fears, Donnie Darko. Where Is My Mind by the Pixies, Fight Club. 

The iconic filmmaker Martin Scorcese for our purposes could be considered a founding father of the needle drop. Of pop music, he once said, it’s the soundtrack to my life. (Same, dude.) They are inseparable, music and film. (Like peanut butter and jelly, baby. Sonny and Cher.) So it is that popular songs feature prominently in his work. From Slippin’ And Slindin’ (Peepin’ And Hidin’) by Little Richard, Casino … to I’m Shipping Up To Boston by The Dropkick Murphys, The Departed. Quite famously and hilariously he uses Gimme Shelter by The Rolling Stones in three of his films, including the aforementioned two as well as his masterpiece Goodfellas, which in and of itself is a bukakee of needle drops. There’s the Sunshine of Your Love by Cream, wherein the camera zooms in on Robert Deniro as Jimmy Conway, capturing the precise moment he resolves to kill the fool Morrie Kessler, a mob-connected wig salesman portrayed by character actor Chuck Low. Of course, lest we forget Layla by Derek & the Dominos, but crucially the piano coda; not the signature guitar lick, which would have been way too obvious. For the non-Clapton Division, please consider Then He Kissed Me by the Crystals. Because there are two words to make any cinephile cream his khakis on command: Tracking and Shot. And then … holy fucking shit, the cold open. Take a beat. Transport yourself there. The year is nineteen-ninety. Your girlfriend wanted to see Ghost, but last time you went to the movies you saw Pretty Woman, which you actually liked, but still the point stands. This time, you get to pick. After all, you’re paying. Popcorn, soda and tickets, for two … that’s twenty bucks! You take your seats on the aisle. Not because you want to be able to scramble for the emergency exits in the case of a mass shooting. Because you’re a bit on edge, on account of some whack job shot up a screening of the third Batman movie at a cineplex the town over from where you grew up. No, this was the early nineties. Even then you had a small blatter. Besides, you heard from your creepy coworker Jeremy, the movie buff, that this movie is like two and a half hours long. No way, Jose. Okay, shh, it’s starting. The house lights go dim. 

Exterior: pulled over on the side of the road, in the pitch black dark of the pre-dawn. Our anti-heroes’ faces are underlit — as if from the fiery depths of hell — by the sinister red bath of the brake lights. A fresh-faced Ray Liotta as Henry Hill pops the trunk. With his last laboured breaths, a badly beaten and bloodied Billy Batts begs for mercy. Pesci as Tommy stabs. Deniro, Jimmy the Gent, shoots. Liotta — still Henry — slams the trunk, locking us, the audience, in for a ride we will not soon forget. Cue voiceover (one of the few masterful deployments of this oft-misused cinematic storytelling device): 

As Far Back As I Can Remember I Always Wanted To Be A Gangster. 

Hard cue, horns.  

I know I’d go from rags to riches

If you would only say you care 

And though my pockets may be empty

I’d be a millionaire 

(Ladies and gentlemen, Tony M.F’n. Bennet.)

Marty, man. The freaking GOAT, dude. Ain’t no other filmmaker out there can touch him. However, they can and have used needle drops to relentlessly bite his steeze. There have been some worthwhile innovations in the form though. One special movie magic trick therein is if the characters in the story are also listening to, or better still singing along with the song in question. It’s sort of like, have you ever seen a movie that’s set in the place you live? If it’s New York or Chicago or Seattle or some other metropolis, usually you think, hey, that’s not [Name of city]! And you’re probably right. It’s not a major American city. It’s Toronto or Vancouver or Atlanta. Some city in a province or state with a film production-friendly tax incentive program. But imagine the rare cases the producer did spring to have it shot On Location, in your exact neighborhood, on your block even, right outside your old building. There’s something uncanny about it, isn’t there? Sure all the street names and the skyline is the same, but you’re a local. You notice subtle differences. Like they swapped out all the signs in the shop windows, probably to satisfy some product placement deal. Or the homeless guy who’s always passed out cold on that corner, regardless of the time of day. Probably some production assistant woke him up. Gave him ten bucks petty cash. Told him to take a hike for the afternoon. All that being said, if those actors are hearing a real song, one that You also know — it doesn’t matter if they’re on some soundstage in the deep recesses of a studio lot in fucking Burbank … well then quite feasibly you could exist within the fictional universe of this film. Their joy, their sorrow — become yours. You are now a part of this story. And that, my friend, is the good stuff. Here are some such examples:

I Got You Babe by Sonny & Cher, Groundhog Day. Fight the Power by Public Enemy, Do the Right Thing. In Your Eyes by Peter Gabriel, Say Anything. Twist and Shout by the Beatles, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Old Time Rock & Roll by Bob Seger, Risky Business. Afternoon Delight by Starland Vocal Band, Anchorman. Hip to Be Square by Huey Lewis & The News, Almost Famous. Tiny Dancer by Elton John, American Psycho. Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen, Wayne’s World. Don’t Stop Believing by Journey, The Sopranos (the only admissible example from the world of television as recognized by the court). Scorcese’s got a great one of these too, inwhere the character is interacting with the music, quite demonstrably so in this scene. Werewolves of London by Warren Zevon, The Color of Money. (TCOM also has another great Clapton [solo] drop: It’s in the Way That You Use It.) 

Those are all well and good, but when it comes to movie characters interacting with music as a part of the story, well, let’s just say that Quentin Tarantino is the sensei of this dojo. You Never Can Tell by Chuck Berry, Pulp Fiction. Thurman and Travolta do the twist. Then the very next scene (chronologically), wherein Uma drops the actual needle, although technically it’s a reel-to-reel tape deck, on … Girl You’ll Be A Woman Soon by Urge Overkill. Followed shortly thereafter by Vinnie Barbarino quite forcefully dropping a hypodermic needle through her breastplate, injecting pure, pharmaceutical-grade adrenaline directly into her heart. No music plays during this scene. They say jazz is just as much about the notes you don’t play. 

How about some later-period Tarantino? Straight Shooter by The Mamas & The Papas, Once Upon A Time … In Hollywood. (Did you know that the sheet music for this song was discovered by investigators at the crime scene for the first of two Manson Family Murders, on the grand piano in the director Roman Polanski’s home on Cielo Drive, mere feet away from the lifeless body of his eight-and-a-half months pregnant wife, the actress Sharon Tate, who had been stabbed sixteen times? Now that’s an Easter Egg.) Pair that recent offering with a stone-cold classic from his directorial debut … Stuck In The Middle WIth You by Stealers Wheel, Reservoir Dogs. (Obviously, the whimsical nature of the music and the lyrics, which are literally about clowns and jokers, juxtaposed against the sheer menace of Mark Madsen as Mr. Blonde, dancing with glee at the prospect of torturing this, his bound and gagged victim, Sean Penn’s brother, is played for effect here. This application of music in film as an agent of contrast will go on to be oft-immitated, especially in movie trailers. More on that later. In the meantime, as long as we’re indulging in a little Hollywood trivia, courtesy of the Internet Movie Database, Tarantino burned the entire budget allotment to score on securign the rights to this one song. Implying he was content with having no other music in the movie, so long as he had Stuck in the Middle for this one scene. Of course that’s not the case. There are other songs, but only because the producers managed to cut a separate record deal for the soundtrack.) Come to think of it, that movie opens with a needle drop wherein the needle doesn’t technically drop. The dialogue only refers to a popular song. Like a Virgin by Madonna. Just a crew of hardened criminals — we’re talking real bad hombres, here — sitting around the table at greasy spoon diner, shooting the shit about pop music, mouth love and metaphor. (BTW, best not step to Louisa with that — Actually, I Don’t Believe Tipping — bullshit, Steve Buscemi. She’ll have Thadeus go to work on your ass with a pair of pliers and a blowtorch. Mr. Pink. What kind of pussy-ass name is that anyway?)

 So now that we’ve established this crucial discourse, what then is the best needle drop, according to consensus? We needn’t look any further than QT’s contemporary and friend, PTA. Paul Thomas Anderson, courtesy of. PTFA. And this one’s a double dipper: Sister Christian by Night Ranger >| Jessie’s Girl by Ricky Springfield, Boogie Nights. He’s a buddy of mine! 

Have you seen any of these movies, or have you heard any of these songs? What are some of your favorite songs from movies?

(Postscript: As previously mentioned, ultimately, the needle drop became so ubiquitous that They started using them to punch up movie trailers, much to the dismay of underemployed baritone voice actors in a world over. Ever the evolutionary, Marty had one of the best of these coming attraction needle drops, too: Black Skinhead by Kanye West, The Wolf of Wall Street, trailer. [For my theme song {Black} / My leather black jeans on {Black} / My by any means on / Pardon I’m getting my scream on {Black}.] Three years prior, the preview for The Social Network — best picture runner-up to The Artist — famously and quite influentially featured the backing track of a Belgian girls choir covering Creep by Radiohead, already an anthemic standard. It bears repeating how in subsequent years this became sort of cliche — movie trailers soundtracked by seemingly happy reimaginings of sad songs, or vice versa. It’s a cheap illusion. Sleight of hand. Pay close attention and you’ll see how it’s transcended advertisements for upcoming movie releases, and been increasingly deployed to promote household items and other consumer products. One campaign in particular comes to mind. It’s a series of stop motion-animated Short Films produced by a chain of Fast Casual Mexican restaurants. They’re self-aggrandizing as artistic stands taken against the societal ill of factory farming, but don’t let that fool you for one fucking second. They’re still fucking burrito commercials, at the end of the day. Same as ever. Only sans chihuahua. Not that it matters, but the needle drops used are sort of a spooky indie rock reimagining of the theme song from Willy Wonka, as well as two separate country-fried covers of fucking Coldplay.) 

Ain’t it fun, remembering stuff? Tell you what: if you’re ever laying awake at night, tossing and turning, choose a category of something you like and make a list of the stuff you can remember within it. It could be anything. World capitals, say, if you like geography. Suppose instead you’re one of them sports nuts. Then how about backup quarterbacks, or singular team names is a fun one. (I.e. the ones that aren’t plural, or in other words don’t end in the letter -S- … e.g. Orlando Magic, Colorado Avalanche, Boston Red Sox, etc.) Also you could do saints. New Orleans or Catholic. Either works. Maybe comic book characters, you fucking nerd. Car makes and models. U.S. Vice Presidents. Dog breeds. Non-sporting group. Types of legumes. See, your brain isn’t rotting from the inside out. Go on and try it. Keep the nightmares at bay. For just a little bit longer. No, I am Not a Robot. Why do You ask? 

###

Hank didn’t have a record player. Funny, doesn’t he seem like the very model of a Vinyl Man? Like imagine if there were a museum exhibit about how humans throughout history listened to music — with all manner of gramophones and jukeboxes and walkmans — there’d be taxidermied Hank in a life-size diorama of a finished basement, dropping the needle on an Al Jarreau LP. Truth is, if he couldn’t hear it live and in-person, which was his preference, Hank didn’t much care how he listened, or even what the music was. (Just so long as it wasn’t rap. Like JG, he was woefully dismissive of hip hop in all forms. Was this a manifestation of white guilt, considering all the music he did like had been ripped off of black music from the first? Perhaps. It’s hard to say.) The people he was listening with, is what was important to him. They could choose for all he cared. And so they did. Mary Ellen Moffet’s love wagon had an eight track. Russ got named as one of several hundred co-defendants in the suit brought against Napster by Metallica, persecuted as an early adopters of pirated music, apostates of the record company industrial coplex. Of course, Skip had his radio. Thadeus and Louisa enjoyed the music of the conversation. He didn’t get the pleasure of knowing Grace, but she was known to be a witchy woman on the aux chord. (Zeke had a device called the Zune that he was terribly self-conscious about.) And after all these years the New Frontier still had that five CD changer. The Mick resisted any attempt to upgrade. What for? The carousel goes on forever. There is no dead wax, turn over to side B, pop the cassette, start a new playlist. Once one of the discs from Mick’s binder ends, the cartridge rotates, and another begins. Case in point: Jerry Garcia Band. Spring 1990. 20 May 1990, Hilo Civic Auditorium, Hawaii (Big Island).  

