#conman tiny

[pockettesized2]

A conversation these two have probably had

Based off the Moomin comics

[draconicfool]

pallet/motif swap inspired by x E-Eros Poisson hello??? HELLO MA'AM???

[whatareyoureallyafraidof]

“There are always men like you.” #ManChildTrump

[honeyflashbang]

My theory on Sampo's true identity...

(Minor Spoilers for 2.4) (also, I’m no expert in… anything, really, but these are just my ramblings).

So, this has probably been mentioned before, but I have a teeny-tiny theory about Sampo’s true identity, and it relates to Finnish mythology.

So, “Sampo” in and of itself doesn’t have a set meaning, but it has its roots in Finnish mythology, particularly the “Kalevala” which is a 19th-century compilation of epic poetry. In it, a blacksmith god by the name of Seppo Ilmari(nen) forges the mythical device known as “The Sampo”. It’s never quite explained what The Sampo really is; some versions depict it as a mill, others as a cornucopia from which bountiful creations flow from, and some even have it as being a world tree/world pillar, so what The Sampo really is, isn’t entirely known. But, what is known, is that it brought riches and good fortune to its holder (again, the same as the cornucopia from Greek mythology).

But why am I mentioning all of this? Why bring up the Kalevala? It could be that Hoyo just chose the name “Sampo” for some flavour—befitting of a character who magics up relics from seemingly thin air and is trying to create riches—and yeah, it’s a possibility…

Until I saw these two screenshots from the 2.4 story:

You know what this means, right? 

Kalevala is a real planet in Hoyo’s Star Rail universe, and I find it awfully coincidental that they would use this name for a planet and not have it related to a certain blue haired conman, especially since The Sampo is such a pivotal element in the plot of the Kalevala—there is no way this is a coincidence (I refuse to believe it).

This leads me to believe that Kalevala is Sampo’s real home world, and is where he originates from.

Now, this is all well and good, knowing where “The Sampo” hails from, but I want to focus on its creator—Seppo Ilmari(nen)—and his parallels to a certain blue haired conman. For one, Ilmari(nen)’s name is quite interesting as the ‘Ilma’ part is Finnish for ‘air’ or ‘weather’, and as we know, Sampo’s element is that of ‘wind’ (And also the fact that Ilmari(nen) is credited as “Godlike smith-hero and creator of the sky”. I could go into a whole spiel about Ilmari(nen) and Qlipoth swinging their giant hammers in tandem together for all eternity (Go Sampard! Geppie is Qlipoth's true heir, you can't convince me otherwise!), but that’s for another conspiracy theory lol).

So, ‘Ilma’ means ‘air’, and Sampo wields ‘wind’.

Cool.

If the parallels ended there, I’d just say I was being crazy… but there’s more.

Sampo’s 4th (and arguably best) eidolon is called “The Deeper the Love, the Stronger the Hate”. Two out of his six eidolons refer to 'love', whilst the other 4 are to do with wealth and riches. The wealth and richest aspect leans towards The Sampo of mythology, whilst the ‘love’ aspect, well…

According to the story, Seppo Ilmari(nen) is the unluckiest bastard alive when it comes to love. Like, seriously. His whole storyline is that he can’t find a woman. For one, Seppo Ilmari(nen) is double crossed by his so called buddy, Väinämöinen, into creating The Sampo for the evil witch Louhi of Pohjola in exchange for her daughter’s hand in marriage (which, Ilmari didn’t even want in the beginning), but when the poor guy actually sees the daughter and falls in love with her (and subsequently creates the Sampo—after failing miserably a number of times, mind you—he creates a crossbow, a boat, a cow(wtf?) and a plough, all which are somehow either evil or flawed), she ups and just leaves him hanging! (in the original runes, however, he is successful in gaining a wife, as his ‘unlucky in love’ spiel was later added by Lönnrot in compiling the Kalevala).

As with any mythology and re-telling of it, there’s so many different versions of the same event. In “The Maiden of the North”, a 1898 opera written by Oskar Merikanto, both Ilmarinen and Väinämöinen compete for the chance to marry Louhi’s daughter, who is then mentioned as being “Ilmari(nen)’s first wife” and who later dies to Kullervo’s curse (apparently she was a bit of a bitch to Kullervo by taunting and tormenting the poor boy—who was a child slave mind you!). Distraught, Ilmari(nen) forges himself a wife of gold and silver, but he finds her to be too cold and callous—he forges her out of love but only finds hate—so he tries to gift her to Väinämöinen (who doesn’t want her either, lol), and suggests he cast her back into the furnace and to “forge from her a thousand trinkets”.

Here’s the accompanying poem:

Never, youths, however wretched,

Nor in future, upgrown heroes,

Whether you have large possessions,

Or are poor in your possessions,

In the course of all your lifetime,

While the golden moon is shining,

May you woo a golden woman,

Or distress yourselves for silver,

For the gleam of gold is freezing,

Only frost is breathed by silver.

It is apparently your standard Aesop’s fable of “money can’t buy happiness”, which is something else I see in our dear old Sampo Koski. During our time in Belobog, we see how different he acts with the Underworld and Overworlders. To the poor, he actually seems approachable (albeit a bit of a nuisance), going so far as to help the Underworlders (an example being the questline “Survival Wisdom” in which he and Peak set up a business together renting out his tools to help the miners make a decent wage to support their families). In contrast, we actively see Sampo being very hostile towards the Overworlders, scamming them and putting the nobles in their place or setting them up to be caught by the Silvermane Guards (an example being during the museum questline where you discover his identity as “Mr Cold Feet”. Sampo clearly states to who he thinks is his mark that ‘we are not friends’ in a very hostile manner, something which we’ve not seen from Sampo before as he is usually quite amicable). 

For all Sampo’s showboating and flashing his money around, he helps where it counts. He wants to make money, sure, but not at the detriment of the people who need it the most, only to those with excess.

Anyway, back to him being unlucky in love…

In another rune entitled “Kosinta”, Ilmari(nen) goes on a journey to compete for Hiisi’s daughter, and wins by completing various feats, one of them being “ploughing a field full of snakes”:

And as we know, Sampo is very heavy on the snake motifs (the head of the snake on his shoulders, the spine wrapped around him, the daggers are its fangs…etc.)

So that’s another interesting link between Seppo Ilmari(nen) and Sampo Koski.

So, why have I gone on this long winded tangent about Seppo Ilmari(nen) when I’m supposed to be talking about Sampo Koski?

Well, that’s because I think Sampo Koski’s real name is (or a variant of) Ilmarinen.

In the Hoyo universe, I believe Ilmarinen came from the planet Kalevala and ‘created’ the persona of Sampo Koski, much like how in the Kalevala, Seppo Ilmari(nen) forged The Sampo.

As I’ve listed above, there’s so many links between the two:

“Air” as a name and “Wind” as an element.

Seppo Ilmari(nen) ploughed a field of snakes to win Hiisi’s daughter’s hand in marriage, whilst Sampo Koski relies heavily on snake motifs for his attire.

Sampo’s two eidolon names that relate to love (which are completely different from the other 4 eidolon names), whilst Seppo Ilmari(nen) is known to be unlucky in love.

I’m pretty damn sure Sampo creates his own bombs and tinkers with the old relics to bring them back to life, whereas Seppo Ilmari(nen) is a smith who created the dome of the sky! They’re both artificers!

And now the revelation that a planet by the name of “Kalevala” exists is no mere coincidence.

So, either Sampo is Ilmari(nen) - or! - Sampo is a puppet (like Herta) created by someone called Ilmari(nen). 

(I would love if his 5* version is him with this name).

Right, I’m finished rambling. Gonna go huff some copium...

[kissingarthurclaus]

A little concept sketch of my Gravity Falls self insert! And as you can see, she's a werewolf! 0u0

She's normally in her first form when she's out and about, and when it's getting close to the full moon she looks like her second form before going full wolf! During that time period she starts getting a powerful craving for raw meat and she gets really itchy as her fur starts coming in, then the ears and tail follow! (At first glance I'm sure most of the townsfolk would just think she was a furry 😂)

In general she's very cheery, and she exhibits a lot of dog-like behavior (getting excited when the doorbell rings, noticing and perking up when she sees squirrels, shaking her whole body when she gets wet) and she has a somewhat irrational fear of rabies so she's not a very good hunter and actually tends to AVOID wild animals in the forest and stray dogs/cats. When she moves to Gravity Falls she opens a curios and oddities shop with her partner in crime, which a certain conman sees as competition, leading him and the mystery twins to go check it out 👀❓️

Taglist♡: @me-myself-and-my-fos @tiny-cloud-of-flowers @sunstar-of-the-north @dearly-beeloved @adoredbyalatus

@changeling-selfship @crushes-georg @cherry-bomb-ships @rosieaurora @rejaytionships @sunflawyer

@in-true-blue-love @tropicalgothships @little-miss-selfships @hotrodharts @cupiidzbow @frozenhi-chews @limey-self-inserts @candyheartedchy

[opbackgrounds]

Aside from Nami (for obvious reasons) and Luffy (canon dine n dasher) do you think any of the Strawhats are in the habit of just straight-up shoplifting if they don't feel like paying for shit

Aside from Nami, Robin probably has the most experience stealing stuff, if only because as a child people would refuse to sell to her and her DF would make it really easy, but it seems to be driven more by necessity than something she’s generally inclined toward. Usopp I could see getting roped into some shenanigans with Luffy, but he’s more of a conman than a thief, as seen by how he was able to trade rubber bands for dials on Skypiea.

But honestly I have to go with Franky on this one. He was a gangster well respected by the Water 7 underground, a hero to the downtrodden, so while he would 100% single-handedly keep afloat the tiny mom and pop shop that sells all the random hardware supplies, including the stuff not in standard sizes that no one else carries because why would they, he’d also rob Walmart blind and also maybe burn it to the ground.

[emiko-matsui]

genuinely fucking tweaking over that scene from when they did a sequel to the 13 ghosts of scooby doo and daphne was like 'well. uhm. remember that summer you and velma went to camp? well shaggy, scooby, and i were like suuuuper bored so we kind of went, uhm, to himalaya and released a bunch of ghosts from a demon chest with a wizard and a tiny conman. haha sorry. yeah scooby and shaggy have ptsd now thats why we never talk about it. anyway here's a new van'. it's been years since i watched this movie

[zigrethsnotebook]

[BUTTERFLY KISS]

Bill x Reader

words: 502

tags: sfw, Ford gets punched

a/n: you may want to read the other ones first haha

Bill had ordered the floating eyeballs to create your own tiny throne out of people on the armrest of his own, so he could always have you by his side. He no longer kept you in chains. And honestly, he didn’t need to. You had felt a sort of power out of seeing this alleged God-like entity crying in your arms… you weren’t going anywhere.

Granted, the throne out of people you knew left you a little uneasy, but it was nothing compared to the rush of basically having Bill at your mercy. No matter what you wanted, he got it for you in basically no time at all. Even all his henchmaniacs now had to do as you say as well. You quickly understood why this was so much fun to him.

You were sitting on your little throne when Bill floated back inside the pyramid, towards you. When he reached you, he placed another person on the armrest. This person wasn’t stone though, he was golden. You looked at Bill with furrowed brows. He transformed into a smaller version of himself and flew around you both.

“This, my dear Sparky, is my good old pal Stanford Pines.” He gestured towards him as he said it. “The reason I brought him here is because I need a little formula from him. Let’s see if we can get him to talk, hm?” With that Bill snapped his fingers and the man transformed back again.

He immediately frowned at Bill. “What do you want from me, Cipher?” Bill shook his head. “Always so rude, Sixer.” You realized quickly that they had something very weird going on. Bill turned to you. “Let me introduce you to Sparky first! My absolute favorite human.”

Bill hovered close to you, one arm wrapped around you. He turned his face to you and batted his eye, gently caressing your cheek with his eyelashes. It tickled. You smiled and chuckled lightly, as you gave a small wave in Ford’s direction.

