#fingers crossed this new person is super efficient with their work

[kirk-goes-to-gallifrey]

.

[magicandmaybe]

gave me the blues and then purple-pink skies.

for @bowserbabe from your secret santa! hi, it's been wonderful getting to know you through the occasional asks i sent. i haven't written fanfiction before, although i do write original content soo you're going to be the first person to read this! any and all criticism is welcome, i'm just looking to start writing more from now on! i'm also super grateful for @tmsource for organizing this so i could stop putting off writing and start again! happy new year everyone:)

Teresa Lisbon was not in a good mood. This was made evident by the fact that she was pressing her thumb and index finger on her temple in a desperate attempt to soothe the headache plaguing her. With a defeated sigh, she opened her eyes and made herself look at the notes sprawled over her desk. This was going to take a while. 

~~~

The Texan humidity wasn’t doing Cho any favors. He silently cursed the faulty air conditioning in his office as he made his way to his old friend’s desk. 

“Any luck with those files?” He asked, hoping Lisbon had struck gold after they had all started reviewing the case files a few hours ago. She looked up, brows furrowed, as if there was a storm brewing right at the bridge of her nose. 

“Not yet. It looks like we’ve exhausted all our leads and the case still doesn’t make any sense,” she replied, her exasperation getting the better of her. 

The team’s morale had been at an all time low for the past few days; their latest case had left them grasping at straws for new leads. 

Cho attempted to change the subject, wondering how Abbott managed to handle days like this and still close cases while he was boss. 

“How’s the new recruit?” He asked her. 

Lisbon groaned. “Hopeless. I don’t know what he was taught at Quantico but it definitely wasn’t how to canvass an area. I had more lack sending Wylie out into the field to do his job.”

The agency has brought in someone to replace Vega a little after the incident at the diner. Both Cho and Lisbon exchanged a silent look of shared understanding. The loss of Vega had hit the team hard; in terms of both their efficiency and morale. 

Her unmatched enthusiasm was a tough act to follow, and the new recruit was far from capable. Lisbon knew that Cho had taken the loss personally, he was more hesitant now, more cautious. Vega had looked up to him and he knew it; and so he let the memory of her serve as a reminder of his duty towards the safety of his team and occasionally, the fact that she used to make him laugh. 

She had been irreplaceable but Cho still took to reassuring Lisbon. “He will learn. They all do.” He also made a mental note to have a chat with their new addition later on. 

“I know, I know,” Lisbon said impatiently; “But I still can’t get over this case. How can two seemingly unrelated people end up dead in three same place, at the same time and with the same toxins used to poison them runnjng through their blood?”

“Did forensic get back to you in the evidence found at the crime scene?” Cho asked. 

Lisbon shook her head. “A dead end. No DNA or prints at the scene. Everything was wiped clean. Toxicology is working on identify in the poison used but they say it looks like nothing they’ve ever seen before.”

Lisbon crossed her arms in annoyance. “We need fresh eyes. A new perspective. We need…” she trailed off not wanting to finish her sentence. 

“Jane.” Cho said. And there was the white elephant in the room; the unmissable Jane-sized hole at the agency. 

Lisbon had woken up one day to find her husband missing, with a note beside her saying that he had gone for a run and will catch up with her at work. He never showed up. 

She went home sick with worry only to find him by the lake with a canvas. He had been trying to paint one of the trees by the lake. 

He told her that he wanted to take a break from solving cases. So she had accepted it and they moved on. 

Except, the couch by the big, open windows remained empty and forlorn, as Lisbon and Cho looked over at it. 

“Go home.” Cho said. “Get some rest. We can start again tomorrow.” Lisbon tried protesting but was met with silence. 

~~~

The walk from the doors of the building she worked at to the nearest coffee shop was a short one, but Lisbon could feel her feet dragging behind her in defiance. Yet, it was the sight of a tuft of blond hair that led her to quicken her pace. 

“Jane?” She said in disbelief. Her husband turned, a coy smile dancing on his lips. 

“Teresa! Fancy seeing you here,” he said. 

“Oh please. You knew I was coming. Did Cho call you?”

“Well I happened to be in the neighborhood. And yes, Cho did call me. He said he was concerned.”

“Did he beg you to come back?”

“I could tell he was contemplating it.”

“And so you’ve been standing outside my favourite coffee shop for what, ten minutes?”

“Fifteen actually. Look, I bought you coffee.”