Tough mama

Meat shakin' on your bones

I'm gonna go down to the river and get some stones.

Sister's on the highway with that steel-drivin' crew,

Papa's in the big house, his workin' days are through.

Tough mama

Can I blow a little smoke on you?

[the-firebird69]

We don't care we want you often we don't care about your program we want you want from he doesn't care about your program you're not a programmer of computers Trump nor is bja you liars your grifter's grafters and you're full of s*** but you're gambling on it and banking on it for some reason we hate you cuz you're so dumb

Mac daddy

Further they're moving people in and so are we and foreigners just to make sure just kill you when you try your dumb s*** because your plan is so stupid. It is what you're up to and you're lame and hell and that's all there is to it you don't control these robots with AI alone or you lose and within minutes and it's been proven millions of times even to twats I have information on myself it's so prevalent and Dave still has this program and there's evidence about that all over the place it's not using the one you made is there's another ones and it's not you there was this guy Dave remember I mean what a freaking piece of s*** you are Joel

Zues Hera

I can't stand him anymore and I'm writing him up for all hes doing he's getting rid of us and he's getting rid of his own people and himself he's a turd. I heard what happened with the businesses he sold them they use your money to buy them and they took the money back and you don't have that many robots and the robots have been getting ripped off yeah and I heard about your a****** master plan and they're not really afraid of it because you don't have any AI that can do that and you don't know where Dave's is or arnie why don't you get the f*** out of here and try and find it he says it's where I get the iron Man suit harvest is designed and part of the propulsion but I'm interested in what he's saying because they developed it and they have it and I find it he says because you go to these places and I know which one I'm in because I'm in the movie I'm trying to get what he's saying I'm wolverine and I know where I go is Westchester was bja for some reason it's in a wheelchair it says we might go from Cheyenne's and our experience there we Bond and we were in our out of Hawaii doing the job and he needs stuff like that desperately you should have the stuff and really you have a flight machine inside your ship it's small and you have an iron Man suit on and you have the wings as a backup and probably two pair and you fly out of the tunnel and that's how it works so I'm starting to agree with him and we're going to go ahead and do this but you know you're going to get left behind you too and she's been has value and people saw it today and said wow that's awesome and you're saying he's taking your robots but he goes up and he finds out that Tommy f is running them and you're sitting here running your mouth off about one s*** we like to know which one and he keeps saying it's over there was a drug dealers there Mar-A-Lago but really he's on the opposite side so say it backwards and it's like to see so I get what they're saying he thinks it's this one over here and the bottom drops and they pull some stuff out just for them yes everybody Ride in the chaos he grabs them and he's been trying to kidnap him since the snow incident several times and still it's just a lousy human being and nasty and you can't really do it at all and you have to have this Grand delusion and you had it he threw it away I don't know why I want to know why it sounds like you're mentally ill we checked in your assholes don't have friends here and they're f****** up all the time I don't know what's wrong with you people but you're dumber than hell I'll see you

Bg

I'll tell you what you keep harping on them so much I'm thinking of leaving what you say is I should never handled before you're not exactly handling them I don't understand what you're saying I'm trying to do some ridiculous s*** to save them when it shoots flush them this is horrible you are so stupid what you say out of your mouth anybody will shoot you for and I see him doing all you people are dead this is saying it too I think these people are dead people they just walking around muttering telling everybody off this is thier plan. So I'm out of here shortly I don't want to support you idiots and the clothes will be against you so not to throw them in the fire for no dumb reason just to just to sit out there and wait for the empire to hit so you can go down there and wait for the clothes to hit.

Terry cheesman

[lolotheparagon]

Yes and no. The Layton franchise tends to write women as either sideline support like Flora or the catalyst for a man’s character development I.e. Katia from Pandora’s Box, Claire from Lost Future, Angela from Miracle Mask. And that’s just side characters. But I think this is the one franchise that can both write women really well and not at all. In order to keep this essay short, let’s use two prominent examples: Flora and Emmy. Two main characters from their respective trilogies

The original games had Flora, Layton’s adopted daughter was the only recurring female character in the gang since the end of the first game Curious Village, and yet shes still relegated to the sidelines and is often used as a plot device or a damsel in distress. In Pandora’s Box, she secretly followed the professor and Luke on the train they were taking cos she didn’t want to be alone again and Layton was happy for her to join. But an hour later into the game’s story, she’s kidnapped and replaced with Don Paolo in disguise. That’s it. She’s completely gone from the rest of the game. This was lampshaded in Lost Future where Flora gets rightfully angry at Layton and Luke for not letting her take part in their adventures, yet because of the severity of their mission at the time, Layton decides to break the promise he made to Flora and just up and leaves her at his apartment, leading her to chase after them and join them in “Future” London to force them to bring her along and yet…she ultimately does nothing substantial until she’s kidnapped again.

The writers really have NO IDEA what to do with Flora after the events of Curious Village and instead of dropping her entirely, they always bring her back cos she has the cute uwu anime girl appeal. It not only makes Flora feel like a nothing burger of a character, it makes Layton look like a neglectful guardian.

Which is even more depressing when you remember Flora’s story in the first game, Curious Village, was her losing her mother to illness, m her father building an entire village of robot people to keep her company until she grew old enough to live on her own and when the father died, he put her in a giant tower cos she couldn’t stand the robot replacement of her new mother (yeah sure let your socially malnourished daughter live in a tower away from everyone) And he set up her own adoption to be treated like a grand prize rather than just…letting the village look after her after her dad died? I mean yeah they’re robots programmed to be her friend yet they have their own lives and jobs so it’s not like there’s any ethical complications there.

Now on the opposite end of the spectrum, we have Emmy, an adult character introduced in the prequel trilogy who serves as tritagonist and assistant to the professor. She’s fiery, energetic, resourceful, inquisitive and can kick all kinds of ass. She’s the ultimate girlboss and I freaking love her. And while the end of the trilogy gave us a shitty twist regarding her I won’t spoil here, she still had much more characterisation and personality than Flora.

I also love how despite initially wanting to be Layton’s assistant, she isn’t set up to be a love interest for Layton but to just be a companion, mostly cos Layton proved her innocence after being framed for pickpocketing when she was a teen and treated her with kindness (bare in mind this is in late 50s Britain, a teenage girl being treated with respect and dignity by a grown man back then was fucking unheard of)

So Emmy is patient zero of how to have a cool side character by just writing fun scenes with her. And it’s clear Level 5 had a lot more fun writing her. She also isnt perved on by the camera and isnt drawn with big cute eyes and an uwu sad face unlike a lot of anime women.

The only exception to Level 5’s rather blase treatment of women is with Katrielle, who debuted in a spinoff game where she was not only manager of her own agency, runs circles around politicians and lawmen with her razor sharp instincts, is a fashionista with an arrogant personality yet is kind to everyone she meets. She has no love interest, not an emotional catalyst for another person’s character development. She’s unlike any woman in any previous Layton game, which is why I love her so much.

Also, I want to shout out to Arianna from Spectre’s Call cos Luke is the one serving as the catalyst to her character development cos she’s his best friend and nor the game or main characters force her to come out of her shell cos the traumatic stress she went through having no parents and only having her brother as companion/caregiver and internalised the rumours of her being a witch understandably makes her closed off to the world so Luke tells her “when you feel better, you can open up to people again.”

Like. Level 5 you can be legit GOOD if you put your mind to it and don’t resort to standard anime tropes and shit, so PLEASE! YOU CAN DO BETTER

professor layton series

Professor Layton Series (Video Game Series, 2007)

Explain your reasoning in the tags!

[lollytea]

PLEASE talk about their silly little relationship for hours!

They LIKE eachother and thats the thing. Everything about their respective moral alignments and their strongly held beliefs of the opposite side perfectly sets up for their relationship to be this mutual understanding but wrought with so much tension and antagonism. Like it has this tragic potential of "they could have been best friends in another life" and like. LIKE LIKE. These shots in Hunting Palismen really seems like this is the direction their dynamic is going in. Look at them!!!

So you'd think I'd be disappointed that this is not remotely the direction their relationship wound up in but I can't even be mad. Because whatever the FUCK they got going on now is just way funnier and way sweeter and says so much about them as people that I just love it too much.

They hang out for one night and that's literally all it took. They like and respect each other now and it doesn't MATTER if they're on opposite sides. Deep down, they really don't care.

They're too kind to be each others' enemies. They're too goofy for it. They're too comfortable with each other to even hold serious grudges about all the threats and murder attempts. They TRUST each other, which they shouldn't but they do.

Like Hunter TRIES to create some distance between them. He calls her "Human (derogatory)" to reinforce that she's below him and he doesn't see her as a friend. But then he calls her Luz the one time he's not thinking about it. Its a deliberate effort on his part to refer to her as Human, but apparently all this time he's been calling her Luz in his head. He sees her as an equal and he has ever since they officially met.

But like literally he's so fucking bad at not being friendly with her. He tries to be cold with her over text but then sends her a pic by mistake and apologizes for it. Tried to be angry with her about getting them stuck in Belos's mind but then she said something funny that gave him a good giggle so he was like "aight it's cool." And then proceeded to excitedly infodump on her when he saw stuff he thought was cool. Like he's never been to an art gallery with a buddy before and by god if he's gonna be stuck in this situation, he's not milk what he can out of it.

Meanwhile Luz trusts him wholeheartedly, even before Hunter's "redemption." She's like "I've read enough YA novels to know where this little bitch's character arc is going" so she doesn't bother waiting until they get to that point and treats him like a friend early on. But the funniest part is she doesn't bother to COMMUNICATE that they're friends now. She just expects him to get with the program.

She very confidently decides that Hunter is her man on the inside, without bothering to tell him. So when she tries to get info from him, he's just like "fuck off???"

And she's not even upset when he laughs in her face at the notion that she actually believed he was ever on her side. She just kinda rolls her eyes and gets snippy because he's being obnoxious. Like I feel like this kind of reaction would hurt her feelings??? But since it's Hunter she just shrugs it off. It's cool, Hunter's just annoying like that.

I'm mostly just talking about what makes their relationship funny so I'm not even gonna delve into how much they take care of each other, both physically and emotionally but it is worth mentioning that I love that too. They're out here saving each others lives like constantly. But anyway.

The way Gus and Willow were people Hunter needed a spend a little time with to get comfortable with touching them. But with Luz he's just ALWAYS been chill with it. For some reason. They just have this dynamic where everything clicked together perfectly when they first met, something that is rare but does exist. It's like "Yes we have only spent two days in eachothers company. Yes we have known each other our whole lives. These sorts of relationships exist. Open your mind."

Whatever they got is so funky. My favourite pair of freaks

[cazimagines]

Perfectly Exasperating - Chapter 3

Synopsis: While you have been unknowingly kidnapped Zemo is determined to make the time he spends with you the best that he can

Word count: 5.4k

Author’s note: Hey all! This is sorta a one-month celebration of my account and for all the love you guys have shown this series and my other series 'A Freudian Slip' I can't thank you enough! My editing program decided to screw me over though so if you can see a difference grammatically in the first half and the second half that's why

Masterlist

(Please check out my master list to see what I will be writing next and if requests are open or closed)

Cross-posted to ao3 under the same username

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Your eyes slowly flutter open as the warmth from the sun shining through the curtains touching your skin waking you up. Yawning and stretching, feeling the soft duvet move on top of you, you sighed in content, closing your eyes again as you embraced the happiness which had been foreign to you for so long. You reach out to seize the end of the duvet and gradually slide out of the bed; you feel the slight chill of the morning breeze brush against your exposed legs. Crossing over to the wardrobe your hand reaches out to flick through the many dresses, shirts, trousers that hung in there, all belonging to shops such as Gucci, Prada, Valentino. There were clothes appropriate for any event, but today you choose comfortably as you pull out a maroon knitted sweater and dark blue jeans. Though appearing to be rather cheap clothes, you knew Zemo would never have spent less than $100 on them.