Ford’s eyes widened in shock before his expression hardened again. “Whatever Bill has told you: It is not true! He is nothing but a conman and a demo-” A quick fist to his stupid big chin shut him right up. Ford stumbled back two steps and looked up at you as he rubbed his chin.

Bill, who had lost his grip on you when you stepped towards Ford, floated in front of you, taking you by the shoulders. “Nice punch, Sparky! But you really don’t need to defend me from this loser.” Bill chuckled and you relaxed slightly.

You knew you didn’t need to defend him. Hell, you didn’t even disagree with what Ford said. Bill is a demon. But only you got to call him that. Who did this guy think he was anyway?

Ford looked at Bill, flabbergasted. “What have you done to them?” Bill just chuckled as he turned to face Ford. “Amazing, right? I didn’t have to do anything, that’s just how I found them.”

[momentomori24]

I swear to God, Twitter being able to accumulate so many brain-dead, malicious, pseudo intellectual low lives all in one place at the same time is a phenomenon worthy of being studied under a microscope in a science lab. And no, that is not a compliment.

Thankfully people have already spoken out against this bullshit-- the fact that people needed to is already maddening to think about-- but as someone who got the basic gist of what happened literally yesterday I'll also put my voice out there: Don't you fucking dare try to paint Hbomb as a murderer over this situation.

Somerton may be a lying, misogynistic plagiarist and conman, but he obviously doesn't deserve to die and while I do make fun of the guy, I genuinely hope that he continues to have a life after the dust has settled on everything. Not on YouTube or any social media platform for a long time at least, but just a life nontheless. I don't wish what he's potentially going through on anyone, and I hope that he makes it through this. But regardless of if he does or doesn't-- and God forbid he doesn't-- none of this is Hbomb's fault. It's not his fault, or Kat's fault, or Jessie's fault (because apparently there's people blaming her too cuz WHY NOT), or anybody's fault. All they did was call out his actions, hold him accountable for the harm he's done. They have done nothing to deserve having to carry this on their shoulders should the worst happen. They did nothing wrong. They didn't kill James (he's not confirmed dead yet either btw). They are not murderers. And to the people saying they are: say those words out loud, listen how they sound like, and re-evaluate. Just cease.

And to people like this:

''Oh I'm not blaming him for anything I'm just blaming him for what his audience did because according to HIM you're responsible for your audience'' Yeah, you people can shut your mouths too. Of course you're responsible for your audience, and that includes Hbomb too. However, your tiny, godless little monkey brain can't see why your argument is still rubbish even with that in mind. The difference between James, Internet Historian and Hbomb is that Hbomb never promoted problematic behaviour to his audience. If you promote problematic shit like harassment or misogyny or racism, then yeah, you're absolutely responsible for how your behaviour influences your audience. But that's not what he did. He made it very clear where he stood on those things, literally stating that ''if anyone were to harass Somerton on his behalf they are worse than him and will not see the light of heaven''. He's done his part in making it clear that harassment is wrong, so if someone went out of their way to go against that and harass James anyway that doesn't reflecf on him at all. Also, what the hell do you mean ''hatemobbed'' to suicide? I don't doubt there are people who went to extremes because those bad apples always exist, but most of the things I've seen are valid critisisms, memes and call outs about that guy. If holding people accountable for their actions and poking fun at them a little counts as 'hatemobbing'' (which has Filip calling his critics a ''lynch mob'' energy tbh) what the hell do you call actual hatemobbing then? Do we just let people continue being shitty because calling them out ''damages their mental health'' or ''drives them to suicide'' then? Is that a world you want to live in?

Same thing goes for people like this:

Criticing someone for their objectively bullshit content and wanting them dead are two seperate things. What the actual hell is wrong with you. The plagiarist in question is a person. Those ''harshest critics'' are still people. And because we're people, we care. I'd rather James pump out more plagiarised slop than commit suicide. I'd still hate him for it, but I'd prefer him being alive over the alternative any day. We all do. None of us would sleep easier knowing he's dead just because he wouldn't be ''committing the cardinal sin of putting out a 'pure content mill' video'' because someone taking their own life is horrific-- especially Hbomberguy, how dare you even try to imply that?

And this gets me to the reason I'm furiously typing all this out in the first place: Hbomb is the fucking victim here, so stop treating him like he isn't. He tried making things as right as possible by compensating those that were burned by James through a video where he revealed everything there needs to be known about the guy so that less people fall victim to his actions and lies. To just ignore the harm James was causing while he had the evidence to prove it and platform too big to threaten into non existence should he speak out would've been bad. So he didn't. He did the right thing by sticking with the people James had stolen from, giving them a voice and making them known after they've been scrubbed from the picture by decidedly being uncredited for their works or bullied into silence. He shouldn't have to deal with this for doing the right thing. He shouldn't be labelled a murderer for doing the right thing. He shouldn't have to have the death of a man on his conscience for doing the right thing. People claiming otherwise are obviously wrong, but I can't imagine what all this must feel like right now. Because even tho they're wrong, guilt isn't a rational thing, and I know that if I were in his position I'd still feel like a morally bankrupt individual were the worst to happen even if I knew that it was not my fault. This isn't a funny story. So to add to this dumpsterfire by using it as a prop to bash on a creator you don't like and immediately write Somerton off as dead even when he's not even been confirmed dead yet to do that shows how little these people actually care about the thing they're talking about. They don't care a guy potentially killed himself-- what they care about is using it to paint Hbomb in a bad light because they don't like him. Here they are, posting memes and ill jokes about this very delicate situation while barely a day since the news broke out had passed. It's opportunistic, it's sickening, and literally the exact thing he criticised in his video when talking about 'content mills'. Like, I know none of these clowns bothered to actually watch it, but have some self-awareness. And some shame too, while you're at it.

This long story short: I'm writing this to contribute to the narrative not getting twisted to make Hbomb out to be the villian. Same goes for everyone else. Don't let these people paint them as the villians. If I see another person pull this shit again I will literally bite you and shred you into salad and spit you back out because I hate you so much and I mean that wholeheartedly.

To Hbomb: you will never see this but if you do, take care of yourself.

To the asshats this post is about: Delete your account. Cease all together. Stop talking about this. Just leave him the fuck alone.

[softblesses]

What Safe Feels Like.

This fic has been a long time in the making! I have partnered with the talented bean, @rosieknows to create a lovely W/hite Co/llar, N/eal C/affrey centric fic for the winter season <3. The events that take place consist of our favourite conman getting lots of tender care at the B/urke's residence.

Part 1.

Word Count: Just under 5k.

CW: illness, snz (duh), contagion, a little later on in the fic. A tiny bit of mess, medical talk/topics.

Don't reblog to non-kink blogs. 18+ only, thank you! <33

Earlier in the week, Peter Burke had told Neal Caffrey to start wearing a coat outdoors — “weather’s changing,” he’d said, “you’ll catch a cold!” And, obviously, Neal had informed him that fact was merely a myth. Besides, the autumn sun was still shining two days ago and he was only walking a short way to the coffee shop and back. How bad could it really be…?

Perhaps the universe picked favourites that day, and, for once, Neal’s charm couldn’t save him. It could have been much worse, certainly, but as much as Neal tried to focus his mind on that belief, he couldn’t quite get himself to fully deny that it was very, very bad. 

It was as if the second he’d gotten far enough away from the bureau, the heavens had opened above him and soaked him from head to toe before he’d even arrived at the coffee shop door. Which, by the way, was closed for the first time ever. And, so, Neal had to hurry across the street to another. The icing on top of the cake, though, was the taxi that drove through a puddle and splashed him when he finally reached the other side. 

To say Peter got amusement out of all of this later on would’ve been an understatement. 

Neal had been forced to wear some ancient-looking FBI training clothes for the rest of the day, and the scowl on his face didn’t falter for quite some time. He had eventually dried off and warmed up — Peter even started to feel a little bad, and gave him his suit jacket as a blanket at one point. When the day ended, the sun was shining and Neal felt right as rain again. Although, the same couldn’t be said for the morning two days later.

The first sensation that struck him was how utterly cold he felt, even wrapped up in his own bed and blankets, which he sleepily pulled tighter around himself. Perhaps the fickle autumn weather had turned for the worse during the night as it was so prone to do. The next feeling he was able to process was pure weariness like gravity had decided to be particularly insistent that his limbs stay firmly on the bed and lashed out in punishment when they did attempt to move. Perhaps he hadn’t slept well or had worked himself harder the previous day than he realized.

The third — or, well, the third, fourth, fifth, and so on for quite a few — sensations Neal felt were the nail in the proverbial coffin. An urgent, almost burning tickle budded in his upper sinuses, causing him to blink in irritation. Soon enough, the itch found its way to spread through the entire reaches of his nose. His eyebrows knitted together in slants, his breath caught in his throat, and his soft lips fell open before —

“Hihh! Hehhdtschh’uh! Hahh… hiht-ktschhh—tschhh!… Ugh, god,” he sneezed, ducking forward sleepily into his blanket since he had neither the time nor alertness to cover with anything else. Sighing in a mixture of relief and dread, he came to the conclusion that he was likely getting sick. Maybe if he was tired enough, felt cold enough, and pouted long enough, the cold would just take pity on him and leave. Unfortunately, to no one’s surprise, he still felt sick, which meant it was time for Plan B: work through it because it was a busy week and hope it didn’t get any worse. And, most importantly, hide it from Peter. 

The warm shower seemed to help a little, but it didn’t take long for the aches to start creeping back in and for his sinuses to grow irritated again. Once he was dressed, with his hair styled and shoes tied. . . Neal was ready. Ready as he’d ever be, at least. Besides, he felt fine, for the most part. Downing some water should help his throat, and a couple of Tylenol should stave off the headache that he could feel brewing behind his eyes. Peter should be here any minute to pick him up, and Neal placed his hat — one of his favourites, both for comfort and in the hopes that looking well-dressed or put together enough would dissuade any suspicion — upon his head with a sigh. He can do this. 

“Morning, Neal,” Peter greeted in his usual tone, toying with the heating in the car. “‘S cold out. I told you the seasons were changing!”

“Morning,” Neal muttered, climbing into the car and buckling up. “Y’know, you really missed your true calling as a weather boy.”

“That’s funny,” Peter remarked back, beginning to drive now. “But, I think my assets are best settled within the FBI. Criminals are more predictable than the weather if you know what you’re doing.” He chuckled to himself. 

Neal stared out of the window at the passing cars and orange and yellow leaves on the trees that rolled by. He was still tired and quieter than usual, Peter noted mentally, watching him unbeknownst to the criminal consultant himself, who was still focused on their outdoor surroundings. He gave a slow blink, directing his attention to the heating that was uncomfortably too warm all of a sudden. Pushing the vent closed, he glanced sideways. 

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just quiet, that’s all. Quiet usually means up to something.”

“I can be quiet. It’s early. I thought you liked quiet, anyway,” Neal retorted, shifting slightly in his seat. He couldn’t get comfortable despite moving, crossing and uncrossing his legs. 

The rest of the journey was left without questions, and they made it to the parking garage without any more issues. Neal got out of the car, rubbing at his nose whilst Peter couldn’t see him. He paused. This really wasn’t the time, but he’d have to play it off somehow because this discomfort wasn’t going to let up. Reaching down for the leg of his trousers, Neal stifled a well-silenced sneeze.

“Are you coming?” Peter called out, and as Neal raised his head again, he sniffled. 

“Patience is a virtue, Peter! My anklet was stuck in my trouser leg. Appearance matters, you know.” 

“Everyone here knows you’ve got the ankle jewellery, Caffrey. I’m sure you wouldn’t cause mass hysteria with a flash of your leg.”

“You’d be surprised,” Neal grinned mischievously, keeping up with Peter as they made their way toward the elevator. 

The agent only rolled his eyes in response and pressed the button for the elevator, still none the wiser. For now. Neal had let Peter step in first, scrunching up his nose behind him, and then —  somehow and with great difficulty — he managed to resist the urge to sniffle the entire way up to their floor. When the elevator dinged to a stop and Neal exited it, he was immediately hit by everything all at once: the brightness of the lighting, the overlap of voices, and the general sounds of the morning bustle. Usually, it was like white noise to him, but today it hurt his head, and the lighting did nothing to relieve the itch in his sinuses.