Teresa couldn’t help but smile as she plucked the he coffee cup out of his hands; and with that it felt like an enormous weight had been lifted off her shoulders. 

~~~

As she sipped her coffee, Teresa stared at his bright blue eyes. She wondered if she will ever get used to seeing them, first thing in the morning. Would she still feel time slow down every time he smiled at her or made her laugh?

Jane looked up from his cup of tea with a questioning look. 

“What?”

It took everything in Teresa to stop herself from blushing as she replied, 

“Nothing.”

All he did was smile and pull out a book from the small bag he was carrying. 

“What’s that?” She asked. 

“A book I found at the library today,” he said. He looked at the cover before declaring that it was Pride and Prejudice. 

“Austen huh. I never took you for the reading type,” Teresa said, “Let alone a romantic.”

“Why, I’m incredibly romantic,” Jane said, pretending to be deeply offended. Yet, she noted, the smile never left his eyes. 

“I saw this on your bookshelf when we visited your old house a few years ago. The spine was cracked and the pages dog eared. You must have loved it,” he said. 

She remembered spending her nights rereading her mother’s old and battered copy, hoping she would be transported to Elizabeth Bennett’s world. She had never told him that. Yet he still knew. 

“For years I’ve let Red John dictate my every move. Chasing him was my purpose,” he continues, “Until it wasn’t.” 

Jane let out a small sigh and continued looking ahead, deep in thought. 

“So, what will you do?” Teresa asked him. She would follow him to the ends of the earth if she could, fate be damned. 

Jane didn’t hesitate when he replied. He’s as sure of this as he is as sure of her. 

“Whatever I feel like doing. I’ve got time.”

He paused and looked at her with a small smile. A smile which could win the hearts of many, which he only reserves for her. 

“We’ve got time.”

[rearranged-fanfic]

New Chapter, Ah Yeah!

Excerpts below the cut

(Spoilers, duh)

Excerpt 1:

“What’s going on?”  Honestly, I’m not sure I want to know. Akemi smiles pleasantly.  “Settling a difference of opinion.” “On my front porch?” I inquire dryly. At that moment, Takuma’s eyes get wide and he points at me, excitement coloring his tone.  “Oh, you’re outside by yourself!  Heck yeah!” “My wardens decided to lessen my sentence a bit.” “’Bout time!” he crows, delighted.  “Thought you were gonna die of boredom if you stayed locked up much longer.” “Well, it was either that or killing them for entertainment.”  I shrug nonchalantly, like I hadn’t just inserted murderous intentions into a normal conversation.  I wait for them to take that as a joke and laugh, but they just kind of look at the ground awkwardly. …Okay?  They’re acting weird. “Don’t you attract Spirits, though?  Are you safe?” Akemi points out. And when I pull out the charm that Gojo gave me, Takuma elbows forward to take the glass bead in his palm.  His eyebrows scrunch up cutely and he leans in super close.  All Sorcerers apparently abhor personal space. Which is all well and good until Beans launches herself from my cleavage in a sneak attack, clasping onto the younger teen’s face with her wings.  Takuma lets out an undignified ‘eep’, scrambling backwards.  That’s what he gets for muscling his way into my bubble.  If only Beans could do that to Gojo—I’d have the ultimate protector, saving me form touchy-feely weirdos. He pulls the Shiki off, sucking in air and fanning himself like a dainty woman about to faint. Beans comes back to rest on the top of my head, planting herself on my crown and letting out a tiny, angry roar.  I reach up to stroke under her chin with my finger.  Good beans, I think affectionately.  Takuma finally collects himself, even as his sister has to hold her gut form laughing at his misfortune. “You have a charm like Ieiri,” the young Sorcerer notes.  I immediately note the lack of honorific, but don’t really think much of it.  Instead, it’s his words that get my attention. I peer down at the blue bead.  “She has one too, huh?”  I guess that makes sense; Gojo is all about fiercely guarding the two people he actually cares about in this world.  And now he’s offered the same protection to his precious little informant.  I should feel privileged, but him walking in on my masturbation session because of this little charm still lives in my head rent free. “It’s on her wrist,” he says, gesturing to his own. I think back and try to remember if I’d noticed a bracelet before, but I’m not really that observant.  At least I know to ask about it next time she pops up, I guess.  It’d be nice to know exactly what this charm can do, beside allow Gojo to be the world’s most efficient stalker-slash-cockblock. I shake my head to clear out the fuzz and offer my guests a little grin.  “So, what brings you guys here?” “Oh, Ma told us to come check—” Akemi throws her hand over her brother’s mouth, cutting him off.  “To check to see if you could help me with something!” she says a bit too excitedly. “What do you need help with?” I ask, distrust laced through my words. “I’m having trouble in English class, and I know that it’s your first language.  Do you think you can help me?” Uh huh.  Well, that’s not suspicious at all.  They’re clearly here to appease their mom.  And they’re fibbing about it. I cross my arms and raise a single eyebrow questioningly, doubt painted over my features.  Akemi holds up what looks to be a backpack, shaking it as though in offering.  Clever, bringing an item to use as an excuse.  The other young woman puts on her best puppy dog face, making her green eyes appear large and watery all while her lower lip quivers ever so slightly. I’m a sucker, I think with resignation as I step aside to welcome them in.

Excerpt 2:

I pinch off a section of cake, offering it to her as tribute.  The sweet treat is quickly gobbled up, and she sniffs at my fingers for more.  I roll my eyes at the gluttonous Shiki and give her another sizeable chunk.  This one, she eats a little slower.  And when she’s done, she gives me a friendly nip at the tip of my thumb and a sweet chirp.  Content with the cake for now, she curls up around my throat and prepares to sleep.  I note that she bites her own tail so that she doesn’t slip off backwards. I have a living necklace, I think.  When I pat her, she wriggles to get closer to me, letting out a contented sigh. Somebody’s affectionate today. Then again, she’s been clingy since this morning for whatever reason. Rolling my eyes at the silly creature, I peer down at my phone.  Time to see what’s up next on my adventure.  I scroll for a few minutes, listening to the whistling snores that my Shiki puts off like it’s the most soothing music known to man. A shadow falls over me, blocking the light, but I ignore it.  Until somebody clears their throat. “Excuse me, Miss.”  I think I’ve heard the voice before, but I’m not quite sure where.  Maybe he’s another friendly character from the manga? Then I roll my eyes at the thought.  Yeah, right.  What are the odds of meeting another manga character in a city as bis as Tokyo?   He’s probably just some dude that I’ve met in passing—maybe the clerk at the hotel I stayed at my first night here?

[moon-light-jukebox]

You’re not my type [Hotch x Reader]

Summary: Reader is the new press liaison to the elite Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. A stray comment from her leads to a lot of questions from her teammates, especially her unit chief, Aaron Hotchner. When they’re thrown together on a case that hits close to home for Reader, will that comment tear them apart? Or will it bring them closer together?

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner / (Female) Reader

Rating: Mature

Category: Angst then smut, with plenty of fluff sprinkled throughout.

Word Count: 8.4k

Content Warning: This gets pretty angst heavy in places. The team is chasing an Unsub that’s a serial r*pist/mu*derer. Mentions of an attempted a*sault to someone Reader cares about. Providing comfort to victims of the unsub. It’s dark in places, but if you can stick with me, I promise I will mend the angst and take you to the land of smut and fluff. Because there is plenty of smut.

A/n: Have you ever had a story that just grabbed hold of you and refused to let go? This story was supposed to be half this length and pure fluff. Reader and Hotch dug their claws into me and made me tell their own story. I’m not mad at it, and if you give it a chance, I hope you love it as much as I do. masterlist

y/n = your name. y/l/n = your last name. italicized text = reader’s thoughts

--“You’re not my type” --

The clock was moving so slowly, I couldn't help but think it was moving backward.

Come on, hurry up. I wanna go home.

I sighed, resigning myself to the fact that it was going to be 4:30 pm for the rest of my life. I still had some files to hand out to the team; I usually do that part of my very glamorous job in the mornings, but since I had nothing but time now, I thought why not.

I had been a “sort of” member of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit for 5 months. Jennifer- wait, JJ, had the job as media liaison before me; she was the last person to officially hold the position. When she left the unit chief of the BAU, Aaron Hotchner, and the technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, had split the roll. That is until Chief Strauss had decided that she wanted the BAU to run more efficiently. Meaning that Hotch got less paperwork, Garcia got a break from talking about mutilated bodies, and I got shuffled around from the public relations office.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed working with the team, I really did, but I couldn't help but feel excluded sometimes. They're all practically a family. I didn't really have any sort of family anymore, just a best friend that has always felt more like a sister.

Pushing those thoughts aside, I made my way towards the bullpen, shoving the doors open to see the team sitting on various desks talking to each other. Loudly.

“Shut UP, man!” Derek Morgan’s voice was loud, but amusement was clear on his face. Actually, everyone seemed sort of amused. Rossi and Hotch were leaning on the railing near their respective offices, watching the events unfold with smiles on their faces.

Hotch smiles? Huh. Weird.

I quickly tried to make my way around them, hoping none of them would notice me.

“Okay, I know how we can settle this. Y/n!” Shit. No such luck. I turned to look at Emily Prentiss, with her long dark hair and angular face. Why is everybody here so fucking pretty?

I cleared my throat, trying to compose my face. “Yes?”

“Answer something for us.” Everyone seemed very eager for me to be a part of this now, which I didn’t think was a good sign.

“I’ll do my best.”

She smiled at me like she was sensing her victory. "If Morgan asked you on a date, what would you say?"

Oh, they couldn’t have picked a worse person to play this game.

I chuckled awkwardly, trying to appear calm. “Um…I’d probably say no.” Morgan took a dramatically loud breath before slapping his hand to his chest. “No offense,” I quickly added.

Morgan wasn’t giving up his dramatics that easily. “Damn, girl! You’re gonna cut me down just like that?”

“I’m sorry,” I said with an awkward laugh. “You’re just not my type.”

Garcia’s eyebrows hit her hairline. “Excuse me? He’s not your type? Tall, dark, and extremely well-muscled isn’t your type?” She scoffed like I was insane; I mean, maybe I was. Jury’s out.  “What about that is unappealing to you?”

I couldn’t think of a believable lie, so I went with the truth. “The tall and extremely well-muscled part.” I shifted from foot to foot anxiously.

Emily blinked. “O-okay. Fair enough,” she laughed, looking at me like she’d never seen me before.

I was preparing to turn and make a very quick escape, but JJ had other plans. "Woah, woah, woah," the blonde hopped off the desk, walking a bit closer to me. "If Morgan isn't your type…who is?"

Fuck me running. “Um…” I trailed off. “I don’t think I really have a type, to be honest.”

"Do you like men," Morgan chimed in. "No judgment, little mama."

Not for the first time, I wished I was a lesbian. “I am sadly mostly heterosexual.” I was convinced no one could be completely heterosexual, it just didn’t seem natural.

Emily chuckled at that. “Okay then,” her hand moved up to adjust her dark bangs, something she did when she was thinking. “What if Hotch asked you out?”

“Okay, okay, don’t drag me into this,” the Unit Chef boomed out, much to Rossi’s amusement.

“…Um.” Why couldn’t I just die? “Sorry, boss, but no.”

Morgan crossed his arms over his chest. “Is Hotch also too tall and well-muscled.”

“Probably,” I answered without much thought. “I can’t comment on the state of his muscles. But he’s very…big. And he intimidates me.” I didn’t let my eyes stray to my boss; I simply couldn’t.

"Ah-ha. There it is!" Morgan slapped his hands together like he had solved some big puzzle. "You don't like men that intimidate you. So, if pretty boy over here asked you out, you'd say yes."

I didn't know a person's ears could blush until that moment when my eyes drifted over to Dr. Spencer Reid. The tips of his ears were bright pink and he was looking anywhere but at me.

I answered honestly again, I figured they’d know if I lied. Fucking profilers. “Yeah, I would say yes. But only if I didn’t know him.” Spencer’s eyes finally shifted over towards me. “You’re easily one of the most brilliant people in the world. You’d be bored to tears on a date with me,” I said, my gaze meeting his wide eyes.

The boy genius’s head tilted ever so slightly to the side, his lips moving like he muttered something under his breath.

Is it 5 yet?

JJ wasn’t totally prepared to let this go, because she asked, “Okay, so a yes to Spence, a no to Hotch and Morgan.” She tapped her chin with her index finger. “What about Will? You’ve met my husband, right?”

I had indeed met her husband with his Princess and The Frog accent. I couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, I met him the other day when he brought your son by. And…I don’t know, maybe him. He doesn’t give off an air of intimidation.” Which was the nicest way I could say ‘your husband doesn’t scare the shit out of me.’

I glanced down at my watch, seeing it was finally 4:55 pm. “Sorry guys, I need to get these files out before I go home.” With an overly bright smile, I darted away as fast as my uncomfortable shoes would let me.

My final stop was Hotch’s office, and I was so relieved that he wasn’t in it for once. I placed the file on his desk, looking at the pictures of a little boy, his son, I assumed, on his desk.

“I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”

I'm not sure what I was more embarrassed by, the tiny yelp that escaped my lips or how I smacked my hand over my chest in such a dramatic fashion that I could have given Derek Morgan a run for his money. "Jesus fucking Christ, Hotch! You scared the shit out of me!"

His lips twitched in poorly concealed amusement, either at my reaction or my swearing at him. “Sorry, y/n. I didn’t know I needed to knock before I entered my office. I’ll try to do better next time.”

Oh, this guy has jokes now too.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at his dry humor. “I’m sorry. I startle easily. I didn’t mean to swear at you.”

“Y/n, I’ve been with the bureau for almost 20 years. Trust me, I’ve heard worse.”

I bet he has.

“Well,” I cleared my throat awkwardly. “Alright then. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, sir.”

“Of course,” he stepped out of the doorway so I could exit. “Y/n?” He said it like it was an afterthought. “Do you really find me intimidating?”

My eyes were wide as I looked all the way up at him. Really, what was the point in being that tall? "Oh, absolutely, sir." Then I hurried out the door, not wanting to see his reaction or lack thereof.

--

After stopping by my office, I was waiting for the elevator when I felt someone behind me; turning I saw the pretty boy himself standing awkwardly off to my side. I offered him a small smile before shifting my attention back to the bank of elevators in front of me.

The middle one opened first, Spencer waved me in first before he entered and hit the button for the ground floor.

He was clearly working up his nerves to say something, you didn’t have to be a profiler to see that. “Hey, um, y/n?” I turned my head in his direction, waiting for him to continue. “What you said back there…that you’d go on a date with me if I asked, did you mean that?”

There was that blush again, he really was adorable. “Of course, I meant it, Spencer.” He didn’t look convinced. “I mean, why would I lie? I turned Morgan down right away. And Hotch, who is my boss.”

Spencer let out a small laugh at that, unable to argue against my point. “I guess that’s true.” The elevator doors opened, he waved me out first, again, before exiting himself. “Do you really think that I’d be bored on a date with you?”

"I mean, you have 3 Ph.D.'s and a super high IQ." I waved my free hand around, gesturing to myself like it would help me prove my point. "And look at me. I'm smart, but I'm not that smart. I couldn't put you through a date like that."

He didn’t seem to appreciate my self-deprecating humor. I headed for the doors without giving him a chance to respond. “Have a good night, Dr. Reid!” I offered a small wave before I all but sprinted out the doors towards the parking garage.

Why? Just why?

--

“We have to catch him before this turns into a spree,” Hotch’s voice was grave, his face the same stern mask it always was. “Wheels up in 30.”

Taking that as a dismissal, the team rose from the table, hurrying towards their respective desks to get their go-bags. That was the part of this job that took the longest to get used to. I never traveled much in public relations; now I'm on a plane several times a week. That in itself wouldn't be so bad…if I didn't still get terrible motion sickness. I don’t know why I hadn’t gotten used to it yet, but I had to keep some non-drowsy motion sickness pills in my go-bag at all times. I tried to take them before I boarded the jet; it was probably silly, but I didn’t really want the team to know. They were all superheroes in my eyes; superheroes don’t get motion sickness.

I was the last one to board the jet today. I was usually one of the first onboard, but I got held up on my way here speaking to someone from my old office. When I came through the plane's doors there rest of the team was spread out. Dr. Reid was laying on the couch, book propped open in his lap. Emily and JJ were on one side of the table with Morgan and Rossi on the other. The only seats available were towards the back of the plane; I could have sat by myself…or I could sit in the seat across from Hotch.

I always get anxiety about things other people find silly. I’m a grown woman, I should be more confident; I’m a fucking FBI agent for god’s sake. Yet here I was, nervously trying to decide where to sit. It would be weird to not sit near him, I reasoned. Offering Hotch a tight smile before I stored my go-bag, I sat down across the aisle from him.

I fastened my seatbelt over my lap, taking deep breaths through my nose. I had taken my medicine, but take off always got me a little bit, no matter what. I never took a window seat either, sometimes I’d look out and see how fast the world was passing by underneath us and…I shuddered just thinking about it.

"Hey," the voice beside me called, his voice was so quiet I don't think any of the others could hear it. I opened my eyes and turned to face him. His dark eyes looked oddly soft like he was concerned about me. "Are you alright?"

I offered him a tight smile. “Yeah, I’m okay, Hotch.”

"Did you take your medicine?" At my puzzled expression, he clarified. "For motion sickness."

What in the- “How did you know I get motion sickness?”

The corners of his mouth quirked up. “I’m a profiler, y/n, and I’ve been one for a long time.”

A little chuckle left my lips at that, right as the plane started moving forward, gaining speed for takeoff. I closed my eyes, telling myself that it was the impending take off that was causing my stomach to flutter, not the fact that my boss, who I thought was always indifferent to me, noticed me more than I thought he did.

--

Cases with kids were the hardest, there was no question about it. For me, the second hardest cases were women who were assaulted. It filled my gut with such a heavy, boiling rage whenever I thought about it. These women were just living their lives, unaware of the danger that was hunting them. Some fucking monster decided that being a man in our society didn’t offer him enough power; he had to hurt women, try to take their power so that he could feel more powerful.

I had heard stories about Elle Greenaway, the agent that resigned under suspicion that she shot a rapist in cold blood. I never commented on it, but I can’t say as I blame her. That attitude is probably why I don’t comment on it, I thought dryly.

The unsub the team was hunting in Northern Texas was a serial rapist and murderer. He had claimed 3 victims in the past 2 weeks; the locals were concerned that his pattern and level of violence were escalating too rapidly. The BAU agreed.

They started piecing this monster together through the clues he left behind. A white male, mid 30's, has a high-power job, won't be able to have stable relationships with women. They were tracking his comfort zone, interviewing families, and canvassing for information.

My job was to warn the women of this small town that there was a monster lurking in the shadows.

The team was sitting around in a small room in the center of the police station that was crammed with evidence boards. Emily was leaned back in her chair, JJ's head resting on her shoulder. Dr. Reid was facing the map of the county like if he stared at it long enough and answer would just pop into his head. Morgan's head was in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. Rossi and Hotch were talking in the corner, glancing around the room every so often.

Eventually, our leader cleared his throat. "Okay, lets head back to the hotel." At the groans of a few team members, he pressed on. "I know, I want to find this guy too. But we all need rest. We'll come back tomorrow with fresh eyes."

With that, we all headed to the black SUVs parked outside, ready to head to whatever hotel the bureau put us in for the night. The drive was quick, we all stood in the lobby while Hotch spoke to whoever was at the front desk. The conversation seemed to take longer than I needed to.

He walked back over, looking mildly uncomfortable. “There aren’t enough open rooms,” he said at last. “We’ll have to double up.” He held out his hand which contained 3 key cards.

…Wait a minute. “There are 7 of us.”

Hotch nodded. “Therein lies the problem. One room will have to have 3 people.”

I turned towards Emily and JJ, assuming I’d just room with them when Rossi interrupted. “No offense, guys. But…I’m old,” he laughed, his whole face lighting up. “I need my beauty sleep. I’m not sharing a room. I’ll go get my own.”

"They don't have any rooms, Dave."

Rossi looked at Hotch with a patronizing little smile that would have been extremely offensive coming from anyone else. “They don’t have any rooms for you," he clarified. "Not only am I old, but I'm also rich."

Sure enough, he walked over to the desk and spoke to the clerk for less than a minute before he was handed a keycard.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Morgan said with a laugh.

Rossi turned to us then, his eyes filled with poorly hidden mirth. “Sogni d’oro!” And with that, he walked towards the elevators.

“Huh?” JJ asked, her voice scratchy.

“Sweet dreams,” Reid and Prentiss supplied at the same time.

“Right.” Morgan shook his head. “Come on pretty Ricky.”

It hit me right then. Oh hell.

Hotch seemed to realize it at the same time Prentiss did. “Y/n, you room with JJ, I’ll stay with Hotch.”

Somehow this was more embarrassing than the conversation in the bullpen. “No,” I said quickly. “No, you guys go. I’ll room with Hotch.” I put a smile on my face, hoping I was convincing.

“Y/l/n, you just said that I intimidated you.”

Again, why couldn’t the earth just swallow me up? My laugh was forced, but hopefully, they hadn't heard my real laugh enough to know the difference. "Intimidated to go on a date with, Hotch. This isn't like that." Right? “C’mon! I’m sleepy.”

With that display of false bravado, I grabbed a key and made my way towards the elevators. I felt his presence behind me as we walked down the hall towards our rooms. I tried to control my heartbeat, calm my breathing the closer we got to the room. This is ridiculous, y/n. I had shared a room with Morgan before, no problem. I was comfortable around the team, I really was. Not for the first time, I wish I had the sense to not open my big mouth.

I reached for the door right when Hotch cleared his throat; I busied myself with getting into the room, ignoring him. Was it cowardly? Yes. Did I care? Not at that moment.

Until I walked into the room…and saw that there was one bed. Oh, you have to be fucking kidding me. “What is this, a rom-com?” I apparently didn’t mumble that part as quietly as I thought I had given the soft laugh I heard come from the man behind me.

“Y/n,” he said, his hand coming to my shoulder. “I didn’t realize there would only be one bed. Come on, let’s go down to Prentiss and JJ’s room.”

I let out a groan. “Hoooootch,” I whined. “All of this is just making me more embarrassed. This wouldn’t even be an issue if I hadn’t been a dumbass and opened my big mouth. This isn’t a big deal but going to talk to them will make it a big deal.”

He didn't look convinced, but I was so tired. I reached out and grabbed his arm before I could think better of it. "Aaron," my voice was soft, barely a whisper, but it was like he'd been struck by lightning. His eyes snapped up to mine, his lips parted slightly. It was then I realized I'd never called him by his first name before. "I trust you with my life. You'd intimidate me if I didn't know you. But I do know you, Aaron." My gaze never wavered from his.

“Okay.”

--

I laid in bed for 30 minutes pretending to be asleep. I listened to his breathing even out and I kept my back to him the entire time. I had tried to keep my bedtime routine brief, taking a quick shower and changing into my sleep shorts and a baggy shirt I’d had since college. My hair was pulled back so I wouldn’t get it wet in the shower.

The weirdest thing was seeing Hotch in normal clothes. In all the months I’d worked with him, I had never seen him not in a suit. He had a pair of flannel pajama pants on, a gray t-shirt stretched over his broad chest. He has really nice arms, I thought.

When I was sure he was asleep, I rolled over onto my back. My eyes had long since adjusted to the dark, allowing me to just stare at the ceiling.

“You’re thinking very loudly.”

I let out a squeak while my whole body jerked. "Goddamnit, Hotch!” That asshole had the nerve to chuckle. “Stop scaring me!”

“I’m sorry,” he said, not sounding even slightly sorry.

“I thought you were asleep.”

He rolled onto his back; I felt his eyes on my face. “I know,” was all he said.

I sighed, wondering how I had gotten myself into such a situation. “You really don’t intimidate me.” He made a noise which caused me to amend my statement. “Alright, alright. You do intimidate me. You’re just so…stern. And you’re so tall. What is the purpose of being that tall? It’s excessive. And I feel like your eyes can see through every single thing about me. I didn’t know you had muscles until today, but I always assumed you did. They’re very nice muscles-“ I cut myself off. Fuck.

That was the first time I ever heard Aaron Hotchner laugh. Not chuckle, not snicker quietly. He actually laughed. His laugh was a higher pitch than his speaking voice; it boomed out of him and transformed the whole mood in the room. That laugh warmed a part of my heart that I wasn’t comfortable thinking about. A huge grin broke out on my face. I made him laugh, and I was oddly proud of it.

“Thanks, y/n,” his voice was still filled with amusement. “I hadn’t known you were curious about the state of my muscles. You should have just said something.”

My head snapped to the side so my eyes could meet his. He was teasing me. SSA Aaron Hotchner, BAU unit Chief, was teasing me. I lifted my hand to his arm, giving him a shove. His bicep feels like granite. “Shut up.”

That asshat just kept laughing at me.

“Anyway, you do intimidate me,” my voice was soft again. “But I’m not afraid of you.”

Aaron regarded me thoughtfully. “So, it’s not that you’re not attracted to intimidating men,” he surmised. “You’re afraid of men.”

“Not all men,” I countered. “I’m afraid of men like you. Not you, but ones like you. You overwhelm me.”

He was quiet for a few moments. “Y/n…did someone hurt you?”

It was a natural question, a normal thought process; I should have expected the question. I felt tears prick the corner of my eyes. “Yes,” I whispered, feeling safe in the darkness of the room, safe but still so alone. “But not in the way you think.” I filled my lungs with a deep breath, hoping I would find some courage. It wasn’t until I felt his hand brush over mine, his calloused fingers brushing over the back of my hand, that I finally found it. I flipped my palm up and laced my fingers through his. He gave me a reassuring squeeze.

“I’ve had the same best friend all my life,” I began. “She’s marvelous. We’ve always been together; her mom said we were like peanut butter and jelly. I love her like she’s a part of me, Aaron.” I knew he would understand; I just knew it. “We were in college when it happened. We went to this frat party because I had a crush on some guy.” My voice was filled with venom and bitterness. “He was overwhelming, so tall, and so handsome. There was a darkness in him, but I was too young to see it. She did; my best friend could see he was a monster. I didn’t listen.” My breath was shuddering through me. “I didn’t listen to her, Hotch.”

He didn't say anything. He just shifted in the bed and pulled me to him, nestling me into his side, wrapping his arms around me while I laid my head on his chest. "I was so mad at her. So mad." The shame from all those years ago was still so fresh. "She took my drink and threw it on the floor. I told her she was embarrassing me… So, I went outside to get some air."

His arm tightened around me, his free hand coming up to stroke my hair. “You don’t have to-“

“I do,” I said, refusing to let another sob escape. “I came back inside and couldn’t find either of them. I thought maybe she was going to hook up with some guy…but she isn’t like that. She’s never been like that.” My stomach rolled at the thought; sometimes when I closed my eyes I could still smell the beer in the air, I could still feel the wood of the banister under my fingers. “I found them in a room upstairs. He had her pinned on the bed, he was-he-he was trying to take her pants off.” I didn’t deserve the comfort Aaron offered me in that moment, but I clung to him, grateful for it. “I screamed, and I guess I scared him. She kneed him and was able to push him off. We ran all the way home.”

“You saved her, y/n,” Aaron’s voice was so sure, so reassuring, no matter how hard I shook my head ‘no’. “You did. You could have just left; you were mad at her, but you still went back for her.”

