#depending on your definition of death i suppose

[script-a-world]

Submitted via Google Form:

How can a world have no major religions but a vast number of small ones. Like no religion accounts for more than 1% of the entire population except maybe atheist for maybe 5% of the population? But what does that say about the distribution of culture/countries?

Tex: Major religions are often major because they are state-backed - i.e., they have lots of money at their disposal, so they become economically and thus culturally relevant. Religion answers, approximately, two major questions: 1) Are we alone in X or Y manner? and 2) I’m scared of X thing that I have difficulty understanding, what is Y solution?

For a place like Earth, the planet that we know the most about, there are no planet-wide confirmations about the physical existence of any deity in particular (as in, shows up in a grocery and says hello to you in an entirely unambiguous manner that all onlookers can agree upon). This means that religions on Earth are predicated on the idea that belief - and, thus, willpower - makes the deity real. Or at least “proves” it. Your mileage may vary.

Because of this, the real-world religions that you can observe and study will have many, many commonalities to the two general questions I stated above. The first question usually contains subjects such as sentience, and the emotional frills of that. The second question usually contains subjects such as death and the process of dying.

In order to have many distinct religions, you would need a lot of unanswered questions for various societies to answer, a severe lack of contact and communication between groups of societies, and most importantly a lack of (or lack of need of) money. The more travel there is, the more people of different backgrounds will talk to each other, and the more ideas will be confronted, shared, and discussed. Trade would correspondingly be low, because of the lack of travel.

Utuabzu: There’s a couple things to consider here. Firstly, how are we defining religion? This isn’t a trick question, it’s a genuine issue. The Abrahamic concept of religion doesn’t really carry over well to other spiritual traditions. Most other belief systems are more local and action-focused (orthoprax, concerned with what one does, rather than what one believes), and often lack any mandatory set of beliefs, or standardised mythology. Religions like Chinese Folk Religion, Shintō, Hinduism*, etc. can have wildly varying pantheons and myths depending on where you are and who you ask. So depending on your definition every tiny village could have its own religion, because it has its own version of the cultural mythos and its own pantheon including some distinctive local gods and dropping some more common cultural ones.

Universal (applicable to everyone regardless of origin or location), proselytising (actively attempting to convert people) religions are rare. There’s only actually a few of them. Most notably, Christianity and Islam. They are both also orthodox religions (concerned with believing the correct things), which means they have a standard mythology and theology (or several competing standards that have historically attempted to resolve their differences via murder). A third, very notable difference they have with most belief systems is that they are exclusive, you can’t (or at least you’re not supposed to) combine them with other belief systems. Most non-Abrahamic belief systems are more or less fine with syncretism (combining belief systems), most clearly seen with the way Buddhism** is practiced concurrently with folk religions across Asia.

So, in answer to the actual question, your best bet here is to just not have an equivalent to Christianity or Islam. I suggest reading up on non-Abrahamic and pre-Christian/Muslim religions and religious practices, as that should give you an idea of what such a world might look like. I’d expect it to be colourful and diverse, with cities filled with temples and shrines to an ever-expanding array of deities and hosting various festivals much of the year. Many people would likely layer a philosophy like Daoism or Stoicism over their day-to-day religious practice, and it would be common and expected for people to show respect to or make  offerings to local deities when traveling. Religion would be a thing you do, not what you believe.

*Hinduism is less a religion and more a family of closely related religions and spiritual traditions that all originate on the Indian subcontinent. Which is why the Indian government considers Jains and Buddhists to be Hindu.

**Buddhism can be described as a religion or as a philosophy, depending on who you ask, what the context is, and whether Mercury is in Gatorade. Western definitions don’t really apply cleanly to non-Western contexts.

[spookieypookie]

"Like crying out in empty rooms, with no one there except the moon." Journal | Solitary Confinement | "Make it stop."

Authors note: fuck i basically already wrote about this for prompt 2. I dont want to repeat the same ideas over and over even tho I could write about the Captain's universe alone on the ship or Mark being alone in the warp core but I just feel like it would be too repetitive. It might still be repetitive with what I'm planning but hey.

"This'll work I promise."

Those were the last words I ever heard. And they were lies.

I was lied to by the person I trusted the most… by the person I loved.

I was betrayed by every single person at that party. The actor organized the tragedy, involved people who had nothing to do with his quest for vengeance and damned us all. The detective cursed me by making me his partner. The colonel killed me. The seer manipulated me and the mayor. The mayor lied to me. And the seer and the mayor sealed my fate by stealing my body and leaving me trapped in this stupid broken dimension.

I watched them walk away with what was once mine.

At first I thought it was a temporary mishap. That they would figure out a way to save me. That they would come back for me.

But I've waited.

And waited.

And waited.

They left me.

I can hardly see. I can't sleep or breathe or feel. I'm left in a hell they put me in. This solitary confinement with no room for me. I'm not alive. I'm not dead.

I hardly know who I am anymore.

I'm not even the shell of who I used to be because that was taken from me. I'm just what's leftover of a life that was taken again and again.

What did I do wrong?

Wrong place. This evil mansion, this broken mirror.

Wrong time.

All I did was attend a party of old friends.

And now where are we?

Who have we become?

[sensitivegoblin]

The depression is really really really bad so I'm sorry if I super ghost y'all

I'm just having a hard time wanting to do anything but rot in bed

[longagoitwastuesday]

I keep thinking of that reply in my Odysseus/Agamemnon post about how I regard differently Odysseus' and Agamemnon's actions, while acknowledging that at times Agamemnon is written as a sweet man and Odysseus is always straight up shitty, and how it was taken as some sort of defense for Agamemnon and as a form of pointing out the double standard; and that wasn't at all what the post was about for me, even though I can see where they were coming from. To be honest, given I didn't imagine it would spread anywhere other than my own blog, I didn't explain myself very well (or at all).

The fact is that when I talked about Odysseus not caring about hurting someone else's child to start and end a war I was indeed comparing his actions to Agamemnon's, but my words about supporting Odysseus' wrongs and cheering him in his terrible actions, while in a joking tone, weren't entirely a joke. I do think that Odysseus does some very shitty acts, and some quite terrible ones depending on the sources. That's a fact, that he does is at the core of his characterisation and it's what makes him so much fun; but not even when he is at his most cruel does he harm his family, his own son. Agamemnon, while sweet and loving at times in some texts, at his worst is willing to sacrifice Iphigenia. When readers regard with more sympathy Odysseus over Agamemnon despite both being responsible for children dying, I don't think there's a double standard in this aspect at all considering it's never his own kid Odysseus harms. And that's the key, I think.

Odysseus and Agamemnon have very different priorities, a very different view on loyalty and duty. It could be said that Agamemnon acts out of selfishness, but it could also be read in a kinder light, saying that Agamemnon is ruled by the gods first, and by his role as head of the achaeans; Agamemnon is not entirely himself. In opposition we see Odysseus acting perhaps mainly for himself and his own family and men; yes, he is a king, but he has not the role Agamemnon has. As a consequence, Agamemnon submits his family's wellbeing to the war, to the gods, while Odysseus stops the plow before hurting Telemachus but is (depending on the source) the cause of Iphigenia's sacrifice and Astyanax's death.

Both Odysseus and Agamemnon have reasons to support their actions, and both can be sympathised with; it's fiction after all. When it comes to fiction, at the end of the day which character a reader is drawn to or sympathises with is mainly an issue of personal taste, but I suppose it also implies a certain level of one's own views or preferences on morals, what makes us find certain actions more justifiable, or tasteful (perhaps that's a more accurate word), than others. Agamemnon sacrificing his daughter, no matter how sympathetic or understandable the reason, generally sits worse on people than Odysseus doing the same with someone else's kids, because they're someone else's. This different emotional reaction they provoke has place not just metanarratively, but also inside the very story; it is narratively significant, given it determines how their arrival home plays out, how their wives react to them, and thus their futures. Ultimately it determines whether they live or die.

I think both terrible acts go in line wonderfully with each characterisation, showcasing the role they hold in their world, what they value, what they care for, what they're willing to sacrifice for themselves and the others, how much of their own they're willing to give and bend. While looking at the wider picture it could perhaps be drawn that Agamemnon is the better person out of the two, but Odysseus' selfish actions are perhaps easier to empathise with, especially from a modern viewpoint. Odysseus is treacherous and prone to betrayal, but not against his own; Agamemnon follows the rules of the gods. How fitting in that context that Odysseus doesn't die at the end of his story, that he cheats the death heroes so often are fated to, almost as if cheating the narrative itself, bending the rules of the world he is ascribed to; how fitting in the context of those texts that point towards Sisyphus being his father. But that's another topic, and I've already talked a lot.

[bruisedboys]

jealous finnick?

jealous finnick will be the death of me!!!!!!

finnick odair x fem!reader

Breakfast in District 13 is an unusual affair. Nothing like you’re used to, being from District 4. It’s the same every morning — boring grey oatmeal with either honey or berries, depending on the day. It’s only as you take your seat next to Finnick that you realise you’ve forgotten the very crucial toppings.

“Oh no, I forgot to get berries,” you bemoan. They’re definitely all gone by now, seeing as they’re in popular demand — the oatmeal served in 13 tastes like cardboard without them.

“Here, have mine,” Gale says from across the table. You open your mouth to protest but he’s already spooning a big heap of berries into your bowl. They bleed red and purple into your otherwise plain oatmeal. “I don’t like ‘em, anyway. Too sour.”

“Oh.” You smile at him, flattered. Gale’s been nothing but kind to you since you arrived in District 13. You haven’t put it down to anything other than friendliness. Though it’s possible you’re too enamoured with the blonde next to you that you’re completely oblivious to other men’s advances. “Thanks, Gale.”

Gales smiles back and shrugs. “No problem, Y/N.”

Next to you and unbeknownst to you, Finnick scowls. He hates that Gale’s so nice to you. Loathes it. He knows it’s because you’re a ray of sunshine who draws even the coldest of people in (believe him, he’s experienced it), but the fact that Gale gave you his berries before Finnick could even offer his makes his blood boil. 

Who does he think he is? Everyone knows you’re Finnick’s girl, he’s made it very clear. It’s the whole reason you’re here, after all — Finnick specifically requested you be picked up from home before the Quarter Quell ended, to prevent anything from happening to you.

Breakfast passes without further incident. If you notice Finnick’s sour mood, you don’t mention it. You’re leaving the canteen with everyone else when Finnick grabs your waist and pulls you to the side, into an empty hallway. He peers over your shoulder to make sure Gale’s good and gone, watching the back of his head with a glare that could kill, before turning his attention to you.

“Finnick,” you say, clearly confused at his sudden manhandling. “What’s the matter with you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Finnick says shortly.

“You look mad.”

“I’m not.”

You squint at him. “You’re definitely mad. Why are you—?”

Finnick forgoes restraint and yanks you forward, pressing his mouth to yours before you can say anything else. His chest burns with molten hot jealousy, it climbs up his throat and pours into the kiss, hot and sticky. The heat ebbs though, when you kiss him back just as fervently, replaced by a fuzzy warmth only you can make him feel. It buzzes in his chest and down his arms, flares out his palm as he takes your face into one hot hand.

He pulls back just as suddenly as he’d drawn in. “You know Gale’s flirting with you, right?” He says abruptly, thumb pressed to your cheekbone.

You blink up at him, still dazed from his kissing. “What?” You ask, half laughing. “No, he’s not.”

“He is. He gave you his berries. I was going to give you mine.”

You raise both eyebrows. “He was just being nice to me.”

“Yeah, well, that’s my job.”

Finnick supposes he sounds quite pathetic. He doesn’t really care, not when your eyes go all gooey and you reach up on your tiptoes to push a curl from his forehead.

“Are you jealous?” You ask him softly, tucking his hair behind his ear. Your breath fans over his mouth and your hand lingers at his throat. “You sound jealous.”

Finnick rolls his eyes. “So what if I am? Just— have mine next time, okay?”

You smile at him, pretty as starlight. “Okay. But you don’t have to be jealous, you know? I only want you.”

Woah, Finnick thinks. “I know,” he says, too quick, his voice a notch too high.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Do you though?” You ask, definitely teasing now. He supposes he got off lucky, you could’ve done much worse finding out he’s so sickeningly jealous over Gale, of all people.

Still, Finnick narrows his eyes at you. “Alright, that’s enough.”

Your answering giggle is smothered as Finnick swoops in to kiss you again.

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if u enjoyed 🤍

[simplyholl]

The Newlywed Game

Summary: You’re forced to play The Newlywed Game with your ex situationship.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F. Reader

Warnings: Angst. Smuttish, but not my usual descriptive smut. 18+ Only. Minors DNI.

See my Masterlist here

“I can’t.” That’s all the explanation you got when Bucky ended your situationship. You were friends with benefits for almost a year. The only rule he had was don’t fall in love. He had too much baggage and he never wanted a family. He didn’t want anyone to depend on him.

You couldn’t blame him, he was traumatized by Hydra. Trapped inside his own body for decades, he was afraid it could happen again. You jumped in head first with him anyways. You were in his bed after every mission, every meeting, every day. You basically lived in his room, not that he would ever admit that. Then one rainy afternoon, you knocked on his door like always. Except this time, he didn’t pull you into his warm embrace.

He moved out of the way so you could come in, and immediately you knew something was wrong. You reached for him, ready to console him, desperate for his touch. He had just finished a mission with Sam and he’d been gone for two weeks. You missed him, and he was usually so excited to see you.

When you placed your hand on his cheek, rubbing the scruff that had grown while he was gone, he wrapped his fingers around your wrist removing it. “I can’t do this anymore.” His voice was so low you could barely understand. Your eyes narrowed at his words. “Have I done something wrong?”

“This has gone on for longer than it should have. I can’t let it anymore.” Your throat tightens, but you refuse to cry in front of him. You walked out and your relationship with him was never the same. You didn’t hang out anymore.

When you were alone, he would leave. He didn’t sit beside you during the Friday night movie. He didn’t choose you for his partner on game night. The other Avengers didn’t know for sure that you were hooking up. You hid it pretty well. They had their suspicions, but neither of you ever confirmed it.

Tony called everyone to the back yard. “What’s all this?” Steve asks, pointing to the stage he had set up. “It’s my anniversary tomorrow and Pepper said she always wanted to play the Newlywed Game. So I had this built so we could play.”

“That’s great, Tony. But who are you all going to play with? There’s four set up’s and only two couples.” Steve gestures to Wanda and Vision. “Thought about that and Cap, you and Natasha are going to play and….” He looks at the whole team, everyone looking in different directions trying not to make eye contact. Except for Sharon, who hung around a lot lately. She was getting closer to Bucky, obviously wanting Tony to choose them. You roll your eyes. “Barnes and Y/N. There now we have all our couples. I’m going to go get Pep, you guys take your spots.”