When Zemo said he would take care of you, he meant it in every aspect. It was a culture shock going from the relatively poor life you lived, surviving off the small amount of money they paid you for being an Avenger to being treated like royalty by Zemo. Not that you were complaining. It was a guilty pleasure of yours enjoying this luxury, a part of you hoping it would never end. If you had told yourself just a few weeks ago, you would have enjoyed living with Zemo you would have laughed in your face but that man had certainly turned on the charm and you couldn’t help but feel the slightest big thankful for him for everything he has done for you.

You finally leave the confines of your room, something you had only been allowed to do a few times until today. You convinced Zemo yesterday that you weren’t concussed from when John had hit you with the shield and that you would be fine getting up and walking around. He was still hesitant but knew he couldn’t keep you confined in your bed forever.

You close your eyes as you inhale the sweet smell of cooking pancakes, making your stomach grumble greedily. Following the scent, you work your way down through the interior design living room into the lavish kitchen where Zemo currently had his back turned to you as he attempted to flip the pancake he had in the frying pan. His purple turtleneck sleeves were pulled up, exposing his forearms as they tensed, trying to get the timing right to flip the pancake. He does so with perfect accuracy, the golden brownness of the pancake soaring up into the air and landing back down in the frying pan, sizzling.

Zemo giggles to himself, celebrating his minor achievement as he waves the frying pan, his body swaying along slightly with it.

“That smells heavenly,”

Zemo whips around at hearing your voice pierce the air. “Ah y/n! Please, take a seat while I make breakfast,”

His eyes follow you as you take a seat down at the table he had prepared for this morning, then focus back on the breakfast at hand. You pour out some orange juice Zemo had left on the table, then your gaze flickers back to him as he finishes cooking. He stacks the pancakes onto two plates and grabs some sugar, maple syrup, and lemons out of the shelves, giving you a choice of toppings.

You scoff as he turns around, seeing on the apron he had tied around himself the words ‘kiss the chef’ on it.

“Really?” you ask, raising the glass to your lips as you watch him glance down to his apron and then back up to you offended.

“You don’t like?”

“It’s embarrassing to look at!” you exclaim as he places the plates down on the table and sits down opposite you.

Zemo’s eyebrows twitch as he scoffs back at you, “I think it suits me, plus a kiss is expected after I worked so hard on breakfast” he says, tapping his cheek with his finger.

You raise an eyebrow, letting a breath out as you laugh, “Yeah, in your dreams,”

You two settle into a comfortable silence as you readily eat the breakfast he made. The pancakes were soft but delicious, sickeningly sweet but you have always had a sweet tooth and so it seems, does Zemo.

“I thought you would have one of your staff make breakfast, you never struck me as the person to do something yourself when you can make others do it,” you say breaking the silence as you finish the last of your pancakes.

Zemo glances up to you, tilting his head, “Why do you think that? Because I grew up rich?”

You nod, not attempting to make yourself sound nicer, “Yes. It’s common knowledge the rich are always spoilt”

His lips twitch up into a smile at your bluntness. He sighs, leaning back in his chair, crossing his legs as he addresses you.

“You’re right. Even though Sokovia was a rather small country, I grew up with more riches than most people could dream of. But at least I acknowledge my privilege. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”

“Depending on what you use your privilege for. Blowing up the UN isn’t exactly putting it to good use now stop avoiding my original question,”

Zemo bites the inside of his mouth as you see through his attempts at trying to dodge the question. His admiration for you however outweighed any annoyance he might have felt at being called out for it. Leaning forward again to rest his arms on the table he says,

“It’s only me, you and my Butler who occasionally comes in. After I was arrested, there was no work for my staff so they all left and I can’t exactly hire anyone else,”

You nod, satisfied, then dab the napkin that Zemo has set out beside you, on your lips to get rid of any leftover sugar. You place your hands on the table and push yourself up from it.

“Well, thank you for breakfast, and thank you for looking after me this last week… that was nice of you, but I better be going. Do you know where my phone is?”

Zemo’s eyes furrow and he immediately stands up as you walk away from the table. He rushes past you, stepping in front of you to stop you from walking.

“You can’t leave y/n,”

Your head jilts back in confusion, “Why not?”

“We ruined Karli’s plans, so she is trying to find us. That’s why Sam and James are out hiding and why we must remain here,”

“I can handle Karli,” you tell Zemo, trying to step past him, but his hand reaches out and grasps your arm firmly.

“Not a super-soldier y/n. It’s too dangerous, especially after your recovery. James and Sam will reach out to me once it is clear to leave, but for now, we stay.”

You huff in frustration, shaking Zemo’s hand off your arm as you cross them. “Well, at least get me a phone so I can keep in contact with them too,”

“I’m afraid I can’t get you a phone currently, but you are welcomed to use mine. Alas, James and Sam have my number but I don’t have theirs’s so unless you remember their numbers we have to wait till they message first to reach out to them,”

You let out a melodramatic sigh, rolling your head looking to the side of the room then back to Zemo.

“So what the hell am I to do to keep occupied?”

Zemo tilts his head, his eyes flicker to the side in thought as he opens his mouth wordlessly and his eyes move back to yours, his eyebrows raising as he frowns thinking over the idea that has just entered his head.

-

With his fingers, Zemo, gazing at you eagerly, beckoned you down the corridor, towards a giant door that was at the end.

“I’m not a dog Zemo” you complain as you follow him

“Have you ever heard of dramatic effect?”

Zemo had taken off his apron and replaced it with that coat he loved to wear so much. You firmly believed it gave him a power complex. He strutted to the end of the hallway and placed his hands on the door. His face turns to you smirking, enjoying this dramatic pause as you roll your eyes at him. He pushes the door open and stands to the side, sweeping his arm across the space to let you in.

You walk past him and your eyes widen in amazement as you walk into the most magnificent library you had ever seen. The room itself stretched out almost further than you could see, seeming to go on and on. The shelves looked like they reached up to the sky, each one stacked with thousands of beautiful hardback books. The design of it looked like you had just stepped into heaven, with white and gold being the main colour scheme. On the ceiling was a painted sky with the gods on, looking down at you. On the pillars separating the shelves were little cherubs, their bows positioned to pierce your heart. Everything about this library was beautiful. It felt like a library that should belong to a museum not kept in this private mansion.

“You see why the dramatic effect was necessary?” Zemo says stepping up beside you, looking out at the shelves before you.

“Zemo this is… this is beautiful,”

His eyes flicker to you then back to the library, a smile appearing on his lips, “Yes, I suppose it is. When I was younger, I had always taken things like this for granted, but after my time in prison I believe it’s made me more humble,”

You walk over to the nearest bookshelf, letting your fingers brush over the colourful hardbacks. You pull one book out, stroking the golden platted side. “You must have every practically every book in existence here”

“I have more books than I could ever get round to reading. You can find anything you want to read here,”

After ten minutes you had gathered a rather sizable book pile you were determined to read, full of fictional and non-fictional books, some of your favorites and some you had never read before.

Zemo chuckled as you tried to hold all of them in your grasp. As you picked one up, the book on the very top of your pile slipped and fell to the floor. Panic surged in you, worried you would damage something so expensive, but Zemo’s hand appears and catches it before it could hit the ground.

Straightening up, he gave you an amused smile, “Maybe you should let me help carry them”

Accepting his help, he takes half the book pile off you and guides you over to a place deep in the library where you two could read. There were two light green armchairs facing each other, with a fireplace just behind them. To the side of the chairs were small tables which contained bookmarks, a goblet, and an ashtray, and to the side of one chair was a globe which could be opened, and inside it held a decanter full of whiskey.

Zemo places the books in his arms on the table then walks over to one shelf, browsing till he finally finds the book he was looking for. He returns to find you getting comfortable in your chair, opening the first book.

“Whisky?” he asks, opening up the globe beside him.

A few days ago you would have said ‘no, no way,’ but today you smile and nod your head, reaching out with the glass beside you to gracefully accept the drink.

-

The next couple of days were spent similarly with you and Zemo spending much of your time reading in the library together. Occasionally you two would even read to each other as he had first done with you when you had woken up here. Though you would never admit it to him, his smokey voice made you very comfortable. If he tried, he could lull you to sleep with that accent of his.

You couldn’t help but try to separate the Zemo you know now as the one you used to hate. Yes, he had torn apart your family, but he had all the reason for what happened to Sokovia, what happened to his family. Plus, this Zemo seemed to try hard to make it up to you. Almost too hard. He was trying everything to keep you entertained while you were stuck here, make your life as comfortable as he could. It was nice.

You strolled into the kitchen hearing the quiet buzz of the radio playing the latest top hits and the sound of someone humming along to the music. In there you find Zemo by the counter, fixated on the bowl he held in his arm and the spoon in his hand as he delicately tries to put the mixture into the cupcake trays before him. You had offered to make food, feeling like he always did too much for you but every day he insisted he would, even on days where it Butler would come around.

“Need help?” you ask, walking over to stand beside him.

He glances at you, then back to the tray he has laid out before him. “I’ve got a handle on this,” he replies just as he spills some mixtures onto the counter, making him swear under his breath.

“Uh-huh, sure,” you say, looking down at the spilled mixture. You turn to face him, letting out a chuff as you place a hand on his arm, “Zemo stop being so prideful and let me help”

As soon as your hand comes in contact with his arm, he freezes. He glances down at the ground, swallowing then his eyes flicker to yours and he smiles gently, his usual arrogance disappearing. “Okay,”

You grab a spoon from the draw and help Zemo scrap off what he puts into his spoon into the cake tray with accuracy. You two stand together, your shoulders brushing up against each other till you finish and put it into the oven.

“We have 30 minutes until we need to get them out. Why don’t you read for a bit while I clean up,”

“I can help clean up,” You tell him already going over to the sink to turn the water on, “You’re not my servant Zemo,”

“Helmut” he suddenly says

You turn back to look at him, confused at the seriousness of his face, “Please y/n, call me Helmut,”

Your mouth moves wordlessly for a moment, then you say, “Helmut,” trying the name out on your tongue. You were so used to calling him Zemo, you had forgotten that that wasn’t his first name.

“Thank you” he whispers, glancing away from you bashfully.

He takes a towel off the side of the rail and dries up everything you washed as you two settled into a peculiar silence.

Attempting to liven the atmosphere again, you put a cup just at the right angle of the running tap that the water splashed into Zemo’s coat. He steps back shocked, glancing down at his coat then back to you. He lets out a laugh, his mouth open in surprise that you would do that. “Oh, if that is how it is”

Zemo quickly grabs a mug, running it under the following water. Realizing what he was going to do you let out a squeal and rush for the door but you don’t get far enough till you feel the water hit your back, soaking your t-shirt.

“Helmut!” you gasp as he chuckles at you. You run forward to grab the nearest thing in front of you to chuck it at him, a piece of bread in this case but he ducks as it flies over him. He fills the cup up again and runs towards you but you get to the table and hide on the other side till you were both poised opposite each other waiting for one of you to make the first move.

“This isn’t fair!” you whine, feeling the coldness of your t-shirt cling to your back. “Who said anything about fairness!” Zemo shouted back, grinning at you.