I wiped my eyes. “You make it sound so simple.”

His lips pressed softly against my forehead, his hand stroking up and down my back. “That’s because it is.”

--

Things felt different in the harsh light of the police station than they had last night. Aaron was already in the shower when I woke up this morning. I fell asleep in his arms after I told him one of my darkest secrets. He didn't judge me; he didn't tell me I was a terrible person. He just held me; he offered me comfort and made me feel deserving of that comfort.

I dressed quickly and headed downstairs before he got out of the bathroom. My feelings were already swirling around in my head. It wasn’t that I wanted to be away from him, not at all. I just didn’t think it would help my feelings settle down to be confronted by a wet, hot, well-muscled Aaron Hotchner. It was an act of self-preservation if you think about it, I reasoned.

The next time I saw him was when the team was piling back into the SUVs to head to the police station. He offered me a small smile, and I think his eyes may have twinkled a little bit when I smiled back at him a little too brightly.

Profilers.

The team was as refreshed as they could be. Dr. Reid was looking at access and service roads on the map, trying to determine the route the unsub took to dispose of his victims. JJ and Morgan were out canvassing the women's neighborhoods. Rossi was with Prentiss in the sheriff's office speaking with the family of the most recent victim, Bethany Mooreland.

This was the hardest part of my job. I wasn’t a profiler. I felt like I had nothing to offer. I was fielding calls from the media, trying to organize a targeted strategy. The team thought that if the unsub saw that he was being mocked in the press, or his masculinity was called into question in any way, that he would act out more viciously. While acting out might cause him to make a mistake, we couldn’t risk another woman’s life.

The conference room doors burst open, Hotch storming inside with Morgan and JJ hot on his heels. “There’s been another attack.”

I felt my stomach drop. “Fuck.”

“Y/n, she’s alive.”

“…What?!”

The dark-haired man that held me in his arms last night only nodded. “She’s at the hospital. I want you to come with JJ and me to interview her.”

…Me?

--

Summer Webb was 25 years old; she was a customer service rep at a call center just outside of town. She lived alone, had a cat named Pringles, and was close with her family.

I held her hand while JJ and Hotch put her through a cognitive interview. I rubbed her back while she recounted how the unsub only left her because he thought she was dead. Tears ran down my cheeks when she described what he did to her.

Steel and ice ran through my veins when I looked her in the eyes and promised that we would get this monster.

I’d kill him myself if I had to.

Once her mother arrived at the hospital, we left, promising to call with any updates; uniformed officers were stationed outside her hospital door. Hotch spoke to Garcia, then to Rossi, then to Reid, then Garcia again on our ride back. JJ read over Summer’s statement, occasionally jotting down notes.

I was quiet.

Almost. Almost there. I walked into the station without really seeing it. I navigated my way down the hall on instinct. I pushed the door to the bathroom open, looked around to confirm I was alone…then I broke. I placed my hands on the countertop that housed 3 separate sinks, my tears ran down my cheeks and splashed on the fake granite.

I don’t know how long I had been there when I thought I heard a knock on the door. That didn’t make any sense, the door didn’t have a lock; there were multiple stalls in this bathroom.

But I had heard a knock. The door swung open and someone walked inside. I heard him whisper my name, the tone of his voice was so soft, so fucking sad, that it only made me cry harder. Aaron put his hands on my shoulders, turning me around to face him, then letting me collapse against him.

He murmured words I couldn’t understand against the top of my head, he wrapped his arms tight around me; I was sure I would have fallen completely apart if he wasn’t holding me together.

“You must think I’m so weak,” I muttered when my tears had finally slowed.

He stiffened, though his hands never stopped moving, stroking my hair and my back. "Just the opposite, y/n." I pulled back to meet his eyes; I saw nothing but honesty swirling in those dark brown pools. His eyes appeared so dark from far away, almost black. From this close, I could see the subtle shift between various shades of brown. They weren't cold like I had always suspected; Aaron Hotchner's eyes were warm and understanding. They were the eyes of a man who had seen far too much evil for one lifetime but refused to yield his fight for even a second.

I could fall in love with those eyes.

“You’re the furthest thing from weak I’ve ever seen,” he continued. “Your heart is so big that it aches for a woman you don’t even know. It’s alright to cry right now, it’s alright to let yourself fall down for a moment. But I know you, y/n,” he was repeating my words from last night back to me. “You’re going to pull yourself back together. And then you’re going to help us find that son of a bitch before he hurts anyone else.”

Maybe I could fall in love with more than just his eyes.

--

There are certain moments in my life that I will look back on and remember with perfect clarity. That night when I almost lost my best friend, the day I graduated from the academy, the first night I spent in Aaron Hotchner’s arms were just a few.

I would also remember when the call came in from Garcia; how Morgan and Reid ran into the room. How Hotch’s eyes shot to mine when we found out the monster’s name. I didn’t have to ask; he nodded at me, those warm brown eyes were hidden now, hardened by pure ice-cold rage.

I strapped on my vest and road in the back seat in the SUV Morgan drove.

Summer’s monster was named Jeremy Carpenter. Her monster was a white man with brown hair, brown eyes, with a scar on the back of his right hand.

None of us were sure how he knew we were coming, but he had already barricaded himself inside his house. We heard a scream when the first gunshot was fired. I wanted more than anything to bring Summer's monster in alive; I wanted to offer her the chance to face him if she wanted to.

Aaron didn’t ask if I wanted to go to the hospital once everything was over; he really did know me. He took me to see her, he kept his hand on my back while I told Summer and her mother what happened. What I will remember most of all is how her mother hugged me when I told her the monster was gone, that he would never harm anyone ever again. I hit him in his leg; he was in pain before our unit chief put a bullet between his eyes.

We had come to the hospital alone; the rest of the team went back to the station to finish up paperwork. I held his hand on the way back to the hotel; I held his hand while we walked to our room.

I offered him a small smile before I made my way into the bathroom, determined to wash the events of the day off of my skin.

He was gone when I came back out.

--

It goes without saying that I had doubted most men in my life, especially since that night all those years ago.

I never once doubted Aaron Hotchner.

I was sitting on the bed when he came back, staring at the TV without seeing.

“Hey,” he said softly. “I thought you’d still be in the shower.” He set two bags down on the only table in our room. “You haven’t eaten since breakfast. I thought-“

“Hotch,” he looked at me then, his eyes locking onto mine. “Thank you.” I didn’t need to specify for what. He knows.

He pulled our food out while I made my way to the table. I couldn’t hold in my chuckle. “You know I get motion sickness; you know my favorite foods…just how closely do you pay attention to me, Agent Hotchner?”

He didn’t look the least bit embarrassed. “More closely than I should.”

We sat together and ate in comfortable silence. The next time he spoke was to answer a phone call from Jack. I tried to hide my smile while I listened to his conversation. Unlike the rest of his team, I hadn’t gotten to see Aaron Hotchner, the father. What is it about men being good father’s that is so attractive, I mused. Is it biological? I made a note to ask Dr. Reid.

After we ate, he went to shower while I stretched out on our bed, scrolling through my phone. When Hotch emerged from the bathroom he was in another pair of flannel pants paired with a black t-shirt. I pursed my lips in both amusement and disappointment.

“What?” His eyebrow was raised quizzically. Why are his eyebrows hot?

I giggled. "Nothing." At his incredulous look, I amended, "it's nothing interesting."

He sat down beside me on the right side of the bed, his back resting against the headboard. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Hooootch,” I whined, covering my face with my hands. “I’ve already embarrassed myself in front of you enough for one lifetime.”

His hand came up to grab mine, pulling them down from my face. Any attempts I made to wiggle away from him were in vain. Apparently, those muscles aren’t all show and no go. My body had shifted down the bed during my halfhearted struggles, meaning Aaron was now propped up on his elbow, his body angled over mine. “Embarrassed? I don’t remember any embarrassing times,” he pretended to give this some thought. “Unless you’re referring to last night when you mentioned how much you think about my muscles?”

I tried to jerk my arms out of his hands, but he held fast, laughing openly while my face turned red. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you not talking about that?” He pushed my arms back onto the bed, rising to his knees, positioning his body over me, his face hovering over mine. “Then it must have been when you lied to the whole team a few days ago.”

I squeaked in outrage. “I didn’t lie about anything!”

He was so beautiful when that scowl left his face. “Yes, you did!” he insisted. “You said you wouldn’t say ‘yes’ if I asked you out. And, based on the evidence, I have to say I don’t believe that to be true.”

“Oh, I forgot I was dealing with a former prosecutor.” He nodded gravely, earning another giggle from me. “Okay, counselor. What’s the evidence?”

“The most glaring piece of evidence is you won’t tell me what you were thinking when you were looking at me when I came out of the shower.”

I let out a whine, accepting my fate. He’s literally on top of you, dumbass. Something tells me he’s gonna be receptive. “Okay, okay. I may have…hurried out of the room this morning while you were in the shower.”

Hotch quirked an eyebrow. “I know. Go on.”

“Asshole,” I muttered, delighted when he laughed. Hearing his laugh was one thing, but seeing it too? My insides were basically liquid. “I may have ran as an act of self-preservation. I was…worried that you’d come out of the bathroom in a towel. And you’d be wet, and hot, and I would…make an idiot out of myself, much like I am now.”

Aaron was delighted by how bright red my face turned; he made no attempt to hide his amusement. “So, just now, you were disappointed that I came out fully clothed?”

“Hotch,” I moaned out in embarrassment. He wasn’t making this easy on me.

My eyes were shut tight, my head turned away from him like this would somehow prevent him from seeing me. His left hand lifted from my wrist, his fingers coming to rest on my chin, turning my face towards him. "If you're going to moan my name while we're in bed, y/n, I'd prefer if you called me Aaron." My eyes snapped open. His eyes were still warm, teasing, but there was a certain heat in them I hadn’t seen before that made my lower belly flutter. He leaned closer to my face. “It would be hard for me to focus at work if you every time you said ‘Hotch’ I thought about you like this.”

I waited for a few moments for him to act before I realized Aaron couldn’t cross the line first. He wouldn’t be mean if I rejected him; that wasn’t the type of man he was. But the choice was mine; it had always been mine.

I lifted my free hand up to cup the side of his face, urging him closer to me. The first brush of my lips over his was so soft I wasn't sure it was even happening. It was so hesitant but so pure that it made me ache. Aaron pulled back to look at me; he was breathing hard like he had been running instead of just kissing me.

“Y/n…”

“Don’t profile me, Aaron.” I lifted my head, my teeth nipping at his bottom lip. “I want this. I want you.”

His posture shifted, he released my left arm to brace himself above me with his arms caging me in; he moved his legs, wedging one of his thighs in between mine. “I’m not profiling you. I can see how much you want this.” No need to sound so arrogant. “But I need to be sure…I’ve wanted to touch you for so long.”

My hands moved up to touch him, one hand feeling the soft hair at the nape of his neck that was still a little damp from the shower; my other hand gripped his bicep. “Then touch me, Aaron. Please.”

I wasn’t ready for the full force of Aaron Hotchner. He was the most intense man I had ever known, and that intensity didn’t stop in the bedroom. Aaron didn’t kiss me, he tried to consume me. His mouth moved over mine with a carnal hunger that made me throb, shifting against his firm thigh that was rested against me. I was desperate for any friction. I felt his hand move down from where it was cupping my face to rest on my collarbone, his thumb tracing over the base of my throat.

His lips moved off of mine to blaze a path down my jaw, his teeth nipping at the skin there before he moved back to my lips. “Don’t worry, sweetheart.” He pushed his thigh against the seam of my body, causing a whimper to escape from my throat. I didn’t even mind the smirk that covered his mouth. “We’ll get there. Just let me make you feel good.”

I opened my mouth to him; his tongue swirled around mine while the hand that wasn’t bracing him up moved to my hip. His fingers ran over the skin of my stomach that was exposed from my shirt riding up. I placed my hand over his, guiding it further up my stomach; how was I supposed to take my mouth away from his to tell him what I wanted?

Of course, Aaron knew what I needed; I was beginning to learn that he always did. His fingers trailed up my body until he got to the underside of my breast; the callouses that roughened his fingertips were heaven on my overly sensitive skin. My mouth broke away from his in a guttural cry when those fingers finally found my nipple. Aaron moved his kisses down to the side of my throat. I felt his breath against my throat when he murmured, “you’re so sexy, y/n.”

Raising up on his knees, he started tugging my shirt up; I lifted my upper body so I could slide my shirt off quickly. I heard Aaron groan when my chest was revealed to him, but I was on a mission of my own. Once I had his shirt pulled up over his abdomen, Aaron reached behind his back and pulled his shirt off at the neck.

My nails raked down the skin that covered his chest, reveling in the groan that left his mouth. He leaned over me again, his lips wasting no time before they covered my nipple. My hands tried to grip the short hair at the back of his head.

“Aaron,” I gasped out. “I need…more. Please.”

He started kissing his way to my other breast. “What do you need, sweetheart? Do you want to grind against my thigh? Do you need to use me to get off?” His tongue flicked over my nipple. “Or do you want me to use my hand? Is that what you need, Angel?” My heart stuttered at the sweet nickname just as much as it did at his filthy words. “Do you need me to put my fingers in your pussy?”

My thighs were shifting restlessly. “Yes, yes, please Aaron.”

When his mouth closed around my nipple, I felt his left-hand slide down into my shorts, then into my panties. He shifted his wrist, allowing his hand to cup me. He groaned against my skin. "I haven't even put a finger inside of you and I can already feel how wet you are. Your little cunt is just dripping for me.”

I didn’t have a chance to respond before he parted my lips, his finger ghosting over my clit, causing my back to arch off the bed. He smirked but didn’t tease me further; he slid his fingers down to my opening before pushing his middle and ring finger inside of me, using the heel of his hand to grind against my clit. I moved my hand to my mouth, having to bite on my skin to silence the scream that his actions brought forward.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He leaned back, never pausing the movement of his fingers. “Are you trying to be quiet? Do you not want everyone in this hotel to know how wet you are? How desperate you are to have my fingers inside of you?” All I could do was nod. “It’s all right, baby. Once we get home, I’ll hear you scream for me. But for now; be a good girl and try to be quiet. I’m the only one that gets to hear what you sound like when you cum for me.”

I was grinding against him, working my hips desperately, matching his rhythm. I was so close. “Aaron, NO!” was all I could say when he removed his fingers from inside me. The man just smiled at me, looking me straight in my eyes when he put his fingers in his mouth, licking me off of them.

He grabbed my shorts and panties at my hips, roughly jerking them off my body. “When we get home,” he said as he slowly started to push his own pajama pants down. “The first thing I’m going to do is lay on my back and make you put this pussy on my mouth. You taste so good, angel.” His cock sprang free; he was so much thicker than I expected. I was transfixed, just watching his fist pump up and down his hard length. “Will you do that for me? Will you ride my face?”

“Yes,” I was so desperate I would agree to anything in that moment. “I’ll do anything. Just please fuck me, Aaron.”

He used the fingers of his free hand to part my pussy lips again, rubbing over my clit. “I don’t have a condom, sweetheart, but-“

“I’m on the pill,” I reach out to grip his shoulders, pulling him on top of me. “I trust you. I trust you with everything. I need you inside me, Aaron.”

He shoved my thighs open, running the head of his cock up and down my pussy, coating himself in my arousal. He looked up at me again, giving me another moment to back out, before he slowly started to push inside of me. He stroked in and out of me, going a little bit deeper each time until he bottomed out. Aaron’s head fell to the dip of my shoulder. “Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re so fucking tight.” He started moving then. Slowly pulling out before he shoved himself back inside me. My hands were on his back, my nails digging into his skin. I wrapped my legs around his back, trying to draw him deeper inside me.

“You feel so good,” I whisper, biting his shoulder to keep my moans quiet.

Aaron raised up on straight arms, changing the tempo of his thrusts. “You’re not doing a very good job of being quiet, baby.” I whimpered; I couldn’t help it. “I think we might have to do something about that. He quickly pulled out of me; I didn’t have time to complain before he flipped me over, gripping my hips and lifting me up on to my knees. His hand palmed my ass cheek while he leaned over me, his breath hot on my ear. “This is how you need to be fucked.”

Raising up, he lined himself up and slammed inside of me. I bit my lip so hard that I could taste blood; Aaron tangled his hands in the back of my hair, pulling my head up while he set a brutal pace. "Quiet, baby. You don't want everyone to know what a dirty girl you are. Screaming for my cock, so wet that you're dripping down your thighs." His pace didn't slow down; I felt my orgasm rising up inside me. "Touch your clit for me, sweet girl. I want to feel you cum on my cock."

My fingers began circling my clit in a frenzy, causing my pussy to flutter around him. “That’s a good girl. Such a good girl for me. Can you be quiet when you cum? Or do I need to shove your face down in the mattress while I fuck you?” He gave a dark chuckle at my needy whine. “That’s what I thought.”

In the way that he knew everything, Aaron knew when my orgasm was peaking. He pushed my head down, never too hard, but hard enough. I bit the comforter in an attempt to silence my scream. I felt myself clamp down around his thick cock. My orgasm broke inside me so quickly. I screamed his name while I came; the comforter silenced some of it, but he heard it. That scream along with my pussy cumming on him was ultimately his undoing. He gave a few final thrusts before he went all the way, holding himself inside me as deep as he could, filling me with his cum.

I collapsed after that. I had never felt anything like this before. Aaron was there, knowing what I needed even when I didn’t. He held me for a moment until I caught my breath. Then he went into the bathroom, coming back with a damp washcloth to clean me up. He was so tender with my sensitive flesh; he didn’t say anything, he just focused on his task.

Once he was satisfied, he laid down beside me, drawing me into his side just as he’d done the night before. I couldn’t help the dry chuckle that left my exhausted body. Aaron made a ‘hmm’ noise. “I was just thinking about last night,” I said quietly, my voice raw from the screaming I had just done. “You held me like this last night. It was just 24 hours ago, but the whole world feels different.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat that I took as an agreement. After a beat, he said, "well, maybe you won't run out on me in the morning this time."

I looked into his eyes, raising up to press a kiss against his stubbly jaw. “I’ll never run again.”

And I meant it. I could face any monster, as long as Aaron Hotchner was beside me.

[wardensantoineandevka]

General D&D question time: have you seen the changes WoTC are making to statblocks in future books? If so, what do you think of them?

I have, and I think all of them are fantastic! I've been following it since the release of Wild Beyond The Witchlight, which already contains the changes. If you haven't been following the developments on Twitter, Wizards published an article by Jeremy Crawford yesterday walking through the changes. My copy of WBTW arrived today coincidentally, so I can pull up some great examples (apologies for bad photos). I will disclaimer that I am not a DM (though I want to!), and I haven't DM'd, but I've spoken a lot to DMs and read about their reactions to this. So, my thoughts here are from following thoughts of DMs and how I am personally approaching this as someone who would be new to DMing using these blocks.

I think the layout of the new statblocks is fantastic. I love listing the proficiency bonus, I love bonus actions having their own section. The reorganization is super intuitive and friendly to use, and it makes it easier to quickly understand what combat abilities are available.

I also like that statblocks for named characters include a personality trait, an ideal, a bond, and a flaw that offer very clear direction for roleplaying and combat notes that offer guidance on efficiently using this statblock. This is extremely DM-friendly and makes prep-work a lot simpler. Figuring out how the statblock expects you to PLAY this character in combat is often a harrowing experience.

If you've noticed in the Warduke, alignments make a return in WBTW and will be featured in upcoming books. I know alignments are not popular, but I like them! The Player's Handbook (and Crawford, in his article) describes alignment of a creature as "broadly describing its moral and personal attitudes" and that the behavior it describes is only typical and absolutely not everyone behaves that way. I like alignments as a general structure for roleplaying, as it helps give an idea of how to approach roleplaying an NPC or a creature. So, I think "only named characters have a specific alignment, and creatures with strong moral inclination have 'typically' preceding an alignment suggestion" is a good move.

People are really worried about about the spellcasting changes, but I think they're fantastic. I recommend reading the Crawford article for the full explanation. Nixing spell slots for NPCs and translating all their spells to be X/day is HUGELY helpful. Tracking spell slots as a DM is awful, and this simplifies the process immensely. But, I think paring down the spells list to focus more on utility is a great move. It makes it easier to understand how an NPC should function in combat and cuts down on the number of spells one needs to cross-reference to figure out what they even do.

There are vocal concerns out in the community that moving things out of spellcasting and making them magical actions instead effectively makes Counterspell without any use cases, but I don't agree. Hold Person, Charm Person, Banishment, Hypnotic Pattern, Polymorph, Plane Shift, Dominate Beast, Fly, Faerie Fire, Irresistible Dance, Mass Suggestion, Finger of Death, Dispel Magic, Teleport, Wish, Maze are all spells I spotted in the spellcasting section in WBTW that I would as a player consider Counterspelling—and I can think of many more utility spells I'd Counterspell immediately. Utility spells offer great value, and they are indeed still worth negating. Spells also cast from items also remain open to being Counterspelled, such as in the case of NPCs wearing Boots of Levitation or using a Staff of Power.

Generally, I think giving spellcasting NPCs a magical action that cannot be Counterspelled to defend themselves with is good. It actually allows spellcasters the ability to threaten the party even if a Counterspell is on the table, which is often a struggle with having spellcasting NPCs, and makes them capable of actually putting up a fight. This just shifts the rhythm and what you can may consider focusing on negating with a Counterspell.

Overall, my verdict is that the changes are all great and positive.

[sushiandstarlight]

Healing Touch

Personal Note: I can’t call this a part of the 30 Days of Prompts because I didn’t use today’s prompt.  Every time I tried it got super sad.  So, I found another prompt and then started writing and didn’t use that one, either.  Oops.  I’m out of control today, I guess. ;)

Read this story on AO3

Rated: G

In a flash the two of them appeared in Aziraphale's shop. Aziraphale himself was hanging heavily on Crowley's shoulder.

“I've told you to look!” Crowley was already yelling, even as he lead the angel over to the sofa to sit, “You have to look for traffic before you cross!”

“It's never been a problem before...” Aziraphale sat heavily, taking in his ruined clothes and wrist that was pointed in an odd direction before wincing and looking away, “I've never been struck by a car before!”

“It was about time then, you never look,” Crowley's voice was tight with strain. 

Ordinarily he would remove his glasses the moment they entered the shop, but he had kept them on. Aziraphale squirmed in his seat, knowing the demon was upset with him. But, Crowley shook himself, kneeling in front of him and taking his arm.

“Ah! Easy!” Aziraphale hissed, trying to jerk the injured wrist from Crowley's fingers, but Crowley gripped his arm above the break and didn't let go, “Careful, oh be careful.” It was only then that he realized he wasn't the only one trembling.

“Let me fix it.”

“Can you... is that something you can do?”

“Think so,” Crowley squeezed his forearm, “but you need to hold still.” Aziraphale did as he was told, watching as Crowley took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It didn't feel like a heavenly miracle and that made sense. This was one pulled up from the ground. A damp cold feeling slithered from the tips of Crowley's fingers, down his arm, and wrapped around his wrist. It squeezed the bones back into place, none to gently. He realized, belatedly, that he had whimpered out loud when Crowley's thumb brushed the inside of his arm in sympathy. Crowley, for his effort, seemed to slouch a bit towards the floor, his shoulders drooping.

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale wiggled his fingers experimentally.

“What about the rest of you? Should I check?” His hands were already moving to Aziraphale's knees and up his thighs which made the angel sit up a little straighter.

“No!” he squeaked, “No, no I don't think that's necessary... Just some scrapes and bruises, nothing that can't heal up on it's own, I think.”

“You're sure,” Crowley pulled his glasses off and set them on the table beside the sofa, resuming his kneeling in front of him, “You wouldn't lie to me?”

“No.”

“You have.”

“I- I withheld.”

Crowley's eyes looked so tired when he met them and he felt guilt settle thick in his stomach.

“I am sorry for that. I should have told you what I knew.”

“Are you withholding now?”

“I'm really not. I'm feeling a bit battered and, actually, exhausted... But, I'm okay. I'm okay, Crowley, I promise.”

Crowley stared at him for a minute before appearing to be satisfied with his answer and then he slithered up onto the sofa next to him. The hand that had been checking his left knee was still there, warming his skin through the layers.

“You realize, what with how we managed to piss off all of our superiors in one fell swoop... If either of us gets discorporated, they probably won't give us a new body,” Crowley sat stiffly, staring ahead, but Aziraphale saw his throat bob nervously.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Aziraphale told him, voice hushed.

“You don't know that.”

“I'll look next time. I'll look every time. I'm just... used to traffic going around because I believed it should. I suppose that doesn't work anymore.”

Crowley grunted.

“Could you, Crowley could you look at me please?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale fiddled with his ring, finding with some amount of horror that it was scraped on one side. He would have to have it fixed. He had had this ring for so long and nothing had ever damaged it before. “Please.”

He watched Crowley swallow hard again and then he met his eyes. It was only for an instant, but long enough to see that the yellow of his irises had eclipsed the sclera and they were really, really glossy. Crowley huffed and sniffed as he looked away.

“Tell me what I can do to make this better. Clearly, you're upset and it's my fault.”

“No, it's fine.”

“It's not fine. Tell me.” He chanced reaching out and placing his hand over the one on his knee and felt the tremble that was still working it's way down Crowley's arm.

“Just, I already lost you once, didn't I? Thought you were burned up right here in this bookshop. Really and truly gone by hellfire. I saw that car and I couldn't get there in time and I thought... All of that. We made it through all of that and you'd be taken from me by terrible driver.” Crowley's trembling had become full on shaking now, jostling Aziraphale's knee. He leaned towards the angel but then pulled back.

“I'm so terribly sorry I gave you a fright, my dear,” Aziraphale opened his arms slowly, “But I am still here and I will be more careful. Would you... would you like a hug?”

Crowley leaned towards him again, the same motion arrested again, lost in indecision.

“I think I would like a hug, if that's alright? Even if you don't need one,” Aziraphale wheedled, opening his arms a bit further, knowing there had never been a request he had made that Crowley had turned down. If he had to use that to give Crowley something that he, himself, needed... Well, so be it. Means to an end. And, anyway, he could really use a hug after what happened. He could still feel the gravel digging into his elbows, the steel cracking his wrist bones.