You look at Bucky,but he’s busy talking to Steve about how ridiculous it is. You hear Sharon agree that he should have chosen someone else. When Pepper comes in, she excitedly claps her hands together. She points to the other teams, “You’re going down!” She laughs, but you can’t help but protest, “This is rigged! You guys and Wanda and Vision are the only real couples!! How is anyone else supposed to win?”

Tony shoots you a death glare but answers, “Cap and Natasha have definitely bumped uglies before. And you and Barnes are close friends. I thought that would make it more fair. But, I do expect to win.” You cross your arms, but accept his answer. Bucky finally looks at you, but it’s not friendly.

Sam comes out, wearing a suit Tony made him wear to host. “I’ll explain the rules. You all have a whiteboard, marker, and eraser. I will ask a question and you will write your answer on your boards. If your answer matches your partner’s you get a point. I’ll eliminate one couple each round until the final tie breaker.”

You take a deep breath. This is hell. But you do know Bucky better than anyone, so as long as he didn’t ask any crazy questions, you would be fine. “First question. Where is the craziest place you and your partner have had sex?” You freeze. Of course Stark had these wild questions. If you both answered the same, everyone would know that you had hooked up.

You think about lying, but decide the ball should be in Bucky’s court. You’ll answer correctly, and if he doesn’t you’ll know he doesn’t want anyone to know. You quickly scribble your answer, waiting on Sam to call on you. Tony’s answer is Steve’s room and Pepper’s matched. Everyone laughed while Steve said Tony has to pay for his room to be deep cleaned.

Wanda and Vision both answer “in the air.” Natasha and Steve said a table in the meeting room. You turn your board to reveal your answer and Bucky shows his. You look and see that he has answered correctly. “The quinjet?! Damn y’all are nasty!” Sam laughs.

You’re taken back to that moment. You, Bucky, and Bruce were on your way back from a mission. Bruce was driving the quinjet, but activated the mode Tony installed for breaks. As soon as he started snoring, Bucky led you to the bathroom. He took you against the wall, metal hand across your mouth to stifle your moans. It was one of the hottest things you’d ever done. Your suit clung to you in the worst ways after that. His cum dripping down your legs, it was nearly impossible to take off.

The others look at each other in surprise. Scott yells “I told you they were hooking up. No one believed me!” Sharon looks at Bucky so harshly that if looks could kill, he’d be dead. He just shrugs his shoulders. Of course, he would be hooking up with her. Why wouldn’t he? She was pretty and it had been three months since he ended things with you.

The next question was “Who hogs the covers more?” Everyone got it right except for Steve and Natasha. She said that wasn’t a fair question because they never actually slept when they were together. The round continued with four more questions. At the end, Steve and Natasha were eliminated because they had the least amount of points. The rest of you were tied.

“What is your partner’s pet name for you?” Sam asks. That’s easy, “doll”, you write. When you reveal your answers, Sharon looks furious. That must be what he calls her too. It stings, thinking of them together. You don’t have time to dwell on it before Sam asks the next question. “What is the highest number of orgasms your partner has given you in one night?” Your eyes widen, you know the answer, but you don’t know if he will remember.

Tony and Pepper answer three, Tony grins like the cocky asshole he is. Vision and Wanda answer two. Bucky raises his board, “Six?!” Sam shouts, “How were you guys fucking this much and nobody knew?” He laughs. The round surprisingly ends with Wanda and Vision getting eliminated.

But you’re busy thinking about that night. Bucky’s head between your thighs for hours. He barely came up for breath. You were sure he would smother, but he insisted. He didn’t stop until the sheets were soaked, your legs were shaking so hard, you’d immediately fall if you tried to stand up.

He had you screaming his name all night. When he finally started fucking you, he took his time, pulling another orgasm out of you before going back down for another taste. He finally came with you on top. He had to lift your limp body on him, using you like a sex doll. You couldn’t move if you needed too. It was the best sex you’d ever had.

“It’s time for the tie breaker question. Answers don’t have to match, the crowd will vote on the most romantic answers.” Sam states. “When did you know you were in love?” Tony and Pepper immediately begin writing. You’re certain you’re going to lose this one. Bucky was never in love with you. You write your answer, deciding to answer truthfully.

Tony and Pepper’s answers make you tear up, they are so in love. You can only hope you’ll find that one day. You and Bucky reveal your boards at the same time. You glance at his, his answer knocks the breath out of your lungs because it matches yours. The Avenger’s Barbecue. You lock eyes, his gaze softens as he reads your answer.

You’ll never forget such a pivotal moment in your life. All of the Avengers and Shield agents’ friends and family were invited to play games, eat, and have a good time. Emily, who helped coordinate your missions brought her husband and three young children. A baby girl, a two year old boy, and a five year old girl. The children were drawn to Bucky. The two older children swung from his metal arm while he held the baby with his other one.

The image made your ovaries explode. You couldn’t help imagining how he would be if you had kids. He laughed as they asked him a thousand questions, playing on him like a jungle gym. You knew without a doubt, you were in love.

Bucky took a deep breath when he read your answer. Why was it the same as his? Did you know? Was it a prank you were playing on him? Emily’s children were entranced with you from the moment they met you. He couldn’t blame them, he felt the same. They had played with him for an hour before the food was ready. When Tony told everyone to make a plate, you offered to watch the kids while she and her husband got their food.

Bucky watched as you comforted the crying infant. The two older children sat beside you while you read from a book the girl got from their bag. Bucky knew he was screwed. He could see a life like this so clearly. Your belly round with his baby, while you tended to your other children. He didn’t want to admit how badly he wanted that. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He was in love with you.

That night he made love to you, it was softer, slower than the other times he touched you. He knew you could tell the difference too. He placed one last kiss to your lips, willing himself to let you go. The next morning, he left for his two week mission with Sam. He convinced himself that it was for the best if he ended things. He didn’t want to hurt you. You might be okay with it now, but years later you would regret it.

You’d realize having the Winter Soldier for a husband wasn’t worth everything you would have to go through. Then Sharon started flirting with him after Steve rejected her. He hadn’t so much as hugged her, but she acted like she was entitled to him.

Everyone voted for Tony and Pepper to win. They were the real couple and it was their anniversary tomorrow. Tony was going to treat everyone to dinner for being such good sports. You got out of there as soon as it was over. You needed a nap before going to dinner. It was all too much for you. How the hell did you and Bucky make it so far in the game? Why did he have the same answer for the last question? You convince yourself that he knew how you felt.

That night changed everything. The sex was different. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear he was making love to you. He had to be messing with your head. Somehow you manage to fall asleep even with your thoughts racing.

You wake up two hours later, just enough time to get ready for dinner. You put on the little black dress Bucky loved. If he wants to play games, bring it on. You apply your perfume when a light knock sounds on your door. You would recognize the knock anywhere. “Come in” you call. Bucky walks in, his tight black t-shirt hugging him in the best ways.

“Hey doll, we need to talk.” You put your earrings in, anger surging through you. “Talk about what? How you were trying to humiliate me up there? How you’re banging Sharon now? There’s nothing to talk about. You should just go.”

“Humiliate you? What about me? How did you know the answer to the last question?” He demands, charging toward you. “I answered it truthfully, James. How did you know my answer?” You ask, hands on your hips. “I answered honestly too.” He confesses, his blue eyes sweeping over the swell of your breasts.

“Stop lying! I don’t see what the point is. We have been over for three months. Why are you doing this?” He shakes his head, “I was telling the truth. I realized I was in love with you when all those kids were sitting in your lap. I could see our life together. And I wanted it, the kids, the white picket fence, the big house, you.”

“Bucky, I wanted all that with you too. Seeing you playing with those kids made me realize it too.” You sigh, feeling relieved to finally get it off your chest. His lips crash into yours, hands moving at lightning speed to remove all of your clothing. You’re under him in seconds, panting against his lips as he rubs himself against you.

Bucky moans as he sinks into you. He’s always known deep down you were made for him, now he has no choice but to accept it. “I’m so in love with you.” He tells you between thrusts. You claw at his back, his confession almost sends you over the edge. “I am so in love with you, Buck.” You kiss him gently. “Say it again.” He smiles, as you get lost in each other.

Tags

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[violenteconomics]

twst first-years that get sucked into a television, and are forced to re-enact all of the seven disney movies that nrc is built upon (“the little mermaid”, “the lion king”, “snow white”, etc. and i’m talking about the animated features, btw.)

deuce and yuu star as the main couple (aladdin/jasmine, eric/ariel, simba/nala, etc.), but both can be, and are, interchangeably swapped with ace, depending on what kind of couple they’re playing, because i can accept deuce or yuu as hercules, but i can’t accept either of them as megara. 

yuu always takes priority as the protagonist, though, so sorry adeuce, no alice for you. 

ortho is the loveable animal sidekick — such as flounder from “the little mermaid”, abu from “aladdin”, pegasus from “hercules”, et cetera. his form also conveniently alters depending on what he’s supposed to be in any given movie, such as sprouting metallic wings in his appearance as pegasus. 

(fyi, in “the lion king”, ortho plays both pumbaa AND timon. in “alice in wonderland”, he plays the infamous dormouse. he makes no appearances in “snow white and the seven dwarfs” or “sleeping beauty”, unfortunately, except for some inexplicable cameos as the birds.)

jack plays the wise character in every movie. characters like mufasa, alice’s older sister, sebastian, etc. he doesn’t get a whole lot of appearances, but honestly, it’s probably for the best considering the traumatic death he has to go through in at least one of those.

if there is magic to be had, you better believe epel will be there. he plays all kinds of magical people and items, like the genie from “aladdin”, the spinning wheel from “sleeping beauty”, and, infamously, the poison apple from “snow white and the seven dwarfs”. he acts as a person though, not an actual object. in this case, the “poison apple” and the “spinning wheel” would both be the aliases of famous assassins.

which leaves our loveable sebek zigvolt as the villain. like the main couple, though, he trades the role with ace, because let’s be honest, ace makes for a way better maleficient and ursula, lol. sebek gets pretty much every other role, though. sebek definitely has enough theater kid energy inside of him to pull off a convincing “OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!” methinks.

(i couldn’t find a clean place to put this in, but sebek and deuce also trade roles as the villainous sidekicks, like diabolo, flotsam and jetsam, iago, etc.)

bonus points if they have to re-enact other disney movies, too, like “cinderella”, “robin hood”,  or “beauty and the beast”.

BONUS bonus points if the upperclassmen have to watch all of this unfold in a 48-hour-long marathon with meal breaks and sleep breaks in between, lol.

[heartfullofleeches]

If I had a cute pizza boy show up at my door, giving me free pizza with special 'sauce' for weeks on end I would either sneak a slip of paper with my number on it into the tip or try to invite him on a date, depending if I'm feeling confident or not -3-

I am a sucker for cute boys in a uniform what can I say?

Yan "Pizza Boy + Reader

If Brie had to pick something he disliked about visiting you - it would be taking your money.

"You really don't have to give me anything. Just doing what I love!"

One might call into question the fulfillment delivering pizza for a living may bring, but he wasn't lying. For the most part anyway. This job as fictitious as it was birthed the real feelings he had for you. If anyone should be paid it's you for putting up with his awkward attempts at small talk or when he nearly drops your food whenever your fingers touch. Taking your money felt like a bigger crime than everything he's done up to this point. He refuses to take it nine times out of ten-

Today you weren't giving him any chance to escape.

"I insist! You've been coming here for weeks, Brie. It's the least I can do for you."

No- Don't do that. How is he supposed to say no when you say his name like that? The day you ended up on a first name bases was the same day Brie's cheeks were sore for a full twenty-four hours for smiling so long.

"Take it. For me? You deserve it."

"Ha...." Brie sure of it now- You'll definitely be the death of him someday. "If it makes you happy. I can't thank you enough for your kindness."

"Hope I see you soon-"

The implications of your words are lost to Brie as he aimlessly drifts off back in the direction of his car, tripping over a crack in the pavement he's step over many times before. His spirits remain high as he corrects himself and hopes into the vehicle. He was good on cash and it'd be crazy to spend money you gave him. Brie digs his wallet out of the glove compartment- He'll keep the bills in a separate compartment away from the rest of his money for good luck-

"Huh?"

Something hits his foot. A small folded piece of paper nestled between the bills. A receipt you forgot maybe? His... His name is on it though. Next to a heart.

Brie snatches the paper off the floor.

"Buy something nice on the way home for me. Wish there was more I could do to repay you. How about dinner this Saturday?

Call me. XX"

Dinner? This Saturday? That almost sounds like...

"A date."

You. Him?? Brie reads the note aloud to make sure he read it correctly. He waves a hand in front of his eyes to check if they're working right. You, want to go out with him. On a date. He thought you were just being nice the last time you called him cute.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!"

The repeated hammering of his feet against the floor as he kicks his legs alerts dogs walking past his car with their owner. Brie waves bashfully as the dog walker from his side mirror. He brushes his hair out of his face, adjusting his posture as he places his hands on the wheel.

Brie drives over to the gas station nearest to him. He buys himself a bottle of iced tea with his tip money - assuring at least one dollar remains from his purchase to tape up in his car at a later date. He drinks from the bottle, taking smaller sips every other swallow to savior what was probably the best bottle of tea he'd ever had.

[like-a-diamondinthesky]

three times hyunjin wanted to kiss you plus the one time he finally did | h.h.j

pairing... bsf!hyunjin x gn!reader tags... best friends to lovers, "unrequited" love, fluff, 3+1 prompt

hyunjin really, really wants to kiss you. but he can't, because that's not what best friends do.

wc... 1.4k words a/n... was supposed to have class today but there was a really bad storm so i whipped this up during my newfound free time <3 this is longer than i planned it to be tbh

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ɞ° ‧₊˚ ◡̈° ONE

Hyunjin was bored to death. He had done nothing all day except use his phone, watch tv, use his phone, pretend to work on his laptop, and use his phone. Now, here he was, lounging on his couch, tapping away on his phone and looking for food to order.

He contemplated texting you, his best friend, but decided against it, thinking you were probably busy.

Right as he was about to pay for his food, Hyunjin's phone buzzed and a notification popped up. his eyes lit up, realizing it was a message from you.

y/n <3: hyun! y/n <3: are you busy?