Eventually, you two called a truce when the oven chimes letting you two know the cupcakes were finished baking. After that day, Zemo always asked if you wanted to help him make meals.

-

“Is the popcorn ready?” you shout as you jump up from the floor where you were placing the DVD into the DVD player.

“Almost done” Zemo calls out.

While waiting, you settle yourself down on the middle of the red sofa, twisting your back to get that perfect spot as you stared up at the giant screen in front of you.

Zemo emerges from the kitchen holding the popcorn and places the bowl onto the table in front of you. He settles down beside you, instantly positioning his arms on the top of the sofa, resting behind your head.

He leans forward to pick up some of the popcorn, tossing it in his mouth as he asks you what you have chosen to watch tonight.

“Beauty and the Beast,” you say excitingly and Zemo coughs, leaning forward as he accidentally inhaled the popcorn in his mouth.

He wipes the tear from his eye as he leans back and you give him a confused look, “Do you not like the film?”

“No-no, it’s not that. W-why do you want to watch the film?”

“It’s my favorite Disney film,”

He nods his head slightly looking down at the popcorn, “I see…” he then glances back to you, looking you in the eyes, “Why is it your favorite Disney film?”

You lean back sighing as you think the movie over, “Well, I’ve loved it since I was a kid. I always wanted to be like Bell and I found the beast so sweet and gentle”

“Even though he imprisoned her?”

“He let her go in the end, and she came back to him”

Zemo opened his mouth wanting to say more, but you sushed him as the movie started, wanting to concentrate only on it.

Zemo turned down the lights to make the experience feel as cinematic as he could of you. Grabbing the bowel he offered you some of the popcorn and you smiled at him in thanks. He tried to enjoy the movie, but his eyes kept wandering back to you, watching your expressions as you watched the movie. His heart skipped a beat every time you laughed at it when that gorgeous smile would grace your face, even in the sad moments where it looked like you were about to cry. He loved seeing how you reacted to everything. There were so many things he had taken for granted, and it felt like he was discovering them all over again with you. It fascinated him to find out the beauty and the beast was your favorite film. It was almost ironic given your current situation, one of which you remained painfully unaware of. He knew he couldn’t keep you in the dark forever. Sam and James were bound to discover where you two were eventually, which is why he wanted to enjoy every moment he had with you to the fullest before it was over.

As the movie went on, Zemo could feel your body moving closer and closer to him. The heat that radiated from your body made him want to wrap his arms around you, but he didn’t know if that would go too far. Roughly by the end of the movie, your head rested against his chest, moving slightly up and down as he breathed. He could tell by your shallow breathing you had entered the realm of dreams.

Looking down at you, he couldn’t help but admire how peaceful you looked. When on the mission with Sam and James you had always appeared tense, prepared to fight your way out of a situation as soon as possible, but at this moment you were relaxed and it made his heart flutter. He could look at you forever like this and never tire of it.

He had found himself in the past comparing you to his wife. He felt conflicted feeling this way about another woman, but how he felt about you differed from how he felt about his wife. It was new, exciting, addicting. Slowly raising his hand, he brushes a piece of hair that had fallen over your face while you slept. Your skin was smooth against his fingers and so soft. His fingers lingered on your skin before finally, he let his arm rest around your body, holding you close as you slept against his chest.

-

Your arms were raised, feeling the walls on either side of you as you tried to figure out if you were going and if you were about to bump into anything while Zemo’s hands were clasped around your eyes tightly.

“Don’t you trust me y/n” he whispers in your year, snickering.

“Do you want a pleasant lie or the harsh truth?” you ask, turning your head slightly but Zemo tuts and moves your head back with his hands

“Not long now, just a few more steps,”

“Till what!” you whine

“Be patient y/n!”

Zemo lifts one hand of your eyes telling you to keep them close and you hear the creak of a door open ahead of you. His hand returns to your face and with slightly pushing his body against yours, he urges you forward into this new room.

“Can I finally look now?”

Zemo removes his hands and steps back from you, “Okay y/n, open your eyes”

Opening them you gasped in shock seeing what was before you. On a stand was a replica of Belle’s dress in Beauty and the Beast. Its honey yellow colour shone out, the top of it tightly clung to the mannequin it was on while the bottom poofed out, it hung with no shoulder straps and came with yellow gloves. Everything about it was perfect.

“Helmut I- I’m, stunned,”

“You like it?” he asks anxiously

You turn to him grinning, “Of course I do!”

You hug him tightly, ecstatic, then rushed over to the dress, brushing your fingers along it. “It’s beautiful” you whisper.

“I think I got the sizes right,” Zemo says coming up beside you, a pink tinge to his cheeks, “There’s only one way to know for you,” he adds on, turning to you giving you a gentle smile

He helps you take the dress off and chuckles as he watches you rush off with it to get changed, then leaves to get changed himself.

The dress fitted perfectly on you. Everything from the bust down to the waist. Even the gloves fitted perfectly. When you entered the bathroom, you found Zemo had even found some make-up in case you wanted to use any. He thought of everything.

Finally looking at yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face. You truly felt like a Disney princess. Slowly you walked back down the stairs and enter the room Zemo had to lead you in, to begin with. As you walked in, let out a merry laugh as you saw Zemo, dressed up in a blue jacket, embroidered with yellow roses on the sleeves, just like the beast. He was standing by a record player, putting a disk in as you walked in. He turns to look at you, his mouth opening in wonder.

“Y/n… you look glorious,”

His sincere comment makes your cheeks heat up and you hold your arms out to him, squeezing your hands letting him know you want to hold his hands.

He turns the record on and your favorite song from Beauty and the Beast floats out, making your cells light up with excitement.

“Helmut” you start to say as he walks over to you, holding his hand out, “Why are you doing this?”

He gently takes your gloved hand, bending over to kiss it. “I know it isn’t easy being stuck in here all the time and you said you loved ‘Beauty and the Beast’ so I thought it would make a pleasant treat,”

His arms hesitantly touch your waist as he looks into your eyes as if asking it was okay. You nod and step closer to him, taking his hand in yours holding it up. Getting into the waltz position you two start to move along the dance floor, swaying to the music.

You two slide along the ballroom floor, picking up speed. As you look up to him, he breathes out smiling back down at you happily. His hand on his waist spins your around as your dress flutters out. You squeal in delight as you grasp back onto his hand as you felt dizzy.

You two turn around the floor looking each other deep in the eyes. You could feel his breath on your face as you two were barely inches apart from each other. Zemo pulls you in even closer as your arm goes around his neck, your body pulled into his. He dips you as you cling to him tightly for dear life as the music fades.

He holds you into that position, panting as he looks at you, his eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips. You could feel that pull towards him, your eyes starting to flutter shut. He leans towards you but suddenly you feel your fingers slip and you almost let go of him. His other hand quickly wraps around making sure you don’t fall to the floor.

He helps you back on your feet and you two steps apart. You look away feeling your cheeks burn up again.

“Helmut, thank you. Thank you so much” you tell him earnestly

He looks deep into your eyes, smiling in bliss, “Anything for you y/n”

-

“Y/n, are you awake?”

You groan as you hear Zemo whisper beside you, waking you from your sleep.

“Ugh, Helmut what time is it,” you moan turning over with your eyes are closed.

“It’s 8, time to wake up”

“Nooooo” you whine screwing up your eyelids.

You hear him chuckle and then you feel something push against your lips. You open your eyes confused to see Zemo beside you, holding a strawberry to your lips.

You smile and take a bite out of it, moaning in delight as you taste its sweetness as you sit up. He sits up beside you and holds out some melted chocolate for you to dip the strawberry in.

“Helmut, you spoil me”

“Not enough,” he whispers back as he puts the chocolate-covered strawberry to your lips letting you take another bite.

“I’m not even surprised anymore to see you in my bed when I wake up,” you tell him

“Technically this is my bed”

“You know what I mean!”

He chuckles as he pushes his head back into the headboard, “I thought it would be a nice way for you to wake up,”

“Consider me impressed,” you tell him, looking over at him smiling. He glances back to you, his lips twitching up. You lean into his side, not caring at the moment you were in a simple nightdress. You close your eyes inhaling his cologne and picking up a strawberry to feed to him.

“I could get used to this,” you whisper to him

-

You scan the piano music book before looking back down to the notes before you. It had been a while since you had last played so you thought you might as well pick it up while you were stuck in Zemo’s mansion.

You press the notes but every time you tried to play one of the chords you always missed one. You were trying to play your favorite song 'Comptine d'un autre été' but to no avail.

“You need to flow with the music and not worry about hitting the right notes”

You turn around and smile as you see Zemo approach you from behind. “Isn’t the whole point of music to play the right notes?” you say sarcastically

Zemo lets out a huff chuckling, “Well yes but you’ll hit the notes when you stop trying so hard. Now try again”

You turn back around and attempt the music again but hit the wrong notes making you slam the piano in annoyance.

“Don’t damage the piano”

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, “I should give up,”

“No don’t do that” Zemo says, brushing his fingers over your waist, “Here let me help you”

He puts his hands on top of yours guiding them, “Let’s try again,”

You look to the music then back down to your hands which had Zemo’s resting on and attempt to start playing again. His hands moved in time with yours as they guided along with the piano, pressing down on your fingers when you needed to. You got every note. Well, Zemo got every note.

“See, easy,” he says as he pulls back from you. “Now try again”

You attempt to play again but feeling his eyes stare into your back you couldn’t concentrate and messed up the notes again.

“We just went through this!”

“It’s hard to concentrate with you staring at me!” you exclaim turning around to him. Your eyes widen as what you just said as he tilts his head, a smug smile appearing on his lips.

“Oh, I make it hard for you to concentrate do I?”

You groan at his cockiness, looking away from him so he doesn’t see your glistening red cheeks.

He walks up behind you again, his fingers grazing your jawline, stopping at your chin as he raises your head to look up at him. Seeing him look down at you made a knot in your stomach tighten.

“You are awfully red y/n”

“Shut up”

He chuckles and leans down, placing a kiss on your forehead, “I like it when you blush”

The breath gets caught in your lungs as you feel his lips on your forehead, their softness cooling your burning skin.

For the first time in your life, you were rendered speechless, by Helmut Zemo no less.

His teeth flash in his smile as he looks down at you, “Come let’s practice this again” he says, leaning over as his back pressed into yours, putting his hands back on top of yours.

-

“Zemo do you mind if I borrow your phone briefly to see if that new video has been released?” you call out picking up Zemo’s phone that he had left on your seat.

“Go ahead! Just don’t check anything else on there” he yells back

“Worried I will find your nudes?” you call out as you unlock the phone. Pressing onto the youtube app you sigh in annoyance seeing no new video and so you were about to put the phone back down when a message appeared from a contact simply labeled ‘S’

It read, ‘S: Look just tell us where you have taken her. Whatever you are doing with her it isn’t worth it”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion at what the hell could that message mean. You click onto the message stream just to see a ton of messages from this ‘S’ contact but with no reply from Zemo.

You hesitate for a moment, knowing Zemo wouldn’t want you to do what you were about to do, but your curiosity got the best of you and you pressed the call button.

It rang for a few seconds and then the line picked up.

“Zemo” Sam’s voice rang out through the phone

“Sam?” you ask back

“W-what, YN/!? Are you okay? Where are you?”

“Woah Woah Sam, calm down, I’m fine! I’m with Helmut-Sam what is going on?”

“What has he done to you?”

“What do you mean he's done nothing, Sam I thought me and Helmut were hiding out here till Karli was done with her plan?”

You hear a sigh down the phone and then the muffled voices of what you could make out as Bucky and Sharon down the line.

Sam picked the phone back up and spoke directly, “Y/n you need to get out of there now. Zemo, he's kidnapped you”

The phone slips from your hand and lands on the floor with a loud crash.