He pressed his wrist against his nose, haphazardly managing to prevent another sneeze before he followed quickly behind Peter. “I’ll be right there! Just grabbing something from my desk,” Neal called across the bullpen, ducking down behind his desk as if he were looking for something. 

But, instead. . . “Hh—ushcht!” He buried his face into the crook of his elbow, frozen for a moment longer. “Hheh—htchht!”  Followed by a series of long sniffles.

“Lost something, Caffrey?” Diana’s voice interrupted his small recovery period, and Neal flinched so hard in surprise that he bumped his head underneath his desk with a small thud. Damn it. He paused for just a second before swiping a pen from his pocket. Then, he stood up straight again, flashing the pen in her general direction, with a scowl crossing his features. 

“Dropped my pen. Not a crime, last time I checked,” he muttered, placing it safely back into his pocket. After straightening his hat, Neal moved past her to get to the conference room. 

Peter looked up at the sound of footsteps and silently wondered what Diana had said to the CI to make him look so disgruntled. “Nice of you to finally join us,” he dared to jest, waiting for Neal and Diana to sit before starting his talk for the day; they had to find a new case, as well as complete the paperwork from their last one. Of course, Neal wasn’t exactly amused by the briefing topic. Yet, he didn’t seem to audibly complain for nearly as long as he usually did. Huh. 

Neal simply took the selection of case files that Peter slid towards him across the tabletop and found the one that he had to finish up. He opened the file slowly, tapping his pen against his forehead. He stared at the page for so long that he barely noticed Peter watching him from across the room. 

“Neal. . . You good?” His voice snapped the CI from his daze, who was quick to shake himself out of it and flash a signature smile the agent’s way. 

“Always. You know how much I love paperwork!” Neal responded, sarcasm evident in his tone. 

“Wonderful, you’ll have plenty to enjoy,” Peter retorted with a dry smirk, placing another file in front of his partner. “Focus up; we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“How do you sound so happy when you say that?” the younger man groaned, leaning back in his chair with folded arms.

Still, focusing was easier said than done in this situation. Despite his best attempt at listening attentively, his mind felt fuzzy. Additionally, his nose still itched, causing him to scrunch it up slightly. He rubbed at it with the back of his hand in what he hoped was a casual gesture. Unfortunately, the touch seemed to be ineffective at best and intensifying at worst. Either way, he quickly tipped past the point of no return and crumbled forward into his fist with a sneeze, stifled into near silence as usual.

“Hihh—kKTtsh!” After a few blinks, he dared to peek at his coworkers’ reactions, hoping that the others had been as distracted as he was himself. For a moment, he thought he was lucky enough.

“Bless you, Caffrey,” rang a deep, feminine voice. Damn it. Diana was perceptive even in the most hectic of times, so it was only natural that she would notice a disturbance — slight as it was — during a particularly slow and dull meeting.

“Thanks,” Neal muttered softly, if a bit shyly. He saw Peter’s gaze flick to Diana and back at him. Clearing his throat, he examined the documents in front of him intently to prompt the continuation of the meeting.

Peter continued to talk about the writing they had to do, but Neal stopped listening some time ago and was mostly focused on trying not to sneeze again. He glanced at his handler every now and then to keep up the facade that he was listening, and turned a few pages of the file in front of him. As soon as Peter had finished talking and a small hubbub started up, Neal saw his chance, standing up and using the file as a shield to hide his face. 

‘HnnKxt. . Heh’ngxt.’  Well, at least he’d gotten away with that one. 

He even almost made it to the door without anyone saying anything about it until Peter spoke up from behind him. “You going somewhere?” He questioned, and Neal stopped. So close. 

“To my desk…?” Neal replied, thankful for the fact that his voice barely sounded congested for the moment. “You can’t deny that I’ll get distracted in here.”

Peter frowned slightly before nodding. “Alright, but don’t try and get out of this.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Neal murmured, hurrying to his desk; his nose was beginning to run, and he didn’t exactly want anyone to witness that. He pressed his silk handkerchief to his nose after sitting down, keeping his head held low and sniffling quietly. He went to the men’s room a minute later, waiting until it was empty so that he could blow his nose and splash some cold water on his face. This was going to be a damn long day. 

He kept a low profile for as long as possible, dismissing Peter’s questions when he’d come over to see how he was doing and sneaking off to the men’s room whenever he could; by lunchtime, the congestion was worsening, and he had to keep sniffling to stop his nose from running too much. He barely even noticed Diana wandering over. 

“Caffrey?” Her voice made him flinch slightly in surprise, but he managed to pull it off as a stretching motion. 

Neal glanced up, blinking a few times. “Hm?”

“You’ve usually begged Peter five times to go on a coffee run by now… it’s already lunchtime.” Her eyebrows raised. “What gives?”

The CI shrugged, turning back to his papers and picking up his pen. He’d barely done anything yet, but he needed to keep up appearances. 

“So, are you gonna go get some?”

“Huh?” Neal just really wanted her to go away because he wasn’t really listening, and his head was starting to ache. 

“The coffee — Neal, are you okay?”

He plastered on a signature smile, hopping up to his feet. “I’m just messing with you, Diana. The usual drinks?” Neal asked, reaching for his coat on the back of his chair. 

He made his way to the doors, turning when Diana called his name again. “Caffrey, do you want a sandwich? From that place down the block? Jones is buying!” 

“No, thanks! I’ll get something at the coffee place.” Neal called back, only somewhat lying. He was getting something, and that something was coffee. Or maybe tea, actually. 

•••

He was gone for slightly longer than usual, but nobody was going to question it. Neal ensured it didn’t take too long, however, or Peter would start to get antsy and probably call or text him a few times. He got everyone’s drinks and opted for green tea for himself — he could feel the buzzing in his sinuses worsening, not to mention the congestion was starting to properly settle in and clog up his nose now. Going outside hadn't exactly made it any better, either, and he was sniffling in the elevator the entire way up. 

He carried the drinks into the conference room, setting them down on the table and exhaling slowly through his mouth as he stepped away.  Nobody seemed to pay much attention to him — they were all busy eating their food, and Neal had to stop himself from audibly gagging. Did he really feel that bad all of a sudden? His hand reached forward to grab his cup whilst everyone else began helping themselves to their drinks. It wasn’t until he took a sip that he realised he hadn’t taken his own cup at all, and from Peter’s confused expression, he’d gotten the tea. 

“Neal…” his voice started, and the CI wasn’t quite sure what would come next, so he butted in with a quick, haphazard excuse. 

“Hey! You said it yourself, the weather’s changing. Tea will do you good.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed slightly, but the little white lie seemed to satisfy him for now, and everyone got back to what they were doing. To keep up appearances, he sipped the coffee for a while, trying to ignore the way it made his stomach turn. After around five minutes, he snuck out of the door and headed back to sit at his desk; if anyone were to question it, he’d make up the same excuse about needing to concentrate. The coffee was thrown into the trash the second he sat down, and a heavy sigh came afterwards. 

•••

“God damn it,” Peter grumbled under his breath as he looked around the office. “Diana, Jones, have you seen Caffrey anywhere? It doesn’t look like he’s even so much as glanced at any of his work today.”

“Not in a while, no,” Jones answered, looking behind him to verify the absence, though if the CI had simply been standing in the middle of that open hallway, he probably would have been noticed by now. “He seemed kind of tired, though. Maybe he went home early?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. Something feels off. I don’t think he’s just slacking off again,” Peter dismissed, forehead wrinkled in those signature frown lines and lips pressed firmly together in a mixture of concern and disapproval.

“Peter, your blood pressure’s high enough as it is,” Diana deadpanned, earning an offended head tilt from the man in question. “Go back to what you were doing; I’ll find your missing dog,” she reassured, already standing up without waiting for a response.

“I… all right. Thanks, let me know if you find him,” Peter relented.

“You gonna put up fliers?” Jones joked with an entertained smirk as he watched Diana beginning to leave.

“Nah, not yet. If I don’t see him, I think I’ll start with treats to draw him out. Maybe a nice Bordeaux,” she quipped in turn with a thoughtful expression. The clicks of her heels against the firm carpet seemed to echo more than usual as if the room felt emptier and quieter somehow. Though she tried to play it off, she had to admit to herself that she was worried; she’d felt that sour twist in her gut far too many times in her work and personal life to ignore it. She hoped he was all right, particularly since he wasn’t responding to texts or calls, and that she’d be able to find him soon if not.

It took less than 15 minutes, not due to any detective skills as an FBI agent either. While the office was large, it didn’t really take long to traverse, especially if you were familiar with it enough to avoid getting lost. Besides, the floor plan was quite open, and the majority of rooms had large glass panel windows, so they were easy to check. It was an older conference room, though, one without any indoor-facing windows or glass doors, where she found him.

“You good, Caffrey?” Diana asked, the light from the open door illuminating the scene before her just enough to see the CI in question asleep, lying on his back in the centre of the long, rectangular table. Seemingly, to cushion the otherwise flat, hard surface, he had rolled his suit jacket into a makeshift pillow to rest his head on. “Caffrey,” she called again.

“Hmmn?” Neal hummed groggily, stirring at the sudden noise. “‘M sorry… ‘s still on…” he mumbled almost entirely incoherently, fumbling around to pull his left pant leg up enough to reveal his anklet.

“Neal, you’re dreaming,” she offered in a gentler tone, heart twisting in concern. Fortunately, that seemed to bring him past the threshold into the waking world.

“Oh, hey, Diana,” he muttered, rubbing at his bleary eyes and blinking them open.

“We were looking for you,” she began, finally flicking on the ceiling lights of the room. “Are you—”

The sudden influx of light directly above him sparked a buzzing sensation deep in his sinuses that caused him to immediately crumple forward into his elbow. “Ehdt-ktschhh! H-huhh… ihdtsch! Heh’tischhh—dtschhh! Ugh…” Sniffling pitifully, he sat up properly and got off the table.

“Jesus. Bless you?” Diana said, scanning him over with her eyes.

“Thangks. Sorry, it’s, uh, the lights,” he replied sheepishly with another wet sniffle.

After a moment, she pulled out a travel pack of tissues from her pocket and handed them over to her coworker with a soft “here.” He flashed her a grateful smile and blew his nose quietly. “You, uh… get too tired to head home?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“You could say that, I guess,” he muttered in embarrassment before the next words caught in his throat, sending him coughing into the tissues in his hand.

“You know you could just go home sick, right?” Diana prompted with folded arms.

“Yeah, sure, if I was sick, but I’m not, and we have work to do. Just needed to rest my head for a minute,” he insisted with his usual winning smile, though it didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes as much as it typically did.

“World’s greatest conman’s off his game, huh?” Diana prompted, folding her arms. “Do you really think that sounds believable?”

His lips opened with a lie about his health on his tongue, but he sighed in defeat instead. “It wasn’t that bad earlier, but it kinda just hit me all at once… sorry for disappearing out of nowhere.”

Diana hummed in acknowledgement before asking, “You have a fever?”

“Uh… probably a mild one? I’m not 100% sure,” he replied, touching his hand to his forehead and neck despite knowing it would be a fruitless examination.

“All right, c’mere,” she beckoned, though she closed most of the gap herself and began to feel his forehead for fever with the front and back of her palm. 

“Heh-hh…” Neal’s breath caught softly, blinking before pressing his knuckles up against his nose.

“If you sneeze on me, I swear to god,” she warned.

“Hh-huhhh… hh!!” The pressure was quite clearly not enough to suppress the reflex any longer, so he turned as far away from her as he could—her taking a step back was likely still a wonderful decision—and ducked into the crook of his arm. “Hihhtschh! Huhhhhkdtsch! Ugh…”

“Bless you.”

“Thangks,” he replied, swiping a tissue under his running nose again and discarding it in a nearby trash can. “So, what’s my prognosis, Doc?”

“You feel warm.”

“If your career in the FBI doesn’t work out, you should really think about going into the medical field.” Neal sniffled, scrunching his nose in a poor attempt to stop it from running. 