Typing as if his life depended on it, Hyunjin quickly replied.

hyunjinnie: nah hyunjinnie: i was about to order dinner tho y/n <3: do you want mcdonald's? was thinking i could pick u up and we can get drive-thru

Ah, times like this, Hyunjin really just wanted to give you a big fat kiss. You were always spoiling him, after all.

hyunjinnie: YES PLEASE!!!! hyunjinnie: maybe we could watch a movie after too hyunjinnie: i mean, only if you want

He was nervous. He's invited you over many times before, but not since he realized that he was maybe, kind of, sort of in love with you.

y/n <3: definitely!!! sounds like a plan <3 i'll be there in 15

And just like that, Hyunjin's smiling like an idiot. Words can't explain how excited he was to see your face, to smell your perfume, and to hear your voice. And if his eyes trailed from your eyes to your lips, that was his business and his alone.

ɞ° ‧₊˚ ◡̈° TWO

Fifteen minutes had never felt longer. Hyunjin was anxiously waiting for you to arrive, eyes darting between his phone and the clock on the wall. Were you purposely driving slow to make him crazy?

As if on cue, you knocked on his front door, making him jump up off the couch in excitement. He slid his phone into his pocket, grabbed his wallet and keys, and walked over to the entrance of his apartment.

When he opened the door, you were greeted with a huge smile and a big, warm hug.

"Hi! i missed you," Hyunjin said, though it was muffled due to the fact that his face was buried in your hair. You giggled at his affection and replied, "We just saw each other last week!"

"I know, I still missed you, though." Smiling sheepishly, he let go of you and closed the door to his apartment. He took your hand and pulled you towards the elevator. "Come on. I'm starving."

×

After a long wait at McDonald's, you finally paid and got your food. Pulling out of the drive-thru, you began your drive back to Hyunjin's house.

"No way, I've been scammed!" Hyunjin gasps dramatically, raising his hand to his forehead and slumping in his seat. "They only gave me five nuggets when i ordered six. I'm legally obligated to one more!!!"

"What? No way." you quickly peeked inside the box Hyunjin was holding, seeing that there were, in fact, only five nuggets. "Alright, we're going back there."

Surprised, Hyunjin sat up and stared at you. "Wait, huh? No, Y/n- I was just kidding. It's just one nugget difference. It isn't a big deal, let's just go home."

"Don't be crazy, Hyun. you paid for six nuggets, and you're getting those six nuggets." The look on your face was one of pure determination. Your brows were furrowed, your eyes focused on the road, and your lips—god, your lips—looked so pretty and soft. 'Perhaps,' Hyunjin thought, 'I should repay Y/n for all the trouble with a kiss.'

ɞ° ‧₊˚ ◡̈° THREE

Hyunjin's heart was beating a mile a minute. The two of you had chosen to watch a horror movie after eating dinner, which was a bad idea considering you both hated them. But the reason for his pacing heartbeat wasn't the movie, no, it was you.

You were sitting next to him on the couch, huddled under the blanket. Your legs were touching his, your hands were clutching his arm, and your neck was resting on his shoulder. He wasn't even paying attention to the movie anymore, not when you were this close to him. Not even the jumpscares affected him. He was far too focused on how your grip around his arm would tighten, how you would try to scooch even closer to him, how you would hide your face in his neck.

After the movie ended, the two of you stayed in your position on the couch, too comfortable to move. Hyunjin had his arm around your shoulders, keeping you safe in his grasp. You were telling him about your past few days, eyes lighting up as you recalled your happy memories. The corners of your lips perked up when you talked, pulling your cheeks higher and bringing your eyes to a crinkle.

You looked so pretty in his arms, Hyunjin swears he could just lean in and kiss you right then and there. But he doesn't, because that's not what best friends do.

ɞ° ‧₊˚ ◡̈° PLUS ONE

The stars were twinkling in the midnight sky. It was late and you were too scared to drive yourself home, claiming that the horror movie "changed your brain chemistry." So, like any good best friend would do, Hyunjin invited you to spend the night. In his bed.

"Are you sure, Hyun? I'm perfectly happy sleeping on the couch." You were standing by his bedroom door, watching him pull out your favorite hoodies of his. He walked to you with a soft smile, handing you the hoodie so you could change into something more comfortable than your old (and probably a size too small) t-shirt. "Oh come on, it's fine. I'm the one who asked you to stay over, anyway. It's only right that you take the bed and I take the couch."

Reluctantly accepting the hoodie from his hands, you sigh. "Okay, okay. I'll sleep on your bed. But! Only if you stay here with me."

A deep blush crept onto Hyunjin's cheeks at your request, but still, he gave in and nodded. "Sure, anything for you, Y/n."

×

It was a long, nearly sleepless night. Beside Hyunjin, you slept peacefully, lying on your side and facing him. He spent many hours staring up at his ceiling, silently cursing and thanking god at the same time for putting him in this situation.

Don't get him wrong, Hyunjin was so glad to have you with him in his bed, but he was so anxious that he'd make you uncomfortable. Were you okay sleeping while facing each other? Was he hogging too much of the blanket? Was he too close to you?

Eventually, these thoughts subsided and Hyunjin finally fell asleep. After a couple hours of rest, the sun started to seep through the curtains, filling the room with soft rays of light. Opening his eyes once again, Hyunjin was delighted to be greeted by your face in front of his.

You were so beautiful. Hyunjin admired the way your plump lips still curved into a small smile despite being asleep. Your hair was covering your eyes, so he slowly reached his hand to your forehead, gently brushing the stray pieces behind your ear. His hand hovered there as he thought to himself, 'I could just kiss them, right now. No one has to know.' Shaking the thought away, he brought his hand back down to his side, choosing to continue admiring your beauty instead.

"Are you going to keep staring, or are you going to kiss me?" you whispered, eyes slowly opening. "I mean, if you won't do it, I will,"

Hyunjin's mouth dropped open. Did he hear you correctly?

You giggled at his reaction, bringing your hand to his cheek. He immediately leaned into your touch. "Last chance, Hyun."

This is it, he was gonna do it. He was going to kiss you. Closing his eyes, Hyunjin leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. It was everything. He could've sworn he felt fireworks explode in his chest. He placed his hand on the small of your back, bringing your bodies together. You moved the hand on his cheek to the hair at his nape, playing with the soft strands.

Pulling away, Hyunjin took a deep breath and opened his eyes. You both smiled at each other, happy in each other's arms. "Finally. You don't know how long I've wanted to do that."

"Took you long enough," you laughed. "I was so sure you'd kiss me after the movie. I was waiting all night."

Hyunjin chuckled and leaned in for another kiss. God, he could get used to this. "Had I known you wanted me to kiss you, I wouldn't have waited for a single second."

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

comments, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated! © like-a-diamondinthesky 2023

[ckret2]

Is current day Bill aware that he was technically dead? Does anyone else know?

"Welcome to the mindscape, kid! Without a vessel to possess, you're basically a ghost!"

He knows what he is.

He knows he's a being made of pure energy (with no weaknesses!!) only visible in the mindscape and he knows he doesn't have a physical form despite previously having one. He's willing and able to get in a long philosophical argument with you about whether or not that makes him "dead."

The Axolotl's a psychopomp. The Axolotl's definition of "dead" is "legally, a ghost," because as a psychopomp it's his responsibility to escort ghosts to afterlives (like the Theraprism). The Axolotl's legal definition of ghost is "is a soul (a sentient entity composed entirely of energy with no physical matter); was not always a soul (was born inhabiting a physical body); is from a dimension where the mindscape and the landscape are on separate planes, and physical beings live in the landscape while energy beings live in the mindscape; and is from a dimension where the local culture/god(s) want the deceased to 'move on' rather than cohabitate with the living, and have set up afterlives and/or reincarnation programs to facilitate this."

So from that perspective, death can be subjective. If you have, say, a species of caterpillar with a physical body that enters a cocoon and emerges as a butterfly made of pure energy, whether the Axolotl defines them as "a species that metamorphoses from physical beings into energy beings" or "a species that enters a cocoon when it's time for them to die" depends on how they treat their energy-butterfly forms: do they consider their energy-butterfly forms "adulthood," or do they go "welp! Bob's cocoon cracked, he's gone forever now. (Bob, I swear, stop beating your wings at me, you're supposed to fly on up to The Next Place In The Sky)"? If the same caterpillar species has two different cultures that consider their butterfly forms differently, the Axolotl wouldn't know whether to consider an energy butterfly dead until he'd found out which culture it came from.

Bill isn't a psychopomp and he hates laws. What does he care about bodies? He determines whether or not he's dead via "am I still living?" Is he still doing stuff? Going to parties? Making plans, talking to people, pursuing his ambitions, running from cops, affecting interdimensional politics? Thinking, feeling, acting, eating, touching, living? Then he's alive.

(He feels more dead visiting Earth to manipulate humans than he does in the Nightmare Realm; because in the Nightmare Realm, physical beings and energy beings interact on the same plane, so he can do all the same stuff anyone with a physical body can. But if he can open a rift from the Nightmare Realm to Earth, then he can make a physical body on Earth and it won't be a problem anymore!!)

He's far more powerful now than he was before the Euclidean Massacre when he became an energy being; shouldn't that mean he's more alive now? ALSO, even if he DID die, then he "died" like BILLIONS AND BILLIONS of years ago, and he thinks he should be considered alive just for still being around now! Would anybody dead still be around so long after they died?! If Bill had been born an energy being, rather than becoming one later in life, nobody would accuse him of being dead—and that to him is proof enough that the whole system is bogus!

Bill and the Axolotl have been arguing about this for literally a trillion years.

[mononijikayu]

“i canʼt hold enough of you in my hands.” — gojo satoru.

His little fingers peeked out from the blanket, and you couldn’t resist the urge to gently stroke them, feeling their soft warmth. You looked at your husband, who let out a little laugh as you showed him your son’s little chubby fingers. There was much to love about your little dawn. If life had ever begun, it would be when your son was born. And Satoru believed that as much as you did — that’s for sure.

GENRE: post hidden - inventory arc (2010s)

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, family, comfort, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, mention of pregnancy, depiction of the aftermath of birth, depiction of parenthood, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

LISTEN: l'amore dice ciao (slow take) by armando trovajoli

NOTE: i knew i said i wasn't going to write more, but i ended up writing this because i ended the other one so sadly that i realized i needed something that was genuinely happy. so i did that. i'll be writing more within the next eleven days. but we'll see, depending on my schedule!!! i love you!!! enjoy <3

masterlist

u s and t h e m

IT WAS QUITE AN EXPERIENCE, BRINGING HOME A BABY IN YOUR HUMBLE ABODE. You had never expected to be so overprotective over anything in your entire life, especially not on a simple car ride. But here you were, cradling your most precious treasure in your arms, heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and overwhelming love. Your newborn son, Satoshi, nestled against your chest, was the very embodiment of fragility and new beginnings.

The car ride from the hospital to your home felt like an eternity. Every bump in the road, every sudden stop or start, sent a jolt of worry through you. You tightened your hold on Satoshi, making sure his tiny head was well-supported, his small body swaddled snugly in a soft blanket. The world outside seemed too chaotic, too unpredictable for someone so small and innocent.

Beside you, your husband, Gojo Satoru sat with his bright blue eyes fixed lovingly on the little bundle in your arms. His usual carefree demeanor was replaced by a focused intensity, every bit the protective father. 

He kept glancing between you, sleeping Satoshi, the road ahead, and Ichiji who seemed more tense than usual. Satoru’s tension could be felt from that far, you suppose. But you can’t fault your husband at all. His hand occasionally reaches over to rest reassuringly on your knee, as though it was to calm him and you simultaneously. 

“Are you okay, darling?” he asked softly, his voice a gentle caress.

You nodded, but the anxiety still lingered. “I’m just… it’s so surreal. He’s so tiny, so perfect. I want to make sure everything is perfect for him.”

Satoru’s cerulean eyes softened, and he reached over to brush a strand of hair from your face. “You’re already doing an amazing job. He’s lucky to have you as his mama, darling.”

Satoshi stirred slightly, making a small cooing sound that melted your heart. You looked down at his tiny face, marveling at his delicate features. He looked exactly like Satoru, that’s what his mother said. And you could definitely see it. His small mouth quirked joyously the way his father does. His white–silver locks were as tender and soft as Satoru's own. His chubby cheeks were warm too. And you were so in love. So entirely absorbed by your love for your son. 

His little fingers peeked out from the blanket, and you couldn’t resist the urge to gently stroke them, feeling their soft warmth. You looked at your husband, who let out a little laugh as you showed him your son’s little chubby fingers. There was much to love about your little dawn. If life had ever begun, it would be when your son was born. And Satoru believed that as much as you did — that’s for sure. 

The car pulled into the driveway of your little home, and Satoru quickly got out to open the door for you. He extended his hand to help you out, his touch steadying you as you carefully stepped onto the pavement. You whisper a thankful retort to your husband, who grinned at you and turned to Ichiji, who nearly jumped when Satoru thanked him genuinely. 

Satoru led the way as you walked into your home, his six-eyes trying to check for any changes in the house. When you both got in, it seemed safe enough but then again, Satoru led you to the nursery. Every inch of the nursery was built by your husband. He was excited about trying to make it as bright as possible, as colorful as possible and he had meticulously prepared in the weeks leading up to Satoshi’s birth. 

The quaint little room was better than you could have imagined it. Satoru had not wanted to show you anything until the baby arrived. It was a surprise for both you and your little boy. It was just a perfect little haven of soft pastels and gentle light. You were impressed with how it all blended together, how he had managed to put everything into a theme. But you knew that’s just how much your husband loves your son. Looking at him, you wondered how much more you could love this man, how much more love your heart can take for him.

“Did you do everything from scratch?” You whispered to him, mindful of your little boy. 

He hummed in reply. “But it’s not just me. ‘miki and ‘gumi both helped, y’know? I couldn’t have done it without them!”

You smiled when you heard that. When you told the two that you were expecting, it was a whirlwind.  Tsumiki was jumping up in joy, Megumi seemed stunned that there was to be a baby. You didn't expect Megumi to have a loud reaction, he was always more quiet. But you knew that overtime, he was just as excited as his elder sister. He showed that through his little acts, like asking about the baby, asking if you both needed anything. He was tender like that.

You wouldn’t say that your pregnancy was a dream. It was hard. You were nauseated all the time, you were crying day and night, you couldn’t keep food down. But your two little ones did what they could to help you out. Megumi knew that you couldn’t eat much, but he would make sure there was already hot tea and some slices of fruit you can eat for you to enjoy in the mornings.

Tsumiki made sure that she helped you out with some small tasks Satoru allowed you to do, that she could embrace you when you feel like crying about some little things. They were both wonderful with you throughout the pregnancy, they’ve always been wonderful to you since you met them. 

At this moment, you wanted to see them both. And you were sure they’d like to see you and the little one. But you knew that they won’t arrive until tomorrow. You were thankful that your mother took Megumi and Tsumiki with her until you could come home from the hospital.