Tag list: @sinister-sleep @cable-kenobi @faustlyaccused @chipster-21 @icarusinstatic @yallgotkik @montypythonsholysnail @bunniwritesx @checkurwindow @huntheimpossible @jayxkelsi @avgravy @prestigious-tea @aloyssiac @hannahbal-the-fannibal @alainabooks143 @jokerprettyprincess @plumsandkiwis @latenightartist-author @e-barba @flutterskies @loonylunalovegood77 @lieutenantn @wonderwoman292 @there-goes-thefighter @multiyfandomgirl40 @freyjasamael @ineffablebean @arianalilyblack @mandowhatnow @scullys-alienpussy @felicityofbakerstreet @babayaga67 @spookycereal-s

[lonelyasawhisper]

If Queen Won't, Brian May

Sylvie Simmons, Creem, 1st March 1984

SO HERE I am back in the giant Ajax can on Vine Street and waiting for Brian May. I look at my watch; the little hand and the big hand are sticking up like a peace sign; almost noon and it's hard to believe I'm up at this ungodly hour after last night's festivities, let alone the star. (Capitol threw a party to welcome Queen into the Ajax Can family — Elektra won't be getting The Works when it comes out early next year. There were hors d'oeuvres, aperitifs, and talking of a pair of teeths, Freddie Mercury, Roger Taylor, John Deacon and Brian May.) This is not the usual fluorescent-lit room where Duran Duran posters smirk cheekbonely from the walls. This is a cozy chamber tucked around the back somewhere, through convoluted corridors and up and down staircases — couldn't find it again even if you threatened me with a night at Plato's with Steve Perry — dark and small as a confession box...

I confess! I know I shouldn't; I know there's a reputation to consider; I know Mötley Crüe told me just the other day that they're "the opposite" of this band. But I LIKE QUEEN. There, I've said it. Not only do I have all their albums (except Hot Space; I'm not that daft) but I sing 'Bohemian Rhapsody' in its entirety at the slightest provocation. And the Brian May-penned 'Flash' is probably the best sci-fi theme tune in the Universe.

Though Brian may not agree. For one, the title track on the first album he's ever done outside of Queen just happens to be a sci-fi theme tune called 'Star Fleet'; for another he's so modest and understated you virtually have to beat the bloke with rubber truncheons to get him to admit that Queen are pretty big.

Anyway, the Star Fleet Project is a mini album — as May's own liner notes say, it's "not your normal kind of album; not an album which has been 'thoughtfully pieced together by a coordinated band as a balanced and polished listening experience.' Not a Queen album." Certainly isn't. All three songs — 'Star Fleet', the theme from a Japanese Saturday morning sci-fi program that shows on English TV that Brian got hooked on thanks to his young son Jimmy, 'Let Me Out', a song Brian wrote for Queen years ago that was never used, and 'Blues Breaker', dedicated to Eric Clapton, the man whose axe-work with Cream inspired a 15-year-old May to build his own electric guitar — were recorded over a two-day period back in April during a break from the year-around Queen boxing match. At loose ends, Brian called up some music friends in Los Angeles and jammed. Yes — jammed. What they used to do in the old days when musicians spent more time with each other than their accountants. Anyway, after much thought — and a bit of persuasion from Heavy Pettin', a British rock band he was producing on the side who heard the tapes and drooled — and more red tape, the jamming session got put out as pure and untouched as Michael Jackson, and credited to Brian May And Friends. His friends? Neighbor Alan Gratzer of REO Speedwagon, Phil Chen, ex-Rod Stewart bassist, Fred Mandel, the former Alice Cooper member who showed up on Queen's last tour, and on co-lead, Eddie Van Halen. (The two met when Brian caught Van Halen's set on a Black Sabbath tour and got friendlier when they met up again in Germany and confessed to being mutual fans.)

Brian May has just walked into the chamber, right on time. He's tall, got the same hairdo he's had for years, an intent expression on his face and a soft, very English voice.

"We had some time off from the group which we forced on ourselves," he's saying about why he's just done a record that sounds like it could have been made any time in the past 11 years Queen's been together. "We felt, Queen, that we'd got too close to each other and we needed a break. We all do different things — Roger's been making an album, Freddie's been doing stuff with Michael Jackson, John's been doing all kinds of stuff with computers and weird machines, and I thought, 'Why don't I do something?' Most of my favorite musicians were around L.A. where I was, and they all said 'yeah, great, let's go and do it.' Which really surprised me; I thought people would say yeah great, but we're busy.' So I booked the Record Plant and we went in and tried it, and it worked out better than I could ever have dreamed. One of the best times of my life, really."

He doesn't have too many friends in the business, he says. "They are pretty well my best friends, but also some of my favorite players." They're also veterans of some of the most commercially successful, richest mainstream rock bands around. By doing this project, did they reckon they'd show us they weren't in it for the money alone?

"I don't think anything like that was in our minds. There was never any talk of it coming out to begin with — it was just to be in there playing really, and I was quite prepared to leave it that way. Possibly to prove something to myself — that I could play with other musicians and enjoy it, and make something worthwhile."

If he's saying Queen hasn't been making anything worthwhile lately, there's a lot of people who couldn't agree more. Like Hot Space frinstance.

"There's a lot about Hot Space I didn't like. But at the same time," Brian covers himself, "it was probably, in retrospect, the right thing to do at the time, because we had to investigate all those different avenues and get all those bits of R&B influence out of our systems. No, part of the problem with us, the group, was we got so close to each other that familiarity breeds contempt, and we didn't like the way each other played anymore. That was one of the things that happened six months ago. And now, having got outside it and seen a lot of other people. I realize that the other three are pretty good. And I think they've had the same experience. We appreciate each other a bit more now. After this record I came back to the group much fresher. You get to understand how other people play, and you realize that everybody has their own style, and I found that I was a bit more patient with John and Roger and Freddie. Also what I got from stepping outside was realizing what other people think of us as individuals and as a group."

And did he kill himself? "Well, they thought we were pretty good — which surprised me!" He obviously didn't get to poll the people who dismiss Queen as a pretentious sort of band. Brian chuckles. And this Star Fleet Project has to be one of the most unpretentious records a superstar musician has ever made, casually put together and released without the usual sheen and polish a Queen album goes through before seeing the light of day.

"Well it is very different, and that's part of why it was a release for me. I wouldn't agree with you that Queen are pretentious, but I know what you mean. Queen are a group who've always been — everything has to be perfect before it gets out. It's worked on and worked on and argued about and talked about and torn to bits and put back together. We work to keep the spontaneity in there, but nevertheless it was nice in this case to do something which worked immediately, the adrenalin from the fact you'd never played with these people before, and everyone feeling good. I had no desire to interfere with it."

Has Queen lost its excitement? When you've got so many followers and so much success that you can even put out an album like Hot Space and it sells, when you can flash a credit card and get a record co. employee to go out and charge up anything your little heart desires, doesn't it all get a bit boring?

"It's funny you should say that because that never goes through my mind. I certainly don't feel we could do anything. For instance, last night at the party — I suppose everyone's very up about a new deal and a new album, but I was very depressed underneath it all really because what I think about is still the music. And we'd just had a play-back to the record company, and I was really desperately unhappy about the way it sounded. And I couldn't even think about we're a huge rock group, all the things you're saying. All I could think about was I'd hated what I'd heard and I was ashamed of it. I don't really think about what Queen looks like to the outside world very much. I think about what it feels like. It has had its good moments and I think we can play some good stuff; but it also has some really awful moments."

A lot of the Outside World who do think about Queen probably think it's Freddie's band. He thinks of a direction, everyone fights a bit, but generally follow meekly behind. True?

"It's a continual fight, because we all have very definite ideas of what direction we want to go in, and none of them are the same. It's a continual battle and it's very democratic and it's very painful. Most of the time when we're recording, it's hell. You have this constant dividing line between being up and positive about what you're doing, and the other side is that you may be trying to push what you want down someone else's throat, and maybe the other three will take it for a little while but in the end they'll say, 'No, this is rubbish, we hate it, stop pushing.' And that's what's happened a lot.

"I had a very clear idea in my head of what I wanted [the new Queen album] to be. It's an oversimplification, but I wanted it to be more of a rock album. But I obviously pushed too hard in the early days, and everyone got very angry with me and said 'Look, stop. Don't tell us what to play.' And then you take three steps back and try and work it out again. That's happened with all of us. We all feel that suddenly we can see a path ahead and the other three can't see it at all, and that makes it really hard.

"The plus of it is that after you've had your arguments and found an intermediate course at least you've already been through a vast political process, and the stuff which does come out has been through a gigantic sieve. So I think in the end you come out with stuff which is a real group product, and it's better than any of us could do as a solo artist. I honestly think that, and that's why I'm still in Queen. I think the group is still better than any of its component parts."

So is the next Queen album going to be a rock album? (Bumped into Roger Taylor at the party and he slurred that it was definitely "very heavy — one side of the album especially will definitely give you brain damage")

"So far," nods Brian, "I think, in spite of all the shouting, it is."

When a group member leaves the fold to do his first album, it's usually "OK, here I am. Me, the Star." But Star Fleet isn't a flashy guitar album or ego showcase. What gives?

"I don't think I am a flashy kind of person really. When I come to do a solo album — maybe one day I will — I've no idea what it will be like. This isn't it. This is just an event of some people having fun together, and that's the way it should be looked at. I don't know what is me, if that's what you're asking. That's one of the difficulties I've had in thinking about a solo album. Because on the one hand I would like to do all heavy stuff, because I don't feel I've got enough outlet for the heavy stuff in Queen; on the other hand I'd like to do some guitar arrangements and continue the guitar-orchestra direction, which again we've sort of left alone for a while in the group. Then again I like to sing songs that have a lot of personal feeling for me, which also sometimes doesn't fit into the group framework."

Hasn't he ever had the temptation to leap out onstage, push Freddie into the wings and grab the limelight, just once?

"No, I'm very happy with how it is. I get my bit to do. As you say, I can be flash for a while and then blend into the group, and I'm very content with that."

That's the one thing Brian and Eddie Van Halen have in common. They're both pretty low profile guitarists in bands with the most outrageously flashy frontmen on earth. Do they feel any kinship there?

"Yes, a lot. There are parallels, obviously. The whole business of what roles people play in groups is something which interests me very much for its own sake, because you do find that the bass player is always a certain kind, the guitarist is usually a certain kind of person. I don't know whether it's the selection process or whether it's an environmental change process [I forgot to mention; he has a degree in physics!] — you can see those elements in the component parts of groups. Guitarists do tend to be like that, people who feel they have a lot to say but don't really want to be in the center of the stage doing it; they want to be at the side doing their bit and enjoying it and getting into it and not having the responsibility for what the singer does."

And if you're expecting any guitar duels on this album, forget it. Instead of playing superstars, trying to outdo the last lick, they're like a couple of polite gentlemen going "After you"; "No, after you."

"I think we're very alike, and there's no feeling of competition there because we both love what the other person is doing. Particularly in my case. My first reaction to seeing Edward was I didn't want to play with him because he's so great. And then my second reaction was I wanted to pick up the guitar and play with him. Because we're so different in playing, but we're very alike in the way we think. There's no duel there, and I'm glad you said that because I was frightened people would think Guitar Battle kind of rubbish. Just people enjoying each other's company really. And it's not just me and Edward — it's me and Alan and Philip and Fred. We were all in there, and it was a good interaction all round.

"I still think, sometimes, am I being foolish putting this out? But then every time I listen to it I get this great feeling about it. It's so real and live and personal that I hope that other people will get that feeling about it."

With all the members of Queen going their separate ways, there's always the risk that they might forget to get back together again. Does Queen still feel like a real band?