“Watch it, Caffrey. One doctor in the house is enough already—not that it would take years of medical training to know you need to go home and rest.” Diana pointed a finger at him, spending a moment assessing the situation. “Don’t move. I’ll be back.” With that, she simply turned around and left.

“Okay? I-I thought we both wanted me to go home right now? Diana?” The confused, half-hearted reply was not granted the slightest form of acknowledgement, except for the door closing behind his coworker.

Neal blinked slowly, unsure of what to do for a moment, before hopping down from the table and, noting how horrible standing up felt, taking refuge in one of the spinny chairs. She said to wait, so… something in him took the instruction to heart. Still, he was impatient to the very end and soon curled up in the chair for comfort, eyes blinking slowly and heavily, and maybe just having them shut for a moment would be nice—

“Did you fall back asleep again?” 

The rhetorical question was from Diana, he was pretty sure, but he only really registered the presence of the words, not processing much else. Regardless, it quickly roused him from his short-lived respite of slumber, prompting him to sit up straight and rub at his drowsy eyes.

“Hmmn?” Neal mumbled with a small yawn, “Um, I might have dozed off a little?” He took another second to think about it. “Probably, yeah.”

“No shit,” Diana monotoned.

“Sleeping on the job, eh, Caffrey?” Peter teased.

“I doubt he’s been getting much work done with whatever plague he picked up from cold and flu season,” Diana shot back.

“Hey, I’m right here, you know?” Neal pouted. “It’s just a little cold, I’m fine.”

“If this is just something little, then I’d hate to see you with a full-blown flu,” Diana muttered, looking from Neal and then to Peter. “Peter’s taking you home.” She added, watching as her Boss’ expression turned to one of confusion. 

“I am?” A pause. A ‘look’ from Diana. “I. . . Am.” He looked at Neal, properly looked this time. He did look pretty awful, and it was doubtful even the best of con men could manage to hide whatever it was he’d managed to hide up until now; his nose was red, he looked exhausted, and his cheeks were starting to flush. Not to mention how uncharacteristically unkempt he was looking. 

“C’mon, Neal.” Peter stepped forward, holding out his hand.

It took them both a lot longer than usual to get downstairs and into the parking garage because a feverish Neal had decided to press multiple elevator buttons at once… and then tried to get into the wrong car once they finally did arrive, but they were eventually buckled in and ready to go. 

“Never a dull day with Neal Caffrey around, huh?” Peter muttered, mostly to himself, as he started up the car engine. 

“Never a dull… day with P’ter Burke… and his car..” Neal mumbled, sniffling and leaning to toy with the radio. 

“Hey, no touching. Sit back and don’t meddle.” He began to drive towards the exit, ensuring to press the child lock button. Just in case. 

No sooner than they were out of the building and driving into the sunshine, Neal shielded his eyes with his wrist and groaned. 

‘Nnn’gxChht… xXchhht—oo.’ He sneezed into the wrist previously used to try and hide his eyes and sniffled thickly. 

“Gesundheit,” Peter muttered, already stopping in a slight queue of traffic. 

Neal didn’t answer, leaning his head against the window with a heavy sigh. Now that he was caught, he couldn’t pretend he was fine, and he hated the sense of looking… weak. Especially to Peter, which was a whole thing to analyse in itself. He just wanted to be alone, but he couldn’t now, and Elizabeth certainly wasn’t going to let him. Of course, he was grateful to have people in his life who cared about him like that, but it was new and it was different, and Neal Caffrey liked it when things went his way. 

“You know you’re allowed to call in sick, right?” Peter spoke up again as the traffic started to move. 

“You’re allowed to call in sick.” Neal sniffled, still leaning his head against the window. 

There was a pause whilst Peter thought about Neal’s behaviour throughout the day. He was pretty good at hiding things. But… 

“Did you even eat anything today?”

“Mhm.”

“And, I’m guessing the tea you brought me was not for me…?”

“Wow, real FBI agent over here,” Neal grumbled, lifting his head slightly to glance at Peter, only to be once again blindsided by the sun. 

His handler sighed as they stopped at another red light. “There’s sunglasses in the dash,” Peter said after a moment, “they’re El’s. Blue eyes are more sensitive, right?” He questioned, watching Neal shrug out of the corner of his eye. The CI placed them on, seemingly relaxing a little more. 

“Thanks,” Neal mumbled, leaning back against the seat and closing his eyes. 

As Peter started driving again, he knew he wasn’t going to take Neal back to June’s. He’d only hide himself away and pretend everything was fine — while making himself worse in the process. Nope. Neal Caffrey was about to experience Elizabeth Burke’s expert bedside manner and Peter’s on-point tea-making skills. 

•••

“Honey, is that you?” Elizabeth’s voice rang out from the kitchen, “You’re home early; it’s only three o’clock! Is everything—” The footsteps came to an abrupt halt as she joined the pair in the living room. “— oh.” The moment she laid eyes on Neal, she immediately understood why her husband had come home so soon. 

Peter gave a sort of glance towards her that clearly said, “Help me,” and El chuckled softly. She pointed at Peter before leaning in to kiss his cheek. “You, kitchen. And you,” she paused to tap Neal’s chest with her index finger. “Upstairs. Let’s get you something comfortable to wear.”

He just sort of looked at her, crystal blue eyes a little glazed over. “Hi, Elizabeth. Peter’s supposed to take me home, but he took a wrong turn,” Neal mumbled, watching his handler walk away. 

“I think he took a very well-planned turn. Come on, honey, upstairs.” She ushered him towards the staircase, following behind. “You go to the bathroom to blow your nose, and I’ll get you some clothes. Neal, don’t give me that look. You sound terrible, and you can’t pretend you don’t.” Elizabeth sighed, reaching to help him with his suit jacket. “All that sniffling will give you a headache,” she chided gently. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

She fetched some of Peter’s pyjamas, a blue plaid set he only tended to wear during particularly cold weather, and placed them outside the bathroom door. “I’m going to get you some blankets for the couch, okay? I’ll be downstairs; the clothes are right here. Neal?” Elizabeth frowned, reaching to tap against the bathroom door, awaiting an answer. 

“Mhm,” came the stuffy, sleepy reply. 

It wasn’t long before the CI was curled up on the Burkes’ couch, wrapped in blankets and resting his head against a pillow. He looked exhausted and much more dishevelled than Neal Caffrey would ever dream of looking in front of someone else. Both El and Peter stood by, watching as their house guest snored and exhaled congested breaths; he’d fallen asleep just minutes after resting his head down. Turns out that masking your symptoms all day was pretty tiring work. 

“You can’t deny that he looks adorable like that,” El whispered, resting her head against her husband’s arm. 

“Looks can be deceiving,” Peter muttered back quietly, wrapping an arm around her waist. He sighed.

[lilhwahwa]

heart swindler - J.WY (Part 3)

PART 2 

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ part 3: Your mind is breathing and living Wooyoung, which wasn't avoidable seeing as you're now staying at his place. Yet your anxious and paranoid mind won't let you breathe. You are certain Wooyoung could be plotting something against you, to manipulate you and use you. You decide to take your nephew and leave, once again. Would this change trigger something?

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: AFAB Conwoman reader! x Conman Wooyoung! Enemies to Lovers. Angst. Fluff. Smut.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: 18+ smut themes in the future parts. Mentions of drug abuse. Abusive parenting. Violence. Bi? Wooyoung? Stalking. Slowburn!. Conning? Crack! shitty writing... More to be added... This is fiction and does not represent the real idol. 

proof read? - no

words: 5.7K

tags:  @bl3ss3d-curs3d @mayosgrises @k-queen @starrysvn @harusoraa @chiefbananaearthquake @leeknowsalot @toxicccred @yunhorights​ @shibera @tunaasan

MASTERLIST 

Waking up in Wooyoung’s clothes felt almost mocking. It seemed like a perfect setup to test your morals after you had clearly declared that Wooyoung was the main reason business wasn't going well at LUX. Yet, you inhale deeper catch the scent of his detergent and sigh as you open your eyes to the new scene.

Even though you felt safer in Wooyoung’s proximity than alone at the hotel (for obvious reasons), there was still an alarm ringing in your head, reminding you to secure yourself and Jisung against possible dangers. You lifted your head to glance at the little boy, but your heart skipped a beat when all you saw was an empty space, an indent in the sheets where the little boy had slept.

“Jisung?” you called out, getting out of bed to rush through the door and in whichever direction you remembered the living room to be. You moved frantically to locate the child, scenarios of him being kidnapped and you being lured in by Wooyoung in an evil plan rushing through your head. If that were the case, you weren’t sure if you’d be more upset about being tricked so easily or that whatever Wooyoung had shown you during the past 24 hours was nothing but a scheme to take you down.

“Jisung-ah!” you called out again.

“Lord, woman, we heard you the first time,” a voice snapped you out of your panic. Your eyes fell on Wooyoung peeking his head out from the kitchen, a much shorter and smaller head peeking out right after him at torso level.

You instantly let out a breath you were holding, shaking your head to get rid of the looming anxiety that had settled over your body. Were you slowly losing your mind over everything that had happened? Sure, being cautious was part of human nature to ensure survival, but at this point, you were as jumpy as a mouse waiting to be attacked by a cat.

Choosing not to reply to Wooyoung, you entered the kitchen to see what was going on. The smell of food hadn’t even registered in your panicked state until now. Of course, they would be making breakfast. It was a normal morning, after all, but honestly, you didn’t take Wooyoung to enjoy hosting guests as much as he seemed to.

“Auntie! We are making you breakfast! Wooyoung let me cut the spam!” An excited Jisung approached you, draped in an oversized shirt similar to yours, only his swallowed him up down to his ankles. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He was still so tiny but so smart for his age. Too smart, maybe, and part of it was your fault. As much as you tried to tell yourself that you did your best at keeping him safe, there was always some doubt about how much of a childhood he was actually experiencing.

Your thoughts almost distracted you from the boy’s words. Almost.

“You let him cut with a knif—” you raised your voice in concern as your eyes searched for Wooyoung, who was in front of the stove, frying up ingredients. He wore a thin tank top with sweatpants. It was unfair how smooth and golden his skin was. It was unfair how toned his shoulders seemed to be in the tank top and his arms... You never doubted that Wooyoung kept his figure for his job, but what you hadn’t expected was for his body to be this built. Thick veins ran up his forearms as he gripped the handle of the pan. His bony fingers were long as they wrapped around it, maneuvering the contents around for an even simmer. You couldn’t be bothered to analyze the food when your heart pumped enough blood to flush your face in mere seconds. He looked strong and delectable. Wait.

“He’s a big boy, very concentrated on the task, so he can be trusted with a knife,” Wooyoung commented, turning around to lean back against the kitchen counter. He raised an eyebrow at your reaction to him, a small smirk evident on his lips, and you hated that you had let yourself get caught checking his arms out. But now that he turned around, his collarbones—

“Well, I don’t let him touch such stuff; he could’ve hurt himself,” your words came out as a mumbling mess as you looked back to Jisung, who joined Wooyoung’s side and tried to reach the pan on his tiptoes to see whether the spam he had put effort into was cooking right. Wooyoung noticed his struggle and picked the boy up into his embrace, allowing him to see his hard work being made into a meal.

“Auntie, I did just fine, and besides, I tried my best for you.” The boy smiled brightly at you from Wooyoung’s arms, and you almost wanted to snort at how hypocritical this situation was. But something inside of you didn’t want to ruin this moment for Jisung. And for yourself. And maybe Wooyoung too… the man looked over Jisung’s excitement with a curved smile and a familiar look in his eyes, as if longing for something or someone. For once, you decided to push back your overbearing brain and just enjoy the normality of the situation in your chaotic life.

“What are you boys making?” you sat down on one of the tall kitchen chairs and supported yourself on your elbow as you watched the heartwarming sight of Jisung finally getting to act like a curious kid. You had only slept here one night, but the obvious problem wasn’t solved just yet. How long did Wooyoung intend to let you stay? You already hated having to ask somebody for help, let alone him. But it seemed like he was the first person spawning on the scene whenever something bad happened to you, and just for that reason, you decided then and there that it must be a sign from someone or something. But that didn't mean you should overstay your welcome.