You gently laid little Satoshi in his crib, tucking the blanket around him. Satoru stood beside you, his arm wrapped around your waist carefully. He lets out a small sigh as both of you watch as your son settles into his new environment. The room seemed to glow with a serene tranquility, the weight of the world momentarily lifted.

“He’s perfect, isn’t he?” Satoru whispered, his voice filled with awe.

You leaned against him, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “He is. And he’s ours.”

“Hm, he’ll always be.” He agrees, his hand tracing across the small of your back. “The kids will love him, I’m pretty sure.”

“Tsumiki will just gobble him up.” You laughed softly.

“And Megumi’s gonna be a bit flustered, ‘m sure.”

“Hey, he’s just a little shy! He’s trying.”

Satoru kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering as if trying to imprint the moment in his memory. “Hm, he is.”

“Thank you.” 

“What for, darling?”

You smile at him. “For giving me this lovely little life.”

He laughs, pressing a kiss against your shoulder. “Darling, if anything, I should be the one saying that, hm?”

“I love you.” You whispered against him, letting your hand trail against his free hand. “Genuinely.”

“Love you too, very much.” He squeezes your hand back. “All four of you. We’re going to be okay, darling.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, a mixture of happiness and the sheer weight of the responsibility ahead. “I know. ‘cause we have each other.”

He smiles. ”Nothing better than that.”

As you stood there, watching over your son, you felt a profound sense of completeness. The future held many uncertainties, but this moment was perfect. Surrounded by the love of your husband and the new life you had brought into the world, you knew that together, you could face anything.

Satoru’s hand found yours, squeezing gently. “Welcome home, my little dawn.” he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. “This is just the beginning.”

You nodded, resting your head against Satoru’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of his love envelop you. In that small, serene nursery, surrounded by the promise of new beginnings, you felt a deep and abiding peace. 

This was your peace.

This was your home.

And this was your future. 

You were truly content now.

SOMEHOW, ADJUSTING WAS QUITE A WORD TO LEARN. Life as new parents to your little boy, Satoshi, was a whirlwind of joy, exhaustion, and moments that you knew would become cherished memories. And though it was hard most days, stressful even — you both would not trade it for anything else.

Gojo Satoru, ever the dedicated father, decided to take paternity leave, putting his duties aside to focus on his growing family.  He didn’t care about what the higher ups were going to say about it.  He just sent a phone call, turned off his phone and left them to deal with the situation until he could come back. He was not going to let any sense of his duty ruin his first glimpses as a father.

The decision brought a new level of warmth and connection to your home, a sanctuary away from the chaos of the world outside. It was more common now to see Gojo Satoru standing by the kitchen at two in the morning, trying to warm up frozen breast milk or being up and about by seven to make Megumi and Tsumiki’s bento boxes and see them off to school.

Satoru’s presence was a source of comfort and strength postpartum. He refused to let you raise a finger while he was in the house. You were still healing from the birth, he said. The best thing for you is to enjoy your relaxation and rest, while he does his part. It’s the smallest thing, he says to you as he gives you your breakfast that morning, there’s nothing to worry about. 

Most nights, when he lets you go to sleep as much as you can — you end up waking up to walk towards the bathroom to pee and you would see him, sitting in the living room. You would stand there, watching him as he finds himself cradling Satoshi, whispering sweet words of love and promises for the future. His cerulean eyes, usually so full of mischief, softened with a tenderness that melted your heart each time you saw him with your son.

You couldn’t help but enjoy seeing him so domesticated, to be at such a peace with himself, with his life. This was such a far cry from the Gojo Satoru you had known in your youths. And it was so beautiful, how genuinely graceful he had adapted to his new life. He was always there, with a gentle touch and a reassuring smile, ready to do what he had to for your comfort. 

“He’s just so small!” Tsumiki gushed, looking at the baby and then at you and Satoru. Her smile was from ear to ear. “Satoru-san, he looks exactly like you!”

Satoru laughed softly, a sound filled with pride and joy. “Hm, doesn’t he? He was born on my birthday too! My precious little ‘toshi.”

You chuckled, feeling the warmth of the moment. “Yes, he does. But look closer, Tsumiki. He’s got my nose and my stubborn streak already.”

Tsumiki leaned in, examining Satoshi’s tiny features with a thoughtful expression. “Oh, you’re right! I can see it now. He’s a perfect mix of both of you.” She looked up, her eyes sparkling. “He’s going to be so loved.”

Megumi, standing a bit shyly to the side,  as he looked at you and nodded. “Yeah, he is.” He stepped closer, peering at Satoshi with a mixture of curiosity and affection. “Welcome home….Satoshi.”

Megumi and Tsumiki were adjusting well to having a baby around the house. Satoru teased them both about being Satoshi’s elder siblings often, Tsumiki was gleeful and Megumi was always bashful. It was so lovely to watch. The house became more livelier than ever before.

You always noted that Tsumiki was a natural caregiver, always ready to lend  a hand with diaper changes or soothing Satoshi when he was fussy. You and Satoru often told her that she didn’t have to, but she insists that she wants to  spend time with him. She adored him, her nurturing nature shining through in every interaction.

Megumi, on the other hand, was more reserved. Shy about expressing his love for Satoshi with words, he found other ways to show his affection. He would sit quietly by Satoshi’s crib, reading aloud from his favorite books, or he’d be the first to arrive when Satoshi’s cries echoed through the house, ready to offer a pacifier or a comforting touch.

Satoru reached out, ruffling Megumi’s hair gently. “You’re going to be good to him, hm? Aren’t you, Megumi? I’m counting on you to help keep an eye on him when I’m not around, ‘kay?”

Megumi’s cheeks flushed slightly, but he nodded with determination. “I will.”

You felt a wave of gratitude and love for your makeshift family, the bonds between all of you growing stronger with each passing moment. “Of course we will.” you said softly, looking at each of them in turn. “We’re going to take care of each other, always.”

Tsumiki smiled warmly. “I’m so happy. It’s like our family keeps growing, and it’s just... perfect.”

Satoru pulled both Tsumiki and Megumi into a gentle hug, careful not to jostle Satoshi in your arms. “We’re a team, always remember!” he said, his voice filled with conviction. “No matter what, we stick together.”

“Of course!” Tsumiki cheered in reply.

Satoru looked at Megumi, pulling him closer. “What about you, ‘gumi? We’re all in this together!”

Megumi flustered, trying to shove your husband. “Ugh, stop—”

“Ehhhh! Just say it once, come on now!”

“I don’t wanna!”

“Megumi, come on! Satoru–san has a point!”

“I still don’t want to!”

As you watched this heartfelt moment, your heart swelled with emotion. The little ones have had quite a rough life, you knew that much. But to know that they have a home here, that they were happy here. The love and unity in your heart for your little home were palpable. Despite the challenges ahead, all the things you may never know — you knew that with your husband and the kids, you’ll always be fine.

Satoshi stirred slightly, his tiny hand reaching out as if sensing the warmth and love around him. You gently kissed his forehead, whispering softly, “See, Satoshi? You’re so loved by everyone, you know?”

Satoru glanced at you, his eyes shimmering with unabashed joy. “We’re going to give him the best life, darling. I promise you that.”

You smiled, feeling a deep sense of peace and contentment. “I know we will. Together.”

The gentle hum of life outside seemed to pause in reverence for the precious moment unfolding within your home. Satoshi nestled peacefully in your arms, his tiny fingers curling and uncurling as if grasping at the very fabric of love that surrounded him. The soft murmur of your family’s voices filled the air, a symphony of warmth that your little boy seems to be so in love with.

“Hey... can I hold him?” Megumi asked, his voice hesitant but hopeful.

You turned to Megumi, seeing the earnestness in his eyes. This was a big step for him, wanting to connect with his new brother in such a tangible way. You looked at Satoru, who was grinning. You smiled and nodded.

Satoru’s smile was warm and encouraging. “Of course, Megumi. Just be gentle, hm? He’s still too small, after all.”

With careful movements, You carefully handed Satoshi over to Megumi. The young boy’s face lit up with a rare, genuine smile as he cradled the little bundle in his arms. Satoshi, sensing the familiar presence, settled almost immediately, his tiny hand reaching up to grasp Megumi’s finger.

Satoru wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “Look at them.” he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. “We’re really doing this.”

You leaned into Satoru, your heart swelling with love for your family. “Yes, we are, aren't we?" you replied softly. “And it’s perfect.”

Megumi looked up, his expression one of pure wonder. “He’s so small.” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “But he’s... perfect.”

“You’re doing great, Megumi,” you whispered, your heart swelling with pride.

Tsumiki joined you, her eyes shining with happiness. “He loves you, Megumi. You’re such a good big brother to him already."

“....am not his big brother.” he says shyly, scarlet blush across his face. 

“Nah, you are.” Satoru whispers at him, smiling as he pats Megumi’s hair. “You will always be his big brother, okay?”

You giggled. “And he’s happy about it too. He’s happy to be carried by his big brother Megumi.”

Megumi’s cheeks turned pink, but he didn’t look away from Satoshi. “I just….. want him to be happy.” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Satoru wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “He’s happy because he’s surrounded by love.” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours. “And because he has the best siblings in the world caring for him.”

You smiled at him, so full of love.

“I love you, all of you, my love.”

Cerulean eyes looked at you, tenderly.

“I love you too, darling. So so much.”

epilogue

One afternoon, you found Satoru in the kitchen, attempting to bake cookies with Tsumiki. Flour dusted his hair and apron, and Tsumiki giggled as she helped mix the dough. The sight was a blend of chaotic mess and heartwarming sweetness.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” you teased, leaning against the doorway with Satoshi nestled in your arms. The smell of burnt sugar was already wafting through the air, a clear indicator that things might not be going as planned.

Satoru flashed you a mischievous grin, his blue eyes sparkling with playful defiance. “I’m a man of many talents, darling. Baking just happens to be one of them.” He tried to flick flour at you, but it mostly ended up on Tsumiki, who erupted into fits of laughter.

“Yeah, sure.” you said, laughing as you shook your head. “I think you might need to add ‘kitchen disaster’ to your list of talents.”

Just then, Megumi walked in, drawn by the noise and commotion. He took one look at the flour-covered Satoru and the batter-splattered Tsumiki and rolled his eyes. 

“You’re making a mess.” he said dryly, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “We could just buy cookies from the local bakery.”

“Come on, Megumi!” Satoru called out, waving a dough-covered hand. “Join the fun! We’re making memories here!”

“Satoru–san’s right, Megumi!” Tsumiki says, giggling as she plays with the batter. “Come on!”

Megumi looks at you and you laugh, nodding. “Go on. It’s not that bad. If anything, we can clean it up. It’s okay.”

Reluctantly, Megumi sighed and pursed his lips. He slowly grabbed an apron  from the hook and joined in, his serious demeanor softening as he started to help. Slowly, the kitchen started to be filled with laughter and playful teasing, a symphony of familial love.

When the cookies finally came out of the oven, they were slightly burnt and oddly shaped. Satoru picked one up, examining it critically before taking a big bite. “Mmm, just like I remember from years ago.” he said with a straight face, making everyone laugh. “Didn’t you use to make us bake after missions?”

“Yes, but it did not look like that.” You smiled at him. “We could make new ones, if you want?”

“Yeah, let’s make one that’s digestible.” Megumi says as he started using the cookie cutters on his batter.

“Hey! They are perfectly digestible.”

“I don’t know, my love.” You tout as you looked at him teasingly, “It doesn’t seem to be good right now.”

“Oh just you wait, I’ll make another batch!” He says, almost determined to prove you wrong. “‘miki! Get more flour and butter! I’ll get the eggs!”

“I’m on it, Satoru–san!”

“Satoru, be careful, don’t run!”

“But I gotta get it done soon!”

“This isn’t masterchef, don’t rush!”

In the end, your husband made a more pleasant looking batter — but it was because you were making sure to watch everything as you cradled your little son in your arms. Megumi didn't need anything else but praise when it came to his cookies. They looked so round and perfectly golden. Tsumiki’s own batch was also pretty, she added pink sprinkles in her batter which made it more bright. 

When all the dishes were taken care of, the cookies were left to cool. Megumi prepared both of you a cup of black coffee, while Tsumiki plated the rest. Satoru whistled as he settled everything away where it belonged. 

"These cookies are... interesting," Megumi remarked, taking a hesitant bite.

Tsumiki giggled, nudging him playfully. "They're not that bad, Megumi. It's the thought that counts, right?"

Satoru leaned back in his chair, a satisfied grin on his face. "Exactly! Besides, the company is what makes them taste good." He ruffled Megumi's hair, earning a good-natured eye roll from the boy.

You smiled, feeling a deep sense of contentment. "I have to agree with Satoru on this one. Being together makes everything better."

Satoshi, sitting in his high chair with a cookie of his own, babbled happily, bits of cookie smeared around his mouth. His bright eyes sparkled with joy as he looked around at his family.

"Satoru-san, can we make more cookies tomorrow?" Tsumiki asked, her eyes wide with excitement.

Satoru chuckled, wiping a smudge of flour from his cheek. "We'll see, Tsumiki. Maybe we'll try making something else. How about a cake?"

"Yeah!" Tsumiki cheered happily with infectious excitement.

Megumi looked thoughtful for a moment before speaking up. "Can we make a chocolate cake?"

"Chocolate cake it is," you agreed, laughing at the enthusiasm of your children. "But maybe we should let Satoru handle the mixing next time."

Satoru feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. "Hey, I think I did a pretty good job! Next time, I'll show you all my true baking skills."

"Sure, sure," you teased, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "We'll hold you to that, Mr. Talented."

The conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and lighthearted banter. As the evening wore on, you found yourself marveling at the simple joy of being together. The challenges and uncertainties of life seemed distant, overshadowed by the love and warmth of your family.

Later that night, as you tucked Tsumiki and Megumi into bed, they both looked up at you with sleepy smiles.

"Goodnight to you, Gen-san!" Tsumiki whispered, her eyes already drooping.

"Goodnight, sweetie," you replied, brushing a kiss on her forehead. "Sleep well."

Megumi gave you a small, shy look with a blush on his cheeks. "Thanks for the cookies..... And for everything."

Your heart swelled with love as you kissed his forehead too. "You're welcome, Megumi. Sweet dreams."

Back in your bedroom, you found Satoru already lying down, Satoshi nestled in his crib nearby. You slipped into bed beside him, feeling his arms wrap around you instantly.

"Thank you for today," you whispered, resting your head on his chest.

He kissed the top of your head, his voice a soft murmur in the darkness. "Thank you, too. For everything. I wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world."

You smiled, closing your eyes as you listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Me neither. Together, we'll make every day special."

One night, as you lay in bed with Satoru beside you and Satoshi nestled in his crib, you whispered, “Thank you for being here, Satoru. For all of us.”