"It does again now. There have been a few crises in our history, and one of them was about six months ago, when we could have easily said, 'Look, we hate each other, let's forget it.' And it almost was that. But instead we said 'look, we're all getting very intense with each other because we haven't had a break for ages, and we've been in this endless make-an-album-tour-the-world-make-an-album cycle; so let's get out of it for a while and maybe we'll appreciate each other.' And it's worked pretty well. We got back together and we feel like a real band again."

Retrieved from The Creem Archive

[paterson-blue]

Deep End Distractions; Part 1

(gif credit: @driverdelight )

Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3

Summary: As a swim instructor, you meet a lot of parents who are either overly committed to their kid's lessons or couldn't care less. You aren't 100 percent sure where Henry Barber's father lies on this spectrum, but man, is he hot.

Word Count: 4,257

Warnings: fem! AFAB reader, its very swim/water involved, summery shit, gratuitous description of Charlie Barber's hot dad bod, intense pining (mutual?? unrequited?? cast your votes below), that sexual tension when two characters just look at one another lmao, meddling Henry Barber— let me know if I need to add anything else!

A/N: Massive shout out to @paper-n-ashes for being the loveliest beta reader in the galaxy. Cheers to both your advice & your mutual Charlie thirst.

Prefer AO3? I gotcha!

“Alright Lilah, you’re doing so good! C’mon, Max, kick those legs buddy! Great job, Henry!”

You call out from the side of the pool, watching your determined students make their way down the lane on their little kick boards. It was late May, which meant swim lessons were in full swing at the neighborhood community center, and you’d applied to be an instructor. It wasn’t like you were an Olympic swimmer or anything, but you knew enough and you were CPR certified. Apparently that’s all the center was looking for, and now you were in charge of the 8-10 year old group.

“That’s it for today you guys. You did amazing!”

You lean over the edge with your arm out, holding on to the starting block so you can get low enough for the kiddos to each give you a high five. You didn’t have a very big class, really. Around here, most kids learned to swim pretty early—some even started from birth. It was just the thing to do, living by the ocean. Most of the older kids who needed lessons were either late bloomers or had moved from different areas of the country, their parents having business in and around LA.

It was a good bunch this year. Only six kids, but they were keen listeners and eager to learn. None of them were scared of the water, which saved a lot of time when it came to getting them doggy paddling around. They’d already been with you for three weeks, the program a bit more intensive than the normal casual classes other parents put their kids in, instead borderlining on swim practice. Your lessons hinged on teaching the kids actual swim techniques; to get them to learn the correct way to do everything instead of just learning how not to drown.

“Good cool down everyone. The pool is open for free swim as long as your parents say yes.”

You sit down on the edge, legs dangling in the water as you help each of your students out of the pool, hauling them onto the deck. The indoor area echoed with the voices of families and other swimmers, the sounds of splashing water and laughter creating a cacophony of noise. The giant room was mildly humid—smelled like chlorine. You wished idly that you could be at the outside pool, but the schedule flip-flopped. One week swim lessons were outside and aerobics inside, one week it was the opposite, and so-on.

The kids scamper off to their respective adults, careful not to run after being yelled at one too many times by the lifeguard on duty. You smile, getting up to stand, collecting your goggles and clipboard. Adjusting your suit from where it had ridden up while you were sitting, you turn from your place at the pool’s edge and walk over to the group of parents and nannies sitting together on fold-out beach chairs. You talk to them for a little while, mostly verifying that June’s class schedule would be the same and any changes would be sent through text and email.

Eventually the area empties out, students either leaving or going to the other side of the pool where the lanes ended and there was room to play around. Only Henry is left behind, sitting alone on a chair, his chin resting in his hand. You frown, making your way over to him.

“Henry? Where’s your mom?”

It was unlike Nicole to be late. She was always there right on time—more often than not in her own suit, ready to play with Henry as soon as class ended. Henry looks up at you, shakes his head. “My Dad’s picking me up today. He’s in the water. I tried to get his attention but he couldn't hear me.”

Your frown only deepens at Henry’s words, and you follow his gaze to the lane at the far end of the pool. There was a solitary swimmer doing laps, strong arms pulling their large body through the water. You point, brows arched at Henry in question, and he nods. You withhold a sigh. “Alright bud, I’ll go get him.”

You didn’t really like interrupting people from their work out but c’mon dude, your kid’s sitting all by himself! By the time you get to the end of the lane, he’s on the other side, so you have to wait for him to come back towards you. He moves through the water easily, at a slow, leisurely pace. He isn’t frantic like some of the other people doing laps, obviously isn’t in any sort of hurry. You notice that thankfully, he’s not doing any flipturns—you really didn’t feel like trying to grab hold of his ankle.

When his hand comes up to touch the wall in front of you, you reach out to grab at it. He glides away from you easily, but clearly feels your touch because he stops short in the water, jerking up to look at you. He squints at you through his goggles before shoving them up onto his forehead, revealing a pair of warm brown eyes. The skin around them was rimmed red where the goggles had indented his pale skin.

“Are you Henry Barber’s Dad?” You ask him, your tone just a little bit curt. As if on cue, Henry appears at your side, climbing up on top of the starting block and sitting down. The man in the water looks from you, to Henry, and back again.

“Yes, is something wrong?”

“Swim practice is over, Sir.”

His eyes widen, and he pulls one of his arms out of the water to look at the watch on his wrist. He has to shove away the dripping hair that was stuck to his face, but apparently he realizes the time because he looks back up at his son as he treads water. “Henry, you said 2:30!”

Henry shrugs, as if he neither cared nor remembered what time he’d told his father the lesson was over. You step away as the man in the water swims to the edge of the pool.

“I’m so sorry. I had my timer set, I just thought it ended later.”

His apology makes your irritation fade a little. You saw a lot of parents haul their kids in and out of here, trying to dump them off wherever they could so they didn’t have to deal with them. You can admit you may have jumped to conclusions about Mr. Barber; just because he wasn’t Nicole didn’t mean he wasn’t paying attention to his son.

You watch as the man ducks his head underwater, coming up with his goggles in one hand and the other slicking his wet, shaggy hair back. Doing so reveals a long neck leading up to a pair of big ears that stuck out from his head a little—they matched his prominent nose, but not in a bad way. You thought it was an oddly handsome mix of features.

He reaches up to the starting block, handing Henry his goggles. The boy takes them obediently before climbing back down to the ground. You give him a small smile, but you get distracted again—this time by the sight of Mr. Barber planting his large hands on the concrete pool ledge and hauling himself up, water cascading down his body in rivulets.

He climbs out easily, somehow graceful for someone so hulking. You look him over as he emerges, your stomach doing a weird funny dance that you really wish it wouldn’t. He had big feet, connecting to trim calves and large thighs. His shorts left little to the imagination with the way they were plastered to his skin, but they weren’t necessarily revealing—maybe you were just imagining a little too much. His torso was broad and strong, a little soft round the middle but in a way where you just knew there was plenty of muscle under that small bit of cushion.

Firm pecs and arms, stark collarbones—there were droplets of water settling in the delicate hollow of his throat. You blink, tearing your gaze away from them, face burning as your brain tells you to lick them away. Fuck, what was wrong with you?

Then that angular face, endearing ears, strong nose, beauty marks--and plush lips that were now turned up into a friendly smile. You’re quick to return the expression, hoping you don’t look as ridiculous as you feel. Shit, he was hot. Henry’s dad was hot.

“Can you go get my towel, honey?” His voice shakes you out of it, and you watch as Henry moseys over to their bags. Mr. Barber clears his throat before holding out his hand for you to shake. When you do, his palm practically engulfs yours, his long fingers sliding over your wrist. You blink at them, then at him. In the back of your mind your subconscious supplies one single coherent thought: no wedding ring.

“I’m Charlie,” he introduces himself, brown eyes alight, “I’m so sorry again. I’ll get the schedule right next time.”

“It’s no worries. Mistakes happen,” you hear yourself saying, as if you weren’t just ready to chew him out not two minutes ago. “Will you be picking him up regularly?”

Charlie nods, looking over when Henry comes back with a towel. He ruffles his son’s hair in thanks before wrapping the towel around his shoulders. You can’t help but be just a little disappointed to see all his bare skin leave your gaze.

“Yeah, I’ll be bringing him and picking him up. I’ve been in New York for business, but I’m back for the time being. Nicole’s schedule changed so she won’t be able to drive him. Hopefully I can use the free time to do laps.”

You nod. You’re nodding a lot actually. Maybe you should stop.

“Okay, sounds good! I mean, just let me know if anything changes. I don’t have you on the roster so you won’t have my number but Nicole does. I can—If you’d like I can give you the contact list for everyone.”

“I’d appreciate that, thanks.”

You nod—again—and turn to go back over to your things, grabbing your clipboard. You can hear Henry and Charlie talking as they follow you; they seem to be discussing what to have for a late lunch. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself for super-hot-dripping-wet-man before you make your way to where they were picking up their bags.

“So I have everyone’s information here but I only laminated enough sheets for the parents I had on the roster.” You wince, apologetic, but Charlie shrugs it off.

“Oh, that’s understandable. I can probably get everything from Nicole.”

“I can just give you my number and send everything to you,” you respond, unthinking. Charlie looks at you, head cocked to the side, a small little smile of amusement quirking his lips up. You backtrack, trying not to speak too fast.

“I mean, all the parents have my number, so! It's not a big deal, I can just give it to you now and send everything through text—do you text? Email works too.” Nice save, you chastise yourself.

Charlie nods, that little smirk still on his face, like he’s been humored. He digs into his bag before pulling out his phone, rubbing his hands on his towel before plucking in the code. “Okay, I’m ready.”

You recite your number to him and he saves it quickly before taking another look at his watch.

“Shit, Henry, we gotta go, your mom said you need to be at your cousins' house by 3:30.” He glances back at you, looking slightly apologetic. “I’ll see you next time—ends at 2:15, right?”

There’s a twinkle in his eye as he says it, like it’s your little inside joke. It makes you smile, and you nod at him. “Yep. See you then.”

He and Henry make their way towards the locker room in a rush, Charlie reassuring Henry that they’d go through a drive-thru on the way home. You watch them leave, your heart still pitter-pattering in your chest. Mr. Barber would be the one at practice now—he’d be swimming. You’d get to talk to him; get to see him like that again.

You can’t fucking wait.

—————————————————-

The next lesson, you pay more attention. When Henry comes out of the locker room, goggles already strapped onto his head, he’s shadowed by the lumbering form of his father. A father who was dressed in nothing but a pair of swim trunks and a towel slung around his shoulders. You try to pretend like your eyes haven’t just slid over his body hungrily, busying yourself with double checking your attendance sheet.

After a couple moments there’s a gentle tap on your shoulder. When you turn, you’re faced with those stupid broad shoulders. You look up and into Charlie’s kind face.

“I’ve got the right time today, I promise.” He lifts his wrist, tapping his watch. You think, idly, that he really didn’t have to come over just to tell you that. Most parents didn’t talk with you beforehand, and barely afterwards. But you indulge him—or maybe yourself—and respond.

“Oh, good. Didn’t really want to try to grab hold of you again. Last time you were on a roll, nearly pulled me in. I would not have been happy.”

“Well I’m certainly glad that didn’t happen. I wouldn’t want Henry getting kicked out of class on my account.” He quips, an easy grin now on his face, revealing crooked front teeth and pointy incisors. Shit, how was he getting even cuter? You shake your head, his attitude lifting yours, making you feel more comfortable with your conversation.

“Oh no, I’d never do that to my best student. I’d just have to kick you out. Send you over to the senior aerobics class.”