“Fried rice,” Wooyoung answered and let Jisung down to start plating breakfast as you slipped between reality and your thoughts. You simply nodded and let the man serve you the food. Only then did you realize just how hungry you were. Who would’ve thought you’d be eating food cooked by Wooyoung, dressed in his clothes, in his kitchen? You couldn’t help but snort.

“Excuse you? We tried hard all morning, and you mock us?” Wooyoung took playful offense and turned to Jisung, who played into the scene. “Auntie! We truly tried. I even almost cut my hand off for you!” he joked, making Wooyoung throw his head back as he let out a series of short huffs of laughter. That was the first time you ever heard him laugh.

You rolled your eyes to save the situation and brought a mouthful of the dish to taste. “Mmh!! Wow,” you groaned, dramatizing your reaction by clapping your hands. Wooyoung rolled his eyes playfully, but Jisung smiled brightly. Was this how normal life was supposed to be? You, having dinner with your family?

No, Wooyoung wasn’t family. And up until two weeks ago, you weren’t even on speaking terms. He doesn't even know your real name yet, for fuck’s sake. Besides, the weekend was just around the corner, and you’d have to face the reality that one of you, probably not you, would have to return to the club. There was no way you’d leave Jisung alone.

Going to the police wasn’t a smart option as they’d start digging in places they didn’t belong. Telling Hongjoong could be risky as he could ask you to leave the club for the sake of guests’ safety. What would you do now? Appoint a gang? Obviously not.

You decided that whatever choice you’d go with, you wanted to enjoy the sight of the two boys competing to see who’d eat faster just a little longer. Their giggles turned louder with each bite, and playful pushing of shoulders made rice fly over the table.

After breakfast, Wooyoung occupied Jisung with his variety of video games. The little boy’s cheers twisted your heart as he played. You knew things could be worse, but still, you longed to be the reason for his cheers, to make him as happy as Wooyoung had seemed to in just the span of a day. You were letting yourself go slowly. Whoever had named you Bullet obviously must’ve forgotten that you were not lethal unless fired from a gun. A motivation. Something that would make you want to hit a target. Most often, it stemmed from watching bastard men and their pathetic lies that destroyed families and futures. It was drilled into you before you even officially came out on the market. Men are cheaters. Men are liars. Men deserve what you do to them. Every woman in your field seemed to agree, and everybody else just stayed silent and allied for the chunks of money.

But as that motivation dried up, after you gave your all and conjured your most vile and evil personality onto these men in an attempt to give them just what they deserved, you were suddenly dropped back into reality where you were just you. No Bullet, but a simple Y/n who had been wronged. Wronged by men. Wronged by family and society. The high heels were exchanged for bare feet, and the glamorous outfits for an oversized shirt that seemed to swallow you as if you were Thumbelina herself (though you’d argue she was more graceful than at the moment). It made your throat hurt to even think about admitting that you were nothing outside of being Bullet. That you had almost broken in front of Wooyoung – An ally of the industry, but nonetheless just a man.

And like that, the flame of motivation was ignited again. It was merely heating under the coal, waiting to burst into full potential. The picture perfect breakfast was over with, and with that your feelings of a belittled and hopeless girl. You wonder for a second whether slipping into this headspace was wrong. Jisung had just gotten a taste of how normal life could be. How delicious fried rice could be for breakfast. And how a man could lift him easily into his arms whenever the little boy desired. But your choices of safety were limited, and staying with Wooyoung was not a stable route, at least emotionally. 

You can feel Wooyoung glancing over at you.

“What are your plans today?” He decides to break the silence, looking away to give you a safe space to speak. 

“I don’t really have many plans, I was hoping it would be okay for us to stay today while I look for options” You reply, emphasizing that you wouldn't be staying for long. But with the way Wooyoung bit at the inside of his cheek, you wondered whether he truly worried for you or if you had read him wrong. 

“You can stay for however long you need” he simply replies, almost as if brushing off the topic of you leaving. You glance over at Jisung who has made Wooyoung’s couch his own by the way he moves around as he plays on the large TV screen. 

“Thank you” you offer him a tight-lipped smile, deciding any more words or elaborating would quickly put out the newly sparked flame inside. You needed it to survive. To figure out what was going on. And you were not proud of the decision you were slowly coming to take. 

You reach for your phone, opening the contact of a number you don’t dial often. Not because of any particular reason, but rather the fact that you saw the person every weekend. 

Need a favor…can I call in a few? 

“I am gonna go stock up at the grocery store some time later, you can come or stay, whatever you prefer.” Wooyoung distracts you from your phone that you quickly turn off. You turn to look at him, and see him already looking for your eyes. Do not fall for it, you tell yourself. However sincere his foxy eyes try to be, he was merely a man who thankfully had not taken advantage of your situation, yet.

“I am not picky, I’ll trust the chef's opinion” you answer strategically, adding a smile. Yet you what you receive is a serious expression painted on Wooyoung’s face. He was probably suspecting something, thankfully you were already ahead. 

Of course, bullet x

—

“Auntie, did Wooyoung not want us to stay?” Jisung’s voice is careful as he tiptoes around the question. You squeeze his smaller hand holding yours, warning him to not have the conversation here.  “We discussed this, Jisung-ah” You smile at the boy with everything you could muster, eyes pleading for him to not speak further about Wooyoung. The little boy seems to get the memo and instead turns away apologetically to look out of the car window. 

“Didn’t know Wooyoung and you tolerated one another” Mark chuckles, looking at you through the rearview mirror. You roll your eyes and shake your head. Your relationship with Wooyoung has been simple. Stay out of each other’s sights and minds. Do not mess with taken victims or with business. That was on normal days at least, because you can recall a handful of times where Wooyoung would go out of his way to send teasing looks and whistles at you from across the dance floor or bar as you worked your magic on a man twice your age. Sure you weren’t the bestest of friends but it was because you’re purely colleagues. 

“We don’t, but he just happened to show up at the right place at the right time” You scoff as Mark doesn’t give up the wiggling of eyebrows. But you don’t miss the feeling of a smile begging to spread over your lips. You don’t let it this time. 

“You know, I heard he’s a decent guy apart from the obvious…maybe you’d consider?” Mark tries but you quickly reject his attempt. “You know what I will reply already so don’t even go there”. Although your words sounded harsh, Mark was no stranger to them. If anything, you even think the little smile on his otherwise harsh features appreciated the realness behind your tone. None of those sweet and fake pleasantries you were both trained to share with guests. 

“Didn’t hurt to try” Mark sighs and continues the drive to his place as he knows prying would only shift the mood for the worse. 

Honestly, you weren’t sure why you hadn’t called him right away after the accident. You knew he’d be there for you. One of the only men you saw as a person. A man that you had known since the day you stepped foot at LUX on your first work day. He had been there in a finely tailored suit, an earpiece attached to a radio on his waste along with a weapon. Mark has seen LUX transform into the number one club in the city, proudly standing at its doors every weekend to welcome guests, including you. For him, LUX, had been a new start just as it had been for you. In his case, out of prison and not a penny to his name after he took the blame for his best friend’s robbery attempt on a judge’s house. It had been unplanned, childish and a desperate attempt to gain adrenaline rather than money. He had been at the wrong place at the wrong time, with sincere loyalty to his friend (loyalty he totally didn’t deserve). You had told him it was because he was a Cancer. Hongjoong spawned into his life like he does in anybody’s, totally unforeseen but at their most desperate. And Mark had jumped at the opportunity because who was he to reject?

“Hey buddy, want to stop and get food?” Mark asks the little boy who had been staring out the window in a mood of melancholy. He turned to face Mark, but you could see that his response was out of politeness rather than pure joy. “If it is of no bother”. 

“If it is of no bother? You are better articulated than I am at my ripe age” Mark tries to lighten the mood, sensing the boy was down for whatever reason. You nudge Jisung in an attempt to get a smile out of him, but today, that wasn’t enough. You almost choke on all the sighs you hold back, chest stinging slightly from the trapped air as you lick your lips anxiously, hoping to keep the mood in the car light. 

“I apologize Mark, he just-” 

“Hey, it’s all good. Let’s go get some burgers and then head to mine.” He was quick to assure you. There was no way he hadn’t created his own assumption as to why he had come to pick you up from Wooyoung’s place on a Saturday evening. And knowing just how serious he took his job, you appreciated the effort. 

Wooyoung had gotten ready for the club just earlier in the evening. You didn’t dare to hang around as he did, afraid you’d change your mind about your plan. Jisung however, had stayed glued to his side all evening and it was contradicting to think that Wooyoung was preparing for a night of work at a club where his job was literally to seduce people out of their money with kids' songs playing loudly in the inbuilt speakers. Jisung didn’t need to know exactly what you both did for work, especially you. Although with age it was becoming obvious that your workplace was different from what the jobs other kids’ mommies and daddies did in Jisung’s class. You however, would keep it hidden for as long as possible.

That night Wooyoung had worn a simple white button down with tight black slacks. His luxury sunglasses were propped strategically on top of his head, adding to the look. You didn’t allow yourself the luxury of admiring the view, yet somehow the image of him bending down to hug Jisung goodbye is vivid in your memory as you replay the clip in your head again and again all the way back to Mark’s place. 

For some reason, despite your new found confidence a few days back on Wooyoung’s couch you were hesitant. Hesitant. That was one thing becoming more common in your otherwise sure and confident way through life. Deep inside you suspected you knew what the cause of it was. You were going soft. You wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, the warm glances and the much needed help from somebody were genuine. You felt pathetic for wanting to romanticize your life as you once did when you were younger. Yet it was anything but that simple or easy. Life has made sure to let you know. And with Wooyoung’s line of work, he was the last person you could trust. No picking you up from the sidewalk and caressing your cheek could prove otherwise, or shouldn’t at least.

Settling into Mark’s apartment didn’t take long, mostly because you had almost nothing with you still. Wooyoung did mention he’d get someone to go get your stuff but at this point it was too late anyway. When he’d come home tonight, probably a few thousand dollars richer, he’d find his place just how it was before your arrival. Large, luxurious and empty. 

Jisung remained silent through dinner and left to stay in the guest room, asking to play on your phone while you helped Mark clean up in the kitchen. How ironic that after leaving Wooyoung’s place with an argument that he’d betray you on the grounds that he is a man, you find yourself in an apartment with another. Mark would be your only exception. Apart from Jisung that is. 

“So…Wooyoung? A nephew? Should I be expecting a unicorn to fly in through my window, sweetheart?” Mark chuckles but you scowl, feeling comfortable enough to show the man your displeasement in his teasing. From the times you’d worked together, you were sure he knew that your ego would have to be put aside to ever ask for help, so something must have been going on. 

“I just…didn’t feel safe at my old place all of a sudden. It had a specific…aura to it.” It was not fully a lie, because ever since the first ever threat, the luxurious creamy walls of the hotel apartment were suddenly gloomy and taunting. “It was a rather haste and unplanned move, you know when you just get the feeling to do something” you continue but see Mark isn’t completely sold by the way his lips are slightly parted, tongue running over his teeth as he was debating on what approach to take. 

“...And as for Wooyoung, he just happened to be there. I had some…craze about leaving, you know women and our hunches. As soon as Hongjoong pays me back all of my deposit I can get a new place” You hate to use that as an excuse, especially on Mark. He was not your target and he didn’t deserve to be talked to so shallowly. This was for your own safety though. And for Jisung’s of course. 

Mark stays silent for a few seconds but ultimately sighs and gets up from the couch where you’d been talking, probably to give you space. 