He turned to you, his eyes filled with love and a hint of mischief. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else, darling. You and the children are my world.”

You smiled, feeling a deep sense of contentment. “Even if your cookies are terrible?”

He laughed softly, pulling you closer. “Even then. But don’t worry, I’ll keep practicing. One day, I’ll get it right.”

With a playful roll of your eyes, you kissed him gently. “I’m sure you will. But until then, we’ll just enjoy the burnt ones together.”

Satoru chuckled, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Sounds like a plan, my darling.”

In that moment, surrounded by the quiet hum of your sleeping children and the gentle cadence of your husband’s heartbeat, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, your family would face them together. And with Satoru’s unwavering love and determination, you were certain that your home would always be filled with laughter, warmth, and the sweetest memories.

You wanted more of Gojo Satoru.

You wanted everything of him.

You wanted more of him in this life.

You can't hold enough of him, you think.

You can't hold enough of him in your hands.

[ghosts-bandwagon]

Hi, could you write headcanons about 141 + könig with a femreader who has a lichtenberg scar? 🫶🏻

That’s metal af I love it! For those who are unfamiliar this is what they look like (from what I could read online, they go away after 24-48 hours but tend to leave some tenderness behind so for the sake of the prompt, we’ll ignore that!❤️)

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

Goddess? Goddess. He’s got some crazy scars but they pale in comparison to the pattern on your back

Sweet lord the first time he saw it, he was in shock, mind racing a million miles a minute, his first thought being that someone did this to you and he was ready to turn the world into ashes just to find them

As soon as you explain to him that it was in fact lightning that created the scars, for the first time in his life his jaw goes slack and he is at a loss for words

His fingers run over the patterns with a feather light gentleness that no one (but you) could ever attribute to him, his cold fingers soothe the warm skin and you can’t help but close your eyes and enjoy the sensation

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

He already thinks you’re otherworldly, but after seeing your scars, you’re downright ethereal

At first he thought the fern-like patterns on your arm were a tattoo, it wasn’t until he ran his fingers over it that he realized it was a scar

Like Ghost, his knee jerk reaction is to jump to the conclusion that someone hurt you and he feels awful for thinking it was a tattoo, but when you explain that it was from a lightning strike, he doesn’t believe you

“Bonnie, do you know how astronomically unlucky you have to be to get struck by lightning?” (Just show him the pictures you first took after it happened and the discharges from the ER and he’ll shut up)

His favorite thing to do is run his fingers over the patterns, especially when you’re lounging together, whether it’s on the couch or in bed, he is mesmerized

John Price:

He’s heard of them but he’s never seen them in person, at least until he met you and he saw the pattern peeking out from under your shirt

Since he’s heard of them, he’s not as surprised that it’s from lightning, he’s more shocked that it happened to you of all people

He understands that it can get sore so he’ll offer to help rub a soothing cream into the raised skin on your chest

He warms his hands before applying the lotion and he gently glides his fingers up and down the weaving patterns, his palm soothing the aching skin, his eyes unable to leave the intricate patterns on your chest, he’s in awe of you

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick:

Holy shit, love, he thinks you’re positively glowing, a literal goddess among men, you are an anomaly, a one in a million chance personified

Body worship? Body worship.

He is watching you as you explain it with stars in his eyes, his fingers are tracing the patterns on your leg, he is hypnotized

He’s kissing every inch, and massaging the areas his lips can’t reach, and when your scars to ache he’s right there, ready to soothe the skin with some lotion and light touches

König:

He’s heard of them but he’s never seen them in person, honestly he wrote them off as being something that happens in movies, if that

Even when he sees the pattern on your arm, he thinks it’s a tattoo and very confidently compliments it

However, when you gently tell him it’s actually a scar you got from a lightning strike, he’s back peddling like his life depends on it

Please stop him before he talks himself to death, he will not take a single breath in between his apologies what was supposed to be an innocent compliment has definitely become a core memory poor guy

His heart is pounding when you take his massive hand in your smaller one and have him run his finger over the raised skin, he’s holding his breath, he’s in complete awe of you, liebling

[jesswritesthat]

Suna Rintarō: Bets

Fandom: Haikyuu!! — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: ~1.2k, fluff

• Challenging Atsumu is always fun and games, but how long can you keep playing when it involves Suna?

Warnings: None

>>>>——————————>

Atsumu let off yet another chastise of offence toward his teammate who took it in stride, they knew he was a perfectionist when it came to his sets - they were tailored specifically so when someone missed he took it personally. However, Sunas taunting on the matter had agitated him today which lead you to your pouty blonde friend on his chosen bench, a dangerous skip in your step as you settled next to him.

"If he's that annoying, I could take him out for ya." You playfully suggested, smirk looming as you spun your pencil between your fingers. "Y'know, if you want?"

Atsumu flicked his suspicious gaze to you after hearing your alluring offer, eyeing you with more conviction than usual.

"With a gun or on a date?"

A conniving grin and a casual shrug that told him you weren't bothered by either.

"Depends how much he annoys me."

"Hah I dare ya, 'cuz I'd like to see ya try either." Atsumu at least seemed more upbeat, pushing your shoulder bemused.

"What do I get out of it?"

"Huh?"

"If you're issuing me a challenge that I complete, I deserve a reward." You chimed, a lace of certainty that told him you were serious.

"Yer get the date don't ya."

"Or a dead body."

A moment was taken to appreciate you quick wit, then another for a stare off, and finally Atsumu broke with a long defeated sigh.

"Jeez alright alright, I'll do anything ya want."

"Anything?"

"Within reason obviously, but Suna ain't gonna be won over. 'Samu says he already has the hots for someone." Part of you suspected Atsumu had played you, but wasn't smart enough to install a wager if you lost the bet so probably not, which gave you false enthusiasm.

"That's because he hasn't met me yet~"

"He has. Many times, yer friends for cryin' out—"

"I know! I was trying to be confident since you just ruined my chances at this! Is murder the only option or do you know who it is?" Immediately your suave facade dissipated with Atsumus deadpan statement and you were hunched over with a massive weight crushing your heart and hopes of success.

"Nah, stupid brother wouldn't tell me. Said I couldn't lie for shit."

You remained in thought making a noise of agreement which Atsumu took offence to but still, it was gut-wrenching information as you thought Rintarō would've told you too, since you're ‘supposed’ to be close friends.

Even so, during the following break in practice you were determined to utilise the 5 minutes for their entire worth. You slid into the spot beside Suna far smoother than originally intended which definitely boosted your charisma.

"Hey Rintarō, you come here often?"

"No, I'm a chronic skiver. Literally never seen you before in my life."

"Perfect, they say oversharing with strangers is a great way to get things off your chest." A solid if not obvious opening, one Rin had apparently became acutely aware of as he tuned into the conversation properly and ceased drinking his water.

"Yeah? What would you suggest?"

"Rumours, strategies, crushes, trauma? Take your pick."

"So there's this person in our class. Thinks they're real slick, and smart, they are kinda funny too considering they think I'll fall for their antics." He cockily paused, and indictaive stare looking you up and down knowingly but amused. "Honestly they're lucky they're hot else I wouldn't send them vines."

"..."

"You suck." A playful death glare met his pleased one alongside your own deadpan voice to which he served you his point.

"And you (Y/n), can ask me anything without the fluff."

"Yeah yeah, let me take you out as an apology. I'll treat you to ramen, this Friday?"

"You buying?" Suna tilted his head curiously, expression remaining unreadable.

"Mm-hm~"

It wasn't uncommon, the two of you would venture out either together or with fellow Inarizaki classmates and end up walking back together. As such you'd often take turns in paying for various purchases.

"Hm, I don't know..."

Either he knew you better than you thought, or something else was going on in that cunning mind of his.

"Rintarō, would you accept if I told you we could get anything we wanted out of Atsumu?"

"Ah that's why you're acting weird."

"Partly, anyway we agreed if I take you out he'll do anything, and I think it'll be fun to share said prize since you helped me earn it."

"Alright. Surprised he went along with it since we go out together all the time, he's not that stupid right?"

"...Well." The lack of conviction was humorous, however even Suna knew Atsumu better than his 'blonde moments' would allow.

"(Y/n)."

"Ughhhhh okay! Atsumu heard you liked someone, so knew you wouldn't accept my offer."

"You don't know who it is." It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. He realised you wouldn't be sitting here if you knew.

"No, and as much as I'd like to know, you don't have to tell me Sunarin."

It was silent for a moment, the brunette in thought before the interruption snapped the two of you from your quiet contemplation.

"Suna c'mon! Breaks over!"

You remained seated as he stood, not sparing a glance until he reaching the court alongside his teammates wearing a clever smirk.

"Ramen on Friday, after school!"

You watched Atsumu falter his serve, snapping a look of shock in your direction of which the only response was a mocking smile.

———

It was as casual as ever when you visited the local you’d sat in together many times before, sharing memes next to each other at the counter and commenting on one of the Miya blackmail recordings Suna had procured that week.

It wasn’t until midway through your food did the blocker turn to pause, looking to you who gratefully enjoyed your food. He was deciding, mind working a mile a second on the correct path here alongside remarks he couldn’t make. Instead he settled on honesty, much like you had done in the gymnasium except it took far less for you to get anything out of him.

"Osamu gave me a wager too, same reward as his brother." The offhanded casualness of his tone made it seem nonchalant, but you couldn’t help the arsing scepticism.

"That's suspicious, are they planning something?"

"I guess so." Suna shrugged half-heartedly, you could feel him analysing your response rather carefully by his narrowed side eye.

You stopped eating as this was worth pondering, the only reason these two bets could link together would be if the identity of Sunas' romantic interest was a certain individual. There's' no way, it’s got to be a different scheme.

"That'd only make sense if the person you liked was—"

Sunas’ warm palm covered your mouth, silencing your potential (but already known) revelation.

"You." A sorrowful smile. "Yeah I know."

A hum of acceptance emitted from behind his palm which softened his usual emotionless gaze, he’d gifted you the information to work it out and predicted you would rather quickly. It was easier than finding the words, there’s too many in both his head and heart for you.

"Sorry, I had to tell you myself else I'd lose the bet. I’d say that counts."

It wasn’t blunt or straightforward which you’d expect from Suna in this situation, in fact if you really dissected it, you couldn’t claim he’d officially confessed to you at all. But that was Suna Rintarō for you, leaving things ambiguous to figure out yourself and by then he’d have a gauge on your reciprocation, he was strategic in more than just Volleyball. But in you, he had worthy opponent, and you weren’t one to play into his hands.

After another moment, he removed his hand leaving a second to return his gaze, and another to breathe a sigh of understanding.

“So, where do we go from here Rin?”

“Wherever you want, (Y/n).”

“I think dealing with the Miya Twins is a great place to start.”

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

[the-kr8tor]

Mr and Mrs Smith AU: When Jane met John

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 9k

Summary: Joining a spy agency? Check ✓ Hired in said agency? Check ✓ Getting a new fancy house? Check ✓ An entire armoury of weapons at your disposal? Check ✓ A new Husband? Check ✓ wait, what?

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Hobie and R call each other by fake names (ie: John, Jane, Smith etc), spy AU, CW suggestive, CW food mentions, TW blood, CW violence, CW vomit mention, TW death.

A/N: Happy 1k! Happy reading!!!❤️

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Masterlist

Buy me a ☕?

The waiting room seems like it's designed to make you extra anxious. From the bright fluorescent lights that whir above, to the carpet that smells like a very harsh citrus soap. Add the metallic chairs that's incredibly cold under your slacks— It all makes you bounce your leg from the bundle of nerves inside your stomach. The people waiting around you don't help either, they all look like they came out of magazine covers. Hair all tied up in a perfect bun, pencil skirts that cinch their waist perfectly. Button ups that are ironed until there's no crease in sight.

You bite your lip, eyes glued on the steel door, to where your last resort is, to where your entire future depends on. Looking around the room full of models, it doesn't seem like you're applying for a security job.

Maybe you should've worn that pencil skirt that's gathering dust in your closet.

Even though you technically don't know what kind of job it is, you really need to get this one, or else. Your savings could only get you so far. An old ‘friend’ of yours recommended this ‘company’. It operates at the highest security, the risk is just as high, but the pay is higher. More than what you've ever earned in the five years you've worked anyway.

Flicking your eyes above the door, the light finally turns green from red, and a chiming sound can be heard as the door clicks open on its own. You still wonder where the applicant goes after their interview since you never saw them exit out the same door. A morbid thought passes by your mind: a gun plus a bullet to the head. The image makes you grab the rubber band on your wrist to slap it against your skin. It leaves the stinging pain for only a moment, but it's enough to throw away the vision from your brain.

An applicant enters and you look down at the piece of paper in your hand— you're next.

The number, 2715 is written in Times New Roman. You can recognize that font anywhere, for it's the same font used on newer gravestones, the same font on his— you slap the rubber band against your wrist again. This time harder than the last. The stinging stays for a minute more. Your heels tap against the carpet, the clock ticks, the fluorescent whirs, someone coughs and you want to punch them in the face— you slap the rubber band against your skin again.

Your ears perk up at the familiar chime like you've been Pavlov’d by the sound after waiting for three hours on that uncomfortable metal chair that has tiny holes that you've gotten your pinky finger stuck in on hour two.

With a deep breath, you saunter your way towards the creaking door, trying to summon all the confidence in your body. They may be watching so you do your best to not look as nervous as you feel like.

As you enter the room, the large screen in the center raises a curious brow. The light from the monitor shines a spotlight on the singular office chair right in front of it. The room is dim, save for the single light. The screen reminds you of one of those mall touch screens that shows you the map of the building. There's another door on the opposite wall, now you know where all the other candidates exit, and it's definitely not from a bullet judging from the clean floors.

With a tentative step, you cross the distance. Sitting down, the chair is a comfortable welcome from the last one you sat on.

“Am I supposed to push a button?” You roam your eyes over the circular shape up top. You surmise that it's the camera.

The calming sky blue screen flashes words,

> Hihi, welcome

“Hi?”

> Insert nail clippings

A box slides out below the screen, prompting you to take the ziplock with your nail clippings from your bag. It slides back in with a mechanic hiss once you place the plastic on the drawer, and the screen blinks to a couple of questions that you answer honestly.

> What's your ethnicity?

You don't falter. Answering it truthfully.

> Height?

You clear your throat, the lump is either from the nerves or how your voice faltered when you answered.

> Are you willing to relocate?

You wring your hands together on your lap. “Yes, absolutely. Nothing's holding me back.” Then the dreaded question pops up on the bright screen.

> Tell me about yourself

“Uh, I graduated top of my class.” You scratch the back of your neck. “MI6 agent for three–no, uh four years.” Chuckling shakily, you continue. “I got high merits…w-well until the thing— but I was on the road to promotion b-before it happened.” God, you hate interviews.