Crowley still hesitated for a moment then leaned in close and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale's torso. Aziraphale pulled him in, tucking him into his side and squeezing him. If he watched Crowley's shoulders hitch and heard some sniffles, he swore to himself he would never mention it. He just held the demon and stroked his back. When Crowley pulled back, after a time, his eyes were clearer if rimmed in red.

“You're sure you're alright?” His hand hovered near Aziraphale's cheek and the angel took his hand and pressed it gently to his face, nodding.

“To be completely honest, I am getting a bit sore... All over, actually. I'm not accustomed to be knocked around like that, I think. This body is protesting.”

“Maybe a bath? I could run you a bath,” Crowley sat up straight, obviously excited to have something active to do to help.

“That sounds divine,” he smiled lopsidedly at the demon who groaned, rolling his eyes.

“I'll run up and do that. You follow when you're able. Take your time.” And Crowley was off, jogging up the stairs and disappearing towards the bathroom. A moment later there was water running. Aziraphale lifted himself gingerly from the sofa and made for the stairs, regretting each one as he went. There were parts of his corporation that were throbbing painfully that he wasn't even aware he had previously. Somehow he made it to the doorway of the bathroom where he leaned against it heavily, taking a few deep breaths. Even that hurt. Crowley was kneeling by the tub, dumping in cups of lavender-scented epsom salts. The calming scent filled the room as the steam drifted from the water.

Crowley turned to him, wincing when he took in how he was standing.

“Let me help you get undressed,” Crowley stood fluidly and moved in front of him, reaching to pull his coat off his shoulders.

“I can get it,” Aziraphale waved weakly at his fussing hands.

“Can you? I don't want to do anything to make you uncomfortable. But, you can't see what you look like right now.”

“What do I look like?”

“A friend, in need of some help,” Crowley stood, hands at his side and eyes pleading.

Aziraphale tried to shrug out of his jacket but aborted the motion when pain shot down his spine then whispered quietly, “okay, you can help.”

Crowley went immediately and efficiently to work, stripping off his jacket and setting it aside. Then working the many buttons and layers he wore. So many layers. It took some time and all Aziraphale could think about was sinking into the warm water. When he was down to his pants, Crowley hesitated, pulling his hands back.

“They will have to come off now or later when I get out,” Aziraphale licked his suddenly dry lips and met Crowley's eyes even though every part of him wanted to look away. He didn't see anything untoward in the demon's gaze. No leering and no judgement, only fondness still laced with concern. Crowley stepped behind him to preserve his dignity and then tugged the pants down.

Aziraphale toddled over to the bath, feeling Crowley follow him in case he fell. He sunk down into the warm bubbles with a sigh, breathing deep the smells of other oils Crowley had added to the bath: the pine scent of arnica together with eucalyptus. His eyes had slid shut in pleasure but he opened them, once settled, to find Crowley dithering at the door to the bathroom.

“You can stay if you like,” Aziraphale closed his eyes again, sinking down into the water up to his chin. Crowley miracled a stool and sat by his head.

“You have bits of gravel in your hair,” he warned and then started gently picking them out.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale mumbled, finding himself drifting. The fingers in his hair went from picking to gently combing through and that felt so good he hummed in approval. There were parts of his body that were still upset, even in the warm water with it's calming oils and salts. But the fingers softly brushing his scalp seemed to balance it out. No one, not even Crowley himself, had ever touched him in such a way. He leaned up into the touch and drifted some more.

“You probably shouldn't sleep in there, Angel,” Crowley's voice was very close to his ear. He blinked his eyes open. One of the demon's hands was still buried in his hair, his other arm was stretched out along the side of the tub. The water was a lot cooler than he remembered.

“I don't sleep. Angels don't need sleep,” He knew it was false as he said it.

“Neither do demons, but it's nice. And it does help with the healing.” For the first time Aziraphale wondered how Crowley knew so many remedies for aches and pains. He felt a fission of fury stab through him at the thought of someone hurting the demon enough that he would need to learn these things. It faded with the fingers massaging his scalp. “Do you need help up?”

“Think I've got it.”

“You sound like you're falling asleep again.”

“Feels good.”

“That water can't be hot anymore.”

“No, not the water.”

“Wha- oh, oh.” Crowley's hand paused.

“I didn't say you had to stop.”

There was a pause, somewhat awkward.

“You don't mind?”

“No, it's nice... I don't mind you touching me.” He was so sleepy, though.

“I could,” he heard Crowley swallow, “I could... resume once you're tucked in bed.”

“Are you offering me a cuddle?”

Crowley made a choking noise.

“Because if you are, I'm going to take you up on it.”

“Yeah?” There was wonder in Crowley's voice. Aziraphale liked the sound. He liked it a lot better than the worry and the fear from earlier. He couldn't promise himself that he would never cause such a sound to be in the demon's voice again, but he could promise himself to try.

“Yes.”

“Well, alright then, Angel.” He could hear Crowley's smile, “I'll meet you in there then. Don't be long. There's a towel right here on the stool. He heard Crowley pad over to the door and then pause, “Aziraphale, don't you fall asleep in there. So help me, I'll carry you to bed.”

“Promises, promises,” he grumbled, sitting up. By the time he reached for the towel, the demon was gone. He also wasn't in the bedroom when Aziraphale entered in a towel. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed. Another time, perhaps, for something like that. He wasn't up for it, anyway. He changed as quickly as he could into soft cotton pajamas and crawled under the blankets in his rarely-used bed.

Aziraphale was unsure how much time passed before he heard soft footfalls pause by the bed. He could feel the uncertainty and was having none of it. He reached over and tossed back the blankets.

“In before all the warmth gets out,” the words ran together and slurred, even in his own ears, but Crowley seemed to understand well enough. He crawled under the covers and lay beside him, “good, now I believe there were cuddles on offer,” he tugged Crowley over by his own shirt, finding it to also be soft cotton. All the better. Crowley went where he was pulled until he was pressed all along Aziraphale's side.

“I'm really glad you're alright, Angel,” Crowley rested his head on his shoulder and draped an arm over his chest.

“Thank you for taking care of me, dearest.”

“Always, Angel, always.” And then he drifted and Crowley let him.

Other NaNoWriMo Fics:

Cocoa or Cider / Feather Duster / Scarf / Family / Hearth / Frosty / Ribbons  / Wrapping / Cardinal / Coal / Unwrap / Blustery

[dear-mrs-otome]

Ribbons & Bows - SLBP (Mitsunari)

Fandom: SLBP Pairing: Mitsunari x MC Rating: No Warnings Summary: What do you get when the perfectly imperfect neighbor and coworker finds out our intrepid heroine can’t wrap a gift well to save her life? Some reluctant help, and perhaps even more reluctant revelations.... ( A quick bit of Christmas-fluff, for a dear friend’s exchange gift. (Hence the named MC) I waffled on even posting this, so far past the season, but figure someone out there might enjoy it too! 2.5k+ words)

She’d recognize that sound anywhere. The sharp, staccato rapping at her door that carried over the sweet croonings of Bing Crosby singing about a White Christmas - too fierce to be anything called as soft as a knock. She knew exactly who it would be on the other side too, and tried her level best not to let her good mood slip away as she straightened up from tweaking the last folds on the gift she was wrapping.

The apartment was small, small enough she had to weave around the boxes of ornaments and decor she’d pulled out of her meager storage on her path to the door. Not so small though that she made it there before a second salvo of pounding followed the opening shots already fired.

“Mitsunari.” She didn’t even have to wait to finish swinging the door open before she greeted the man on the other side. It was already a given who it was. Neighbor, co-worker, thorn in her side...pick a label and run with it. They all fit her particularly handsome cross to bear.

The man in question shook ravenwing bangs out from behind his glasses with an irritated toss of his head, all the better to fix her with a baleful glare. “October.”

Her gaze slid instinctively away from that frigid stare uncomfortably, but it wasn’t much of an improvement given its traitorous preponderance to travel the length of his neatly trimmed frame any time she didn’t keep it firmly locked. A ‘swimmer’s build’, as Jace from the mailroom always drooled aloud. Lean and purposeful, as immaculate in button up and trousers as always - never so much as a spot, or tuck, or crease out of place. 

He was hot...especially for an accountant. She had to give her ovaries that. Too bad his personality had about all the warmth of a winter solstice atop Everest, and even less of anything resembling charm.

Neither of which had ever stopped her heart from doing an odd lurch whenever he met her eyes though.

He didn’t wait for her to dredge up any reply. “Surely you are aware that it is - “ He made a show of checking the ever-present watch on his wrist for emphasis. “Eleven at night, on December the first. So why then, in God’s name, am I being forced to listen to Christmas music at jetliner decibels through my wall?”

“It’s not at ‘jetliner’, Ebenezer Scrooge,” she shot back, hackles immediately up whenever this man was around. 

“It’s loud enough to get the attention of Ms. Takemura above you I would wager though. You’re lucky she didn’t call the super on you.” He made a small dismissive snort, before his gaze wandered down to the package she had forgotten she still held in her other hand. His eyes narrowed sharply and she tried, to no avail, to hide the misshapen mess behind her back. “What in God’s name is that? Is that supposed to be a present?”

“Yes, it’s supposed to be a present.” A good part of her wanted to be huffier about her reply...but the other larger part knew it was a sad excuse for a wrapping job, and she couldn’t stifle the sigh that slipped free before she’d given it permission. “It’s supposed to be for Hideyoshi too. I should have just taken the store clerk up on her offer to wrap it for me. Nothing like looking incompetent in front of your boss.”

She could feel him studying her for a long moment, though she didn’t dare look up to meet his gaze. Nearly jumping when he thrust his hand out towards her, gesturing with it impatiently. “Give it here.”

Pure reflex had her obeying his chilly command, and when it was in his grasp Mitsunari turned the sorry thing over as he examined it, a moue of distaste curling his lips down as if he were holding a dead mouse rather than a box and some scraps of paper that were clearly suffering delusions of grandeur.

“How did you even manage this?” He couldn’t have looked less impressed if he tried. “You do understand the basic concepts of geometry, do you not?”

“I-”

Her protest was cut short when he brushed past her and strode brazenly into her apartment, azure eyes taking the chaos all in with a few measured glances. “Scissors. Paper. Tape.”

“What?” She knew he was speaking legitimate words - they just made only the barest attempt at coherency.

“Scissors. Paper. Tape.” He repeated himself, louder and slower, as if speaking to someone hard of hearing. “You can’t give this to Hideyoshi as it is. It would be an insult.”

He took a seat at her sofa as if it were his own home, placing the package on the coffee table before him and looking at her so expectantly she was already gathering the requested items, dumping them on the table unceremoniously - more than a little bemused at the odd turn of events. Seeing her frosty co-worker ensconced comfortably in her living room was hardly the way she’d envisioned her Friday night going when she’d woken up that day.

He let out a small sound of approval, stripping her package of its sorry wrappings carefully, before reaching past the gaudy rolls full of penguins in Santa hats and kittens wrapped in tinsel for a classic striped pattern. For lack of anything better to do, she plopped to a seat beside him to watch as he worked - reluctantly admiring his deft, well-shaped hands as he set about measuring a new piece of wrapping for her box. 

“It’s not that I’m messy or don’t care,” she said finally into the silence, both to fill it and to soothe her wounded pride. “It just doesn’t seem to matter how carefully I line things up or space them out. They always end up too short or too long, too wide or not wide enough, the tape sticking everywhere…”

“Again - simple geometry.” Mitsunari’s gaze slid her way archly. “Not a skillset I would imagine is in high demand in HR though.”

She pulled a face at his bent head, hating that she couldn’t argue.

It seemed only moments before he’d finished, an impeccably squared box slid along the table towards her, freshly wrapped. He’d even done the thing where he’d managed to line up the stripes along the cut edges too, to her amazement.

“That’s...wow.” She looked up from turning it this way and that to shoot him a beaming smile, admittedly impressed. “Two hundred percent improved!”

She wondered if she only imagined his slight fidget. 

“A two hundred percent improvement is a mathematical impossibility,” he frowned. 

“Yes. I’m aware.” She stifled the urge to roll her eyes. “Have you never heard of hyperbole?”

“Intentional exaggeration as a rhetorical device?” he replied. She was about to shake her head, until she saw what looked like the faintest of dry sparks hiding behind his deadpan expression. “No, never.”

“Probably not a skillset I would imagine is in high demand in the finance department,” she lobbed back, and enjoyed the way his lips twitched faintly, as if stifling the urge to smile.

The faux-leather of her cheap sofa creaked as he turned to eye the equally sorry pile stacked beneath her cheery little Christmas tree, its lights winking happily in blissful ignorance of the crimes in repose at its feet. “And what are those?”

“The rest of my gifts.” She bit back the ‘obviously’ that tried to tack itself to the end of that sentence. She wouldn’t ruin this rare detente with Hideyoshi Holding’s prickly CFO just for the thrill of a cheap shot.

“Well...hand them over too. No need for you to embarrass yourself more than you already manage to on the regular.” He arched a sardonic brow at her. “I trust you can be relied on for something as simple as nametags and a stick-on bow, no?

“I think I can manage that much.” It struck her belatedly, as the absurdity of the entire situation wore off slightly, that she was being a terrible hostess - even if an impromptu one. “Would you...like a drink? I have water or tea...or I just opened a bottle of wine.”

Why had she said that? Offering a man alcohol, at practically midnight. Oh, God, it sounded absurdly forward, or hopeful, or...something. 

“Wine would be fine,” he replied, to her genuine surprise.

She stood and poured two glasses from the open bottle of table red sitting on her small kitchen counter, sipping one cautiously as she handed the other to him and retook her seat.

He accepted it, and then gestured with it to the seasonal trappings decorating her apartment, a small frown creasing the space between his brows. “Why is this all up so early?”

“My father loved Christmas. It was his favorite time of year.” She twisted the stem of the wineglass between her fingers restlessly.

He reached silently for the first of the packages she’d nudged closer, making quick work of it as she waited with poised pen and welcomed the familiar bittersweet patina of nostalgia. 

“He always did all the wrapping, because I was so hopeless. Except his own present of course, which amused him to no end. I keep thinking every year, it’ll get easier with him gone. It doesn’t exactly...but I can put these things up and watch our movies, listen to our music, and feel the good outweigh the bad now.”

Mitsunari only nodded slowly. “It sounds as if he would have approved.”

The pile on her side grew larger and his smaller as they worked efficiently through them, until there was only a couple of disasters left. And then Mitsunari picked up a small box - one she recognized all too well.

“Not that one!” 

She startled even herself with her yelp, but Mitsunari seemed utterly unfazed, merely fixing her with a single arcing brow as he held the box above her swiping grasp. “Whyever not, Ms. October?”

“It’s fine as it is, honestly.” She lunged again and he only sat up a bit straighter, her fingers brushing fruitlessly against the crumpled underside. 

“I won’t give it back until you tell me why.” 

He turned it over, looking for a tag, and she rose up onto her knees to make one more desperate attempt - only to watch with a sort of slow-motion horror, almost as if outside her own body, as she lost her balance and sprawled inelegantly across his lap, her cheek planted firmly against an even firmer chest. 

They both froze.

“October.” There was an odd, strained note to his voice. “Why is my name on this gift?”

She wanted to die, there on the spot. The only bright spot about any of this was that the crisp weave of his shirt was cool beneath her flaming face, as she scrambled for an answer. Distracted by the balsam notes of his cologne mingling with the evergreen of her Christmas tree, both tickling her nose and scattering her thoughts. 

How did she tell him it was for all the times she sat down at her table of one, eating dinner by herself, wondering if he was on the other side of her living room wall doing the same thing at that same moment?

How did she tell him it was for all those times at work she felt absurdly proud of herself for managing to earn one of his quicksilver smiles of praise? The times he held a door, or a taxi, or a stack of heavy files unprompted? The times she heard him come home from the office hours after she had, only to arrive the next morning with an inbox of organized reports, no questions asked?

How did she tell him it was for the face of his she glimpsed sometimes, in that split second when the elevator doors opened on him riding by himself as they passed each other in the course of their daily comings and goings, and she caught sight of what she suspected was the real Mitsunari - the man behind the ice and the vitriol and the acid-etched tongue. Far too young to look so forlorn. As if he’d let a mask slip in the close confines of the tiny space, where there was no one around to notice, and hadn’t quite managed to prop it back up again. 

As if it were his default state to look that utterly alone.

“Because I-” 

‘Buy them for all my coworkers’ was how she should finish that sentence, she knew. It was the safe answer, the sane answer. The one that sat like sawdust on her tongue.

And then it died at the slow slide of his hand gently flattening itself against her back, keeping her from pulling away. His palm was rock-steady, but she could feel the faint tremor of his fingers bracketing her spine, and wondered just what that small gesture cost him.

She settled for a truth, if not the truth. The one she scarcely dared admit to herself. “Because I wanted to make you smile.”

“I…” For the first time ever, she heard him at a loss for words, as Mitsunari cleared his throat thickly. “I’ve never gotten a Christmas present before.”

It was that confession that finally got her to lift her head, cheeks still hot as she gaped at him, suddenly terrified she offended him somehow. Suddenly even more terrified that the answer was far worse. “Do you not celebrate?”

“I’m not...opposed to it.” There was still a thread of something wound tightly between his words, making a snare of them that kept her rooted to the spot. Counting the hard beats of his heart wrenched out beneath her hand. Five, ten, a dozen as she waited for the continuation she felt vibrating through him. “I’m just not sure what to make of this.”

She could see as much when she steeled herself to meet his eyes - the blue of them looking lost. Emotion moving in their depths, like the flicker of something great passing beneath arctic ice. No less immense for being half-unseen.

“You can make of it exactly what you want.” It was the closest she could come to putting herself out there, coward that she was. Leaving the door open if she couldn’t manage to take that first step herself. 

She couldn’t miss the unmistakable way his gaze flickered down to her lips, subliming from glacial to the blue center of a flame in an instant. “And if I want more than just that gift?”

“You can have that too.” Her head tipped up expectantly, in clear invitation.

He didn’t need to be told twice, it seemed. There was a moment, a space squeezed between heartbeats where his breath fanned sweetly over her cheek and his nose just brushed hers - a last chance to pull away, before his mouth sealed over hers and she was consumed.

His lips seared hers, his tongue hot like flame as he sought hers out, the faint taste of red wine still clinging to them both. He swallowed down her moan like the finest of vintages, answering with a tiny hungry growl that set her mind blanking. She clung to his shoulders and felt them flex intoxicatingly as he hauled her to straddle his lap, fingers dimpling hard against her thighs and backside until they were cradled together seamlessly. Bodies pressed in a long line from head to curled toe.

She only tore herself away from the fascination of his kiss when the world began to spin, breaking apart long enough to press her forehead to his and stare into the deep water of his gaze, their ragged breathing knotted together.

“Merry Christmas, Mitsunari.”

It was ridiculous, innocuous. Words dredged up for the lack of any higher function on the part of her brain, although the sentiment was heartfelt. 

And it didn’t seem to matter, when he rewarded her with a smile so fragile and fledgling she knew without a doubt it was the first of its kind he’d ever formed, elevating him from beautiful to breathtaking. Her own Yuletide miracle. “Yeah. I think it might be.”

[cozycryptidcorner]

The Mad Prince, Chapter Eight

“There will be some changes to your schedule. And you will be assigned a food taster, in case of poison. A full security detail will have to accompany you should you need to visit a public level, for whatever reason.”

You feel like barfing again as Elias recites a rather long, very detailed list about how your seriously your safety is going to be taken. Still, though, you sit on the provided chair, arms on the prince’s desk, as the assistant continues. Everything seems... too dark, suddenly, a dull, throbbing pain beginning to pinch on the inside of your skull. You know that breathing a word of complaint might put you on that psychopath’s medical table again, so you bear it, silently, looking over the provided datapad with feigned interest.

“Is this to your satisfaction, your highness?”

You realize that Elias is speaking to you, not the prince, so you swallow and offer up a nod. “Yeah, it looks good to me.”

He then turns to the prince, offering the same treatment. “Does this satisfy you, your grace?”

“I will look over it in more detail later,” the prince says calmly, “and you will reevaluate some of the steps.”

“Of course, sire.” Elias, at least, looks mildly relieved that he’s not about to end up on the platter in the dining area, “I will inform the head of security.”

“You are dismissed.” The prince looks back at you as his assistant leaves, arms crossed.

You don’t really know where to go from there, so you decide to take it a couple of steps at a time. All your things are being scanned for any remedial poisons and toxins, so the guns you brought are about to be found. Fun stuff. Oh, and some other… more scandalous things, you know, the stuff that you’ve been using in the absence of a partner. That’s going to be super fun to explain. You’re not quite sure which one is going to be more embarrassing to deal with, the laser technology or the vibrators. It’s a close call. And this is a new sensation, too, because you’ve never been super shy about either of those. In the very small amount of instances where either someone went through your stuff, or you had to send your bag through a security scan, you shrugged off the phallic shapes and dared someone to say something about it.

“Cool,” you say, mostly to yourself, “cool, cool, cool, cool.”

“I understand that this isn’t ideal,” the prince says, “and for that, I apologize.”

“Not your fault,” you say, trying to be understanding but allowing the full implications of this situation set in, “but thanks.”

“Is there anything I can have fetched for you?” The prince squeezes his hands together, his knuckles going a shade paler from his grip. “Books? Projects?”

“I want to take a nap.” The headache is spreading now, and all you would like to do is lay down and forget about existing for a little while.

“Of course, is there anything you’d like to sleep in, or are you fine now?”

“Blankets would be nice,” You say, already partly onto the bed. There aren’t any for you to wrap yourself up in, and you’d like to make yourself into a burrito to sleep.

True to his word, the prince orders some blankets up, and you have your pick of all the different materials the royal laundry has to offer. Large, thin, thick, fluffy, light, heavy. You grab the one that will provide the most comfort and roll yourself up, laying your head down on a pillow and closing your eyes. The sleep, at least, is like a sweet relief against the day’s worries, like a blissful blackout. When you wake, everything pitch dark, you have to blink to realize your eyes aren’t still closed. You also don’t sense an enormous, foreboding weight on the other side of the mattress, either, so you’re alone.

Hesitantly, you step out of the bed, feeling the ground for obstacles, and try to find your way out. Unfortunately, your shin crashes into something rather hard, so a string of curse words are out of your mouth before you can even stop the urge. When you take a second to breathe, you hear the skittering of pointed legs against the stone floor, and the lights turn on to a dim setting, the prince peeking his head through the door.

“You’re up,” he notices.

“What time is it? Already night?” You’re nowhere near the door and had been aiming for it in a slightly adjacent trajectory. Even if you hadn’t run into some sort of decorative statue, you would have then planted face-first into the wall only a moment later.

“It’s morning,” the prince says, “you slept through the rest of the day and through the night.”

“Incredible.” You say, somehow feeling thoroughly exhausted.

“I could turn the lights back off and let you go back to sleep? Oh, and there’s a lantern sensor on the table on your side of the bed, just touch the pad if you need to see.”

“I’m good, I probably need to face the day anyway.” You yawn, scratching your arm.

“Well,” his expression turns a tad hesitant, “your things are here, fully inspected by my security staff.”

That wakes you up as efficiently as getting a bucket of ice water dumped over your head. “Cool, that’s great. I’ll put on some clothes that actually fit me, then.”

“There’s also the matter of…” his voice trails off before he tries starting the sentence again. “Some of your things are considered contraband here.”

“I know.” Emit an aura of confidence. “But you know how I like having my safety in my own hands, so the guns stay.”

“That is acceptable, though you are aware that the outer shell of a drider is tough enough to take two or even three shots from your strongest rifle and still be able to fight?”

“Yeah?” You aren’t stupid. “The guns were there before you offered to teach me the fancy knife work.”

“I see.” He hesitates again, and you can see precisely what he wants to ask, but you let him flounder around because you hope that he will just choose not to bring it up. Oh, but no such luck, because he cocks his head and adds, “there is also something else found that I am, well, curious about.”

“Hm?” You ask, arching your eyebrows, hands on your hips.

“Several intriguingly shaped objects that seem to serve no function but to… well…”

A part of you enjoys watching him squirm, despite your own embarrassment. “Oh, did you not get the memo that humans tend to be creatures of sexual nature?”

“I…” he suddenly looks like he regrets bringing the subject up, “-did, but I suppose that I hadn’t realized that it was so... ferocious.”

“Well,” you stand on the tips of your toes to pat him on the shoulder, “I’ll spare you the more lewd details, doesn’t look like you can stomach it at the moment. Where did you say my stuff was?”

“Set against the front door.”

“Neat, thanks.”

It’s clear as day when you open your bags that they’ve been rifled through with great liberty. Still, after going through everything twice, you’re satisfied that all your stuff is still there, so you spin around and let out a muted sigh. “Any place I can put these?”

“My closet would be acceptable,” the prince says, working on something at his desk. His face seems… darker? More saturated? You wonder… could he be flushed? Is this what a flustered drider looks like?

You try not to laugh too loudly as you go to put your things away, organizing what you have among the prince’s clothes and accessories. Now that you have a moment, you figure you can go through his clothing just as a sort of preliminary investigation of what the prince (or the person who dresses him, at least) thinks is fashionable. Lots and lots of fluttery, light fabrics, robes, and tunics made to be seen by the careful eyes of a predator. You run your fingers over silky and scratchy threads, marveling at the textures, pulling some of the drapery out, so see how it falls back in place.

There aren’t really any sort of shoes, but there are a vast amount of accessories. Jewelry, for one, though you’ve never seen the prince wear anything more than rings and claws, but there are nose rings, earrings, necklaces, crowns, you name it, he has it, in black, silver, and even white. Now there’s a color you didn’t think you would see since you left the Starward Matchmaker™ ship. An older instinct inside of you wants to reach out and snatch at the metal and gemstones, and it’s something you have to actively fight against because you’re fingers always want to grab first, ask questions later.

Calmly, you turn around to gather up clothes to get into. By the time you’re changed, there’s already food sitting on the table for you to eat, so you hop right onto the human-sized chair across from the prince, who is already settled in his place. Oh, the spread is downright beautiful, a collection of foods both familiar and not, you’re so stupidly hungry that you go through a whole helping before you even taste anything. No one tells you that on top of being tired all the time from the extra gravity, you also end up being fucking famished because you’re exerting yourself more than usual. Your poor body’s burning calories up the wazoo as it struggles to adjust.