“It’s getting late. I can give you a change of clothes and let you wash up” Mark rather states than suggests, knowing you’d agree anyway. You glance over at the clock hanging above the TV and note that it was almost midnight. Jisung must’ve fallen asleep by now and Wooyoung’s night was probably only getting started. You didn’t want to let your thoughts wander. But the more you resisted, the heavier the overflow of anything Wooyoung related. Wooyoung at the club. Wooyoung eating. Wooyoung’s scent. Wooyoung holding Jisung. Wooyoung’s forearms–

“Yeah, sounds like a plan” you stand up to follow Mark to what you assume is his room. This scene was awfully similar to what happened at Wooyoung’s house, yet the reality of the moment felt nothing like it had been at Wooyoung’s place. The twisting of your stomach in his proximity and the way his eyes would stare past your eyes and into your soul as if he knew you. Now that you come to think of it, he probably was the only man to know about Jisung. The only man to see you so panicked, and to be allowed to rescue you, twice. He wasn’t a stranger either as you made acquaintances every weekend. 

No, that is not an excuse to doubt your plan. Wooyoung could not give you what you needed long term. And relying on him would cause you to soften. To get vulnerable and weak. 

Truly you wished for something to hit you in the head to temporarily put your running brain on a blackout. It’s almost as if you could hear small engines running and overheating in your skull. You change into Mark’s shirt and push back any thought or comparison between him and Wooyoung. Instead you go to lay down beside Jisung.

That night, your dreams were vivid. They were not really scary yet uncanny would be the right term. Full of colors and noises. Most of them changed quickly with the plot of the dreams but the noise. Lord, it was so annoying. What the hell was so loud? You groan in annoyance which slowly makes you slip from the colorful world and open your eyes to a still dark room. It must still be night time. You furrow your brows and roll onto your other side in hopes of falling asleep when you hear it again.

“Get the fuck up! Ya! Mark Choi” 

The noises interrupting your dreams were not part of your imaginations after all. You weren’t sure how long you had been asleep for but judging by the way your eyes sting when you try to keep them open tells you only a few hours at most had gone by. 

You sit up in bed, trying to drain the drowsiness off to check on the sound. Jisung was still asleep, miraculously. You get up and exit the bedroom to find that Mark was up. Hadn’t someone called his name earlier? The lights in the living room were on and Mark was opening the front door for somebody. 

“What the hell is going-” you mutter but stop yourself when you catch a glance of a man appearing at Mark’s door. “-Wooyoung?” you hiss and come closer. 

“What the hell are you doing here man, it’s fucking four am?!” Mark mutters, seemingly just as tired as you. Well at least as tired as you had been two minutes ago. The sight of Wooyoung was like a splash of cold water in your face. Instead of answering, Wooyoung looks past Mark and straight at you. He let out a breath which half sounded like a chuckle.  

“I can’t fucking believe you” Wooyoung shakes his head, dramatic in his expression of displeasure by you. Behind the rash and sharp movements and words, there was a twinkle of sadness in his eyes. A sense of betrayal almost. 

With a hand on Mark’s shoulder you ask for a minute and the man happily returns back to bed, only after making sure you felt comfortable being left with Wooyoung. 

“I don’t even know why I came, but it must have been to confirm that after all I did for you, after our conversations, you really just left without even a fucking thank you” Wooyoung’s word were harsh. His face was as stoic as he managed to keep it, but his eyes didn’t lie. It was a shock to say the least when he had received a very unexpected message written by Jisung about you leaving his place. 

“Wooyoung, get inside at least or you’ll wake the neighbors” You hiss and make way for him to come inside. You didn’t really expect him to accept, yet he did. He steps inside Mark’s apartment and shuts the door behind him. The guilt on your face was nothing compared to the heaviness of it in your belly. Wooyoung stays silent, watching you with a razor sharp and demanding gaze. You notice his jaw clenching and unclenching a few times as it locked in place. He was waiting for you to speak first, ever so pettily.

“I was scared. That’s the truth. I am scared that you, in some twisted way, could be a part of the attack. Fuck, I am not even sure of Mark. I am losing my fucking head worrying for my safety, Wooyoung. You know the line of work we do. We lie and we trick people. Nothing is stopping you from doing the same to me” while these words itched to be said louder, to be yelled in a satisfying growl that came from the chest, you held back. 

Wooyoung puffs air from his nose and throws his head back as if to process your explanation.

“And you could be doing the same shit too. I invited you into my home. You could have robbed me or some shit.” He accuses. “Most importantly, I fucking helped you.” He pauses to finally look back at you. His voice isn’t filled with anger much longer, it was rather disgusting disappointment. “I don’t even know how or why, but out of all the people who would have deserved my help, it ended up being you.” The more he spoke the harder it became for you to ignore the bulging veins on his neck. His gaze was dark with anger. Was it normal to like the feeling of intimidation? Suddenly you weren’t even sure if you wanted to disagree with him. You didn’t want to make excuses because what he was saying is true. And it was one of the rare things a man had ever said that you couldn’t even deny. Instead your eyes stubbornly look over his features until it isn’t discreet anymore. Maybe if you furrowed your brows, you could look mad enough.

“Don’t you dare look at me like that when you’re accusing me of fucking you over like you think I did” 

You disregard the last part, feeling a need to defend yourself.

“Like what? 

“Like you’re upset when reality is…” he steps closer until you can feel the heat of him radiating onto you. “You just can't get me out of your head, can you?” 

Your spit catches in your throat as you gasp. You look back at him in shock as if the thought hadn’t crossed your mind before. How dare he suggest something like that so shamelessly?

Wooyoung senses he’s caught you off guard and keeps pushing. “You like acting like a little naive girl, having me help you and chase after you. You like it when you make me go after you and give you what you need, don’t you?” He is too accurate for your comfort but instead of pushing him away, your eyes droop from the tension, as if it was too heavy to keep them open. 

“You don’t – look-” you gasp for air to speak but Wooyoung’s smirk had spoken louder. He reaches up and when you expect his touch – probably rough too – all you feel is his palm stroking the back of your head. It was comforting, almost nurturing, which confused you. 

Wooyung watches his hand on top of your head with intent, almost as if he was braiding the sentences with words that would push you around the most. 

“And to think I am the one being chased all the time. I can get the attention I want from any woman or man but here I am, stalking you outside some man’s house at dawn only for you to want to deny it?” It was like he spoke to himself out loud. Yet each word burned your stomach. “This switch�� you like it too, don’t you? Not being in control of a man. Being in the place of a victim whom I have wrapped around my finger” Wooyoung’s voice is like a siren-like. It was rough like gravel, yet it flowed so smoothly.

Wooyoungs trails his hand lower until his knuckles brush against your cheekbone. His eyes never meet yours as if to deny you of his gaze. Instead he follows wherever his hand goes. Both of you seemed to forget where you stood, too lost in the enticing moment you had created.

As much as it hurt your ego, Wooyoung was once again right. He had managed to swindle your heart like he had done with at least half of the city. You liked that he would come to you and see through the bullshit that you spewed when you were anxious. You liked that he could read you. Perhaps this is what scared you so much. Who is to say you weren’t a number in his account?

The insecurity must have appeared in your eyes because Wooyoung’s hand now cupped your cheek. His hands are soft, of course, and warm. The palm of his hand covered most of your cheek and lower jaw which created a comforting pillow over your skin. 

There seemed to not be any words left. Wooyoung was already aware of whatever answer you would have mustered if you weren’t tongue tied. He wasn’t particularly cocky tonight to keep teasing you about it either. 

The things leading up to this moment could have turned into many other scenarios yet in the position you two now shared it was painfully obvious that there was no more escaping this. Yet still you wonder if this was a trap set by Wooyoung to wickedly seek petty revenge on you or to prove a point. He was sure that he had successfully made you fall. But would he still then be looking at you with just deep eyes? In which he wished only you could swim. Would his breaths be shaky and nervous as they were now? Was everything a planned detail to get you?

And your biggest disadvantage against him was surely how he was aware the second those thoughts reached your head, so he didn’t stall for much longer. His body is stiff as he leans forward. Everything seems like it’s in slow-motion but a millisecond later, Wooyoung’s nose impacts your cheek as his lips take yours. If your mind blanked, then your body was ready to reciprocate what it had been whining about for months. You’re eager to push back against his plush lips with just as much vigor, hand wrapping around the wrist of the hand on your cheek. 

It’s fast but it’s thorough. It’s messy but it's meaningful. Wooyoung is eager as he turns his face to adjust the angle of his lips every so often to make sure you could feel the plumpest parts of him. And he needed to make sure he could get to taste every corner of your lips and mouth. 

Low hums of approval escape his throat as if he’s tasting a pleasant meal. You try to pull away but his lips follow after yours, seemingly glued together. You stumble back at the force, but Wooyoung is quick to wrap his free hand around your waist, taking the opportunity to push you into his chest. It is like you were the oxygen keeping him going but when your nose couldn’t support a breath anymore, you pulled away panting shakily. Wooyoung is visibly dazed. He curls his lips and licks the corners of his mouth as he keeps his eyes on yours. He brings his forehead against yours before sliding his forehead to rest on your shoulder. He had let it slide for tonight, seeing as the circumstances weren’t right. 

After a moment of silence and your unsynchronized breathing, Wooyoung speaks up.

“Can we leave another man’s house now, please?” he mutters into your shirt and the warmth absorbing through the material makes your shiver. You nod and he feels the motion. But you voice it anyway, shakily. “Yeah”. You assumed you’d be going home, wherever that may be. But for now it seems to be with Wooyoung. 

[pockettesized2]

There will come a day where I’ll clean these but today isn’t that day. I’m so excited to be drawing these three again! They live in an early 20th century-ish world where humans and tiny people coexist. Some may remember them from my old blog!

Gabe is a tiny man who swindles and steals, typically tries to go after the rich. He’s a charismatic, flirtatious bastard who steals money and fine things to ensure his adopted human child, Robin, lives a comfortable life.

Hazel is a tall, quiet, and stoic woman who is Gabe’s friend and unofficial muscle. She is there to ensure the little conman doesn’t get in too over his head with a scheme or heist. She is quite intimidating as well. No one, not even Gabe, is entirely certain of her backstory and she prefers to keep it that way.

Please feel free to ask about them I mean what

[ejzah]

A/N: Since I’m still thinking of Neal revealing more of his past to Peter, here’s a little fic on that topic. Yes I’m, shockingly, taking a tiny detour from my usual fandom. Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.

***

The Conman Revealed

Peter has known for some times that Neal didn’t exactly come from a stable family. Most people didn’t end up criminals because they had a happy childhood. Plus, there were the various kernels dropped over the years, dolled out almost like strange gifts or slips of the tongue.

He’d never graduated high school, his dad was a dirty cop, and on it went. A part of Peter had wondered if some of these details were the complete truth or just another example of Neal Caffrey creating his own legend. He could usually tell when Neal was being completely earnest though; not to mention Neal didn’t reveal more than the bare minimum in those moments.

So, Peter sits at a crappy picnic table, eating his fancy takeout, and listens to Neal unravel his past. Neal’s voice is a little softer and quieter than usual, even though it’s just the two of them out here. Peter knew this would be a difficult conversation, but didn’t anticipate how vulnerable Neal woul be.

“When my dad went away, my mom just checked out. I mean, she was around, but she wasn’t around, so Ellen looked after me,” Neal says. His eyes shift from Peter to just beyond and then back again.

It takes Peter a moment to process Neal’s revelation, and another to decided it doesn’t make sense.

“Well, how could she look after you if you she was in witne—” breaks offs, and now Neal looks him in the eye, his look knowing as he lets Peter put the pieces together himself. “You grew up in witness protection,” Peter says, and Neal nods, his voice a little rougher when he confirms,

“I was three when the marshals took us away.”

Everything makes sense now: Neal’s ability to create new peronas, to live those personas so vividly, his strange mix of self-preservation and extreme recklessness. His impressive ability with firearms; Peter smiles a little when he thinks of that particular skill.

In the following weeks, Peter learns a little bit more each day about Neal’s childhood. He’s slightly more open now that the biggest secret is out in the open and Ellen shares bits and pieces with the kind of calculation that makes Peter believe she must have been an excellent cop. He even sees signs of Neal’s shrewdness in her.

One morning a couple weeks after Neal’s revelation, they’re set up in Peter’s office with a stack of fraud cases. Every so often, Neal throws often a question or observation, which Peter makes note of. It’s not the most riveting work, and Peter finds his mind wandering back to Neal, his parents, Ellen.