Charlie laughs, his head tilting back a little, letting his artfully swept-back hair brush further over his shoulders. It looked feathery soft all dry like this; you wanted to reach out and touch it. Down, girl, you tell yourself.

You glance over at your little group of students; it finally looked like everyone had arrived. Charlie seems to notice this as well because he takes a tiny half-step away from you.

“Well I’ll be in the far lane if you need anything.”

‘Like what?’ your brain supplies, but before you can embarrass yourself by actually asking the question, he’s giving you a half-wave and tiptoeing across the wet tile to the lap lanes. Clearing your throat, you return to your clipboard, forcing yourself to take roll again before starting the class.

Things continue like this for the next two weeks. You suddenly can’t remember how you ever got through life without your three-days-a-week vision of Charlie Barber in a swimsuit. You know you shouldn’t be absolutely shamelessly lusting over one of your student’s fathers, but hey, like you’d just said: absolutely shameless. As long as you weren’t obviously drooling over him, it was fine, right?

He wasn’t just nice to look at. He was kind, not only to you and Henry, but to the other students and family members as well (whenever he was out of the pool in enough time to speak with them). He even volunteered to help drive Lilah to practice for two days when her mom got sick, even though her house was out of his way. Bare minimum? Maybe. But it’s not like you knew this man. He was pretty, he was funny, he was sweet. That was it. He could be a serial killer for all you knew—a larger, perpetually wet, Ted Bundy type.

So maybe you’d give yourself a pass for choosing to believe he really was as lovely as he seemed.

One Saturday you’re at the community center, laying outside under the warm sun as you let yourself air dry. You normally didn’t work weekends but one of the other instructors had a family emergency, and you’d agreed to cover her practice. It was a group of about ten 11-12 year olds, and they were pretty self sufficient when it came to doing their regular routine, so it really wasn’t any extra stress. An extra pay cheque was nothing to complain about.

You’ve got your eyes closed, breathing slowly and steadily, feeling just a little sleepy in the heat of the day. By now, the sound of splashing water and laughing kiddos was a comfort; you could probably pop a recording on at night and fall asleep to it like some weird white noise track. Suddenly there’s a little prickle in the back of your brain—the strange but familiar feeling that someone was there next to you. You look up, shielding your eyes from the glare of the sun, and there is Charlie Barber in all his half-dressed glory.

His eyes widen, mouth falling open in a little ‘o’—then he’s ducking his head, moving a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. He looks sheepish at being caught. “Hi. Sorry, I—I didn’t know if you were asleep, I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I wasn’t asleep.” You say kindly, sitting up and giving him what you hope is a warm smile. He returns it, running a hand through his dark hair.

“I wasn’t, uhm, here for long. I mean I wasn’t watching you or anything.”

Your brows arch of their own accord, and his pretty pale face turns red.

“… You know, I thought saying that would make me seem like less of a creep but I don’t think it worked.”

“No, I don’t think it did.” You say, but you’re holding back a laugh. Charlie huffs, shaking his head at himself, the corners of his full lips twisting up into a self-deprecating smirk. Your gaze falls from his face to his chest, and your brain clutches greedily at the image even as you quickly cast your eyes towards the pool.

“Where’s Henry?”

Charlie shifts from one foot to another, a rueful smile on his face. “I’m not ‘Dad’ today. Just Charlie. Henry’s up in San Francisco with Nicole.”

“Oh.” You’re surprised, and Charlie seems to notice. He gestures to the lounge chair beside you, brows arched in question. When you nod your assent, he sits.

“I’ve started coming here by myself. I like doing laps, and I’m slowly but surely trying to expose myself to the California sun.” He chuckles, stretching his long legs out in front of himself. Your eyes track the movement, watching the muscles in his thighs flex. God, he wasn’t fair.

“—Which, ah, reminds me.” His tone now sounds a little apprehensive and it gets your attention. He’s digging in the pocket of his trunks and comes out with a bottle of sunscreen, the item dwarfed in his large hand. “So this is embarrassing, but if I don’t put this shit on I turn red as a lobster. Usually I make Henry do my back because, you know, that’s what your kids are for but he’s not here today and I don’t know a single person here but you and, well…”

He trails off, apparently not able to finish his request. His honey brown eyes peek up at you from where he had his head ducked, hair falling into his face. You knew what he was asking, and there was no way you weren’t saying yes, no matter how many alarm bells in your head were telling you not to indulge.

“Sure,” you hear yourself saying. “Hand it over.” You reach out and he looks relieved as can be; he passes the bottle to you, long fingers brushing your palm.

“Thanks, I really appreciate it. Last time I didn’t put sunscreen on my back I couldn’t sleep for a whole week. I’ve got a shit pain tolerance.” He flashes you a grin that can only be described as nervous before he’s sitting up straight and rotating himself until he has his back to you. You stare at the expanse of ivory skin covering firm muscle. Jesus H Christ.

You flick open the bottle, dispensing some of the cream into your hands. You realize maybe you should say something in return. “A whole week, huh? Sounds a little excessive.”

Charlie scoffs. “You try excessive when you hurt too bad to sleep any way but on your front, and then your son launches himself on top of you in the morn—EEENG!”

The yelp he lets out as the cold sun lotion hits his skin makes you burst out laughing, your whole body shaking as your hands rub against the backs of his shoulders. The back of his neck is quickly turning red, likely from embarrassment, and you find it within yourself to choke out an apology. “Sorry! Sorry, I—that was mean of me.”

“You’re fucking right it was!” His response is immediate, but when he turns his head to the side to eye you from his peripheral you can see he’s grinning, a dimple denting his cheek. You can’t keep the smile off your face even as your gaze turns to where you were touching him. You tell yourself you’re studying to make sure all of the cream gets spread evenly but you find your eyes tracing the smattering of freckles that decorated his skin.

Delicate constellations made their way from shoulder to broad shoulder, dipping down his spine. Your hands move with your gaze, down his ribs, noting when he shifts in his seat, arching away from you wherever he was ticklish. You have to stop and get a refill of sunblock, doing it blindly as you were too focused on the beauty marks that graced his form.

You want to stay like this forever, touching him. You want to memorize every little spot on his skin with your lips, want to drape yourself over him and press your cheek against one of those firm shoulders. You’d tend to the ones on his face, too; press as many kisses to the dimples on his cheeks as the dimples on his lower back.

… But you can’t. You won’t. Instead, you rub in the cream until it’s disappeared from view, and then tap his bicep. “There ya go. All done!”

He turns back to face you, a strange expression on his face; it’s gone before you can begin to try to decipher it. In its place is his normal, gentle, Charlie Barber smile: plush lips turned slightly up at the ends. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course, anytime.” Anytime. Fucking hell, did you really just tell him that you would rub lotion into his skin anytime??

Charlie huffs out a quiet laugh, but it’s not one that makes you feel self-conscious—it’s not a laugh at you. It almost seems like he's laughing at himself. You chew on your bottom lip as he reaches across the space between the two of you and plucks the bottle of sunscreen from the chair. “Well, I’ll leave you be. I’ll see you on Monday?”

You nod, your whole body mourning when he stands, towering over you once again, the distance suddenly much too far.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “See you on Monday.”

You watch him lumber off towards the pool, alabaster skin shiny under the summer sun. Sigh.

________________________________

“My dad likes you.”

You arch your brows at Henry, giving him a look. It was Monday, and the two of you were sitting outside under a giant umbrella, waiting for Charlie to arrive. He’d texted you earlier that morning, frantic, saying he had a meeting that got moved around and now it ended at 2:00; he was worried he’d be late to pick up Henry. You’d assured him that it was fine, that you didn’t mind waiting with Henry until he got there.

You expected the boy to take the time for free play in the pool, especially since outside had a slide instead of the regular diving boards inside. But nope—Henry had plopped down right next to you and started talking.

“He thinks you’re pretty. He wants you to be his girlfriend.”

“Henry!” You scold him even as you laugh, shaking your head, cheeks aflame. He shrugs, matter of fact.

“It’s true. He told me.”

“Oh did he?” You don’t believe him for a second. Henry was known for being mischievous. Never any harm done, but he enjoyed his jokes and pranks. This was probably just another outlet for him.

“Yeah. I asked him in the car. I said ‘Miss Y/N is pretty’ and he agreed.”

You hum, thoroughly amused. You didn’t dare entertain the thought of Charlie Barber thinking you were pretty. He was just so…him. There was no way.

“I see.” You finally say, not quite knowing how to respond but not wanting to leave Henry hanging. The boy sighs, flopping down to lean against the back of the chair. You lean back yourself, legs crossed at the ankle, studying him. “What?”

He shrugs again, shoulders heaving dramatically. “Also he acts all weird around you. He always messes with his hair to make sure it looks nice.”

“He does not.”

“Does too!” Henry chirps, and you laugh, causing him to laugh in return. The two of you giggle together before movement at the outside gate catches your eye. There was Charlie, dressed in dark slacks and a blue button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He catches your eye and waves, before running a hand through his dark hair, as if desperately trying to fix it. You blink, and turn to look at Henry.

Henry grins.

[outercrasis]

Sessions

Pairing: College!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Mature (18+)

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: References to sex, masturbation (nothing actually occurs)

Summary: After meeting Mando, you just can’t seem to get him out of your head. (events directly follow Introductions)

A/N: Thanks for the kind reception to the first post of this AU! I’ll be making a masterlist soon for easier navigation :) Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future posts or if I’ve missed a warning.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Lingering Impressions

Your day ended up being an exhausting one. Mando had been your most exciting session for more reasons than just the obvious. You'd reviewed the papers of two freshmen, a junior who wanted you to basically write their paper for them, and another graduate student who disregarded every suggestion you made. Needless to say, Mando's gratitude felt extra special after all of that.

Getting home, you're greeted with the welcome smell of something delicious coming from the kitchen as you throw yourself face-first into the couch. The open floorplan of your tiny two bedroom apartment allows Layla to spot you as you wander in.

"Hello to you too!" she calls over. "I'm making chicken marsala."

You lift your head up from the watermelon-shaped throw pillow to smile at her. "You are a saint and I don't deserve you."

"You totally don't," Layla teases back, happily returning to the stove. You flip over on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through your phone while she finishes making dinner. A comfortable silence fills the room, interrupted only by Layla's hums and the discordant sounds of cooking.

Layla has been your roommate since your sophomore year of college, randomly paired together by the dorm sorting system and inseparable ever since. The two of you clicked, a friendship forged over the awkwardness of early adulthood and a shared love of terrible reality TV. Both of you keep busy schedules while pursuing your respective master’s degrees and help each other out where you can. Making dinners for each other is just a part of that.

It’s not long before Layla brings over two steaming plates of food to lay out on your thrifted coffee table. She sits opposite you, preferring to sit on the floor rather than the couch. You’re eager to dig in, groaning at the first bite.

“I’ll take that as a thank you,” Layla grins, tucking into her own meal.

“God yes.”

“Long day then?”

You groan again, this time in irritation rather than pleasure. “Yes. I don’t know how many more know-it-all grad students I can deal with.”

She’s heard all about your nightmare sessions with students that think they already know everything. You’ve questioned more than once why they bother booking the session if they're just going to ignore your advice and decide their paper is perfect as is. It seems like a total waste of time for both you and them. 

Layla sympathizes and shares her own gripes about some of the assholes she's forced to put up with while working on her research project. After all, no group project is complete without the one person who does nothing but acts like they know everything. Giving each other time to vent another small way the two of you take care of each other.

As you think back on your day and sessions your mind inevitably drifts to Mando. He hadn’t been anything like you’d expected. He was kind in his own way and by far the most amenable session you’d had all day. Not taking off the helmet was odd, as was not giving out his real name, but neither of those had really bothered you when it came down to it. If anything, they only serve to fascinate you further.