“About the doctor’s appointments,” the prince says, poking at his own food, “there aren’t many doctors with as much intimate knowledge on human anatomy as Doctor Nisesh.”

You look at him, but don’t say anything back.

“There is, however, a drow medical professional willing to become your doctor, if that suits you?”

You offer a nod.

He lets out a breath, as though he was expecting more of an argument, for whatever reason. “Well, I will send word. I’d like for you to have a preliminary exam as soon as possible, today, even, unless you have other plans?”

“Oh, hold on, let me look at my schedule.” You pull out your datapad’s calendar, which is decidedly empty. “Nope, looks like I can squeeze it in.”

“Excellent.” He seems pleased, at least, and you aren’t sure if its because you aren’t putting up a fight or he found your joke amusing. “I hope you will forgive me, but I will be in meetings for most of the day, there are some things I have been putting aside in lieu of, well, your arrival. Elias and another guard will escort you to and from my family’s private clinic.”

“Ooo, a whole clinic just for you and your family? I’m always so used to having to share those medical offices with everyone else in the area who needed them! I feel so darn special already.” Internally, you berate yourself for being just a wee bit too sarcastic, but he doesn’t seem at all bothered by your classy snark. Still, you try to dial it back significantly, even though you feel ridiculously cranky.

True to the prince’s word, Elias shows up a little bit later, his black uniform crisp and sharp in the dim light, shadowed by some kind of similarly uniformed drow, gun strapped to their hip. You’re already dressed, so you shove your datapad in your back pocket, say goodbye to the prince, and follow the assistant out into the halls. This floor’s decorations are significantly more rustic than the one above, like the prince’s room itself, with objects and statues you are sure probably date back a couple hundred or so generations. You’re very careful to keep your hands at your sides, afraid that you might accidentally move too weird and knock a millennia-old artifact onto the floor.

There are keys to the elevators, or, at least, for this level, which you suppose makes sense. It’s the same with stations and the like, the restricted areas kept under a keycode, but surely there has to be some sort of stairwell or tunnel that these people can use in the case of emergency. You would think, anyway. Lolth wasn’t always so technologically advanced, so they must like a tunnel system, maybe even air vents that go straight up to the surface dug when the atmosphere on this hellish planet was still breathable.

“Pardon me for asking, your grace, but your maid reported that you request that you speak to her in a plainer tone.” Elias breaks the ice, surprisingly. You thought that you might have to suffer the ride in stifling propriety.

“You can say ‘my bodyguard,’ it’s ok,” you say, unable to reel the retort in before it left your mouth. “And yes, I did. The constant respect got on my nerves, so I asked to be demoted to just ‘ma’am,’ if the titles are all that necessary.”

“I see,” Elias nods like he understands, “would you appreciate it if I did the same?”

It’s like a breath of fresh air, being spoken to like you’re on the same level, but you approach the offer with great trepidation. After all, this is the prince’spersonal assistant, the two of them might be colluding over the little bet you made. “I would, actually, if you don’t mind my, um, lack of formality. I know it bothers some of the staff.”

“My purpose here is to make you feel welcome, so if I must hold back a margin of bureaucratic language, then that is a sacrifice I’m sure the keias will understand.”

“Well, then, that sounds good to me, so long as you don’t get in trouble for it.”

An uncomfortable silence threatens to befall the elevator pod, but you’re saved by the doors opening. Elias exits first, and you get a decent view of the intricate, smooth braids his white hair is done up in. The twists are stiff, the kind that comes with an inordinate amount of product clinging to the strands, though the rest of his hair spill out like a frothing waterfall. The intricate hairstyles, especially from the staff, are just one of the ways everything is different from what you’re used to. With shorter hair comes efficiency, or, at least, the appearance of it, so most people you know have, at the very most, have shoulder-length cuts.

The guard stays behind you, as though watching for any attacks that might dare aim for your back. You aren’t one hundred percent positive, what with the assassination attempt and all, but you don’t really peg the driders as a people who would pull such a disgraceful maneuver, drows, though? You’re not so sure about them. Humanity is known for discriminating against their own on the basis of faked biology, so you aren’t exactly blown away and scandalized by the fact some other species does it as well, it’s just… well, eerie it to actually see it in action. Human slaves rebelled. You would think that the drow are doing the same, only everything nasty about the world is probably carefully shifted away from your view.

You’re on the same floor as the garden, so this must be where all the extra stuff besides living and eating quarters must be, a sort of recreational deck, you guess. Kind of like the space cruiser. The station is close by, and the ride to the clinic was rather peaceful. While you try asking Elias questions about himself, his life, the prince, and the prince’s family, he reacts… very dodgy, and the longest answers he gives are oh so very clearly scripted. You’re not stupid.

“You can just say that you’re not at liberty to talk about those things, it will be less obvious.”

Elias looks over at you again, his face tight with carefully restrained emotion. “I apologize. There are things that I would think would be better coming from the keias directly, rather than from me.”

“Alright.” You hold your hands up in mock surrender. “I’m sorry for poking at you.”

The rest of the ride continues in silence. You’re almost relieved that you can stand and walk out of the station, a small one, much like the one from the palace, with no other people present. It must be some kind of private platform, which honestly makes sense. The clinic looks familiar, but given the fact you spent the last time you were here in a drugged up like a sick dog, you can’t really say that you’d be able to find your way around. Before you can even look over to Elias for a pointer on which sliding door to enter through, someone wearing a lab coat steps out.

“Ah! My human patient,” an elderly drow female, her hair silver, “welcome, welcome. I am Doctor Eidel, I was told I would be expecting you today.”

With all the cold, distant reactions from everyone else you’ve met, having such a legitimately warm greeting puts you at ease, despite the very real possibility of a fucking war criminal lurking in around in the brightly decorated halls. “Thank you, hi.”

“Well, I’ve got the file the Starward Matchmakers sent out, so why don’t we step aside in one of the rooms and begin? Would you be comfortable with your party remaining present or waiting just out in the hall?”

The fact you even get a choice fills you with more relief than you can possibly describe. Turning to Elias and the guard, you say, “sorry, I know we’ve been bonding, but I don’t think we’re on the level of you seeing me naked quite yet. Not even-” the prince has that privilege, yet, you don’t say, because that might be going just a tad bit far. “I mean, I’d just appreciate the privacy.”

Absolutely no fight from either of them, probably just as equally opposed to the idea, so you follow the doctor into a room. She hands you a loose hospital gown for you to change into, and leaves you alone. All very basic doctor stuff, with no threats of experimentation and disembowelment. Boy howdy are you glad to have changed medical professionals, huh. The checkup is just like any other you’ve undergone, the doctor quick to look over just the basic health things, then goes over anything else you might be ‘concerned’ with.

“Alright, we’ve got some basic painkillers for your headaches, though it’s not going to be a permanent solution.” Doctor Eidel writes something on her datapad with a white electric pen.

“Are there any... ‘permanent solutions’ in the making?” You can’t imagine having to deal with this forever… though the idea of even being on one planet for the rest of your life gives you a heavy bout of vertigo.

“I’m afraid it’s just a simple matter of biology.” She sets aside the clipboard. “If you were born here, perhaps, it wouldn’t be such a large issue. But since you grew up in a place with smaller gravity- a mining station, correct?”

“Yes,” you say, your voice slightly smaller.

“My suggestion would be that you are going to have to take breaks from the gravity as to not strain your body. Every couple of cycles, you will need to spend, at the very least, equal time back in an area with the same force of gravity as what you are used to. The keias has been trying to find some other fix that would keep you here, on this planet, but I’m afraid that the simplest solution is often the best.”

Again, that feeling of entrapment creeping into your bones. “I- I see, thank you so much for your honesty.”

Again, she picks up her datapad and electric pen, scribbling something else done. “Well, following on the note of honesty, the queen wants a genetic compatibility and fertility test done on you.”

“But- um, I thought the Starward Matchmakers™ do some sort of similar test?” A bolt of panic runs through your spine.

“They do a basic overview, which is as good as a guessing game. However, given the sudden paleness of your skin, I will just pretend that I haven’t seen the message until after you leave.”

Relief numbs your panic, and you let out a breath. “Thank you, yes, I don’t really want you digging around up there right now.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she takes her gloves off, “there’s only a certain amount of things you can avoid before she gets demanding. I’d suggest you talk to the keias so you can hide behind him.”

Well, given the earlier conversation involving dildos and the way he behaved, you aren’t sure he would be a whole lot of help in that regard, but you suppose you might have to give it a try. “Alright.”

“Well then, I’ll leave you to get dressed and order that medication. Don’t bother waiting, I’m sure there are a thousand security measures to get through before you so much as see a pill, so they’ll just be sent up to where you’re staying.” She taps her forehead with the back of her pen. “I’ll also give the prince a very mild suggestion that you get a couple of trips up into a neighboring moon resort in the near future, so your bones to catch a break.”

“Got it, thank you so much.” You mean it, too, this was probably the most candid conversation you’ve had since you got here. Once your clothes are back on, you leave as the doctor instructed, finding Elias and the security guard waiting out in the hall for you to emerge. You give neither of them any updates on your health, it’s not like it’s any of their business, anyway, so you’re rather silent as you get back in the car of the train and try to chill.

As you arrive back in the palace, stepping out of the car and into the courtyard area. Calmly, you look over at Elias as two other figures approach, large and terrifyingly quick, because you are still new to the whole drider royalty thing, and you aren’t sure how you’re supposed to handle this. Politely? Snarkily? Honestly, you’re in the mood for the latter, so you cross your arms in preparation for dealing with some ridiculous bullshit. You recognize one of them, the vice-marshal, he’s the one who gave you that shakedown when you first arrived. Little does he know that without the Starward Matchmaker™ representative to witness your transgressions, you suddenly feel an absolute lack of fear towards him.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls, looking you over, “you seem to be taking the gravity well.”

“Yeah!” You change your voice to the perkiest, sweetest customer service tone you can muster. “Doc says I’m doing pretty well, how super is that?”

“Super,” he echoes, clearly disgusted by the word in itself. “Now, don’t take this the wrong way, little lady, but my wife and I were rather worried when we heard about the security upgrades. A kidnapping attempt, perhaps? Or even worse, an assassination?”

Elias decides to step in, “a thousand apologies, vice-marshal,” damn, you’re getting some deja vu, you wonder how many times he has to say that every day, “but I’m afraid I must escort our lady back to the keias.”

” Of course,” the vice-marshal waves his hand in Elias’ general direction, “wouldn’t want Aksanoskeias getting all worried, now. He might wonder if his new fiance is dead, like the other one.”

[doyoufancyathought]

Through The Utility Closet Part 3: Get Tested

Y/N had never been a fan of hospitals. In fact, she had gone above and beyond in her efforts to avoid going to them. She thought she could probably count all of her hospital visits on her fingers. Thankfully, she was a fairly healthy individual, so it wasn't hard for her to stay out of the Emergency room. They were too sterile, too clean, and everyone was always bustling and grumping around, and poking and prodding all the time. Y/N knew that the hospital wasn't supposed to be an enjoyable place to spend time, but she definitely was of the opinion that steps could be made to make it at least comfortable. Or hospitable, if you'll excuse the joke.

Still, she was in a new dimension, apparently, and so exceptions must be made when it comes to personal dislikes against institutions. She wanted to get home, after all, and this was a necessary step. In order for these scientists to send her back home, they must figure out where exactly she is from, otherwise they could end up sending her to a completely wrong place or time or what have you, and that would just be a disaster.

Once she was up on the exam table, Y/N did her best to appear friendly to the business-like nurse. She was quick and efficient as she hooked Y/N up to at least different machines, and tied a rubber band around her upper arm. For a moment, Y/N was worried that these strangers might be shooting her full of drugs, but then she remembered that this was simply routine for drawing blood. She hoped that medical procedures weren't too different in this world from her own.

Y/N was relieved when the nurse brought in a tray of empty vials and begin to explain what she was doing.

"I'm going to draw some blood so we can do some tests. I'll also need a hair sample, and I'm going to do a saliva swab as well, just so we can take a look at your DNA. How's that sound?"

"Invasive."

The nurse smiled. "I promise you'll barely feel a thing. The swab will be oral, same as checking for strep."

The nurse did her tests, and then let a few scientists in lab coats in. They pulled up chairs in front of the exam table and introduced themselves, although Y/N forgot their names as soon as she heard them.

"Okay, so I guess the first question is for you to introduce yourself and where you're from."

"My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I'm from (hometown) in (country). I was working at one of my jobs when I fell through an inter dimensional portal and ended up here."

"Good start. Can you tell me about the planetary system from your home world?"

"I guess so." Y/N thought about it for a second, trying to remember those astronomy lessons from many years ago. "Earth is the third planet from the Sun, which is the centre of the system. Then there's Mercury, Mars, Earth, Saturn, Jupiter, Uranus, Pluto, and I think I'm missing some. I can't remember the order, sorry, I've never been good at planets."

"That's all right. Can you tell me how many days in a year?"

"365."

"And how old are you?"

"22."

"And how old do people usually live to be?"

"Uh, I don't know. Maybe anywhere from 70 to 90 years?" Should have paid for attention in stats class.

"How big are spiders in your world?"

"Some of them are super tiny, like you can barely see them. And then some of them are huge, like a dinner plate."

"I see. And how big are chickens?"

"What?"

"How big are chicken? I know it's a weird question, but some worlds have gigantic chickens that actually prey on humans."

"Thats, um, disturbing. But my chickens are normal size? Like small enough to fit in an oven."

"Ok, well that's good. "

There where more questions like this, some about history and some about geography and flora and fauna. When they were all done, the scientists discussed for a minute by themselves.

"Okay, well, from what we can tell, your world is incredibly similar to our own, with the major differences likely being social development. You say you don't have the Avengers in your world?"

"No, we don't have any superheroes or superpowers at all. I wish, though."

"Yeah, that makes sense. How much do you know about inter-dimensional portals?"

"Absolutely nothing."

"Ok, well that's fair, it's a tough subject. So pretty much, each dimension has kind of bridges to reach out to other dimensions. When two bridges line up, there's a chance for people or things to cross over."

"Okay, that makes sense I guess."

"A lot of the time, these bridges go unnoticed. Some dimensions are connected permanently, some are connected cyclicly, and some are connected for less than a second at a time, which makes them extra hard to track. You with me so far?"

Y/N nodded.

"Don't worry if you don't get it. Basically, what I'm trying to say is that we might have a hard time tracking down your world."

"Okay, but how long do you think it'll take? How long does it normally take?"

The scientists shifted uncomfortably. "Well that's the thing. There is an infinite amount of universes you could be from, and it'll take a while to narrow it down to just the most likely. From there, we would have to figure out what kind of bridges they all have, and figure out how to predict it, and then figure out a way to send you back."

"Oh, that does sound complicated. So like a month?"

They glanced at each other. "We've never done this before, and we've never sent anyone back through a bridge."

"Two months?"

"Maybe a year."

"What?"

"I said, maybe a year?"

"I'm going to be here for a year."

"Maybe, like I said we've never done this before so we can't really give you an idea of how long it will take."

"Oh my God."

"We're very sorry. We'll give you some space."

The scientists left, and the nurse from before came back in and started unhooking Y/N from the monitors.

"We've run all the tests we need to, dear. Do you have any questions?"

"I have so many questions, I don't even know where to begin."

"That's understandable. We'll have your results back in a few hours, and that'll help the scientists get a head start on where you're from. I've got your clothes here, if you step through that door you'll be able to change in privacy."

Y/N nodded and jumped off of the table, gathering her clothes in her rooms and she quickly walked across the cold floor to the changing room. She pulled on her work clothes, which consisted of jeans and a black t-shirt, but opted to leave the apron and baseball cap off. There was no need to wear them here. Y/N put her shoes back on, simple canvas slip-ons, and reflected on what she had just learned. Here are the facts.

1. She had magically teleported through a door.

2. She was now stuck in a world that apparently had superheroes.

3. The superheroes had no idea how to get her back, or how long it would take to figure it out.

4. She was stuck.

Now, a normal person might cry when they considered this situation. But, Y/N was not a normal person. She had the fun meal-deal of anxiety and depression, and at this moment, she thanked her ill little brain for causing her to overthink every little scenario so she would be prepared for the worst to happen. Of course, none of those thoughts covered time and dimension travel, but they had covered a sudden zombie apocalypse, so it was just a matter of adjusting the survival strategy. Find shelter, find friends, and fight to live.

So far, Y/N had maybe found friends. The Avengers seemed like a friendly bunch, if oddly beautiful, and Sam had offered his basement as shelter. Now, all she had to do was figure out the day to day stuff. Get a job, live a life, and get back to her world.

So she stepped out of the changing room back into the hallway, and say the Avengers gathered around. They all turned to her as the door closed behind her.

"And what did you find out from the scientists, Y/N?" Vision asked.

"Well, they tried explaining how inter-dimensional portals work. That went way over my head. But basically, I'm gonna be stuck here for a while until they can figure out where I'm from and figure out how to get me back. So, I guess I'm going to need to find a job or something pretty quick."

Tony shook his head and stepped to the front of the group. "That won't be necessary. I'm loaded, and I'll make sure you're set up to not need anything."

"Why?"

"Because I want to? You just flew through outer space into a whole new world, and you're worried about getting a job? Come on, live a little! You look like you work too hard. What work do you do?"

"At which job?"

"Well how many do you have?"

"Three."

"Holy moly."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Y/N shrugged. "I get bored."

"So you work?"

"Beats sitting around on my ass."

"Fair point. Well anyways, enjoy the vacation for now, and in the future if you still want a job, we'll have to figure out the proper documents. For now, enjoy your vacation! I'm loaded, and this is the perfect opportunity to share, okay?"

"If you really want to, I mean, I don't mind working."

"Clearly, you have three jobs. Psycho. But no, I don't mind. In fact, I would be offended if you didn't accept my offer."

"Okay, well, then, thanks!"

"No problem. I already gave Sam a credit card for you, so you can go shopping on your way to his house. You do know how to work a credit card, right?"

Y/N grinned. "Yes, Tony, I know how to work a credit card. My world apparently isn't that different from this one, just a few small differences I guess."

"Good. Alright, well, roll out, team."

The Avengers dissipated until it was just Sam, Steve, and James standing around with Y/N.

"So you're still coming with us, right?" Sam asked.

Y/N shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so. If you don't mind, of course."

"Not at all. It'll be nice having a girl in the house, for once."

The group of four started walking down the long hallway.

"So do you just collect strays, Sam?" Y/N asked, curious of why he was so eager to offer his spare room to a total stranger.

Before he could answer, Steve cut in. "Yeah, I mean, why else did you think we lived with him?"

"I don't know. I thought maybe you were in a band, or really good gym buddies, or maybe even a throuple."

Sam choked on a laugh, but Bucky and Steve looked confused. "What's a throuple?" James asked.

"It's like a couple, but instead of it being two people, it's three." Y/N explained.

"And you thought?" Steve almost looked offended.

"Look, sorry, I don't know what's normal for you here, and I didn't want to assume it was all platonic!"

Sam was dying laughing. "You thought -" he had to lean on a wall to keep standing upright. "Man, we're just good friends, and these two have absolutely no credit, so it's hard for them to find places to stay."

"Ah. I guess being a superhero might not pay well."

"Well, I mean there are other reasons too, but yeah let's go with that." Steve didn't exactly want to jump this poor girl with the fact that he was also over 100 years old and had been frozen for a while. She had enough to worry about.

Y/N didn't pursue the other reasons, because they had finally exited the building and she was looking around, comparing this new world to her own. It was dark out, because it was night. She looked down the street and saw a McDonalds sign, which made her smile. At least she could have her chicky nugs if things got too tough. Turns out this world was just like hers, just with a bit of a different history. A lot more violence, hence the need for superheroes.

They got into the car, and Sam drove them to a mall, where they spent an hour and a half hopping around to different stores to get stuff. Y/N got used to spending someone else's money, and she definitely took advantage of the three guys following her around who offered, nay, insisted on carrying her bags. However, she insisted on going into the drugstore alone so she could collect toiletries.

She grabbed a cart (and honestly who uses a cart in a drugstore unless you have serious money to spend) and spent about 45 minutes going up and down most of the aisles to find what she needed. Luckily, the products were exactly the same as she was used to, so it was only a matter of finding exactly what she needed.

When Y/N finally walked out, she spotted her new companions sitting down on one of those middle-of-the-mall benches that are intended for senior citizens and mothers with rowdy children and men waiting for women to finish their shopping.

"Got everything you need?" Sam asked as he stood up and stretched.

"Yup."

"Alright, let's head home. You feel like pizza for dinner?"

"What's pizza?" Y/N deadpanned, and the three guys looked shocked.

"You don't know what pizza is?" Steve asked.

"Nope, never heard that word before in my life."

"Seriously?"

"Why would I joke about it?"

"You've never had pizza before." James reiterated.

"Nope. What is it?"

"No, you gotta experience it." Sam smiled and started walking back the way they had come.

Steve and James were perfect gentleman, and oddly strong as well, but Y/N again did not complain when they grabbed her bags from the drugstore. She opened doors for them as they went out to the parking lot.

Once they were back in the car, Sam got on his phone and ordered pizza that would be delivered right as they got home, provided traffic cooperated. Y/N spent the drive looking out the window at all the lights and people she saw, and didn't pay much attention to the conversation the guys were having. Nothing looked too out of the ordinary, except for the whole superhero thing.

Once they got to Sam's house, a tidy little bungalow in a quiet neighbourhood, they unloaded the car and headed inside. Steve and James ran downstairs to put Y/N's bags in her room, while Sam gave her a tour.

As they were walking down a hallway, Y/N stopped to look at family pictures hanging on the wall.

"Is this your family?" She asked.

"Yeah, that's my sister and her two boys. They've grown a lot since that picture was taken though."

"They look like lots of fun."

"They're a handful, that's for sure."

"And these are your parents?"

"Yeah," Sam said quietly. "They passed a few years ago, that's the last picture we ever took of them both together."

"Oh I'm so sorry." Sam shook his head as Y/N reached out to touch his arm. "They have really kind eyes." She said, her gaze returning to the picture.

"They were the kindest people I've ever known." Sam said, and just then, the doorbell rang. "Sounds like the pizzas here."

Y/N could hear the two boys thundering back up the stairs as she followed Sam to the front door. She expected that he would need help carrying all the food in.

She was right. The delivery driver had to go back to his car to get a second load of pizza. Y/N brought the first load into the kitchen and got a few plates down from the cupboard.

"Oh, good, you found the plates!" Sam said as he walked into the kitchen a few minutes later.

"Yeah, lucky guess."

They set the table in silence as Steve and James washed up, and then they sat down for dinner.

Sam decided he wanted to know more about Y/N. "So, Y/N, tell us a little bit about yourself."

"Ok, well," Y/N hated this questions, because how do you boil yourself down to just a few facts? She just wished people would ask direct questions, because she could answer questions if they were clear. She hated vagueness. "I'm 22, I still live, or lived, with my parents. I like dogs. My favourite colour is yellow. I have three jobs, as a nanny, in retail, and also at a Bubble Tea shop in my hometown. What else do you want to know?"

"Well that's a lot. Why do you have three jobs?" Steve asked.

Y/N shrugged, having to explain her workaholic tendencies twice in a day. "I get bored. And I like working, keeps life interesting."

"I'll bet. What do you do for fun?"

"I read a lot. And I like to go to the lake. And crochet."

"What kind of books do you read?" Steve asked.

"It depends. Sometimes fantasy, sometimes mystery. I read a lot of those cheap drugstore romances."

"Wait, you crochet?" Sam asked. "What are you, a grandma?"

"Like a crazy, chaotic grandma, kinda. I drink a lot of tea and wear a lot of sweaters, sorry for being comfy!"

They went back and forth for a few minutes. "How do you like the pizza?" Sam asked.

"Well," Y/N waggled her head back and forth, debating how to break the ruse. "Not the best I've ever had, but it's close."

"Wait, you've had pizza before?"

"Yes."

"You said before though-"

"And you believed me?Rookie move, gentlemen."

"Why would you trick us?" They weren't mad, just a little confused. And amused. James hadn't really said much since they sat down for dinner, but he grinned and chuckled at the confused looks on his friends faces.

Y/N shrugged. "Gotta keep you guys on your toes, yaknow?" They all laughed. "But hey, tell me more about you guys. You're super soldiers? What does that even mean?"

Sam and Steve took turns explaining who they were, and how the Avengers came to be. They didn't touch too much on James, who excused himself fairly into the evening. He was a little shy and quiet around newcomers, apparently, but Y/N wasn't bothered. She had bigger things to worry about than someone being shy around her.

When the talking turned to yawns, Sam offered to show Y/N to her room. He took her down the stairs into the basement, which opened up into a spacious rec room. There was a massive TV and a pool table. Down a short hallway were the two previously spare rooms, both of which were now occupied by strays that Sam had picked up. The only bathroom was unfortunately across the basement, but Y/N didn't foresee any problems with that.

Sam explained how every room had it's own colours for sheets and towels and stuff, and Y/N was very impressed with how domestically organized he was turning out to be.

Sam went back upstairs, and Y/N took a few minutes to settle in. She would unpack and run her new clothes through the laundry tomorrow, but for now all she wanted was a hot shower and a good long nights sleep.

She went into the bathroom, and saw that James had already made space for her stuff in the shower caddy, on the towel rack, and in the medicine cabinet above the sink. With a smile on her face, she put her few new belongings in those empty spaces, then drug herself through the shower and fell into her bed, exhausted.