“What’s stumping you? You’ve been staring for the last five minutes,” Neal says, catching Peter off-guard.

He hadn’t even realized he’d been staring or that Neal had noticed. Peter briefly considers deflecting, but quickly shuts that notion down. They’re trying to be more honest with each other, even if it’s not always pleasant.

“I thinking about what you said about being on WITSEC. If your mom was dealing with her own issues and I assume Ellen was working some of the time, what did you do during the day? Who took care of you?” Peter asks as neutrally as he can.

Neal doesn’t bother looking up from his file. “You’ve been talking to Ellen,” he surmises and Peter shrugs, not denying it.

“She tells some pretty good stories.”

“What do you want to know Peter?” Closing the file, Neal sits back with his arms crossed, perturbed but not completely closed off. That’s a good sign.

Peter sets his own work to the side since it’s not like he was making any progress with his thoughts on Neal’s past.

“Between what you and Ellen have shared, it sounds like you were left to your own devices a lot,” Peter starts, approaching the topic carefully. Even so, Neal visibly bristles.

“Ellen did the best she could,” he objects emphatically. The fact his mom isn’t included in that defense doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I’m sure she did.” Peter holds up a hand to head Neal off before he gets too worked up. “I didn’t mean anything against her. I can tell she cares about you a lot.”

That seems to mollify Neal for the moment and he sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Sorry. Touchy subject.” He smiles, maybe at the understatement. “Ellen tried to take care of me as much as she could, but she did have to work and especially when my mom,” he sighs again. “Sometimes my mom could barely even brush her own hair. She wasn’t in any state to take care of an energetic little boy, so I figured out how to do things for myself when she couldn’t.”

“That had to be a lot of responsibility for a kid.”

“Well, I didn’t have a lot of options.” Neal says with a shrug, his eyes softening with a combination of fondness and melancholy. “I remember when I was seven, there was one day that Ellen had to go into work early, and mom was still asleep. There wasn’t anything ready to eat, so I pulled a chair up to the stove and started making eggs for both us. Mom came out about halfway through. I thought she’d be so proud of me, but she was furious—in restrospect I realize she was terrified I would burn myself or set the apartment on fire—and told me to never touch the stove or oven without an adult around.”

Peter feels profound sadness and a touch of disquiet as Neal finishes the story with a slight smirk, which looks somewhat genuine. He conceals his reaction, knowing that Neal will not appreciate pity or worse, horror, in this moment.

“So what did you do?”

“I learned how to use the toaster and be a lot quieter until I was about ten and she randomly decided I was old enough to handle open flames without supervision,” Neal says, like it makes perfect sense, and Peter sees a little bit more of how the conman was born.

“I imagine you got pretty good at pulling the wool over adults’ eyes wherever you went,” he observes. For once, Neal doesn’t take it as a compliment.

“I had to if I wanted to stay with mom, and Ellen. I mean, it wasn’t like I was being hurt, I just didn’t have anyone around some days or mom wouldn’t have signed the paperwork for a field trip, so I learned to do it for her. My crimes were pretty harmless back then.”

“It’s a shame it came to that ,” Peter can’t help but observe. He wonders what Neal would have been like if he had a solid parental presence in his life, if he hadn’t felt forced to lie and fight his way through his childhood. Clearly Ellen had done her best, but she had her own demons and life to deal with.

“Hey, I could have turned out worse,” Neal points out with a charming smile that lacks the sincerity of moments ago.

“That you could have,” Peter agrees, chuckling as he shakes his head. He tosses his open pen on his desk, grabbing his suit jacket off the back of his chair, and stands, gesturing to Neal. “C’mon, let’s go get a coffee. I’ll even buy.”

Neal makes a show of checking his watch. “It’s only 9:45 and I thought we had important acts of fraud to uncover.”

“Are you going to turn down a free cup of your fancy, small batch roasted coffee?”

Neal tilts head, eyeing Peter suspiciously for a few moments, then his mouth morphs into a massive, and this time genuine, grin. “Peter, are you attempting to make up for my crappy childhood with overpriced drinks and quality time?” he asks, clearly delighted.

“Hey, if you don’t want the coffee, then we can just go back to—”

“Oh no, I’ll take any excuse to leave.” Quickly pushing his file to the side, he stands and doffs his hat with an extra flourish. “If you really want to make it better, I’ve been dying for a cinnamon scone all week.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Peter warns him, though there’s no heat behind it. They walk down the stairs, through the building, and outside together, they’re halfway to Neal’s favorite cafe when he nudges Peter’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Peter.”

[piratefalls]

new list, new year, (trying out a) new header, new post day. i'm back after a nice little vacation where i got almost zero reading done, so no one is more surprised by the amount of holiday fic here than me.

list one. list two. list three. list four. list five. list six. list seven. list eight. list nine.

No Consequences by AnchoredArchangel

"I sort of came out as bisexual to both Nora and myself when we were watching that fucking snoozefest of a Royal Wedding years ago, and I told her with no hesitation that you were on my list.” Suddenly, Henry looks very present in this previously one-sided conversation, eyes boring into him even if he sounds a little choked as he clarifies, “I was on-” “My No Consequences sex list,” Alex confirms brazenly, “Yeah." Or: During an inadvisable spot of dating years back, Alex and Nora made a game out of making extensive lists of celebrities they could hook up with without it being cheating. One breakup and several years later, Alex meets someone on his list for the very first time at a charity gala and decides it's appropriate to tell him all about it.

Wash a Bad Day Away by stellarmeadow

Alex has a bad day and needs to drown it in a tub.

this year I will fall by railmedaddy

Henry has many regrets in his life, but leaving the ice rink after a literal run in with the potential love of his life without even obtaining his name may be his biggest. With his family visiting for the holidays for the first time and ever-present work deadlines looming, he's too busy to think about how to engineer his own happy ending worthy of the novels he edits. But what if fate has other ideas?

the mountchristen pharma job by coffeecatsme

The alarm blares. Still, the man slides the key again and enters the room. He closes the door behind him, flips the flash drive in his palm. Walks to the room that’s supposed to be empty, the room they made sure was clear before they made their move. Except it’s not. And the man recognizes that head of blonde hair all too well. Henry fucking Fox-Mountchristen. Six years ago, Mountchristen Pharma's reckless actions caused Rafael Luna's death. Alex and June want to make it right, but they're not the only ones.

Take a Trip Into My Garden by @sparklepocalypse

Alex groans. From the sound of things, he’s in no better state than Henry. “Why in the absolute fuck does your family have a fucking Viagra orchid?” (A sex pollen fic that takes place on the grounds of Kensington Palace between the Cornetto scene and the interview blitz.)

you could call me babe for the weekend by weather_stained

It's been three years since Ellen Claremont lost the 2016 Presidential Election, and Alex hasn't seen Prince Henry since the Rio Olympics. When Alex, June, and Nora take a post-finals trip to a Vermont ski resort, Henry and his best friend Pez are the last people they expect to see waiting in line for the chairlift.  To Alex's great displeasure, Nora and June end up quite takenwith Pez, and Alex is forced to spend time with Henry. In one weekend, they become closer than he could have ever imagined.

come away with me by rizcriz

Alex closes the door behind himself and turns into his tiny apartment with an exhausted sigh. As he turns to flip the lightswitch, the subtle sound of fabric rustling hits his ears; carefully, he unclips his gun at his waist band, flips the light switch, and turns around, pulling the gun on the intruder. He nearly drops it at the sight of a familiar head of shining blond hair. “What the fuck?” Alex asks, taking a step in, and reaching with his free hand into his holster for the pair of cuffs he knows he clipped in this morning. “Intel said you were in London.” Henry Fox, international thief and conman, tilts his head where he’s sitting in Alex’s favorite armchair. “Honestly, Alex,” he says, waving a hand. “Put the gun away. We both know you’re not going to shoot me.” “Fuck you,” Alex hisses on impulse. “Put your hands up.” -- or Con Man Henry and Interpol Agent Alex

(Dil)Do It Yourself by happinessofthepursuit

“Listen,” Nora starts, turning her body once more so that she’s sitting sideways in the chair with her legs thrown across the armrest. “I did the math. There’s a 79% chance you’re gonna become a slut to the power of the prostate, and while we’re not dating anymore, it’s my duty as your fellow slutty bisexual to get this party started.” Or, when Nora drags Alex to a holiday dildo workshop, he doesn’t expect to find someone to use it with.

Gonna Give You Something (So You Know What's on My Mind) by affectionatelyrs

Alex hums, turning around to pull open the freezer drawer. “You want anything?” But Henry barely registers his question. Not when Alex is slightly bent over, allowing Henry a perfect view of his perfect ass. Each individual ridge of his spine is visible due to his lack of shirt. All of these things combined would normally be a large enough issue in itself to render Henry dumbstruck, except— Except, that’s not the only thing that Henry’s faced with. Right there, clear as day: blue lace, delicately peeking out from the waistband of his joggers. Henry’s hand immediately flies up to his cheek. The skin is hot to the touch, and he feels the imprint of where the material once lay like a brand. - Or, With the help of a white elephant gift, Henry learns that maybe the whole being-in-love-with-his-roommate thing isn’t as one-sided as he thought

i've forgotten if they're green or they're blue by metacrisis

When the worst snowstorm New York city has had since the Great Blizzard of 1947 snows Alex and Henry into their Brownstone, Alex falls into a bizarre dream and awakens in a world much like his own. Only it seems like he's suddenly five inches shorter, five years younger and why is Henry the only person who can tell? AKA, Movie Alex falls into Bookverse before he and Henry get together.

Ho for the Holidays by @whimsymanaged

“Listen, don’t worry about this,” Henry says quickly, already mentally crafting the passive-aggressive text he’s going to send Pez. “Better luck next year. I’ll just be off—“ “Hold your damn horses.” Alex stops Henry with a fast, surprisingly gentle hand to his wrist. His eyebrows furrow. “What did you put on your questionnaire?” Henry’s ears go hot. “That’s none of your business.” Alex scoffs and leans in closer. “Baby, we matched. It’s safe to say we have at least some interests in common. Be honest—was it because you confessed to having a secret desire to slap me?” Or, Pez organizes an event called Ho for the Holidays, and these two idiots get paired up.

Waiting in the Wings by DracoWillHearAboutThis

Henry had always known he would end up in an arranged marriage.  He had not expected, though, to end up in an arranged marriage with Prince Alex Claremont-Diaz, who he'd secretly been in love with for the past fifteen years.

Fill My Stocking by songliili

Alex has spent the past fifteen minutes talking with David about his favourite treats. Not that the dog answered, but Alex was undeterred and kept going, uncaring that Henry had asked him to give him an hour and then he’d join him in hanging up fairy lights and mistletoe everywhere. Very well. If Alex wants Henry’s attention, he'll have it. It's probably not what Alex thought he’d accomplish with his little scheme, but it's a compromise between Henry's needs and Alex's wants, and that's all that can be done. OR: Alex wants some attention and Henry has to get creative.

Here With Me by SatinBirds

When Zahra asks, “Would it make any difference at all if I told you not to see him again?”, it’s the easiest thing for Alex to categorically answer, “No.”

because it's Tuesday by headabovethewater

Right, so, here’s the thing; Alex hasn’t shaved in a while. He’s been so consumed by stress for his exams, his thesis, the post-election work he’s been doing for Ellen… It’s been a bit much for Alex, and while Henry is impressed by the fact that he’s able to keep himself standing and functioning, he has noticed that the scruff on his face has increased. A lot. Oh, Henry has noticed, alright.

i want to mark my skin (it is paper thin) by violetbaudelairequagmire

To: alex@biconicink.com From: hjfox@rocketmail.co.uk Subj: Tattoo Reference Attached: 1 file (orionsketch.jpg) Hello, Attached you’ll find a line art drawing of the constellation Orion. The shoulder blade is the intended location. Best, H.J. Fox OR: It's a Tattoo Shop AU!