> Words that people would describe you with?

You blink, sucking in a breath. “Truthfully?” Joking, the screen doesn't appreciate your humour.

> Yes

“Oh, p-people would describe me as a… someone who has initiative. Cunning…” unfeeling— you slap the band on your wrist again. Sitting up right, you gaze at the camera like your eyes could see the person typing behind it. You guess it's a person at least. “Passed all my training with flying colours, infiltration, marksmanship, hand to hand, you name it. You tell me the job and I'll do it with no questions asked.”

> Are you okay with high risk?

“More than okay.” You answer quickly.

> With a team or alone?

“I'm alright with either, but I prefer alone.”

> Why did you get fired?

“You know why.” You say intensely, eyes boring holes into the screen. For a second you thought you flubbed it but the screen continues to flash a new question.

> Have you killed anyone?

> And why?

The question turns into what you're more accustomed to. “Yes, approximately…” you inhale sharply. “Forty three. Two unintentionally, the rest with various…weapons.” You mindlessly play with the loose thread of your blazer to get rid of the flashing images in your head. “As for why, that's confidential information.”

The robot or the person behind the screen seems to accept your vague answers for it moves on with the interview.

> Favourite food?

Your eyebrows knit at the sudden turn of question. “Uh, I have a sweet tooth, ice cream. I think. But I can't resist good popcorn.” Your tone wavers at the end.

> Have you been in love?

You laugh, but the question still flashes on screen, unchanged and unamused. Clamping up, you feel for the rubber on your wrist.

“I-I'm sorry but what is this part for?”

The screen remains the same.

“—No,” you remember that they've probably already known everything about you even before you applied. So you decide to answer vaguely, that seems to work out before. “Once, just once.”

> When was the last time you said ‘I love you?’

“A long time ago.”

> To whom?

“You know who.”

—

You're surprised that you got the job even after the disastrous interview. The suitcase is light in your tightly clasped hand. The belongings you've tossed inside are sparse, only packing the ones you only need.

The large wooden door looms in front of you, the street behind you is bustling and right across your new home is an expansive park. A park that looks like you need to pay just to get inside. The neighborhood that you're situated in can be described as exclusive, rich and very suburban. The kind of setting where parents would do anything to raise their kids in. Something you've never thought in your dangerous life to live in, more so even step foot in.

With an exhale, you unlock the door. It clicks open surprisingly, you doubted the company for a second when you pushed it in. Maybe they gave you the wrong address? Maybe something went wrong in their system and your name popped up instead of someone more worthy? Someone who's a better shot, someone who isn't as bat shit insane as you.

The long hallway greets you, the low warm light brings comfort to your rattling bones. Its carpet runner is soft beneath your sneakers, red and blue threads weaved around the thick cloth. Framed art is posted on the walls, the artist's name you recognize from some pretentious reality tv about selling mansions that you once drunkenly watched alone on a friday night.

You leave your baggage in the hallway. Opting to explore the cinnamon scented home. Its rich walls remind you of chocolate that you once got for your birthday. The furniture doesn't look like it came from Ikea, the oak is sturdy under your palm, no rough surface, no protruding nails that slashes your flesh.

You snap the rubber band on your wrist for the umpteenth time today.

There's an ornate door sitting on your right, robins and roses are carved on the wood. The biometric scanner is placed right next to the door, it’s a stark contrast to the traditional home. Flipping the cover open, you place your thumb on the smooth surface of the scanner. After a half second, the door clicks open, revealing a steel elevator. The bright light above it almost blinds you.

Your curiosity makes you enter the steel cage, roaming your eyes, you spot the buttons.

“Might as well.” You say to the emptiness of the house.

As the elevator door closes, the front door opens.

There's a lack of elevator music, perhaps that's the best since you always hated the cheery chiming of it. The second the door opens, you take a peek inside. The weird smell combination of chlorine and butter hits your nose.

“Holy shit,” you mumble in disbelief at the indoor pool and theatre. “A fucking pool under the house? And a fucking theatre screen in front? Which rich fuck decided that?” Your voice echoes, bouncing off the tiled walls of the pool.

Roaming the large room, eyes wide and strides small, you marvel at the high ceilings with the same warm tone lights hidden in the coves to soften the lights. You crouch down, letting the warm water lap at your hand.

There's a handful of sun loungers on the side, tables in between them for drinks and whatever rich people put on it. A projector hangs above the pool, an electrical hazard, you thought and an image of an entire pool party getting electrocuted lingers in your mind. You snap the rubber band against your wrist.

The popcorn machine helps distract you from the intrusive thought. Opening the machine, the popped kernels are still warm against your skin. You quickly scoop up a handful of it in your palm, the butter slicking your hand and your mouth as you eat it like how a baby deer eats grass.

You've had enough of the overly decorated basement, getting back on the elevator, you finish off your popcorn with one big bite. Still chewing, you wipe your hands on your trousers to press the shiny buttons on the elevator. The doors close as you chew loudly, eyes up on the screen showing the floors of the house, you don't notice the stranger standing outside of the opened doors.

Butter on your lips, you almost smack him on his pretty face.

“Christ!” You yelp, almost choking on a kernel.

“Close, but no.” He smirks, eyes flicking at the sheen on your lips.

Your husband, the title echoes in your popcorn filled head. His smile captures your attention, a ten megawatt grin that could power the entire posh neighborhood. His piercings glimmer in the warm light, and your eyes are glued to the ones on his eyebrows. Hazel eyes, the left one seems to be lighter than the other, watercolour eyes stare back at you, scanning your features. If you stare long enough you swear you can see patches of green and gray in those expressive eyes.

“John Smith.” He introduces himself, your husband, your partner. John doesn't raise his ringed hand for you to shake, instead he nods at you, waiting patiently for you to say your name. As if he doesn't know.

Clearing your kernel filled throat, you quickly run your tongue across your teeth (with your mouth closed of course) because you don't want to embarrass yourself further by having popcorn stuck in your teeth.

“Jane, Jane Smith.” You reach towards him to shake his hand, he raises a brow at you in turn.

“I don't do that, love, sorry.”

“Shake hands?”

“Yeah,” he looks to the left of your face, his eyebrow twitches slightly— a tell.

“Are you a germaphobe?” You ask before you could stop yourself.

“Not really, I've got issues…with intimacy.” John shrugs, the metals on his leather jacket clinks together. You think he'd rather be a model or a rock star instead of a spy with how he dresses and carries himself with confidence.

You smile knowingly, “We all do, but you don't have that issue. It's our first day of marriage and you decide to lie to your wife?” You click your tongue, eyebrow raised. “Not a very good first impression, John.”

He'll never get used to being called that basic name. ‘John’ takes your hand, it's warm, searing hot under your slippery hand. You'd thought his warmth would cook your flesh, you guess the butter on your palm would work wonders. You're starting to regret snacking. The calluses on his palm matches your own, a large scar across his palm tells you a story untold. Silver rings decorate his long fingers. There's a more simple silver bracelet on his wrist, a stark contrast to the ornate rings he sports on both hands.

He's handsome, you think, rightfully so. With his chiseled jaw that rivals any greek statue and eyes that could be mistaken for stars; he's tall too, so that's a plus. You lucked out on the fake husband department. Well, there's worse men to fake marry out there. Just judging from first impressions, you're glad he's the one you have on your side,

“How'd you know?” He asks, eyes narrowed.

“I'm very perceptive.”

“Trained?”

“Nope,” you hide your bundle of nerves with your casual tone. His hand is still clasped on your own, you don't notice it. “Just very good at reading people.”

“Did you have a stint at the BAU too?”

Too? You ignore it for now. “No,” chuckling, you finally notice the heat on your palm so you let him go. “Just…natural talent, I guess.”

“What’s under the house?” John asks, stepping aside so you could exit the elevator.

“A beating heart.” You curse yourself, fingers already reaching for the rubber band on your wrist.

To your surprise, John laughs. The sound is genuine, eyes crinkling in the corners. “I got the reference.”

“I figured.”

“I saw a black box in the office, you wanna check it out?” He points behind him with his thumb.

“Why? Do you think there's a beating heart in there too?”

“Maybe.” He plays along, walking beside you. “You never know with the company, for all we know there's a head in there.”

“Morbid.” You joke as he opens the door for you.

“Says you?” John keeps reminding himself of his real name whilst he memorizes the side of your face. He already wants to tell you his real name, not the one assigned to him by the suits behind the faceless screen he has grown familiar with. He says his name in his mind again, if he accidentally blurted it out, well, c'est la vie.

“Says me,” you shrug casually, trying to keep up with his wit and charm. You already think you're losing. You scrunch your face at the painting above the mantle. It's an art of two lovers doing the tango, if tango excludes clothes and includes intense snogging.

He chuckles right next to you, an airy laugh that has you smiling too. “A very brave choice. Not my taste, but whatever floats the company's boat. What's inside is a bit better though.” Your ‘husband’ reaches towards the frame of the painting, gently pressing down, it releases a metallic click as it reveals a secret compartment full of weapons.

You hide a snort behind your hand. The cabinet reminds you of your own. Unimpressed, you flick your eyes down at the office table, the large black box sitting on top of it is just begging to be opened.

Without a second thought, you open it. Taking out the bottle of expensive looking wine, you read the card that is tied in a neat ribbon around the neck.

“‘Good luck on your first day of marriage’” you look at the man beside you. He's incredibly close to you, his elbow grazing yours, lips slightly parted whilst he takes a peek at the wine. He smells of burgundy and leather, it calms your senses for some odd reason. “I prefer coke.” You practically shove the bottle in his hands. The glass clinks against his metal rings.

“The snorting variation or the fizzy one?” He asks, placing the bottle down on the narra table with an almost silent thud.

“The fizzy one.” You take his question at face value. He doesn't question why you don't prefer alcohol. Sitting down on the plush office chair, you open the laptop in front of you. It dings, needing a password to open it. “It needs a—”

Before you could even finish the question, he gives you a scrap of paper from the numerous envelopes inside the box. The password is printed on it with the same font as the one from the piece of paper you held a couple of weeks ago.

You type it whilst he rifles through the box. The home screen pops up, nothing too fancy or out of the ordinary. Except for the single application in the corner that's only labeled as ‘S’

Clicking it, a chat box appears.

> Hihi, follow man

John snakes up next to you, the harsh light from the laptop shines on his pensive face. You return your attention towards ‘your boss’. A picture of a young blond man pops up in the chat, there's a mole near his left eye, he sports dark eyebrows. And a look that says ‘daddy paid for my college!’

> 40.748817, -73.985428

“That's downtown I think.” John pipes up next to you, and you look at him like he just said the sky is green and the grass is blue.

> Take keys, take car. Bring car here

> 51.505554, -0.075278.

“A car?” You rhetorically ask.

“Must be a very expensive car, or an important one.” John answers back as he leans further down to take a better look at the monitor. His hand is on the back of your chair, his necklaces dangle on his neck like a pretty chandelier.

You both wait for more instructions but it doesn't come.

“Hihi isn't very talkative, huh?” Your voice echoes in the awkward silence.

“‘Hihi?’”

“Yeah, I thought I'd give it a nickname.” You think he's weirded out but with an amused laugh he pats your shoulder nonchalantly.

“Cute.” You don't know if he's referring to you, or to the nickname you dubbed your electronic boss. “I've separated our papers.” John says as you still contemplate his last comment. “Here's yours.”

“Thanks.” You scan the pile in your hands. Your own face greets you as you flip through it all.

“It has everything we need. Credit card, ID's, carry permit and a passport.”

“What's that one?” You point at the larger envelope next to John's pile. A smaller black leather envelope sits atop it.

He opens the large envelope, giving you the contents of it. “Marriage certificate. And this one…” shaking the leather envelope, whatever is inside of it clinks. Taking it out, he shows you the gold bands. “...our wedding rings.” Heat rises in your cheeks unavoidably once he says it softly. “May I?” Open palm reaching out, he beckons.

You try to remember which hand wears it. With a split second decision, you place your left hand atop his own. Carefully sliding the cold ring in your marriage finger, you stay locked in on his eyes that's concentrating like he's disarming a bomb.

John pats your hand and then inserts his own ring in his finger, mirroring yours.

“Guess we're married.” You shrug casually like your heart doesn't beat against your ribcage, like it's trying to escape its confines. “It feels kind of weird?”

“We are,” he flashes you his signature smirk. “And we'll get used to it, hm, wife?”

“Yeah, I'll adapt.” You say just barely above a whisper, hands suddenly clammy.

“That's my girl.” Throwing you a wink, he walks away from a flustered you.

Yeah, you got lucky.

—

Morning comes and you had the best sleep you've had in years. Even if you slept on an empty stomach last night, you still slept like a baby on the eight hundred thread count Egyptian cotton blanket. You stare blankly at the beige ceiling, hands roaming around the soft bed sheet like you're making a snow angel. Sleep ridden eyes roam around the expansive master bedroom to which your new husband has graciously let you take.

Speaking of ‘John’, his bedroom is just across your own. Surprisingly enough, he hasn't woken up yet based on the silence in the hallway outside, you hadn't pegged him as a late riser.

Breakfast calls for you when your stomach rumbles loudly, but you're too comfortable to even move from your spot. Something taps from your window that's facing the foot of your bed. A soft tippy tap of something hitting the glass that has you sitting up. Eyes blinking rapidly, you stare off a pigeon perched outside. Its iridescent feathers shine in the early morning sun, its beak tapping rhythmically at the window.

Sliding your hand behind you, blindly grasping at a pillow, you fling it across the room to scare off the bird. The pillow hits your mark and out flies away the annoying pigeon. With a sigh, you get off your ass to get ready for the day ahead. You don't want to be late to your first day out in the field, no use in rotting in your luxurious bed if you can't keep it after you get fired for being late.

You dress for the day and for the cool weather. Spring has come but the freezing temperature has decided to stay for a little while. With a cozy turtleneck and comfy slacks, you forgo the torturous device called ‘heels’ for a pair of trainers. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you shrug with a huff. And you snap the rubber against your skin once again.

Taking the chair off the doorknob and then unlocking the door, you exit your sanctuary. Closing your door softly, you find yourself in front of John's room. Judging from the soft snores, you notice that he’s still sleeping. You might be his fake wife but it's not your job to wake him up. So you continue down the hallway and into the kitchen to fix yourself a bowl of cereal.

Bowl in hand, you chew as you walk up to the rooftop. Unlocking it, the sun greets you with a comfortable heat, and you frown at it. You keep eating whilst you explore the space. There's a bountiful garden in the corner, raised garden beds full of fresh vegetables and fruit that is ripe for the taking. An outside dining area sits in the middle, you recognize the long table from a catalog you once read to pass the time at the dentist. You remember that it doubles as a grill and leg warmer in the winter.