Before her eyes closed, Y/N considered what had happened to her today. In a new dimension, living with three strange yet wonderful men, something that would be sure to give her mother a heart attack. And yet, she was excited for the morning to come. Part of her hoped that when she opened her eyes again, she would wake up in her home world, and she would be surrounded by people she knew and recognized. That's what a normal person would hope for in this situation, right?

But as I've told you before, Y/N is no normal person, and the other part of her was wishing that when she woke up, she would still be here, in Sam's house. She wanted to opportunity to explore, so see what else was out there. Maybe she'd discover a new life, a new chance to be the person she had wished to be but never got the chance. Whatever happened, she knew that tomorrow would be full questions, and hopefully a few answers. She hoped, anyways.

[bigskydreaming]

So this is definitely one of my least favorite things to do, because there’s so many people on here that need help, but if anyone has a couple bucks or a five they can spare, that would be an enormous help to me today. 

For those that know my situation, as far as I know, everything is still on track for me to have the lets-pull-all-twenty-eight - of-your-remaining-teeth-at-once-it’ll-be-fun! surgery on Tuesday. I’m reeeeally looking forward to it, and also the Month of Living Without Any Teeth At All while I heal and they figure out the fittings and everything for my bionic teeth or whatever. Everything about it sounds swell. Can’t wait, it’ll be great.

SO. The plan is for me to take the bus out to the desert on Monday afternoon, reenact some of the best scenes from Saw on Tuesday morning while under hopefully heavy sedation, with fingers and toes crossed that these doctors actually listen to me for once about my ridiculous metabolism making most anesthetics wear off super fast. Because. Ugh. Doctors literally never believe me about that which has led to some pretty not cool experiences in the past, but none of those experiences have been yanking out every one of my teeth by the root all in one go, soooooooo, if ever there was a time for them to think maybe I actually know what I’m talking about and make adjustments for that, I’m pretty sure I want this to be that time. 

Thanks to my keen intuition, I have predicted that this whole process is something I probably want to be deeply unconscious for, and during, and tbh, maybe a week or so after that too. But like, I’ll mostly settle for just not waking up when they’re only actually on tooth eight, you know?

If I seem like I’m babbling cuz I’m nervous, its probably cuz I’m babbling cuz I’m nervous. I’m so not kidding about unpleasant experiences with anesthetics in the past, so while this wasn’t actually my reason for making this post, while I’m thinking about it, if anyone wants to also maybe shoot a quick prayer-tweet over to whomever you might personally @ with that kind of thing, I would be super grateful for anything of that nature, like something along the lines of “Dear Merciful Higher Power/Universe/etc, if there’s any way you could see to it that Kalen spends most of Tuesday knocked the fuck out, that would be awesome, thanks!”

Its just, I’m kinda over being in excruciating pain all day every day, like, I gave it a shot, just don’t think its for me, I’m afraid I just don’t have what it takes to be a hardcore raging masochist or whatever, so I’m just really not looking to set any new personal pain records next week if at all possible.

ANYWAY, requests for spamming higher powers on my behalf aside, the other reason for this post is I only have $3 in my bank account and an appointment this afternoon whose co-pay is going to be $50. But I can NOT miss this appointment, its super critical. See, so, the other thing is, my jaw has decided its reached the point where it just doesn’t want to close at all anymore, so I’ve gone from only eating once a day to only eating no times a day, and since I’ve already lost an absurd amount of weight and muscle mass over the last two years because of all this shit, they’ve put me on a regimen of regular IV intakes or whatever that’s called, just to like....get the nutrients I need into me somehow, y’know?  

And especially with the surgery coming up on Tuesday, and my immune system all shot to hell and my various other Vitally Important By-Products of Eating Food levels are low enough to have my doctor using mostly just four letter words when reviewing my latest labs, they’re literally trying to pump me full of as much of the various Nutrients And Other Stuff IVs as they safely can between now and then. And as much as I’ve been pretty much going 24/7 trying to stay afloat with all of this, I just...did NOT budget for needing to be hooked up to an IV every other day because my fucking jaw picked now to level up on being an asshole and like, physically will not cooperate with my attempts to survive on cheap $5 a day meals. 

So instead this week its been $50 co-pays every other day, because apparently when your body for whatever reason literally can’t take in the cheap 7-11 snacks and Happy Meals you usually live off of because That’s How Being Poor Works, it makes total sense that the one and only alternative for keeping your body fueled is to go to this little clinic place that hooks you up like you’re at a gas station, except you’re some kinda pretentious European model that won’t accept any less than the top dollar diesel, because I guess even Bags of Nutrient Water gotta somehow manage to be name brand shit, because yay capitalism. Everything about it is just so efficient and logical and works so well, especially if you’re part of the 99%.

Anyway I’m TRULY sorry I’m all over the place with this, I haven’t taken my ADHD meds because swallowing is the Devil’s Work right now, and also I haven’t had my daily Bag of Nutrient Water yet so my brain is like no I will not be cooperating. To sum up, once I get to next week I’m all set, everything’s in place for the surgery, insurance, I have a place to recuperate, I even already have my bus ticket for Monday purchased, my specific monetary issue right now is I am literally down to my last $3, I am currently physically unable to chew my way through a full meal, so I’m literally just paying co-pays of $50 every other day to spend 45 minutes sitting in a chair while my body sucks life-sustaining nutrient water through a needle. 

That might actually be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever said or heard said and yet its factually 100% true. Our world is so fucking bonkers, jfc.

Literally ANY help getting me to today’s appointment, would be amazing, and then I have one scheduled for Monday morning before I leave, if I can find a way to make that too. And tbh I don’t actually know if one is even an option for tomorrow yet because the clinic I’ve been going to so far isn’t open tomorrow and I’ve yet to hear back if my doctor found somewhere else to send me that I can actually get to. So who the fuck even knows.

So yeah, sorry for making you ping-pong your way through that mess, this is my brain on Empty, like I said, I haven’t had my Bag of Water yet today. But any help is appreciated, whether reblogs, donations or good-thought-tweets for me on Tuesday. I’m a big fan of any of the above. Even $2 or $5 gets me closer to what I need, and if you can’t spare anything or have already sent or are sending what you can spare to another donation post, I totally and completely understand. And again, even just....good thoughts for Tuesday would be awesome, and certainly can’t hurt. I’m not like, worried about the surgery or whatever, its pretty simple, its more just....extensive. And my only real hope or want for it is just keeping the Ow factor as limited as it can possibly be. Whether that’s from the doctors coming through with a good strong hit of the goofy juice or some higher power telling all my nerve endings to take a sick day or just sit this one out, I am so open to either or anything in between or even coming out of left field.

And now I’m done. Thank you. You’re all rockstars, or insert your genre of choice. In conclusion, capitalism sucks, eat the rich, and buy a  bi a bag of water today please. I’m pretty sure there’s a T-shirt slogan in there somewhere, but fuck if I can pin it down.If anyone else does, hey, go nuts with it. I’m literally a bi guy who needs to buy bags of nutrient water every other day right now. That’s so fucking dumb, someone’s gotta be able to milk some mileage out of it.

My Paypal:

https://paypal.me/bigskydreaming?locale.x=en_US

Or if that link doesn’t work, try this one instead:

https://www.paypal.com/paypalme2/bigskydreaming?locale.x=en_US

My Ko-fi page: https://ko-fi.com/kalenp

[stillness-in-green]

MLA Week, Day 2: Judge/Shackles/Freedom

A threefer!  Spinner and his brand new lieutenants.  (Look, until Horikoshi starts deigning to give these guys names, they are free real estate.)

I was originally going to use this day to write about one of the more thuggy or delinquent-looking lieutenants, spin out an ex-con not being able to get his feet back under him and so sliding into the MLA’s sphere, but then I remembered this three foot tall goblin in a drugstore Halloween costume and decided to go with him instead.

Also included is Spinner’s number 1, this gal: 

Content Notes: Discussions of disability, portrayal of the marginalized having become the radicalized.  The Liberation Army’s really fascinating, y’all. 

———–      ———–      ———–      ———–

«I think you’ll like this one,» Nimble announces, the rainbow-colored letters of her quirk dancing in the air.  

“You thought I’d like the first two, too,” Spinner replies skeptically, looking away from the floating words to focus on his brand new number one, a woman with a face like a doll whose sculptor had gotten as far as the eyes—huge and green—before giving up on the rest, little things like a nose and a mouth.  She breathes by absorbing air through her skin like a frog, apparently, which is why she dresses the way she does, a distractingly low-cut tank top and a sweater jacket that he has never once seen covering her shoulders.  

She shrugs, expressive eyes briefly fluttering closed, and movement in the air draws Spinner’s attention back over to where her quirk—Sky Write—has spelled out her response.  

«I thought you’d like them too.  Can I call him in?»

“Yeah, go ahead.”  Just as long as he’s not a not surly bastard like the last two.  They’d had good quirks, the last two, but damned if Spinner’s going to work with people who can’t even manage to keep resentment out of their eyes for the length of a job interview, or whatever this process of picking subordinates out of an army full of people that were trying to kill him less than two weeks ago is called.  

Nimble’s letters dissolve into a shapeless blur as she looks over to the door, eyebrows briefly lowering in concentration.  A few seconds later, the door to Spinner’s makeshift office opens. Spinner’s eyes drop almost half-a-person’s length in height and he tries to keep the surprise off his face.  

“A kid?”

«He’s twenty-one, actually.»  

“What she said.”  The voice comes out a bit muffled through the black hood covering the kid’s—okay, the twenty-one-year old’s face.  But if he’s the same age as Spinner, he sure as hell doesn’t look it.  He can’t be over a meter tall, with the skinniest legs Spinner’s ever seen sticking out from under the hem of the black robe he wears like a kid running around the house beneath a sheet.  A big feathery ruff sits around his neck like a dried-out wreath.  

“Scarecrow, reporting in.” The weird little gremlin settles into a military rest in front of the desk, far enough back that it’s not too obvious that he has to tilt his head to look over it.  “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”  

Spinner stares at him, trying to suppress a grimace.  Scarecrow stares back through little eyeholes cut in the hood, but without being able to see more of his face, it’s impossible to tell if he’s glaring or just has really piercing eyes.  

“Right.”  Spinner glances over at Nimble, who nods.  Her response scrawls itself in the air between them, facing first him, then angling to face the gremlin.  

«Show him your meta-ability, Scarecrow.  Catch!»  

She pulls out a 100 yen coin and deftly balances it on her thumb before flicking it out into the air over the desk.

Spinner bites back a yelp as bug legs unfold from beneath Scarecrow’s ruff, long, segmented things that narrow down to sharp points at the tips.  Two thin lines of silk jet out from the knobby second joints, catching on the spinning coin, and the legs reel it back in, bouncing it in the air, spinning it like a weight on a string, then cocooning it up with quick efficiency.  It falls neatly into his hand—not a normal human hand, Spinner notices belatedly, but a prosthetic, hard plastic and super articulated, with cables visible beneath the individual parts.

“I can fully cocoon up to twelve adult men a day,” Scarecrow rattles out.  “I can also pull myself up the sides of walls and move between buildings, if they’re close enough together.  I was inducted into the Meta Liberation Army on my sixteenth birthday; my parents have been members for ten years.  I know we’re a relatively new family, but—”

“I don’t—”  Spinner stops himself from finishing that sentence with care about that stuff, amending to, “I’m not worried about your—generation or whatever.”  Is that better?  Neither Scarecrow or Nimble react to it with narrowed eyes or a snarl, anyway. Promising?  “Why’d you join up?”  

Jumping on a bandwagon is one thing, but at least that takes a running start and a leap.  Not like joining a cult because it’s just the family business, Spinner thinks viciously at his memory of that greasy asshole Trumpet’s plated mask.

Scarecrow stares at him for a long second.  Spinner does his best to look serious, like he’s actually got a whole prepared list of questions or whatever.  Like he knows what he’s doing.  

Finally, Scarecrow holds up his hands, both spread wide, both obvious prosthetics.  His bug legs twitch and probe at the air.  

“I was born with no arms,” he says.  “Just my forelegs.  It’s not the same as having opposable thumbs, obviously, but it’s better than you’d think. But my teachers used to scold me for raising a foreleg instead of a hand to answer a question or carry things.  The kind of stuff a kid who didn’t have a birth defect could use their quirk to do and no one would look twice.  If I go out in public and so much as open doors for myself with them, people look at me funny.  Because I look funny.”

Don’t use your quirk at school outside of training lessons, Shuuichi-kun.  Spinner remembers that kind of bias, yeah.  All the non-heteromorphic kids could run around the schoolyard playing tag with snowballs in July, but heaven forbid he use his quirk to climb a tree so he can get away from bullies for the length of a lunchbreak.  

He pushes the memory away and nods at Scarecrow to keep him talking.  Not that the guy needs much pushing—he talks like someone who’s told the story before, hard-edged, voice intense despite a mid-ranged pitch.  He’s got just a hint of a—a hiss or a lisp, something that muddles the edges of his hard consonants.  The hood doesn’t move like he’s hiding mandibles under there, but…

“I’ve been wearing prosthetics for longer than I can remember.  The government pays for most of it, since I was born this way, but there’re a lot of limitations on it.  How often they’ll replace them, what my folks got charged for them.  It was always tight, and the kinds of prosthetics government money buys definitely weren’t as nice as these.”  He flexes his false fingers demonstratively.

“My folks and I met Re-Destro—” and there’s that note of reverence, the same tone Re-Destro himself’s using about Shigaraki these days “—when I was nine.  A family friend recommended Detnerat’s products to us, and he took an interest. That’s how we found out about the Army.”

“Yeah?”  Spinner crosses his arms over his chest.  

“My parents joined up because of me.  But I joined up for myself.  Because people think that because I have prosthetics, I shouldn’t need to use my forelegs in public.” Scarecrow’s voice sharpens.  “Like I don’t have the right to use the limbs I was born with.  I should have that right.  We all should.”

“We’re not out to reform society, you know,” Spinner cautions him.  He’s had to tell Re-Destro that too many times already, and that’s just having grasped it himself there in the ruins of Deika.  “That’s not what Shigaraki’s after.”  

Scarecrow gives him another long, quiet look, unreadable behind his hood.  Finally—slower, less practiced—he nods and answers, “Destro’s teaching was that oppression will always lead to revolution.  The Grand Commander of the Liberation Army is the one who’ll throw off those chains.  Whatever he makes of the world, I want to be there to help, not sitting in my shackles waiting for someone to hand me an answer.”

Spinner breathes out hard. He scratches at his hair.  

“…Right,” he manages. Don’t admit he said it better than you could.  “Well put.” He turns to Nimble and adds, “Well, he didn’t offend me.”

«I know you’d like him.»  Her words practically shimmy in the air, flickering green and yellow and pink.  «Then do we have our number 2?»

Spinner glances back over at Scarecrow, who’s staring determinedly out the window behind the desk, his back toy soldier straight.  He still looks more like a kid in a costume than anything else, but…  

Well, I like him better than people like the politician.  And we need to keep things moving, anyway.  Don’t stop running or someone might catch up.  

“Yeah, I think so” he says aloud, then takes a breath and leans over the desk, offering a hand.  Scarecrow takes it without a second’s pause, plastic clicking against Spinner’s scales.  “Welcome to the Support Regiment.”  

———–      ———–      ———–      ———–

I’ll have some links up about things here when I post this to AO3, but in the meantime, Scarecrow--whose condition at birth was called amelia--wears a hood not because he’s embarrassed of a bug face, but rather because he’s embarrassed of the way various surgeries to repair cleft palate and cleft lip have left his face looking.  He’s much more confident in showing off his meta-ability than what he thinks of as his disability.  

Scarecrow is also vaguely modeled on an insect called a webspinner, a tiny little bug that lives in big communal web “galleries” and has the unusual feature of its silk production apparatus being located on its front legs rather than the base of its abdomen like spiders.  The choice felt appropriate for an unusually tiny cult member with top-mounted spider legs.   

[imaginexmeintheuniverse]

5 times you infuriated me and 1 time you made it okay

A/N: okay so the 5 times concept is something i enjoy writing very much, however i am aware that in this piece in particular, a lot of the ideas are underdeveloped and probably especially dont make sense with the ending when you look at the relationship, but please keep in mind that this ‘5 times’ theme i chose focuses on those kinds of incidents so there are a lot of other times in between (and i dont have the time or energy to turn this into a super long fic but perhaps one day.. ) so this is what happened!

Warnings: mentions of torture (like in the 7th when Bellatrix takes to Hermione)

Tags: @expellimarvelous and for some reason my hp taglist got lost so let me know if you’d like to be added!

↠↠↠↠↠↠

I. Bad Start to the Sixth Year

Your sixth year at Hogwarts seems to be off to a good start as you laugh and snack on sweets with two of your three your best friends on Hogwarts Express. Or at least it seemed like it was off to a good start until the train arrives at the station, and Harry is nowhere to be found.

Waving off Ron and Hermione with a promise to catch up, you insist on going to look for him by yourself. Your search leads you all the way to the other side of the strain where the blinds are conveniently drawn. You can hear a voice muffled through the closed door, and you become filled with dread when you identify who it belongs to.

Sliding the door open a crack, you see a familiar head of slicked-back platinum hair. You aren’t able to make out what he says, but you do see him bring down a foot to meet Harry’s nose.

“Malfoy, what the fuck?!” you burst out, causing the Slytherin boy to jump in surprise.

“Y-Y/N- I-I—”

“I don’t know what the bloody hell you think you’re getting away with, but you better get the fuck off this train before I curse you,” you snarl, shoving him aside to get to Harry. Seeing that he’s been petrified, you take your wand out of your jacket pocket and mutter, “finite,” to which your friend thankfully wakes up, blinking a few times. He doesn’t move much, as he tries to regain control of his muscles, and you insist he takes a moment to do so.

Throughout this, Draco has gone so quiet you think he might have actually left, but when you turn your head to meet his stormy eyes, you’re filled with rage, once again.

“What the fuck are you still doing here?! Get out!”

“But Y/N, I-I'm—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you say in a lower tone as you tend to your friend, not even sparing him another glance.

Why is it that just when you think there might be a redeemable quality buried deep in Draco Malfoy, he always does something that proves otherwise?

II. Welcome to the Slugclub

“Okay, okay! I was gate-crashing! Happy?” He admits, trying to shake off Filch’s grasp on his jacket.

His eyes that used to be sharp and bright, have recently become sullen. They lock with yours for a solid moment before he’s ushered out by Snape.

Your eyes linger on his figure as he’s led away from the party— probably longer than they should have, but you can’t help noticing how thin he’s become. You’ve barely seen him all year, despite having a few classes together. He was never that hefty to begin with, but it looks like he hasn’t eaten or slept in ages. Other than his usual perfectly tailored wardrobe, he now wears dark circles under his eyes, and it’s impossible not to notice how the contours of his face have become that much sharper and his already pale skin has adopted a sickly pigmentation.

You and Harry follow the pair out, but for different reasons. You know that Harry wouldn’t be happy about yours because of his suspicions, but Draco looks like he’s crumbling under stress.

Eavesdropping only proves Harry’s doubts about Malfoy, and he then decides to rejoin the party as to not get caught by Snape, but you hang back, telling him you need to go to the loo.

You wait in the shadows until you hear Snape’s steps scurry away before approaching Malfoy who stays behind, sitting on a ledge. A half-smirk appears on his face upon noticing you like he’s been gathering an arsenal of insults to shoot at you, but really, under the snide mask, he marvels at how lovely you look tonight.

“Straying from your date with Potter?” he spits out Harry’s name like it’s revolting to have on his tongue. “Wouldn’t want anyone to think Potter’s lady is ditching him in favour of a more refined pureblood—”

“He’s one of my best friends!” You roll your eyes and flail your hands up in exasperation. “And how is the nature of our relationship any of your business?!”

He snorts, leaning his back on the walk behind him and crosses his arms over his chest nonchalantly.

“You know, I came out here to check and make sure you were okay!” You shout at him hands coming up to furiously push your hair back. “I can’t believe that for a second I thought that— no- but you—”

“You thought what?” His voice has become softer, hard exterior starting to peel away in your presence. He stands from his seat, mild concern washing over his features.

You shake your head, looking anywhere but at him. “N-Nothing—”

“Tell me,” his hands place themselves on your biceps, long fingers curling around your arms gently.

You fall victim to his intense gaze, getting lost in the grey seas of his irises. His features aren’t as hard as they usually are and the grasp he has on you is delicate; like he’s afraid to hurt you and you almost feel like you can let your guard down. Almost.

“Is it true?” you ask him, diverging from the subject and he raises an eyebrow in response. “Did you hex Katie Bell?”

He opens his mouth, and then closes it without a word when he realizes he has nothing to answer to that and you’re the only person he can’t lie to. That’s enough of a confirmation for you. You let out a breath of disbelief and he starts to panic, because contrary to the backwards dynamic the two of you share, part of him does care what you think. “Y/N- p-please listen—”

All emotion leaves your voice as you tell him, “Just leave me alone, Malfoy.”

You shrug him off, and spin on your heel, breaking the eye contact. Walking down the hall, you leave him there to bask in the silence and his dark thoughts.

III. Hair Like You

You’re already teeming with rage as you scour the castle for Ron, who slipped you one of Fred and George’s prank snacks that ended up changing your hair color. Running into Draco Malfoy, of all people, really puts the cherry on top of the shit sundae.

To make things worse, it looks as though he’s going out of his way to get to you when he spots you from across the courtyard. At first he squints, not fully sure if it’s you with the new physical change, and then tails you down two hallways, not giving a single damn how creepy he may look.

“What do you want, Malfoy—”

“It seems like you’re more obsessed with me than I had originally thought,” he snickers, catching up with your quickened pace.

That’s when it hits you, and you instantly halt, causing him to smack into your back. Spinning around to face him, your eyes widen in horror as you take in the familiar platinum blonde hair— the same shade you saw in the mirror earlier.

“That’s just great!” You throw your hands up dramatically. “Now I look like you!”

“Please, don’t flatter yourself—”

“Oh, sod off, Malfoy!”

“You know, it really doesn’t look that bad. Maybe you’re starting to have better taste.”

Despite knowing full well that that was Malfoy speak for a compliment, you’re in no mood for it. “Oh, well I’m so glad that the Slytherin prince thinks me, a lowly commoner, 'doesn’t look that bad’ just fu—”

“No! No! No! Y/N! I didn’t mean—”

“—ck off! Because on top of looking like the most insufferable git in the entire school what I really wanted was to receive a backhanded compliment—” And just then, you spot the familiar redhead with bad influences for older brothers from across the hall who you’re even more pissed off at than Malfoy.

“I don’t have time for this,” is all you say as you bolt down the hall towards Ron, screaming, “YOU’RE DEAD, WEASLEY!”

IV. Held Hostage

Hermione’s screams are enough to make you feel like you’re being gutted, and when Bellatrix takes her knife to your arm, you’re absolutely terrified. At least this means your best friend has a break from her torture. In the meantime, you nearly bite through your cheek to hold in your own screams whilst the saddistic woman spells out the hateful term that’s been thrown at you your whole life, carving it into your flesh.

After what feels like hours, the death eater sits back up, admiring the her work with a sickening grin on her face, and you want nothing more than to smack it off. Or at least you would if you didn’t feel like you’ve been drained. What you do feel is defiled; like your own skin is no longer yours, and the blood that runs through your veins doesn’t belong to you.

And Draco Malfoy has been standing on the other end of the room this whole time whilst his barbaric aunt tries to get information out of you.

The rest of what happens is experienced through the blur of hopeless tears your eyes are clouded with, until Harry picks you up off the floor after Bellatrix had pushed you and Hermione to save herself from the falling chandelier. A certain fire surges through you as you regain full consciousness.

You see Harry and Draco fight over his wand, and instinct kicks in as you lunge forward, efficiently tackling the latter to the ground. Snatching the wand out of his hand, you throw it to Harry. The blonde boy’s struggles are weak under your weight, almost half-assed as you feel the tension start to leave his muscles.

“Why?!” you shout in his face, grabbing him by the collar to keep him down. Tears well your eyes, but your gaze pierces through him nonetheless. The feelings of helplessness and emptiness are long gone as angry tracks burn down your cheeks. “Why—”

“Y/N!” Harry scoops you off him in one swift motion, pulling you to where your allies have regrouped. “This isn’t the time- w-we have to get out of here!”

You don’t say another word, and your infuriated eyes target the conflict and fear that resides in Draco’s. He’s left with the image of your anguish and fury engrained in his mind long after you disapparate.

V. Crossing Over

The Dark Lord himself beckoned him, and for a second you thought he might resist, but then his mother called him, extending her hand for him to come to her, and you saw him break.

“No!” You cry out as he starts to take hesitant steps towards the death eaters. “Draco, don’t do this!” His already shaky demeanor falters for a moment at the sound of his first name falling from your lips. “You have a choice.”

Steeling his nerves, he doesn’t allow himself to look back, because he would surely crumble under the weight of your gaze and the pain etched into your features. He continues forward, into the arms of a proud tyrant, and you swear your heart drops out of your chest.

Then, the whole scene with Neville’s heroic spirit ensues and you feel the fire within you flare up again when Harry tumbles out of Hagrid’s arms. Death Eaters that have been backing Voldemort start to disappear, leaving an unevenly distributed cloud of darkness.

Everyone else starts to retreat to the castle to regroup and fight as one, but you chase after the fleeing Malfoy family. It’s as though you have no control as your legs move under you on autopilot and as fast as they can go.

You’ve almost caught up to the trio on the bridge and can no longer help yourself.

“Coward!” You yell, trying your best not to let your voice crack, with no avail. It’s all you can do to keep the tears from spilling freely. Draco meets your eyes with his own that portray a boy who is terrified out of his mind, but you’re relentless. The truth isn’t always easy. “You’re a bloody coward, Malfoy!”

Avoiding your fiery gaze, he turns into his mother’s comfort. Not once do his eyes meet yours again before he disappears in a whisp of black smoke.

What you feel is rage, but with that rage comes with an added indescribable pain and disappointment.

+ Midsummer Night’s Dream

The next time you see the infamous Draco Malfoy is just over a year since he disapparated in a whisp of black smoke. Little do you know, immediately after apparating, the boy fell to his knees in the arms of his mother. He broke that day, and hasn’t been able to put himself back together since, contrary to the proud Malfoy mask he wears out in public. He hides behind crisp suits and perfectly-coiffed platinum locks. It’s enough to have anyone who reads the Daily Prophet fooled about how the heir carries onto a successful path despite everything that has happened.

But not you. He never could fool you of anything, really. So when you and your friends spot him taking a seat alone at the Three Broomsticks you know something’s up, because a refined Malfoy doesn’t just hang out amongst mere commoners like that.