Can't Buy Me Love by everwitch

Alex is a high end escort. Henry is his wealthiest client. He's also a total asshole, which Alex has zero patience for. He'd never let a client walk all over him like that, not even one with striking features and an air of firm authority that Alex has to keep reminding himself he’s not attracted to. But over time, Alex learns there's more to Henry than fiery insults and cruel dismissal. So much more. Alex is in so much fucking trouble. He should end things with Henry before he gets burned. (He couldn't end things with Henry if he got paid for it.)

He Was Here With Me by absoluteaudacity

Arthur lives: a wishlist

(Door)Dash to the Heart by bleedingballroomfloor

The man looks up when Henry opens the door. "Henry?" Henry clears his throat. "That's me," he manages. "Cool," the man says. "You're making me hungry for breakfast with this order, man. Which is bad for me, because my breakfast is usually just coffee, and there's no way I can drink that this late." "Uh," Henry says. He's pretty sure dashers don't talk this much during orders. "Anyway," the man says, handing the bag of food to Henry, "enjoy your night." Five times Henry gets late-night food from his insanely hot DoorDasher Alex, and one time they get food together at a normal time.

(here's my number) so call me, maybe by villageidiot

"I could go a few days without contact, you know." Henry looks over at Alex, who's splayed across the couch, and places a finger on the page he's reading to keep his place. "I'm…sorry?" "While you're gone, I mean. I could handle a few days of not talking to you." Henry still looks a little baffled. "Is this something you want to do? I'm still unclear on the 'why' here." And so is Alex, honestly. or: five times Alex fails at the whole "go a whole weekend with no contact" thing (and one time Henry does)

the beagle, the ghost and the wardrobe by stutteringpeach

Henry’s new flat comes with one unexpected feature: it’s already inhabited. But not by a human. By a ghost.

Night Class by OrchidScript

Alex how found the simplest solution for all the facts he had been presented. There were plenty of them to make sense of. Alex was taking the path of least resistance, accepting that whatever remained after all was stripped away must be the truth. June could laugh at him for the rest of time if she wanted. He was right. He knew he was right. He had to be right because nothing else on earth or in the universe made sense. Henry Fox — his smarmy, entitled, wealthy, bland, irritating neighbor — was a vampire. Alex knew it. He could prove it.

Piss-up in a brewery by clottedcreamfudge

"I hate this," Alex says, not for the first time, and Henry covers his face with his hands. "Yes," he says, a little muffled, "that's coming across." "It's not, like, personal," Alex clarifies, even though it fucking is. "I just don't really like sleeping with other people. I mean, sleeping in beds with other people. I like having sex-" "Yes, alright," Henry says peevishly, not moving his hands at all. "You needn't extol further on your love of intercourse." "Who the fuck talks like that?"

Sleepless Nights by stripyjumpers

Henry's insomnia has been getting worse. He thinks it's fine, until it all finally catches up to him.

move fast (and keep quiet) by HypnosTherapy

Henry’s smile goes slightly strained at the edges. In his ear, Nora hisses at Alex to walk away. He firmly ignores her. “What brings you here tonight, Foxy?” Henry brushes Alex’s hand off him. “The same thing that brings us all here,” he answers. “Not only a girl’s best friend, after all.” -- Alex is a spy tasked with securing a case of diamonds being auctioned off by black market smugglers. Henry is a rival spy who happens to be tasked with receiving the same case of stones. When Henry wins the auction, Alex has to retrieve his target, no matter the cost.

Red Light Indicates Doors Are Secured by myheartalive

“Fox,” he hisses through his teeth. “How about you take the tube tonight? Or go for a nice long walk?” Henry’s stunned. “Excuse me?” “Yep, I will excuse you. Now do us both a favour and find another way to get home.” — OR enemy co-workers Henry and Alex get unwillingly shoved into a cab together (and finally sort their issues out)

the best intentions by smc_27

He sees the flyer when he’s in town picking up the fabric and books June wanted from the market. Once a year. On the prince’s birthday. The chance for his one true love to rescue him from the tower. A cash prize to go along with the prince’s hand in marriage. The title of Prince Consort and a palace of their own. Alex knows himself. He knows how people are with him. He’s made people fall in love with him without even trying for it. He’s had to break hearts since he was 15 and Charlotte Marks told her father she was going to marry Alex. He can get some cloistered prince on board.

A Life, in Names by th0ughts

Macsomething continues to flounder. “I arrived just as someone came out, you see. A woman, with the hot pink jacket? I told her that I’m Roy Maclanahan—” (bingo. Henry knew it was Maclanahan.) “—here for Mr. Claremont-Diaz, I work with him you see. He invited me over, to look through some documents? And she told me that I was in luck, that he was home.  “Either way I am so sorry to have disturbed you your hi—Henry. She must’ve been mistaken. I’ll take my leave and return when your husband’s arrived.” Maclanahan is wringing his hands and looks just about a second away from nervously combusting but the entire ordeal has Henry’s face blooming in a smile.  _____ Musings of a life, in four surnames.

In my dreams (In your dreams) by lizzie_bennetdarcy

He opens his mouth to tell Alex it's fine, they can stay, when Alex shakes his head. "The room is spinning. That's not fun. Alright, sweetheart, let's go home." He jumps up from the stool, and immediately lists sideways into Henry. "What will it take to get you to carry me home?" "More than you're prepared to give, I'm afraid." Kiss me, marry me, have my children, please. Alex is very drunk, and very affectionate, and it's becoming increasingly difficult for Henry to pretend like he isn't completely in love with him.

when he breaks so beautifully by viciouslyqueer

Henry thinks it’s just been a rough day – it certainly wouldn’t be the first time – but he only realizes just how wrong he is when his boyfriend actually gets home. Slumped shoulders. Twitching fingers. Red-rimmed eyes glistening with tears. Henry’s heart breaks on sight. — Alex has a rough day at work and asks Henry to be mean to him. Henry praises him instead.

Twenty Seven Batters by politics_and_prose

A ballplayer will refuse to stop playing because they want one more hit, steal, strikeout. One more homerun. One more win. So they get old and they lose their skill and embarrass themselves long after they should have hung up their spikes. If that’s the rule, then Alexander Claremont-Diaz is the exception. Because today, at age 38, Alexander Claremont-Diaz is six outs away from a perfect game.

forever yrs, for evermore by indomitablelove

‘Wake up,’ Henry whispers. Alex turns and squints his eyes open. He looks at the clock. ‘Baby, why the fuck are you waking me up at six am? I’m on vacation.’ ‘I’ve got a surprise, come outside. You can go back to bed after, I promise,’ Henry tells him with a smile. ‘I’ve made you coffee.’ Alex sits up with a squint and a stern, unimpressed look on his face. ‘You better have a fucking good reason for getting me up at sunrise.’ --- or, a lake house proposal fic

Aged Like a Fine Wine by allmylovesatonce

At a gala for the Okonjo Foundation, Senator Alex Claremont-Diaz runs into Prince Henry of Wales for the first time in two years. Something is different about him, and it's not just the revelations that came out the last time the two saw each other. When they're encouraged to spend more time together, it lights a spark that could send both of their lives into a tailspin. Will Alex resist the temptation or will he find the courage to pursue what he's wanted far longer than he's let himself acknowledge?

All our Sweetest Hours Fly Fastest by AHistoricDistraction

It has been three years since they were outted and Henry and Alex have finally settled into a groove that works well for them, except for the fact that it feels like they're always having to steal time together. Queen Mary constantly coming up with excuses to get Henry out of public events with Alex isn't helping, and Alex is done with it. After a long conference in Tokyo that Henry couldn't attend, Alex's flight home being delayed is the last straw and he calls Henry to say they need to figure out a better way to do this, to which Henry agrees. But fate has other ideas. Alex's flight goes missing somewhere over the Pacific, no trace of it to be found, leaving Henry and Alex's family struggling to not lose hope while unable to do anything.

as always, let me know if you want to be tagged, either for author purposes or just to know when these go up! see you next tuesday!

tagging: @starkfridays @stilesgivesmefeels

[xshimaeraxx]

okay but [cc] king dice being soft/a good boss for the casino crew/his employees and ONLY his employees has such a fucking hold on me you dont even understand- and like, picture it from the pov of a recently-hired cups n mugs.

this man, who cups n mugs know as a cruel, selfish, lying conman of a dice, giving chips the day off (with pay) easy as anything when he has a bad pain day and jokingly complains about it 30 minutes into his shift as a dealer (bc chronic pain-having chips has my heart n soul n i am NOT SORRY FOR IT bitch) and LITERALLY won’t let chips work ‘til the flare-up’s passed

this man, who mugman and cuphead both still have thrashing, terrifying, heart-stopping nightmares about, begrudgingly carrying a drunk-off-his-arse mr. wheezy back to his room in the casino’s employees’ apartments and yes he grumbles about it but he still does it and then leaves a glass of water on the table in the kitchenette for when the cigar inevitably wakes up with a hangover the next morning

this man, who’s cards mugman still flinches away from with images of blood and their organs spilling out of their guts flashing cross their eyes in the first two and a half months of their & their brother’s employment whenever he does some trick or another for some of the casino’s patrons, idly throwing a blanket across cuphead’s back when he falls asleep in the worker’s breakroom during his & mugman’s lunch break one day

tldr: SOFT!KING DICE WHO GOES FUCKING FERAL WHEN ONE OF HIS EMPLOYEES GETS THREATENED AND/OR INJURED BECAUSE THOSE’RE his EMPLOYEES family DAMNIT, KING DICE WHO’S BIO LOVED ONES HAVE ALL EITHER BEEN KILLED (by his own hand or someone else’s, it doesn’t really matter) OR LEFT, WHO’S MADE THE MANAGER OF THIS RAGTAG GROUP OF PEOPLE WHICH ONLY EXPANDS EVERY 3-4 YEARS OR SO, WHO LOOKS AT THIS TINY LITTLE GROUP HE’S CARVED OUT FOR HIMSELF, AND THINKS: “huh. having a family’s pretty damn nice, actually.”

do you see my vision tumblr DO YOU SEE IT I SAY

[obsidiancreates]

So thisisnotawebsite says that Stan and Ford' mom was the only attendee of Stan's fake funeral other than an IRS agent, yeah?

And I think, it's reasonable to assume that the funeral was held in Gravity Falls.

I know Bill was busy getting drunk and being a menace around that time but hear me out: AU where the night after Stan's funeral, Bill pops into, hang on lemme look up her name- Caryn's, dreams. He offers her a deal- she can see the son she lost again, and in return she just has to make sure he behaves better like, say, never betraying anyone he makes a deal with ever again.

So she agrees and Bill pulls her spirit out of body and tosses it Ford's way in the Nightmare Realm and now Ford has A Ghost Mom following him on his quest to kill Bill. It's a rough reunion for them both- Caryn is confused and upset because this isn't what she expected at all for a multitude of reasons, and Ford is basically like "So not only am I stuck wandering dimensions until I manage to murder that stupid triangle, now if I do ever get home it'll be to Stan having stolen my identity, and on top of THAT Bill targeted my MOM who's now a GHOST and was trying to see Stan instead of me?!"

Her deal kind of boils down to technically she's upholding it by being like "Don't do that," but not taking any action, so as long as she half-heartedly protests when Ford is making and breaking allies through the vast multiverse she's technically doing it (Bill was still a little drunk and didn't think his wording through well, and Caryn is where Stan gets his conmanning from, after all).

When Ford comes back through the portal she comes back with him. Because Bill forgot to be like "Also I can use your body," with their deal, as far as Stan knew... his mom died in her sleep the night of his fake funeral. Really, really bad time for him.

So when Ford comes back he not only sees his brother again but ALSO his mom, as a ghost, who as soon as Ford punches Stan she gets between them and threatens to find their old Hanukkah sweater she used to put both of them in until they get along.

For Mabel this largely means A Fantastic New Source Of Tiny Grunkles Childhood Stories. For Dipper this means a ghost who doesn't want to kill him he can study a little bit, at the cost of pinched cheeks and soering through a lot of lies (Stan says it's pathological, so Caryn isn't doing it to be mean or anything she just can't help it sometimes).

IDK, man. Ghost Mama Caryn Pines.