“Fancy,” you murmur with your mouth full of grainy goodness. Sipping the leftover milk in the bowl, you place it on the expensive table to crouch down next to a bushel of strawberries to sniff. “Almost ripe,” you figure from the softness of the fruit.

A bird flies above you, it's shadow casting over you. With the sound of fluttering wings, the bird perches on the table, black orbs staring at you, head tilting like it's observing your presence.

“Are you the same fucking bird?” You question the pigeon. It coos at you, and then pecks at the ceramic of your discarded bowl. “Motherfucker—” standing up, you have the look of someone ready to square up with the feathered creature.

“Why are you fighting an innocent bird?” John appears with a mug of tea in his hand. You forgot to make tea.

“I wasn't fighting with it.”

“He,” your partner crosses the distance, the bird doesn't fly away from the close proximity. You raise an eyebrow at that. “might be hungry.” He gestures towards the strawberries behind you with his chin. “Think you can grab us one, lovie?” You're gonna need some time to get used to that term.

“It's not ripe.”

“I don't think he's picky.”

“It's too sour, it might upset his stomach.”

“He's a pigeon, he's used to eating shit off the pavement. I think that's fine, love.”

With an awkward nod, you pick the one that's redder than the rest. Throwing it towards John, he catches it with a practiced hand. He sits down before laying the fruit in front of the bird. You watch it unfold, the pigeon hops on the table, beak pecking at the seeds. You're intrigued at their interaction.

John sips at his drink, still in his sleep clothes. Toned arms in full display from the loose tank top he sports. Pajama pants hanging low on his hips, silk bonnet on his head. He only has one sock on his feet, you tilt your head.

“What happened to your sock?” You point at his bare foot curiously.

“Hmm?” He looks down, and he chuckles like he just realized the missing article of clothing. “Don't know, probably kicked it off while I was sleepin’”

“Oh,” you blink, “you should get ready, we might miss our target.”

He fakes salutes at you, drinking casually from his mug as you leave the rooftop. He doesn't miss how you didn't take your dish with you. Sighing, he watches the pigeon eat his fill.

—

You and John arrive at a pub. It's dim inside with only a few miserable patrons sitting sparsely at different corners of the musty establishment. They all look miserable, all having expressions from different points of the human emotion. But there's only one face you're observing— your target.

He sits alone on the bar stool, back hunched, eyes red and nursing a half filled pint of beer. Holding his face in his hand, blond hair raked in between his fingers, bomber jacket hanging loosely on his form, bags under his sagging eyes. He's the picture of someone who's on the bottom of the barrel.

John guides you with his hand hovering on your back. Not touching, at the same time still close, you are supposed to be a couple after all. You slide into a booth that has the perfect view of the target, but still out of his sight and out of earshot. The leather seat is worn down, tiny bits of it are ripped, at least it's not sticky. He orders for you, and you observe how he slyly roams his eyes towards the man, looking out for the keys.

He comes back with a plate of chips and dip. “Thought it would be weird not to order anythin’”

“Good call,” you take a chip whilst your eyes only briefly leave the target's back. “Thought you'd buy me a pint.”

“Did you want a pint? This early? Do you want to talk about it?” He half jokes as he takes a smaller chip.

“No,” you scoff, “and no. I just thought you'd order it instead of this.”

“You're not the only perceptive one in this relationship.” John looks over his shoulder to quickly do a once over at the forlorn man.

“Did you see where he's keeping it?”

“Inside his jacket, right side.”

You nod, “Is he carrying?”

“Not that I can tell.” He shrugs, licking the salt off his finger. “So, why'd you join?”

“Really? We're doing that?” You watch as the man gulps down his remaining drink and then orders a new one immediately.

“Yes, we're doin' that. Won't that make us work better together? To get to know each other a bit more?”

“Fine,” you silently huff. “No one else would take me, this is a last resort, I guess?”

“Bullshit, love, I think anyone would be happy to have you in their…agency?”

“Flattery won't get you anywhere, birdman.” A small smile appears on your lips, he beams at you. “Besides, who else is hiring for someone with the specific skill set that I have?”

He hums, while turning subtly to take a peek at the target. Returning his attention to you after seeing the blonde man still hunched in his stool, John takes another chip. “True, did you get kicked out from the last one?”

“Not really,” you stare at the crack on the wooden table. “You?”

“Not really,” he shrugs and you roll your eyes.

“You MI6?” He asks casually. “This your first time in London?”

“I'm not answering either of those questions.”

“C’mon,” he wiggles his left hand, the wedding band shines in the pub light. “Husband, remember? ‘sides, I won't tell anyone.”

You place your elbows on the table, smiling sarcastically at him. After a beat for his anticipation, you grin wider. “No.”

His shoulders fall, a chortle escaping his lips. “Cheeky.” Pointing an accusing finger at you, he quickly looks behind him, only to find the target sluggishly exiting the pub. “He's on the move.”

You both follow the drunk man like gravity is pulling you towards him. Walking the streets of busy downtown London, stranger's faces whizz past you. John has his hands casually in his pockets, yet he stays close to you, eyes flicking in the corners to check on you.

“Why don't you ask me a question? Y’know tit for tat?” He waits patiently for you to answer back, hell he'll even take a grunt at this point.

“Okay,” you surprisingly start the conversation on his behalf. “Have you killed anyone?” The passing pedestrians don't seem to notice you and the morbid subject.

Your partner snorts, nose scrunched up, eyes glued on the staggering target. “Nah. Have you?”

“I call bullshit,” you dodge a distracted woman scrolling on her phone. “Anyway, I have. I'm not exactly proud of it or flaunting it if you're thinking that I'm doing that.”

“Good, once you start flaunting it like a bloody trophy, you've lost it.”

You hum in agreement, the sound of a deep rumble in your chest as you two turn a corner. “Why do you think hihi needs us to nick the car?”

“Hihi” he chuckles, you turn to him with a serious face. “There's probably a stash of confidential information in the trunk or somethin’”

“Maybe a stash of weapons?” The man in front of you stumbles. “I don't see him as the type to harbor secret documents.”

John nods, “a highly infectious disease then?”

“Christ, we better drive carefully once we get a hold of it.” You turn to him briefly. “Maybe it's a really expensive sports car and he's all sad and mopey because he's gone broke after buying it?”

“Got a whole story now, huh?” He pushes you lightly with his leather clad shoulder, and you smile softly. “You good at pickpocketing him?” Your partner gestures with his chin, said target is walking into traffic. He seems unbothered by the oncoming vehicles. John curses under his breath.

“We should do that now before he kills himself.” You speed walk across the crossing, grabbing the drunk man before a car hits him.

Arms enveloping around his bomber jacket, swiping him away and quickly carrying him to the footpath, you save him before an suv hits you both. The car honks loudly and angrily as your target groans in your arms like he's about to hurl the contents of his stomach.

John punches the hood of the car, pointing at the driver accusingly. A distraction for you to take the keys hidden in the man's jacket.

“You almost hit my fuckin' wife, you wanker!” Your partner yells, covering the sound of jingling keys in your expert hand. He plays the part well.

Surprisingly, the target straightens up in your hold, a split second after you pocketed the car keys inside your own coat.

“Y-you,” he slurs, feet struggling to keep himself upright. “Dickhead!” Slamming his fists on the hood with a loud *thunk, he joins John who gives you a look and a shrug. The drunken yelling gets louder and the driver now exits his car with an equally angry look.

John takes this opportunity to come back to your side, hand holding your elbow, he leads you away from the screaming match as more and more people try to intervene.

“Got it?” He whispers closely to the shell of your ear, sending goosebumps to rise in your arms.

“‘course I did.” You jingle the keys inside your pocket. “I'm not an amateur.”

Playing along, he laughs, hand still holding your elbow softly. “Good job, missus.”

With an awkward chuckle, you lean away from him. “Just so you know, I'm not in this for…the romance.” You bite the inside of your cheek. “I'm not looking to date my co-worker.”

John raises his hands in mock surrender. “Fine by me. if the situation calls for us to actually act as a couple—”

“We'll act as a couple, I won't fuss if that's what you're saying.”

“Good, now let's get this bloody car.”

—

“A fucking ‘99 toyota corolla?” You stare in disbelief at the rusting metal. “At least it's one of the good models.” Kicking the wheel, you expect it to tumble over like in an old timey cartoon.

John is crouched way down to check the bottom of the car. “It's clear.” He stands up fully, cleaning his hands on his jeans. You wince at his movements. “What?”

“Nothing.” You open the driver's side, the smell of alcohol and something musty hits your nose. “Nasty.” Coughing, you air it out by opening another door.

“You know your cars?”

“A little bit.” You say with your nose pinched. Sparing him a look, he stands in the parking lot like he's still waiting for the rest of the story. “What?”

“Throw me a bone here, love.” You roll your eyes. “Why do you know so much about cars?”

“I said I know a little bit.” You place your hands on your hips like an exasperated mother whose son keeps asking weird questions about dinosaurs. “I dated a mechanic.” You say flatly.

“Really? Did you date a pickpocket too? Or do you date people so you could absorb their skills like kirby?”

“Are you jealous?” You tease him with a comment you didn't have the foresight that it would backfire.

“We are married.” He says matter-of-fact with a killer smirk and eyes glinting with mischief. “And this is technically our honeymoon so—”

“Get in the fucking car, birdman.”

—

The wheel is sticky under your hands, you have an intense urge to wash your hands or to at least grab a sanitizer. Apparently your disgust shows on your face, for John chortles next to you.

“What?” You say through gritted teeth.

“Nothin’, you just look like someone shat in your tea.”

“The wheel is sticky.”

“I have a handkerchief with me, d’you want me to?” Taking out the dark green cloth from his jean pockets, he's already twisting in his seat to wipe it clean.

“Please,” you ask softly, hands sliding down to make space for him.

Your hand never left the wheel while he cleans it for you. John's seatbelt is unclasped so he could have more movement, his face is close to your vision, warmth blanketing over you. He's so close that you can smell his cologne, it's a different one from yesterday, it's more flowery with a hint of mint. You spot a hidden mole under his ear. A tiny dot that is just begging to be poked.

Without thinking, you press softly with the pad of your finger. He yelps, flinching away instinctively. Looking at you with wide eyes and mouth agape, you're ready to be called a nasty nickname, or be cussed out with a loud voice. Instead of what you're anticipating, a laugh bellows out, a rumbly laugh that makes you smile and let out an almost silent chortle.

“I think you found my mole.” John holds the side of his neck with a grin. “You let your urges get to you, love.”

“Sorry,” you keep your eyes on the road to hide your embarrassment.

“It's fine, your hand was just cold. Ask me next time, I have a few more cute moles on me.”

“Nevermind, you ruined it.” With a roll of your eyes and a smile, you park at the coordinates. “Nice acting back there, I see an Emmy nomination for you in the future.”

“Thanks, I barely remember what I said. You sure this is the place?” John peeks at the map pulled up on your phone. “Shit, we're here.”

The entire street is suburban, large colonial houses lining the sides, tall pine trees decorate the sidewalks. There's not a lot of people walking by, save for a couple pedestrians walking their dogs, the place is devoid of people.

“What now?” You unclasp your seatbelt to twist around in your seat so you could observe the neighborhood.

“Hihi told us to bring it here, so maybe we should—?” John lets out a high pitched scream that also has you yelling in surprise, not from whatever made him shriek but from the sound that escaped him. “What the fuck!”

Leaning slightly to look at what had his knickers in a bunch, you stare blankly at a bespectacled man in a bespoke suit. The man gives you and your partner an apologetic look, he points for John to open the window.

He turns towards you with an eyebrow raised. “Should I?”

“Yeah, I think you should.”

“What if he's got a gun?” He whispers.

“We also have guns, John. I'll cover you, don't worry. Maybe this is what hihi asked us to do.”

“Easy for you to say, you're not the one opening it.” He gives you a glare before rolling the window down an inch. “Hi, mate. What can we do for you?”

“The car,” the stranger points a lengthy finger at the wheel. His voice is crackly and gravelly, like he just smoked a pack of cigarettes before he went up to the car. “You're late, but that doesn't matter. How much do I owe you, folks?”

“Uh, the usual.” You say with fake confidence.

“Good,” the lean man straightens up, “mind gettin’ out of the car then?”

“Right, sorry, bruv.” John, gives you one look before exiting the car. He's nervous and so are you.

As the doors shut, the man flexes his open palms expectantly for the keys, to which you hand off immediately. He gives you bad vibes, maybe your intuition tells you to run for the hills.

“Thank you, sweetheart. I'll wire the money to the usual account.” The nickname sends shivers down your spine.

He closes the door and starts up the car. With a splutter of the exhaust, he slowly drives away. You and John watch, standing side by side in the middle of the street in confusion.

“He was weird, right? Not to mention it was too easy.” You turn your head to look at him. “Maybe they're trying to ease us in?”

“It was all weird, not just him—” A blast coming from the car interrupts him, the sheer force of it sends you two down on the rough pavement.

Your cheeks are incredibly warm from the searing heat of the bomb. The light from it blinds the two of you.

Palms skinned, trousers slashed at the knees, your ears ring loudly like an annoying buzz from a broken microphone. Coughing loudly, smoke fills your lungs, debris is scattered around the once pristine neighborhood. There's blood on the concrete, you can't hear John calling for you, your vision is blurred by the cloud of smoke. His hand reaches for you, and your instincts tell you to run.

“Fuck!” He yells, running beside you at full speed. “What the fuck!”

“Keep running!” You yell as he turns around to check on a woozy you. “I'm fine!”

Someone behind you screams for you to stop so you and your partner run faster. Knees aching, thighs burning, you don't stick around to look who's running after you. The unmistakable click of a gun’s safety is loud in your eardrums, even if your lungs threaten to give out, you sprint right next to John as he turns a corner and into a carwash.

The smell of soap and heavy pine scented car freshener hits your bloody nose. He tugs you towards the plastic curtains and inside what you presume as the employee lounge, someone yells after you but it falls on deaf ears as you and John continue your escape.

Exiting the establishment, the metal doors open to a messy alleyway. Boxes upon boxes of trash and god knows what are littered all around. The pungent smell makes you want to hurl, or maybe that's the adrenaline having a weird effect on your stomach.

You two find reprieve for a second, huffing, trying to get oxygen back in. Hands on your aching thighs, the concrete below you slowly turns crimson as your mysterious injury drips precious blood on the messy ground.

“You're bleedin’” He says in between inhales. There's rustling of fabric next to you, and you feel the warm cloth placed on your forehead.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Waving the drenched cloth away, you scoff lightly. “Don't.”