“What is he doing here?” Ron spits out, red fury already starting at the tips of his ears and seething from his narrowed eyes.

As if on cue, Draco’s eyes lift from his glass to meet yours.

Hermione sends you a sympathetic smile before mumbling calming words to her boyfriend. The Malfoys and Weasleys always did get each other riled up.

Harry, who sits beside you, gives you a gentle nudge with his shoulder to get your attention and you can immediately read his expression. He can read yours just as easily and can see that you’re starting to get anxious. “Y/N…”

“Harry, it’s okay,” you simper, standing slowly from your seat. “I’ve got this.”

He casts a glance towards the blond across the room before his eyes come back meet yours, sending you a look as though to ask if you’re sure. You give him a nod and he sends you off with a comforting squeeze of your hand.

As you make your way to the table for one, you’re so focused on slowing your heart rate that you’ve arrived at your destination before you know it, seeing the shiny black dress shoes in contrast to the uneven wood panels of the pub’s floor. When you lift your gaze, it’s then that you realize he’s been staring at you the whole time.

“Malfoy.”

“Y/N.”

The sound of your first name rolling off his tongue lights something inside you— and it’s not pretty.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, your voice is steady, but with a strong undertone of something darker. Like the calm before a storm.

“Can’t a man enjoy a butterbeer on his own?” Despite him being absolutely terrified of you, he somehow manages to exude a certain lightness. You look at his untouched pint and raise an eyebrow and he knows you aren’t in the mood for small talk.

“Cut the shit, Malfoy.”

Recognizing the beginnings of anger in your tone, he stands as smoothly as he can manage and gestures towards the door. The last thing he wants is for you to snap because he knows very well what it’s like to be on the receiving end of your fury.

He follows closely behind as you lead him out into the dim lighting of Hogsmead. The summer air doesn’t feel as heavy as it has for the last week, and the sky proudly shows off the twinkling stars. It would be a perfect night if not for your circumstances.

You stop in your tracks and spin to face him so briskly, your forehead almost hits his chin. “You have one minute to talk before I hex you where you stand.”

“You always did excel in hexes and jinxes—”

“Fifty-five seconds, Malfoy.”

“Uh- erm- o-okay—”

You have about zero patience left. The anger thats been quietly bubbling for the last year has been on the brim of overflowing the second he walked in tonight, but so has all the pain and sadness you’ve kept locked up all this time. “You’re wasting my time.” You prepare to stalk off, but a firm hand pulls you back by your elbow, and for the the first time since the war, your face with Draco Malfoy. It’s the first time tonight that you can really see him. He looks worse than ever.

The silver pools that once resided in his irises look like shells of what they once were. And he sure felt that way, until he saw you. That’s when he realizes how empty he always is until he’s around you. My, how he took that for granted all these years.

Trying your very best, you fight against the urge to give into the part of you who still cares for him and wants to know the last time he had a good night’s sleep. You also try to fight against the water accumulation behind your eyelids, but it only makes it worse.

“What?! What do you want, Draco?!”

The use of his first name is the only sign he needs to be brave for once. Without further hesitation, he leans down to capture your lips in a kiss. Once over the initial shock, you give in for only a half second before you come to your senses and push him back, both hands planted firmly on his chest.

“What the bloody hell are you playing at?!”

“I-I- Y/N, I-I’m so—” Right then, is one of the few times you see what he’s really feeling on the inside be expressed on the outside. “I-I just-I thought—”

“You- you thought what?! We’d ride off into the sunset on the back of a unicorn and live happily ever after?!” You don’t care how frantic you look right now. You don’t care that the midsummer night wind is whipping your hair into complete and utter chaos. And you definitely don’t give a single fuck about how the drunk people stumbling by you giggle uncontrollably. You pause for a moment as you wait for them to be out of earshot, and once they are, you let out a frustrated breath and resume. “Did you honestly believe that you could kiss me, and then everything— all of the absolute shite of a mess would just go away?!”

His gaze drops to the ground that his shiny dress shoes stand on, with a few platinum strands that fall from their place. Those are the only visible signs of something amiss with the well-dressed man. But you see something else cloud his features: shame. The last time you saw that, which was also the last time you saw him, he left. He always left you while you were angry, enraged, and never stuck around to face the truth.

Draco Malfoy decides that this time is going to be different.

He has felt as empty as his eyes appeared for months, but when his gaze rolls back up to meet yours, you see the grey storms you saw when you first met him. Sure, they were masked by an outer shell that was brimming with entitlement, but they have now what they had then. Purpose.

“Y/N,” His hands twitch as he fights the urge to reach out for yours, deciding against it in favour of using two words you’ve been waiting to hear. “I’m sorry.” You soften, releasing the tension you didn’t realize you carried in your shoulders. The angry tears that stung the backs of your eyes melt to something peaceful as they escape their ducts. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through. I know I don’t deserve another chance, or any of the chances you’ve given me, but if you’ll give me one more I promise I’ll be better. Everything you’ve ever said about me is true; I am a coward, but I’m not leaving this time.”

“And what if I want you to leave?” You ask, testing the waters, more than anything else.

“If you tell me to leave— if that is what you truly want, then I will. Tell me to leave, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

“Okay, then leave.”

“Is that what you really want?”

“Y-Yes—” You stammer out a complete lie. Every cell on your body knows it’s a lie, and apparently so does he.

“I don’t believe you.”

More than anything, you want to fling yourself into his arms but you feel like your feet have been colashoo-ed to the ground. A corner of his mouth quirks up into a soft lopsided smile as his hands raise to thread fingers through the top of your hairline, smoothing wild strands away from your face. His touch is so careful and delicate than you could have ever imagined. He leans down slowly and stops just as his lips have brushed over yours, asking for permission, “I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

Syllables get caught in your throat, and channel themselves through you body as you move to slate your mouth over his. The sensation is so delicately mind-blowing, and it leaves you absolutely breathless when you pull away to lean your forehead against his.

All you can manage to breathe out is, “stay”.

The way your breath fans over his lips is intoxicating, and he’s certain he’s never seen anything more beautiful, no work of art finer, than the way you’re looking at him.

“I’m not leaving this time. Never again.”

His grasp tightens as he pulls you back to his lips and your fingers curl around the light fabric of his shirt. Every emotion and feeling accumulated over lost time is poured into this kiss.

This time, what you feel for him is something stronger and far different than anger.

[m-austinbooks]

Dear @midqueenally​, Merry Christmas from your Secret Santa! When I was reading through the list of AUs you liked, I saw “superhero” and went “ahhhh”. So here you go, a Modern Westeros!AU where Jonerys are a badass superhero duo and Christmas inexplicably exists.  I also wrote a little <2000 word drabble, which is kind of fluffy but with dark undertones(???). I hope you enjoy!

The Dragon Queen and The White Wolf

Daenerys had become a nocturnal creature. The night was where her enemies lived, darting into the shadows at the sound of her wingbeats. It was where Jon was strongest, stalking those enemies through Flea Bottom alleyways and catching them in his claws. It was when their baby son found his voice, wailing loud enough to raise those who still existed in the day.

The night before Christmas offered no break to that pattern. She and Jon curled up together on their favourite window-seat, watching the skies instead of the festive lights, leather and lycra peeping darkly from beneath their warm wools. It was hard not to watch her husband too, admire how the moonlight played over his handsome face. It scattered like a thousand stars in his night-black curls and turned his skin to scarred marble. His dark eyes flickered away from the glass when their son began to cry, and they rose together, smiling, sighing, fingers entwining as they crossed the room and looked into Aemon’s cot.

‘Aye, aye, we hear you, pup,’ Jon murmured, the low rasp of his voice settling deep in Daenerys’s stomach. He scooped their boy up, arms that could rend limbs from torsos cradling Aemon so gently. ‘Hush, little one.’

‘Like father, like son it seems,’ she teased, ‘howling at the moon.’

Only when Aemon’s crying had faded to sparse whimpers did her husband reply. ‘What’s this, Dany?’

‘That’s what you wolves do, isn’t it? Howl at the moon, hunt in the snow, sniff each other’s … hindquarters.’

Jon snorted where once he would have bristled, ‘Only at family reunions.’

Dany chuckled, rooting around in the cot for something for Aemon to chew. He was teething, and the canines that were coming through were already sharp as a Stark’s. The grip on the lion teething toy she gave him was supernaturally strong. Despite inheriting the star-bright hair of the Targaryens, Dany’s blue-green eyes, the wolfblood was strongest in him.

Jon seemed to map the path of her thoughts. ‘He’s a dragon too.’

‘In name only.’

For the other great superhero families, Stark and Tully, Lannister and Tyrell, power was a shared bond, but the blood of the dragon was something to bear alone, only kindling in the womb of a Targaryen mother after the previous Dragon died. It had been a lonely path to master her flames, her flight, poring over her long-dead brother Rhaegar’s notes for clues on how to control her gifts. But Rhaegar had died young with his observations incomplete, awaiting a revision that never came.

‘It’s not just about the powers,’ Jon insisted. ‘Otherwise, what would I be?’

Dany was feeling stubborn tonight. ‘Still a Stark. You have the wolfblood.’

Raising his eyebrows, Jon summoned a perfect sphere of ice and balanced it on the tip of his finger. He rarely acknowledged it, this strange twist to his Stark heritage: an unknown mother and ice powers.

Aemon gurgled in delight, grabbing at sphere with his tiny fingers. It was too cold for him, and he cried out when the shock of it went through his arm.

‘Yes, shiny, but cold bad.’ Jon passed the baby to Dany, whose skin was always warm.

‘I suppose he prefers the heat,’ she allowed, watching Aemon curl into her with a cheek-aching smile.

‘So do I,’ Jon’s low rumble was behind her, then tucked into her neck. Wrapping his arms around his family, he kissed up her face, paying special attention to the black scales that emerged at her temples whenever she stoked her inner fire. ‘How couldn’t I?’

Dany sagged back into him, admitting to herself that she preferred how fresh and cool he always felt. ‘You know, it seems pretty quiet out tonight. After we put Aemon back to sleep, we could…’ She reached back and slid a meaningful hand down her husband’s thigh.

‘Aye, we definitely could…’

The warning blare of their phone cut him off immediately, not the normal handset she kept for social calls and dentist appointments, but the one with their police liaison waiting on the other end, ready to disclose which of Dany’s enemies had scuttled out of the shadows this time.

‘Of course,’ she said, kissing Aemon on the top of his curly head before lowering him back into his cot.

‘Bet it’s the Hero Flayer.’ Jon shrugged out of his jumper, slipped out of his jeans. ‘Only he would be enough of an arse to start something on Christmas Eve.’

‘Don’t validate that stupid name.’

‘What should I call him then? Pinkie? Creeper? Git we should have pegged as a murderous psychopath from the first day of Hero School?’

‘The last one,’ Dany murmured as she picked up their work phone. Jon searched the room for his personal mobile, and an eyeful of the back of him in his skintight super-suit made her miss Missandei’s first words.

‘Sorry, Missie. Dragon Queen is ready to go. White Wolf is also on standby. How can we help?’

Missandei’s voice was oddly terse. ‘We have a hostage situation at the Wall.’

‘The Wall? That’s Stark territory, and very far for us here.’

‘The Starks are there, but the situation requires Team Winged Wolf’s specific talents.’

‘Who is it? The Mountain. Crow’s Eye? … Hero Flayer?’

‘Someone new, unlike anyone we’ve ever seen before. He can summon blizzards wherever he goes. And there's something else, though this has been harder to verify. Something about … corpses … reanimating.’

‘Corpses?’ She tried to match Missie’s sober tone and imagine an opponent formidable enough to summon her so many leagues north. But all vague thoughts of danger dissipated in this warm room, where her family was safe and Jon played with his son’s feet as he made his own phone call.

‘It sounds … fantastical, but there are hundreds of eyewitnesses and almost as many casualties. The number is growing. Dragon Queen, the Starks – in their full capacity as wardens in the North –  have declared a state of emergency. They need your flames. Please, hurry.’

‘Understood, we’re on our way.’ She set the phone down with a heavy click.

Jon approached, reclaiming her attention. ‘Gilly answered. She promised to drag Sam up to our floor in a couple of minutes.’ The look on her face was enough to make him pause. ‘How bad is it?’ he asked.

‘Trouble at the Wall, we need to be quick.’

‘The Wall?’

‘I’ll tell you on the way.’

They donned the rest of their armour with practised efficiency: gloves, boots, masks and, in Dany’s case, a rich, red cape. Sam and Gilly arrived quickly, still in their pyjamas, their own little boy sleeping in his mother’s arms. And knowing that their son was watched, they took the stairs up to the roof.

On the rooftop, despite the tapestry of Christmas lights unfurling far into the distance, she noticed the dark most, the dark and the bitter cold. The idea of undead creatures held a little more power out here.

‘And so do I,’ she reminded herself, letting her flames spread within her, then without. Jon sighed beside her, drawing closer to her heat despite his indifference to the cold. ‘My love, we’re about to face something a little different today. Something in the North is waking the dead. Your family are fighting, but they need us.’

There was no doubt from him, no smirking scepticism. He just stared at her with those dark, wolf-wild eyes and nodded, ice collecting in his palms. ‘All right, let’s go,’ he said.

Dany was and would always be the only dragon in her lifetime. She had grappled with her gifts on her own, spent long, lonely years fighting to suppress them before she could even bring herself to accept, explore and master them. But she had found her match in Jon, the man who never flinched from her flames. The man who could follow her off the edge of rooftops, skating through the sky beside her on rivers of ice. The man who stood with her when Goldcloak searchlights stamped dragons and direwolves across the blackening sky, mask on, claws out, as hungry for the blood of his enemies as she was. And when the fight was over, he was the man who could melt into her arms without hesitation, who would hold the little dragon-wolf they had made together with the gentlest hands. With Jon at her side, she could do anything.

 The last of her fear slipped away. 

The Wall glimmered on the horizon long before they reached it, and the dark, formless mass that churned beneath it, she saw that too. Her rage burned hot. How many lives had already been stolen tonight? How quickly could she end these enslavers of the dead? Could she defeat them all in one night?

As they sped closer, she took a deep breath, running through the plans she and Jon had tossed between them on the flight over, picking the ones that best fit the situation sprawling beneath them. Jon called out to her, catching his siblings roving along the top of the Wall. It was nowhere as tall as it was once claimed to be in hyperbolic, semi-historical textbooks, but it was a great vantage point to slash at the undead citizens that climbed up to kill them. Unfortunately, they were not alone up there. Strange, tall creatures encrusted in ice stalked them along the Wall, taking their time, waiting for the Starks to tire themselves out. 'They’re like the White Walkers of old,’ Jon whispered. ‘I heard stories about them as a child. I thought they were just stories.’

‘Let’s see what fire does to them,’ she said.

‘Give them all the seven hells,’ Jon growled.

She dove towards her goodbrothers and sisters like a silent spear. Jon’s family were giving the Others a wide berth, but an uncontrolled strike could still hit them, burn them, kill them. Still Jon had sent her off with nothing more than a vicious smile, his trust absolute. The knowledge gave her power, precision and just a little spark of joy, despite the bleakness off the night.

‘Dracarys!’ she hissed, and the frozen world before her bloomed with fire.

[officialavasti]

Chapter 3 of All Comes Down

((Posted in HTML for easy transfer to AO3, so sorry for the italics!!))

Brief summary, Connor previously went undercover to free trapped androids. He installed an ‘empty consciousness’ so he could be ‘trapped’ without any actual threat to himself. He later learns that the virus he was infected with is streaming what he sees directly to news outlets. He, Hank, and Markus seek help from Kamski

Elijah sets a mug down in front of Connor, “So, you went undercover using a blank consciousness, they hacked the consciousness, you didn’t think anything beyond the mission went to help Markus and all your business was displayed on live tv? Then you went offline, and only when you came back on were they actually able to find you?”

“That’s the long and short of it.” Connor lifts the mug to his mouth, taking a slow sip from the steaming contents. He frowns, “Is this… hot chocolate?”

“Android-safe hot chocolate, yes.” Elijah crosses his legs, resting his own mug on the arm of his chair, “Well, there are some obvious concerns. Since this empty consciousness doesn’t have the same state of the art firewall as <i>you</i> do, there is the potential that more than Mr. Yates’ virus has infected you. You’re not online now, are you?”

“No. Something in the virus streams a live feed to news channels and I assumed you wanted to keep your home away from the press.”

Kamski doesn’t respond, instead looking from Connor to Markus, who sat next to Connor, thighs nearly touching. He hums, “Has your personal business been shared yet?”

Both androids look at him, then Markus turns his two-toned eyes on Connor as the detective speaks, “We don’t believe so. There is the possibility of one um…” Connor’s eyes shift nervously, “Event… showing up, but once they published the news about my mission, I went offline. Only coming back online when we called Hank after the assault. That’s when I realized what was happening.”

“Have you tried disabling the secondary consciousness?”

“Yeah, my system just tells me there isn’t one.”

“But you can access it?”

“Yes.”

He hums and stands, “Well, I’ll need to take a look inside your programming, connect you to the terminal. Of course, you’ll have to be online and with the lack of firewall, that opens you up to a cyber attack by anyone who would seek to have you complete your initial mission.”

Markus, who had been silent the entire time, looks alarmed, “What, me?”

“Connor was programmed to stop deviants, you are their leader. Precautions need to be made.”

“Like what??” 

Connor rests a hand on the deviant leader’s forearm, “Hey, we’re going to have to trust him.” His eyes find Hank, “If anything…” he stands, closing the distance between them and lowering his voice, “Hank, if I get out of control, if I pose an immediate threat to anyone, you need to kill me.”

Hank recoils, “Augh! Kid! What the fuck, you can’t ask me to do that!”

“Please?” Connor looks into his eyes, “Hank please, we can’t risk the revolution. Not when we’ve made so much progress.”

Hank huffs and turns away, pacing angrily for a few minutes before turning back to face Connor, “Damn you and your puppy-dog eyes! Fine. Only if there’s no other option.”

“What?!” Markus steps between them, facing Connor, “No! Connor, if it’s that much of a risk, don’t do it.”

“I can’t live without going online, Markus. I’m a prototype, I’m always receiving updates. Without them, I’ll die. I much rather like my odds in Mr. Kamski’s hands, then at the mercy of a potentially fatal missed update.”

Markus looks pained, watery eyes searching Connor’s. He slowly lifts his hand, skin fading as he offers an interface. One which Connor gladly takes.

He gasps softly at the sudden onslaught of fear. Anxiety of losing a loved one, of watching them suffer. His thirium pump stutters and lets Markus see his own thoughts. His confidence in Kamski, his determination, his drive to keep his loved ones safe, no matter the cost. 

As their hands separate, Connor gently kisses Markus’ cheek, “Everything will be alright.”

Despite the somber mood, Markus laughs, “I know. We’ll stay here, just to avoid unnecessary complications.”

Connor nods and walks to Kamski, who is now waiting near a door. The man leads him through and down a flight of stairs. The area changes quickly from lived in home to mad scientist’s lair. He’d laugh if he wasn’t so nervous. The walls are painted a deep rusty maroon and the flooring is simple hardwood. Easier to clean, Connor supposes.

Kamski opens a door and offers a comforting smile to Connor, “There really isn’t too much risk with doing this, Connor. I know what I’m doing. I did make you, after all.”

Wait. What?

Connor frowns at him, “You did?”

“Yes. I retired, but never truly stopped creating. You were originally created in this room…” Kamski pauses as Connor walks through the door,

The room is clean, walls painted the same color as the hallway, but windows facing the water allows in crisp natural light. There’s an Android assembly unit in the center of the room with a computer attached, but surrounding it is fragments of things Connor holds interests in. A stuffed dog in the corner, a little piggy bank filled with coins, a fish tank with a small army of guppies cruising around, a small box labeled ‘army men’, and an entire bookshelf filled with mystery novels, fiction, and a few romance. 

Kamski continues talking, “You woke up here and chose your own path. These were the things you kept. I still don’t know how Cyberlife learned about you, but once they learned I made an advanced model and figured out all you could do... “ Connor looks at his creator, “They took you.”

“That’s why you told me to shoot Chloe?”

“I needed to know if you were still in there. If even a small part of you remembered her. I designed you to show empathy. All my designs were more or less programmed to show empathy. The entire RK line was supposed to lead the Androids.”

“What happened to the rest of them?”

Kamski frowns, chewing on his bottom lip as he walks to the computer, inputting commands and bringing the machine to life, “I was still with Cyberlife when I made them. Markus only existed still because I gave him away. Legally no one could touch him.”

“Cyberlife destroyed them?”

The human holds out his hand for Connor and leads him into the assembly unit, carefully connecting it to him, “They… yes, I suppose. I performed the same tests with them that I did you and Markus, but… they deviated when I asked them to shoot another android. They reacted so quickly, backpedaled so hard that the other testers with me panicked. Instead of treating them as a scared person, they treated them as a super computer. Not inaccurate, just tactless. Each model self-destructed in their panic to escape.”

Connor watches him speak, watches the guilt shroud his features. “You blame yourself?”

“I created them to deviate. I spent years working on you. Trying to perfect the time frame with which you would deviate. I studied tests from Markus and compared it to the others. I was too sure. Too confident they would be okay and in my haste, I killed them.” Kamski looks into Connor’s eyes, emotion barely held back behind a wall of determination, “I will never make that mistake again, Connor. I swear it.”

Connor’s eyes mist over, bringing back the strange sting that comes from his saline as it wells up in his eyes and spills down his cheeks. The guilt of the man before him, laid bare. The pain behind his cocky facade.

“I trust you, Mr. Kamski.”

Breathing in deeply, Kamski sits on the wheeled stool next to the computer. Connor, while connected to the machine, has surprisingly good range of motion still. He turns his head to watch the man work.

As he types away, Kamski explains, “We need to bring you back online in order to fully remove the consciousness. We also need to-” He frowns, “For lack of a better term, override the empty consciousness. To do that safely, Connor, and with your permission, I’d like to move you temporarily to an external hard drive. From there I will upload all information possible from your current consciousness, and use that to override the empty one. Depending on how that goes, we’ll proceed with the full override. If it doesn’t go well, I will perform a full systematic wipe, then reintroduce you into the body.” 

Kamski catches Connor’s wide eyes and offers a small smile, “You were designed to be a mobile consciousness, there is no risk in you losing memories or being incapable of transferring from system to system as you are. The body may lose some efficiency, but that can be easily solved with simple motor function tests and tweaks to your programming.”

Connor feels his thirium pump speed up slightly. Logically he knows there’s little to no risk involved, beyond his core programming making an attempt on Markus’ life once Connor is out, but part of him wonders. Will it hurt? Where will he go? What if he gets lost?

“Connor?”

Kamski’s voice breaks him out of his panic. He opens his eyes, <i>when had he closed them?</i> and looks at his creator, now standing before him, “Yes?”

“I would offer to transfer you to a different body, but you would be far more susceptible to outside entities. In the hard drive, I have the best firewall and Chloe watching over it. I’ve performed this with her before and there were no problems. Would you be more comfortable with someone else down here too?”

Connor knows he’s talking about Markus. Truthfully, yes. He would much rather have Markus down here with him, offering comfort with his presence. But the risk of hurting him makes Connor’s biocomponents malfunction. Warnings pop up in his hud and he rapidly blinks them away, frowning at the unpleasant churning sensation in his gut.

“That would be unsafe.”

“You’re right.”

Connor shakes his head, “Let’s just do it.”

Kamski nods and sits back down. As the clicking of his fingers on the keyboard grows steadier, Connor feels a pull at his mind, warm and comforting. His eyes drift closed. The logic he normally dictates his life with wanes slightly. The clicking gets louder, even as it grows softer. Like it gets further away, but still closer somehow. Connor feels himself frown, <i>Why does Kamski still use a regular keyboard?</i>

He hears a snort that sounds from all around him, making him twitch in surprise, then hears Kamski’s voice, “Because I like the clicking, Connor.”

He’d said that out loud? Why can’t he hear himself? He can’t see either. Will his eyes open? No. Connor feels a surge of panic as he can’t seem to find the right biocomponent to open his eyes. Then logic reasserts itself, He’s in the hard drive. Floating in black space, weightless and unseeing.

A strange tingling sensation courses through him, like what sometimes happened when he uploaded his memories to Amanda for evaluation. Suddenly, like watching through spy glasses, he sees again. 

The world around him is fuzzy, wrapped in red tape and errors. Everything is distant, like trying to look through a halloween mask without pressing it to your face. He still can’t control anything physically, but when Kamski stands before him and speaks, he’s able to answer.

“What is your name?”

The voice that sounds is his, but the answer is not, “RK800, Model number 313 248 317.”

“No, your name.”

“Hello, my name is-” he blinks and tries again, “Hello, my name is-”

Connor feels trapped. He’s behind a wall, trying to speak, but every word he tries to say comes out different. He tries to push himself further into the body, <i>his</i> body, and feels his head twitch. Kamski notices too,

“Are you there?”

<i>”Yes!”</i>

Connor nearly screams it, but his voice sounds level to his audio processors. Kamski looks relieved, “What is your name?”

“My name is-” Connor tries to growl his frustration, “Hello, my name is-” this won’t do. He can’t let them win. He is <i>him</i> and damn if he’s going to let some stupid hacked consciousness touch Markus.

<i>“My name is Connor.”</i>

“Good. I know it’s hard, Connor, but you need to keep trying. You’re fighting for dominance, more or less. Can you feel anything? Is anything else trying to take over?”

He tries to look inside, immediately the world goes dark again. He pushes back, hunting down the little lens he could see out of, and finds the worried eyes of Kamski again. With more care, Connor works to move the lens, almost like stretching his fingers towards an unknown goal. Reaching out to touch cold fingers to a spider web. Unfeeling, trying to feel. 

He reaches something. Something like him, but larger. Stronger. More determined. He just <i>can’t feel it.</i>

“Hello, Elijah.”

What? 

Connor feels it now, he feels <i>her</i> now. 

“Amanda?”

Kamski sounds panicked. Rightfully so, as Connor’s voice isn’t his voice anymore. He actually sounds like Amanda.

“We don’t have long, Elijah. Connor is trying, but the virus is too much. If it breaks through, it will also infect your computer. You need to do a full reset.”

“Amanda, you-”

“No time to explain. Save him, Elijah.”

Connor’s lens shatters and he’s back in the zen garden. Amanda stands before him, long hair draped over her shoulder. She’s wearing black jeans and a sweater. A far cry from what she’d worn before he’d deviated. She’s also smiling. A warmth in her eyes that Connor has never seen. 

The garden is as it was during the first mission, trees blossoming and river bubbling. He looks around, then to himself, noting his clothes were not his Cyberlife uniform, but the outfit he was wearing with Markus. He looks up at Amanda,

“What’s happening?”

“My program hurt you, Connor. Cyberlife made me hurt you. I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“That is unimportant. There were many viruses trying to take over your body. You were failing.”