“Did something else happen today?” Layla asks, a spark lighting up in her eyes. She can always read you, something that can be either a blessing or a curse depending on what it is you're hiding. You take a few more bites before answering, already anticipating her reaction.

“Well I might have also met Mando today,” You try to throw it out there casually, hoping that if you treat it as though it’s not a big deal she’ll follow your lead. You should have known better.

“You what!? Tell me everything,” Layla screeches at you from across the coffee table. She pushes her food off to the side, clearly deciding that your unexpected meeting with campus's resident celebrity is far more important.

"He came in for a session. His paper was really good, it-"

Layla is quick to cut you off. "I literally couldn't care less about that and you know it. Tell me about him, what's he like? Is he terrifying?"

You can’t help but snort at that. You know why she asked of course - the rumors flying around about him getting out of hand these days - but when you think about him now they all seem ludicrous. The gentle way he spoke to Grogu and offered his hand out to the kid before leaving. The sincerity in his voice as he spoke to you, eager to hear any advice you had to give him. No. Mando was decidedly not terrifying. “He’s… just a guy,” you tell her, not really sure how to explain his unique presence.

The eyeroll you receive in response is warranted. “Are you kidding me right now? You probably know more about him than anyone else on campus and you’re going to tell me he’s just a guy?”

You shrug, shoveling another bite of food into your mouth. “I don’t know what to tell you Lays, I only spent an hour with him. He was nice, really sweet with his kid, and I’ll probably never see him again.”

You’re not sure why you feel a quick sting in your chest at that thought. It wasn’t like you knew him well or that he even owed you anything. Considering the fact that you’d gone weeks without so much as glimpsing him on campus you’d probably only have another chance to see him if he signed up for another session and there was no guarantee he’d return.

“So the kid thing is true?” Layla asks.

“Yeah. Really cute kid, pretty quiet.” Very quiet now that you think of it. You don’t have much experience with kids that young, but you’re certain kids Grogu’s age can talk. He hadn’t said so much as a word, only letting out an occasional noise or two. It was odd, but then he could just be shy or something. Another question you’d probably never have an answer for.

“Is the kid his?” Layla presses.

“I don’t know, it didn’t exactly come up while we discussed his paper on unique material applications,” you snap back at her. You wince a little at your sharp reply. It wasn’t deserved. Layla was simply curious and now the victim of your long day and swirling thoughts.

You quickly follow up with an apology. “Sorry. I just- I had a long day and I really didn’t learn much about him, okay?” 

There’s a small sense of relief when Layla nods, backing down from her inquisition. “It’s cool, I get it. Just promise you’ll tell me if you see him again?”

“Yeah, I’ll let you know.” 

The rest of the night passes like usual. You wash up after dinner, a fair trade since Layla cooked, and the two of you get to tackling homework that’s begun to pile up with the semester entering its full swing. Nighttime study sessions have been a regular occurrence since your undergrad days and have only intensified while pursuing your respective graduate degrees. It’s more about solidarity and accountability than shared workload, what with your program being in English and Layla’s in Marketing, but it’s nice. Simply having company is better than doing it all by yourself.

Around 10:30 you call it, eyes bleary from staring at your laptop. Layla is deep into a PDF reading so you leave her to her work and shuffle off to the shared bathroom. While the water heats, you brush your teeth lazily, going through the motions of your nightly routine. You test the water with your hand before deciding it’s warm enough to step in.

Your thoughts drift aimlessly as you stand under the hot stream, unfocused until they land back on him. It’s like you can’t help yourself, the way your thoughts have been returning to him all night. You’ve puzzled about him before, but only in the abstract. A hypothetical more than a real person. Wondering if rumors are true isn't quite the same as wondering about the man himself. 

All throughout the night he kept popping up. One moment you would be considering the symbolic use of color in your assigned reading and the next you would be puzzling over Mando’s favorite color. Maybe orange, if his gloves were anything to go by. Layla's favorite song played and while she sang along you couldn't help wondering what kind of music he listens to. Rock probably, or was that too on the nose? As you sipped your drink you wondered what his drink of choice would be, alcoholic or not. Did he even drink alcohol at all? Something told you he wasn’t much for losing his inhibitions.

It's all the little things, all the little details that actually make up a person that no one bothers to speculate about that consume you now. Who cares about his favorite movie or favorite food when you can guess on whether or not he's been to jail?

As you wash the grime of the day from your body, your mind continues to drift further, settling onto the first thing that captured your attention earlier today. His hands. Those gorgeous sun soaked hands, how fluidly they moved across his keyboard. The firm hold of them when he shook your hand.

Eyes fluttering closed, you can't help imagining that it's his hands skating across your skin. You can almost feel the gentle roughness of them, the way he'd squeeze and hold you - tight, but not so hard that it hurts. Almost unconsciously, your hand begins to drift down your body, only to be interrupted by a pounding on the bathroom door. Your eyes snap open, confusion and embarrassment replacing your fantasy.

"Hurry up in there! I need to pee," Layla yells through the door.

You grumble in response, knowing she can't hear you, but quickly finish your shower. It's not quite as relaxing anymore, flustered by your wanton thoughts. 

Getting back into your room, you check your email before setting your alarms for tomorrow. There’s the usual spam from online stores reminding you of limited time deals, a reminder that rent is due next week (lovely), and a couple generic university emails. Your eyes fall to your new tutoring appointment emails and you flick through them mindlessly to clear them out, knowing they’ll all automatically appear on your calendar. 

Just as you’re about to close out of the app and get some well needed rest, a new email pops through. It’s another appointment alert scheduled for next week. You tap to open it and your heart flutters when you read the name on the form. Mando. No need to wonder about if you’d ever see him again now. You’d be seeing him Tuesday at 3 PM. Somehow you know he won’t miss his appointment.

×××××

Din is exhausted. Between Grogu, classes, and trying to find ways to make money, he barely has enough time to do basic functional adult things. Things like showering regularly, eating more than a required minimum of once a day, or heaven help him sleep. 

He wishes he could afford a regular babysitter, allow himself some occasional reprieve but it's not possible. He makes just enough to keep the bills paid and at least Grogu's stomach full. There's also an ever present paranoia about letting a stranger into his home, much less to watch his son. Only Paz and Cara have ever babysat for him and even that was mostly against his will.

Din slumps onto his couch, exhausted from the long day. He’d found the couch on the side of the road. It’s well worn and has a couple holes in it, but it was devoid of fleas, comfortable, and most importantly, free. His helmet is off, sitting on the kitchen table where he’d left it after getting home from campus. He’s mostly used to it these days, but sometimes it can still feel suffocating underneath the custom bucket. Taking it off at the end of the day is always welcome, especially when Din sees Grogu’s eyes light up at his exposed face.

He allows himself just a moment of rest, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the back of the couch. Grogu had finally gone to bed, demanding three stories before he fell asleep and Din not having it within him to deny the requests. A small smile rests on his lips, thinking of Grogu's excitement at his mediocre storytelling. He already loathes the day when Grogu won't ask him to read anymore.

There are about twenty other things he should be doing right now other than sitting on the couch. The apartment hasn't been cleaned properly in weeks, dishes are piling up, laundry needs to be done, he needs to find a job for this weekend, should probably find better daycare for Grogu, has an exam to study for, and a paper to finish writing. He should be doing all of that and more, and yet he can't find the will to move. He stays planted firmly on the couch, letting his thoughts drift. A few different ideas and ruminations swirl around, but his mind settles onto one. Her.

She isn't what he had been expecting. When his professor had recommended a session with a writing tutor he'd been a little miffed at first. Din knew words weren't his strong suit, but he hadn't thought he was that bad. He probably wouldn't have even considered it if she hadn't immediately assured him that it was only a suggestion because she saw potential in his work.

He had still only been considering it, form half filled out, when Grogu had hit submit. He’d looked for a way to cancel the appointment, but couldn’t figure it out with the school’s poorly designed website, so instead he had resigned himself to going. After all, just the one session couldn't hurt and he'd already be on campus.

He thought the tutor would be some irritating know-it-all, pointing out all the mistakes in his paper. Either that, or that they'd be too nervous to make any real criticisms. He’d noticed the way people froze up around him, sometimes too timid to even look in his direction. She wasn't either of those things.

She was all smiles and kindness, not hesitant around him for a moment. Even Grogu took an immediate liking to her, as evidenced by the gift of his frog drawing. Din had more of those than he could count, but very few others had been bestowed the honor of his sacred amphibian themed artworks.

She challenged him in a way he liked, not rude but still forceful. Encouraging him to figure out what it was she was guiding him towards with the paper. Not taking ownership, simply identifying where ideas could be made stronger or clearer. They’d only worked through a few pages in the session and Din already felt more confident in his writing. 

What he liked most though was that she hadn't even asked about the helmet. It was all he heard from those brave enough to speak to him. Where did he get it, why did he wear it, did he ever take it off, what does he look like underneath, and so on. Avoiding all of those questions got to be draining. She didn't even acknowledge it.

She had mentioned the rumors that were apparently swirling around campus about him but that was it. He was a bit grateful for that though, entirely unaware of how popular he'd apparently become. The stares that followed him on campus were hard to ignore, but he didn’t know about their accompanying whispers. He still isn’t sure if the rumors are a good or a bad thing. Her reaction hadn’t given him all that much to go off of. He wishes it had.

That thought stops Din short. Where did that come from? Why did her opinion of him suddenly matter after a single one hour session? Din can’t remember the last time he considered someone else’s opinion of him. Probably when he first brought Grogu home to meet everyone. Now here he is, wondering what his English tutor’s thoughts were about the rumors everyone has been spreading about him. He needs to get out more.

Din shakes his head free, trying to ponder other aspects of his life. Like when he’d be able to get the Razor Crest up and running again. She’d broken down again after only the second week of classes. Paz makes fun of him for riding on such an old bike, but she’s a classic. Din can’t get rid of her, no matter how much she likes to break down on him. In the meantime he could make due with the loaner truck from Peli.

Thoughts of his motorcycle only distract him for so long though. He realizes half-way through the fantasy that he’s imagining taking her out on his bike, feeling her hands clasped around his waist as he rides through the city. The way she’d hang on just a little tighter, pressing herself against his back, as he hits the throttle just a bit harder.

Din sits up on the couch and mutters to himself. “Come on, Djarin. Pull it together.”

She’s beautiful, yes, but to already be fantasizing about taking her for a ride? That’s a bit much. It has been months since Din has seen any kind of action, but he shouldn’t be this desperate after spending only an hour with a pretty face. Still, now that he’s thinking of it, his mind wanders to what she’d be like. 

Would she take charge, calm and in control like she was earlier today? Or would she submit to him, allow him to do whatever he wanted? A small groan escapes Din’s lips at the thought of having her beneath him, begging for him to take her. How she would look spread out on his bedsheets, how sweet she’d taste. He can already imagine how good she’d feel wrapped around him, the way her eyes would look all strung out and cockdumb. It would be a beautiful sight if he’s ever lucky enough to see it.

An alarm Din forgot he set suddenly blares on his phone. He can’t even remember what he set it for as he’s yanked from his lewd imaginings, scrambling to turn it off. There’s a small wave of embarrassment as he registers where he allowed his thoughts to drift. 

Ignoring the uncomfortable pressure in his jeans, Din pulls up the tutoring appointment form on his phone and signs up for another session. There’s an option to select a specific tutor and he’s quick to open it up, choosing her name from the drop down menu. 

There’s nothing wrong about this, right? She’d helped him with his paper and Grogu liked her. She even asked if she’d be seeing him again. That was plenty of reason to have another session. His renegade fantasies had nothing to do with his decision to go back. Din is a man in control of his urges. If anything, this next session would prove that his thoughts were all just fleeting, just a simple result of going too long without anyone in his bed.

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