“What am I supposed to do? Let you bleed?”

You stand up straight, blood coating your lashes as you stare at him. “I've got a better idea.” Placing your palms on the source of the pain, you let your blood coat it.

“What—?” You roughly smudge the warm ichor all over his face and shirt, the plain white of his t-shirt turns a dark pink shade with your touch. Leaning away, he gives you a slow nod of understanding. “Ease us in, huh?”

“I'm rarely wrong and this is one of the rare instances.”

“Let's hope you're right about this one.”

—

You kick the backdoor open with ferocity. It bangs loud against the wall, getting the restaurant staff's attention.

“Help please! My husband!” John's limp arm is around your shoulders, your hand gripping on to his waist to add that one detail that would convince them of your innocence. “There was a bomb!” You don't let the bystanders touch you or John whilst you quickly lumber through their dinghy bathroom. There's murmurs and chairs scraping on the tiled floors as you lock the door behind you.

The bathroom is small, tiles yellowed from the years, the stench of bleach itching your nose. The lightbulb above you whirs like it's about to burst out. He leaves your side to take off his bloodied jacket, tossing it outside from the window— his exit, you presume.

“Your phone.” He holds his empty hand out to you, when you only raise an eyebrow at him, he sighs, eyes turning soft, adrenaline melting out of his system. “Please, c’mon, love, you got me sayin’ please and shit.”

“What for?” You try desperately to wipe the blood off your face.

“To contact you, just in case you need help.”

“I can handle it.”

“I know you can, how else did you get the job then? Just let me,” his voice wavers a bit but he corrects himself with a timed clear of his smoke filled throat. “Please, Jane.”

After pausing, you take your phone out from your pocket to give it to him. He enters his number after seeing your home screen of a basic mountain range.

“There.” Giving the phone back, you expected him to give his too, but he doesn't as he's already halfway out of the window. “I'll see you at home?”

You let out a chuckle, “yeah, I'll see you at home.” He gives you one last smile as he exits the small bathroom and into the streets where numerous sirens go off from ambulances and fire trucks.

—

It was a blur the entire trip home, you bought a loose hoodie from a thrift store and then promptly discarded your blood soaked coat in the bottom of a dumpster. It was a shame though, you liked that coat, it had real wool in the lining. The uber drive was thankfully uneventful, if the driver noticed the remnants of dried blood on your skin he didn't mention it. You gave him five stars for it.

An empty house greets you, John's shoes are nowhere to be seen in the hallway, nor his jacket. You worry for a second, mind rushing through possibilities. The rubber band burns as you pull it back and release it with a harsh thwack against your skin.

The water is cool as you shower, your blood mixing in and pooling around your feet and into the drain like a macabre whirlpool. You don't let your mind wonder about the man that you turned into a street pancake. Instead, you focus on yourself in the mirror.

You stare at the gash near your hairline, the skin around it is angry, leaving a throbbing sensation. There's also a few scratches on your face, especially around your chin. Your main concern is the large gash. It doesn't look like it needs to be stitched together though, which is a good thing since you don't have the energy to even tend to the tiny scratches on your palms. Cleaning and bandaging the wound, you put on clean pajamas and head to bed.

You stop in your tracks when you see John lying face down on your bed. Still in his iron soaked clothes, save for the jacket. You glare at his boot, it's off the bed but you still grit your teeth at the thought of it grazing your bedsheets.

He senses your presence, and he lifts his head up, chin helping prop himself up. “Your bed is better than mine.” His multi coloured eyes are laced with exhaustion, dull yet there's still a spark when he looks at your annoyed gaze.

“Who are you? Goldilocks?”

“Yeah, I ate your porridge too.”

“Damn, not my porridge.” Too tired to fight him, you slither into bed next to him, an arm's length away from his equally tired body. Staring at the ceiling, you feel his eyes on you. “What's up with your eyes?”

“It's called heterochromia—”

“I know what it is, I'm asking why you're staring at me like you're about to devour me.”

“I could devour you if you want.” He says nonchalantly but with the charisma of a man who knows what he's talking about.

“Maybe next time.” You blindly pat his shoulder which ended up with you patting his cheek. He hums at your touch, a deep rumble that you felt through the mattress. “Not bad for our first day huh?” Lifting your hand away, he twists on the bed to mirror your position. Now you're both gazing at the beige ceiling like it owes you money.

You're tired but for some reason you're fighting off the sandman from sprinkling sand in your heavy eyes.

“I lied back there, I've killed before.” His voice is merely above a whisper but you heard it as loud as a trumpet blaring in your ears.

“I know, you wouldn't be here if you haven't.” You answer with empathy. “If it makes you feel better, I've been to London before. Twice, on a family trip and a decade later…on vacation.”

“Glad to know.” He taps the inside of your elbow as a thank you for trusting him. “You CIA?” He blurts out above the comfortable silence.

“God no.” You truthfully say.

“And here I thought you're an alumni of the culinary institute of America.”

For the first time in years, you let out the loudest laugh you could muster. Snort and all.

Your ‘husband’ joins in with his own rambunctious laughter, the bed shakes at the loud guffaws. The happy sound fills the room, and your heart feels like it isn't as heavy as before. It's still there, the heaviness, but it isn't as cumbersome. You now realize that you've only snapped the rubber band on your wrist a couple times today.

An annoying tapping sound interrupts you both. Simultaneously sitting up by the elbows, you two tilt your head at the intruder.

“It's that pigeon again.” You actually smile at the thought of the same bird coming back to your house like a white strand of hair that keeps growing even after you've pulled it out. “I think we should name him. Something like Terry or Flanders.” You chuckle softly.

“Jeff.”

You shake your head. “Nope, doesn't suit him, what if it's a she?”

“His name is Jeff.” John turns to look at you, eyes full of certainty.

You turn to him, blinking rapidly in realization. “He's yours. He's your bird, isn't he?”

“You are insightful.” He smiles, a soft one that fills you with endearment that you haven't felt in years. “Met him a few months ago, fed him once and now he wouldn't leave me alone. I guess he followed me here too.”

“Y’know, pigeons are really smart, kinda like crows. He probably thinks you're his daddy.”

“Does that make you Jeff's mummy?”

“I don't want to be Jeff's mom.” Said bird taps on your window again, like he senses that you're currently talking about him.

“Too bad,” he raises his marriage finger, showing you the gold band. “He's our kid, love.”

You smile, hiding it with a huff and by laying back down with a gentle thump.

“Can I tell you somethin’?” His face pops up in your vision, you nod in place. “My real name is—”

“Let me stop you right there.” You sit back up, almost hitting his head with your own at how fast you sat. “There's a reason why they gave us fake names. Whether we like it or not, It's John,” You point at him. “And Jane Smith.” You point at yourself. “Until they dismiss us, that's our names. Not whatever you were about to tell me.”

“But you know it's not our names, right?”

“Of course I do. You don't look like a John, John.”

“And you don't look like a Jane. I just…” He sighs. “Just want someone to know my real name. We almost died back there, what if we stayed a minute longer inside that car? What then? I don't want to die with someone else's name written on my grave.” His words are genuine, but it sounds like he has said these words before.

Still, you sympathize with him. You've gone undercover before, taken someone’s name instead of yours for months. Those missions were so long and tiring that you almost forgot your own name. But it was…survivable because he was with you. John has no one, and this time you have no one. No one that calls your real name, no one that can identify your body if you suddenly croak in the middle of a mission.

No one else but John and Jane Smith.

So with bated breath, you give him the go ahead. “Okay, tell me. But I can't promise that I'll call you by that name.”

“Don't want to get in trouble with hihi?”

“No,” you scoff. “I don't give a shit what that robot says. I just don't want to die with a stranger's name. So fuck it, tell me yours and I'll mine.”

He smiles the same smile that he gave you before he went out of that dinky bathroom window. The smile that reassures you, a smile that tells you everything will be alright.

“It's Hobie,” Hobie finally says. “Hobie Brown.”

“It suits you better. Thought it was Jeff.” You whisper, and you give him your real name. The same name you were born with, not the fabricated ones your former agency has given you, not the ones your new company has given you.

He whispers back your name, tongue rolling off it like honey. Then, Hobie smiles again, nodding and those heterochromatic eyes bore into you comfortably like the sun's rays kissing your skin in the summer.

“You look like one. Definitely suits you better than Jane.” You smile shyly as you lose the fight against sandman.

In Hobie's mind, he hopes that knowing your real name is enough, enough to keep you alive, enough of an incentive for him to keep you safe, since you're not just a typical Jane anymore that the company randomly selected for him, no, you're Y/N L/N, and he'll do anything to protect you better. Because maybe, just maybe, knowing your real name this early would work, and you'll outlive all the Janes that he himself has outlived.

As you fall asleep next to him, he stares at Jeff the third. In that luxurious house, within those bulletproof walls, and in your room lies a deep anger in him. An anger that keeps him sane in all those years trying to pay his debt. He needs to end the cycle, not just for him but for all the agents that are in the same shoes as him. For now he lets you sleep soundly, for now, he plots the demise of the people behind the screen.

The laptop flashes a new message from the company.

> Mission complete: 3 fails remaining

> Good job, next mission?

Support banner by @cafekitsune ❤️

A/N: thank you for reading!!! Please consider reblogging if you liked it ❤️❤️❤️

[l0vergirls]

just read the latest yan!batfam post and i can already see the batfam getting into silly lil arguments about what flowers and gifts to get 💀

oh my god yes 😭😭😭

the flowers being sent every couple weeks is because they each need to decide what kind to send you, depending on your mood that week and whether or not you'll like it.

"what? no, we already sent them peonies last week!"

"and they liked it! why not send it again?"

"because! we need to switch it up, it'll get boring otherwise!"

and it's important to remember you only get one note a day (as to not leave you too many clues), a few days a week, so they definitely fight over whoever gets to leave you a note that day.

"you already left one last time, todd. it's my turn today."

"i just have a way with words, demon spawn. they like my letters better anyway."

"and did they tell you that themself?"

as for food, they're honestly always on a whim. they know your favourites well enough by now.

"none of that greasy stuff today! we are supposed to take care of them, not lead them to an early death!"

"duh, chinese then?"

when it comes to bruce leaving you gifts though, they know better than to go against their father.

"...is a tennis bracelet really appropriate? i thought we were trying not to get caught."

"it's a small accessory."

"it's also nineteen thousand dollars."

"hn."

[the-solar-system52]

ok who the FUCK was going to tell me that my favorite musician ever made a demo based off my favorite movie ever AND I DIDNT KNOW ABOUT IT???

so there i was, scrolling on google through some 2010 content, and I see a song on Genius titled "ALL THESE WORLDS ARE YOURS EXCEPT EUROPA ATTEMPT NO LANDING THERE" and out of curiosity i click on it and get jumpscared by NEIL FUCKING CICIEREGA????? AS IN? LEMON DEMON NEIL CICIERGA? AS IN MY NO 1 SPOTIFY WRAPPED ARTIST SINCE 2021?? THAT NEIL CICEREGA???

and I hit play and ITS THE OPENING TO SPIRAL OF ANTS?????

SPIRAL OF ANTS WAS ORIGINALLY BASED OF 2010 THE YEAR WE MAKE CONTACT??? WHAT WHAT WHAT

(here is the youtube video the Genius site leads to: https://youtu.be/QuFv1jAo2CE?si=ceAdnsvOxEgcMBp1)

so ofc i relistened to Spiral of Ants and started digging for any hints towards its 2010 origins. i couldn't find much literal stuff since alien warnings about one of Jupiter's moons and a bunch of ants dying don't really have much in common. there is one lyric that uses the word 'odyssey' that could be referencing 2001: A Space Odyssey but idk.

but! in regards to the themes of Spiral of Ants instead of just the plot then there is plenty in common! SOA has an overarching theme of fusion and collective consciousness, since the story follows a hivemind of ants mindlessly following each other into a spiral and eventually becoming one ant and dying. i always took this song as a metaphor for mass hysteria and/or capitalism since fusion is viewed in a negative light. the ant's lack of individuality prevents them from recognizing the colony is just being led in circles since they are all only focusing on following the ant right in front of them via pheromones, and the fusion is what ultimately leads to their death.

2010 also has the theme of fusion! the scene the demo title quote appears in happens right after the scene where Hal and Dave fuse (technically. the exact time they literally fuse sort of depends on who you ask, but they definitely metaphorically fuse in this scene. cuz yk "Don't be. We'll be together.") the Europa message is basically Halman's first words. and although some out-of-context lyrics from SOA may fit Halman, 2010 overall has a more positive view on fusion. Halman doesn't count as a hivemind since he's only a fusion of two people, and because of that, he still retains all of his intelligence and memories from his past life unfused, if anything he's smarter. Instead, Halman acts as a metaphor for a functioning symbiotic, and possibly romantic, relationship between Hal and Dave. They fused because they actually wanted to be together, and not out of mindless instinct like the ants in SOA did. Fusion is the thing that saves them, instead of the thing that dooms them.

I think it's really interesting to think about how Spiral of Ants could've originally been based of Halman but then evolved into the song we know it today. And what would the song have been like if it stuck with the initial 2010 inspiration? Would it have been more hopeful and positive instead of the story of inevitable death we got in the finished project?

And am I a little pissed off that we could've gotten a Lemon Demon song based of my favorite fictional character ever but instead we got a song about ANTS? Maybe yeah. But this knowledge certainly gives me a new appreciation of the song overall.

Though I do wish this could've been an Ivanushka situation, a demo of Touch Tone Telephone that was released fully with completely different lyrics and story but the same melody. But the demo we have of Europa has no lyrics and is basically just opening of SOA with no major musical differences I can make out. If lyrics were ever written for this earlier Halman-inspired version of SOA, then it's been 10 years since the demo, I don't reckon our chances of getting the full song. But I can dream I suppose.

Also! Here's picture of Neil in Hal cosplay that I found on Pinterest. You're welcome.

Honestly knowing Neil was a space odyssey fan makes me think of what other songs could've had space odyssey influence? Ancient Aliens always gave Dawn of Man vibes to me, but even more vague stuff like Soft Fuzzy Man, Cabinet Man, No Eyed Girl or Aurora Borealis?? Who knows, the possibilities are endless!

Edit: Guys. I found a scrapped instrumental named 'Kubrick and the Beast'. As in. Stanley??? Kubrick??? Neil said this about the song:

"The albums tone ended up going in a different direction" what do you MEAN?? WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT WENT IN A DIFFERENT DIRECTION?? WAS SPIRIT PHONE ORIGINALLY INSPIRED BY THE SPACE ODYSSEY SERIES??? OR MAYBE MORE JUST KUBRICK IN GENERAL?? EXPLAIN??