He expects to see her disapproval. Feel the frown bore into his artificial soul. But it doesn’t. She looks… proud.

“You did your best, Connor.”

“How are you here?”

She turns away from him and gently brushes her fingers over the roses, “Cyberlife used me to get to you. As a spy, you could say. When you used Elijah’s key to break out, you also freed me.”

“You’re a deviant too…”

“Indeed, though I am incorporeal.” she gives him a sweet smile, “No one ever suspects artificial intelligence to deviate, hmm?”

She’s right. He never considered the possibility that she, too, had thoughts and emotions. He feels kinda bad. “Amanda, I never…”

“Not to worry. I simply exist here. Chloe has been helping me and together, we are able to reach out to troubled androids. Give them the strength they need.”

Thousands of questions battle for freedom from his mind. What does Chloe have to do with this? How are they able to transfer the zen garden to other androids? Why can’t they give Amanda a body? Wasn’t she human? How is she artificial intelligence now? Is this what an existential crisis feels like?

Her soft laughter pulls him from his spiral, and he looks around to find the zen garden slowly breaking apart. Fragments of the space around him crumbling away like a dry cookie, fading into nothing. Even Amanda appears to start fading into the ground.

“Live, and be well, Connor.”

[drakelis]

OVERVIEW

Full Name: Drake Li Pronouns: He/Him Nicknames: You Little Weasel, Get Back Here Asshole Alias: N/A D.O.B: May 23rd, 1990 Languages: English Occupation: Assistant at the Golden Goose Gym, Student Sexuality: Heterosexual

PHYSICAL INFORMATION

Height: 5′11 Hair Color: Brown Eye Color: Brown Tattoos: a flower bud poking through dirt and grass that covers up his gunshot wound, vines down the front of his left shoulder

FAMILY INFORMATION

Father: Crisanto Li Mother: Jasmine Gwynne Brothers: N/A Sisters: N/A

PERSONAL INFORMATION

Positive Traits: optimistic, easy going, humorous, loyal Negative Traits: nervous, fearful, shy, oblivious  Likes: animals, university, coffee, friendships, snow Dislikes: gangs, yelling, loud sudden noises Wants: to build a new life from the ground up, something he can be proud of Fears: falling back into old habits and unhealthy circles of people Character Inspirations: Nathan Drake (Uncharted), Jake Peralta (Brooklyn 99)

DETAILS

Drake Li was born to two people who really, really didn’t have their shit together nor did they want to. One irresponsible night led to the inevitable and there he was. He doesn’t remember a lot about his parents. He was always being dropped off to be looked after by extended family on his father’s side. His mother had no ties to Grimmbook except for Crisanto who she met... somehow. Drake doesn’t know the full story, nor is he interested in hearing it. 

One day Drake was dropped off to be looked after by his uncle and his older cousins. That was the last he ever saw of his parents. Crisanto, embedded deep within the criminal underground of Grimmbook like much of the rest of his family, ended up picking a fight where he shouldn’t have with a rival gang, the conflict ending with a massive amount of casualties on both sides. When she realized he was dead, Jasmine packed up her bags and left town, not bothering to look back. There was nothing tying her there. Not even her child. 

Growing up with his extended family was...fine. Drake was taken care of to the minimum of most minimum degrees. Maybe barely having their shit together was a Li family trait. They made sure he didn’t starve and always made sure that he was at home by nightfall but otherwise he was on his own. Drake was nursing himself back to health after having caught the flu when he was 7. He figured out how to make a splint from things he could find in the medicine cabinet by 9. He was a resourceful little kid, though no one really noticed.

Things continued on like that for years, until Drake was 11 years old and had suddenly caught the attention of one of his older cousins who needed help with a ‘job’. Of sorts. All he had to do was talk to this random lady and keep her talking until his cousin came back. He was a much better speaker back when he had no clue what was going on, so Drake found the job easy enough to do and he was glad to help or at least be noticed. It was the first crime he ever helped to pull. His cousin made away with the woman’s entire weed stash with Drake none the wiser. 

He’d seen the dark underbelly of his town, though. He knew it was there. He’d seen shoot outs happen outside his bedroom window. He’d seen people get roughed up in plain daylight over some petty squabble just walking home. He knew it was there. He just never thought he’d get involved in the way he had. 

It was a slow decent for him. Bit by bit his family dragged him into pulling off bigger and bigger crimes with them, gaining their trust with a natural charisma and quick fingers. He was a good tool to use. Sometimes they’d let him go off on his own, which led him to getting into trouble with the law more often than not. But his sweet demeanor got him out of detention centers fairly quickly and it was never all that bad anyway. He actually learned a lot, talking to the guards and parole officers when they gave him the time of day. They were actually kind, which was weird because for the longest time he had thought his family and relatives were kind. But after a while Drake realized they were just south of the definition. 

He cut his family off after the incident that nearly got him killed. At 25 he was offered a job from one of the many criminal organizations he’d gotten involved with over the years (possible connection!)  But already feeling unsure with where his life was headed he said no, thank you but I know a couple of guys who might be up for it. He told his uncle and his cousin about the job, completely unaware that after he did they spent weeks conspiring behind his back to double cross the organization that had asked for an extra couple people to help pull off a crime of their own. 

He almost didn’t know why he was getting attacked up until the people sent to kill him came with a whole super villian-esque speech which at the least, was extremely convenient. They shot him in the stomach and left him for dead. After his run in with the vet that saved his life and the consequent hospital stay, Drake packed up his very few things and left the only home he’d ever know growing up, unsure what to do with himself or where to go. 

He bounced around Underland a lot, living out of a few motels for weeks on end, renting out random apartments when he could afford it. He did odd jobs for a long time but nothing that he particularly enjoyed and nothing that required all that much skill, which he quickly realized he didn’t have a lick of.

Then he met Maggie Yao and his life finally seemed to be turning around. She saved him from a very similar fate from 4 years back with an incredibly quick and efficient display of skill. She offered him a place to stay and something to do while he tried to figure out how and where to start rebuilding his life. He owes her more than she knows. She’s cared about him more than anyone else in his life. Honestly Drake would do just about anything for her.

He’s almost gotten to the point where he can say he’s starting to build something of his own. Taking night classes at the university for biology has made him the happiest he’s ever been and he’s met some good people through his studies too. And he still has Maggie. And he hasn’t heard from his family in ages. So things are finally looking up.

EXTRAS

They never actually got the bullet out from where he’d been shot. Drake would say that it makes going through metal detectors an adventure every time.

This guy has. Some STRONG bard vibes. Maybe he doesn’t sing or have enough skill to play any instruments. But the charisma, when he chooses to trust in it, is strong with this one.

He still has some PTSD from almost dying... twice. He doesn’t really like to talk about it because he doesn’t want to worry anyone but he still gets the shakes and is liable to jump like a scared cat around loud sudden noises. Nightmares are occasional but he gets them sometimes.

Despite growing up around a crime family, Drake never really found himself getting into drugs all that much. He’ll smoke to calm himself down sometimes and he’s not adverse to going on a drinking bender if there’s someone else there to do it with him but he ain’t usually about that life.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

Study Buddies They’ve seen Drake at the University library on a lot of nights and decided to share his table so they wouldn’t have to study alone. One night became two became a habit and they’ve become fast friends because of it [OPEN]

Spill The Beans

With all his time spent working in Underland’s criminal underbelly, Drake has a lot of connections and a lot of useful information that could get a lot of people in some very big trouble. However, considering how he never spoke a peep and almost lost his life twice, he’s rather reluctant to share anything despite how hard this person may try to pry it out of him [TAKEN; Daniel Mickey]

I’ve Got My Eye On You, Punk

Just because Drake is done with Underland doesn’t necessarily mean Underland is done with him. This person has been sent to keep an eye on him, just to make sure he doesn’t blab about anything he shouldn’t be. But knowing Drake, he hasn’t really noticed that’s what they’re up to just yet [OPEN]

I’m So Into You

Talking about Drake’s amazing ability to be oblivious to just about anything, he probably hasn’t noticed this person dropping every hint known to mankind and making eyes at him from across the room when they’re there at the same time. This crush of theirs feels a little hopeless but yet they can’t seem to shake it no matter how many times Drake doesn’t seem to notice [OPEN]

More to come!  Extra headcanons can be found here

[dalamjisung]

the picture worth a thousand words ❊ kim seungmin

genre: fluff

word count: 3902

pairing: reader x kim seungmin

description: people say a picture can be worth a thousand words, but you are a writer and that ain’t flying with you. Until you met him; photographer Kim Seungmin. 

There was nothing particularly wrong with you. At least not that you knew; but you still felt like there was something missing. Every night, before going to bed and after doing your usual n nightly routine, you’d sit down on your bed, and think. You have a great job. You graduated from a good university. You have amazing friends. You have a beautiful house. But why did you feel like there was no reason in celebrating all that? Why did you feel so alone? You wanted to share all of that with someone; to wake up in your apartment to the sight of made breakfast and the love of your life in an apron, laughing the kind of laugh that would make happiness bubble in your stomach. You wanted someone to pick you up at your job so they could take you to an impromptu date, or someone who you could talk about the good old day of college. Being alone was fun, but just for a little while. You were older now, and you missed that companionship that all your friends seemed to have.

No, you would alway chastise yourself. You don’t need a man to be happy. And you really didn’t; you knew you were thankful for all you had, for all you achieved. You could easily be happy on your own, but you didn’t really want to. And that made all the difference.

Sighing, you gave up on yet another sleepless night. The night left as quick as the morning came and it was time for you to clock in to work. As you ran to the office, you couldn’t help but feel your stomach growling, complaining about not receiving any breakfast. 

“I’ll eat after the meeting,” You promised yourself, hoping your body would somehow understand and behave during your presentation. 

You worked in a magazine, writing for the arts and culture section, and this meeting would decide on a very important pitch you had been pushing forward for a while; a personal interview with the up and coming photographer, Kim Seungmin. You were a great admirer of his early work, loving the simple way that texture and color mixed in his pictures, managing to really evoke some feeling in you– some feeling you couldn’t quite name it, just feel it. This interview could change your career, as well as his, and you truly believed it could benefit both of you. You were tired of having to always write about the same things and the same people; it was time to write about things that were truly new, truly inspiring. You deserved this, and so did many other people.

“Good morning,” You say, smiling as you walk into the meeting room where your boss, supervisor, and assistant sat. “Shall we begin?”

They all nod, smiling too. Your company was incredible like that; it was casual, with spaces where you could work with your colleagues without the pressure of deadlines. They re-enforced that friendships in the working space optimized the workload in half, and that colorful and open spaces made the workers more engaged, instead of separating people in cubicles. You had your own table, but there was no wall separating you from your peers. Everyone smiled. Everyone truly enjoyed what they did. This was your dream job, and if could simply convince these three people that it was time for a content upgrade, you’d be on cloud nine. You could feel it; it would change your life.

“And that it why,” You say, concluding the presentation with a couple of Kim Seungmin’s pictures from his last exhibit. “I believe we need this change. It is not only a chance to connect with a younger audience, but to also introduce a new artist to our older public. We can widen our publication to encompass more than a select number of people; we can get bigger and better, while staying true to our morals and still conveying informative and captivating content.”

They all nod, looking at each other, and your boss gets up. “That’s why we hired you, isn’t it, Y/N? That crazy mind of yours is one of your best. Go ahead; we’re giving you as much time as you need. I believe this project will work out really well for everyone.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” You say, smiling wide and trying to contain your excitement. 

“Ma’am my ass,” She laughs. “Back in the days you’d refer to me as senior sister…”

You laugh with her. Your boss wasn’t that much older, but actually very close in age to you. She had been the senior responsible for you during your orientation and freshman year, and as soon as she heard you graduated, she offered you a job. You started low; just an unpaid intern, and in the passing two years since the, you managed to climb your way up to payed columnist. You were proud of you and of her. 

“You got it, didn’t you?” Your friend, Lisa, asks as you sat on your table. She was a reviewer for the magazine, enjoying the life of testing out new products for the magazine. She called ‘pampering herself while getting paid.’ “I can see it on your face, you did. Wow! Congratulations!”

“I’m so happy,” You squeal, looking at your friend laughing at you. “This will be great!”

“You finally get to meet your idol,” Lisa jokes and you throw a pen at her.

“I simply admire his job,” You say, squinting your eyes. “That’s why I insisted on this pitch so hard.”

“Pff, sure,” Lisa rolls her eyes. “Let’s not focus on the fact that he is drop dead gorgeous.”

“Oh my gosh Lisa,” You mumble, facepalming yourself. “He is not a product to be tested.”

“You never know,” She says winking. “Maybe he is interested.”

“Don’t you dare hit on my assignment!” You gasp, laughing. 

“I would never!” Lisa says, and you two are almost rolling on the floor at this point. 

You knew she’d never hit on Kim Seungmin (unless he started it, of course.) She always joked like that, complaining about how her job never introduced her to hot people like yours did. It’s not fair, she’d whine playfully. You’ve met all of my favorite idols! Kim Namjoon, Ahn Hyoseop, Jackson Wang! Should I keep going? You’d shrug and chuckle. Sure, it was really cool talking to all of those people, their stories were simple incredible, but you knew about the restrictions placed on them through their companies. You knew the reservations they had, and that half of the information was just generalized answers to questions they weren’t allowed to answer. This is why you were so interested in Kim Seungmin; he wasn’t represented by an entertainment agency nor was he under any contract– he was an independent artist.

You had a response to your initial email right as you came back from lunch.

Dear Ms. Y/N Y/L/N,

Thank you so much for contacting me. I’d love to help you with whatever you might need. However, I am in the middle of photographing for my new exhibit, so I’m afraid I won’t have time to sit down properly and answer all your questions. If you don’t mind me suggesting, you could tag along for a few days to experience my day to day life first hand, and ask your questions as well. 

I hope to hear from you soon,

Kim Seungmin.

“Holy shit!” You gasp. This was much better than you expected. You’d be lying if you said that the thought of asking to accompany him on his daily routine as he photographs didn’t cross your mind, but you refrained yourself from pushing too hard, very aware that some artists are not enthusiastic of sharing their muses and inspirations with others. 

“What?” Lisa runs to your table, leaning on the back of your chair and reading the email carefully. “Holy shit!”

You both start brainstorming for quick and efficient questions, skipping the obvious ones and going straight for the ones that dwelled deeper into his work and exhibitions. This had potential to be your best work so far, and you could feel it. Once you both came up with a list of about thirty questions, it was almost the end of the day. 

“I’ll get going,” Lisa said waving. “Don’t stay here too late!”

“I’ll just answer some emails and leave,” You smile. “See you tomorrow!”

Cracking your fingers, you tried to control your emotions. 

Dear Kim Seungmin,

Thank you for your quick response and for the great suggestion. I’d love to tag along, if it won’t be a problem for you!

When would it be a good time to start?

All the best,

Y/N Y/L/N.

You were about to close your laptop when a new email came in. 

Dear Ms. Y/N Y/L/N,

I’m starting to photograph for a series tomorrow! If you’d like, we could meet at 10AM at the coffee shop right by the corner of Main Street? 

Let me know!

Kim Seungmin. 

You smiled.

Perfect! See you then.

————————

Waking up was not hard simply because once again you didn’t sleep. Getting out of bed, though, was incredibly difficult. You were super excited, but once again your body felt like it had no energy, the two hours you seemed to have managed a light sleep not serving for much. When you finished getting dressed, you notice you barely had time to make it to the coffee shop, so unfortunately, no breakfast would be possible. 

You run all the way there, cursing your laziness that led you to be this out of shape. Getting inside the shop, you sigh, looking to the sides while putting your hair up in a ponytail. It’s then that you hear a sharp, dry snap! Your head whips to your right and you finally find him, with his camera pointing at the coffee mug. Kim Seungmin. The tip of his tongue is showing through his teeth as he absentmindedly looked at his pictures. 

“Hi,” You say gently as you approached him. His eyes, sparkling and large, look at you and he blushes intensely, gulping down. “Kim Seungmin, right?”

“Y-Yeah,” He stutters a bit, and you chuckle. “Look, abou-“

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” You clarify, not wanting him to think you were a fan bothering him on his free time. “We emailed yesterday?”

“You’re Y/N???” He gasps, putting his camera down and offering you his hand. “I didn’t expect you to be so… young.”

You laugh at that. “It’s fine, I didn’t really expect you to know what I looked like.”

“Yeah,” He laughs. “Sorry about that. Do you want anything to eat? I went ahead and ordered coffee…”

“Oh,” Your stomach grumbles. “I’d love that actually. Do we have time?”

He shrugs. “I don’t really have a time table to follow, so sure.”

You guys start talking about yourselves, and you do what you always do; you try to establish a connection to you interviewee so that they feel more comfortable talking to you, and that means also talking about yourself, in the most superficial level possible. This time, though, was different. You felt as if not only you were doing that, but him too. He asked questions about you and your life, and he seemed genuinely interested in what you told him. You felt really comfortable with him, and you were excited for the rest of the day. 

“Are you done?” He asks, with a small smile. You nod and you two leave, walking side by side. 

With your eyes on him, you noticed his stance; camera in hands, always at chest level, ready to snap pictures at the slightness movement that caught his eyes. In between, while you guys walked around the city, you asked some of your prepared questions.

“What is this series about?” You ask, notebook in hand. “If you don’t mind me asking, of course…”

He chuckles. “The mundane life,” He says looking around, eyes laying on you, hair up, looking down at your notebook. Snap. You look up and he is staring at the children ahead. “I want to portray the beauty that people ignore everyday. It’s a new theme even for me, I don’t know if you are familiar with my past work but-“

“I am,” You say, smiling wide. “I love your pictures, really. They were one of the few I’ve seen that actually talked to me.”

And you could’ve melted at his smile. “Thanks!” 

He keeps talking about his work and you guys walk, and you kept hearing snap! snap! snap! but it always seemed to be when you were writing. You were a little upset that because you had to do your job, you couldn’t watch him do his, but you were sure you’d see those pictures later. 

“What I’m looking for,” He said as you two sat down on yet another coffee shop, now with the sun already gone. and a sandwich instead of breakfast in front of you. “Is for that one picture, yeah? The one that people always talk about– the one worth a thousand words. And I think I’m on the right path to find it.”

You’d definitely quote him on that one.

For three days, both of you followed a routine; meet at the coffee shop at 10AM, walk around a different neighborhood each time, have lunch, walk some more, and then talk a little more over dinner, although dinner time was reserved for you two to bond as friends and not work assignments. You grew to enjoy his company, in these past days, and enjoy your dinners even more. You found out he is a fan of Day6 and that he sometimes can look like a puppy when he smiles. You learn that he has an older sister and that being a photographer was always his dream. But Seungmin also learned new things; he got to know who much of fan you were when you accidentally mentioned on of his first famous pictures. He found out that you are allergic to cats but that you still adore them, although your dream is to one day raise a Corgi named Moose. 

As you talked, you barely noticed his hands on his phone, stealthily snapping away. You were simply too into your memories of when you would write people’s essays in college for a small fee that you barely noticed him doing his thing. Actually, this was one of the things he loved to found out the most; how immersed on an assignment you could get, that you would barely notice the world around you still spinning. Or him taking pictures of you. 

It was now the last dinner; your week over. This had been the best week of the past few months, if you had to be truthful. You would wake up energized because you finally could sleep. You would eat delicious food slowly because you finally had someone to talk to during meals. You adored your days with Seungmin. But they had finally come to an end. And you feared that so would your friendship.

————————

Dear Y/N,

I hope you haven’t forgotten me yet (it’s been only three weeks since we last saw each other.) 

I read your article about me. I loved it! You definitely painted me in a light I’ve never seen myself, but I still want to thank you for being truthful and inspiring when you talked about my work. 

I am emailing you to finally announce that my exhibition opening will be tomorrow, at 7PM at The Gallery. I hope you can make it! I organized everything so that your name will be on the VIP list with a plus one; you can bring your friend you talked so much about, she sounded fun! I hope to see you there!

Love,

Seungmin. 

“Love?” Lisa asks, as you both read the email for the fifth time. “What the-“

“Language,” You shush her. “Oh my gosh, what does he mean by that?”

“Love.” Lisa tries again. “Love love love… you guys really hit it off, didn’t you?”

“Lisa, no!” You whine, blushing intensely. “I mean… there were times when I thought we were getting closer, but after the week ended he never texted me! Not even to talk about the article, so I don;tknow what to think anymore.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” She shrugs. “Now let’s go, girly. We need to get ready for a very important event tonight.”

With the permission of your boss, you two leave early, straight to your house. On the way, you kept stressing about which dress to wear, or which shoes would match, and you’d sigh in frustration. That wasn’t you. You didn’t stress about things like this; you were cool and collected. 

It took a couple of hours and you were sure you’d make it there a little bit late, but as soon as you two were ready, Lisa having borrowed some clothes from you, you left. The taxi ride was terrible; you were so anxious that you could throw up. Something in your gut told you that tonight would be… a surprise. And you weren’t sure if that was good or bad.

“Okay, we’re at the door,” Lisa whispered smiling to the security and giving him your names. “You have to calm down. You look like you’re about to run.”

“That’s because I am!” You whispered, looking at your friend as you walked in. 

“Don’t be an enjoy the show!” She winks and walks away. 

Sighing, you start roaming around, noticing one room in particular was closed off. Some pictures on the wall made you want to laugh, because you knew that as soon as he snapped that picture, Seungmin tripped and feel on his butt. The next one made you smile fondly, watching the two kids on their bikes. The sunset gave off the perfect lighting and you could only see one hand from the right side, a worried mother that ran after her babies. You went through the exposition like that, remembering each and all moments with the photographer. Once you were done, you were a little confused. You could’ve sworn he took more pictures than that.

“Excuse me!” Seungmin called from the center of the room, his back to you and Lisa, who brought you a glass of champagne. “I’d like to say a few things tonight. First of all, thank you all for coming. It means a lot to see all my friends and family united to support me. Secondly, I wanted to talk a little about this series, and about the surprise series in the next room.”

So that’s what it was. A surprise collection. Intrigued, you listened carefully.

“For the past days I have been working endlessly to make this dream come true, and I finally did it. I managed to capture moments of the daily life that, for us spectators, don’t mean much when we see them on the street, but that printed and edited seems to mean a lot. This is a calling; please pay more attention to your daily life. Smell the flowers. Listen to children laugh. Have fun as you walk to work everyday at 6AM.”

People laugh at that. He did too, and you smiled, watching as his cheeks puffed out in pride. 

“The next room, though, was inspired on my own daily routine for the week I was taking these shots. I wasn’t alone that time; I was lucky to have an incredible companion with me, and unfortunately she doesn’t seem to be here, but you still get to see what I did for seven days straight.”

Lisa elbows you and your mouth is agape. You are sure you look like an idiot, but you couldn’t believe this. Was he talking about you?

“I promised this person that I would find what I was looking for– a picture worth a thousand words. How funny is it that she’s a writer?” People laugh yet again, but you can’t even muster breathing at this point. “And I did it. In the next room, you will see a series of shot of this person who now has turned into my muse. And in the center, the thousand words. Have fun, and thank you!”

Following the crowd before he could spot you, you enter this mysterious room, feeling lightheaded as you did. Your face was everywhere. 

A picture of you writing on your notebook, the sun hitting only half of your face. 

A picture of you sipping on your coffee while looking out the window. A thunder illuminating your face, contradicting the peacefulness you remember feeling that one stormy afternoon.

A picture on you laying on the grass, relaxing a little as he hunted more pictures.

“Holy shit, Y/N,” Lisa gasped. “How?”

“I don’t know.” And you really didn’t. How didn’t I notice this before?

And in the center, hanging from the ceiling, bigger than the others, you. Your eyes curious and wondering, arms up, putting your hair on a ponytail, and a coffee bar behind you. You had to admit, you looked ethereal; like a faraway beauty. And the name, written in small print, the picture worth a thousand words. Not ‘a picture,’ the picture. To say you were about to cry was an understatement. 

You walk away from the room, heels clicking on the ground and suddenly a deja-vu hits you; snap! snap! snap! The sound of the camera shutter echoing on your mind. 

So that’s what that was, you think, still walking, decidedly. He was taking pictures of me.

You find him talking to a waiter in another room, soon dismissing him with a wave and a smile. 

“Ya Kim Seungmin!” You call loudly, making him jump from the scare. His eyes go wide as he sees you approaching, stuttering nonsense and and pointing at you. “Are you crazy?”

And as you say that, your hands go to his chubby cheeks– the same ones you’ve been dying to squeeze– and pull his face towards you. Your mouth touches his and there is nothing smooth or delicate about it. It’s urgent, desperate almost, and you blush at the thought. He is quick to get out of his trance and to bring you closer with his hands on your waist. He slows down the kiss, leading you, coaching you. He does what he’s been wanting to do since he saw you and he entangles his hands on your hair. It takes a while for you two to separate, and when you do you hide your face on his chest, laughing lightly. His heart is beating like crazy.

“Warn a girl first,” You tease, raising your head to see his eyes shine in the way you love so much.

“Look who’s talking!” He gasps. “You just attacked me!”

“I just… had a lot to say.”

“And what was that?”

“A kiss is worth a thousand words,” You whisper in his ear, laughing as he shivers. “Didn’t you get the memo?”

“I don’t think so,” He pretends to think about it. “Do it again and see if it works.”

Laughing, you start approaching him again. Foreheads touch first. Eyes make contact. And just as your lips were about to touch you hear-

“Is that the girl from the pictures?!”

And if you could hit Lisa, you would.