#had to remind myself that my first personal computer was inherited from my dad and was a huge clunky laptop

[aslice-ofcake]

been thinking lately about how my perception of the evolution of technology from starting with a big clunky family computer when i was ~7 to what we have now has been a bit skewed, and am realizing it's because i've just blocked out a lot of pre-college memories in general which makes me just think about what i've had during college and afterwards as what i consider to be the "standard" of technology that people had growing up

[transpaperinik]

can i get uhhh "i was afraid you were gone forever" w duck avenger x uno??

ok here u go :)

-

“I thought you were gone forever!” Donald had yelled when Uno finally returned to him. Donald cried and Uno had been happier than he could ever remember being. It had been 11 years since Uno had seen his friends face. He explained to Donald how he survived, that when Ducklair had attempted to delete him, he uploaded pieces of himself into every computer in the area with free storage space. It took him ages to find a place with enough room to reassemble himself, and it took even longer to actually do it. 

In the months that followed, Donald continued to be the Avenger. Uno knew it was because of the shadow war. He knew Donald was afraid something would happen to his family. Uno helped him of course, they were partners. On the side though, Uno had his own personal project, something he didn’t even tell Donald about. 

He worked so hard on in fact, he hardly noticed that “Donald’s latest adventure with his Uncle” was actually “Donald’s month long cruise vacation.”

He worked so hard he completely missed the fact Donald ended up on the moon instead of his relaxing cruise. He totally missed the return of Donald’s sister Della. He worked so hard he finished his project in a week and a half. A body is what Uno made. A body to finally hold Donald with, to see him through his own eyes instead of through camera feeds or a glass globe.

Uno took his new body to McDuck Manor. He walked right up to the door and knocked. It was an interesting feeling. He was so excited but he was also unfathomably nervous. What if something went wrong with his body? What if he rushed it? But he had no time to think of such things, as the door was soon opened, revealing a longer haired duck around Donald’s age. Della, Uno realized moments before she spoke.

“Uh, hello.” she said simply, squinting at the duck standing in front of her. “You look familiar.”

“Oh, I’m Ducklair.” he said, sticking out his hand to shake “Er, Ducklair’s son.” He corrects. Recognition lit up in Della’s eyes. She shook his hand and let him inside.

“I remember now! Uncle Scrooge used to own one of your dad’s buildings, right? Ducklair tower?” Uno Nods as she leads him into the mansion. “Wait here,” she says, gesturing for him to sit at the dining room table “I’ll go get Scrooge.”

Soon enough, Della and Scrooge join Uno at the dining room table. Scrooge is surprised to learn of Ducklair’s son. Uno explains he was somewhat secretive of his family. Which is true, Everret’s daughters were revealed to the public for only a year before they fell right back off the map, Ducklair with them. Uno explains he recently inherited a decent portion of Ducklair’s riches (which is true, Uno managed to take back lot’s of Ducklair property for himself) and he moved back to Duckburg.

“Where is your father these days?” Scrooge asks, curious as to where Duckburg’s other resident billionaire had gone.

“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. He very much enjoys disappearing from the public eye for prolonged periods of time. He’s actually still somewhat of a mystery to me.” Uno admits. He tugs awkwardly at the sleeve of his jacket. He’s not so sure he likes being Ducklair’s son, Everret did try to erase him after all, but he’d use any excuse to see Donald.

“By the way, does your nephew live here?” Uno asks, despite knowing the answer.

“Ahh!” Della groans, surprising Uno “Yes he does! But he thought it would be cool to go on a month long cruise instead of welcoming his twin sister back home from the moon!” Scrooge snorts out a laugh. Uno freezes. Month long cruise?

“Aye lass, for the last time, we sent him on that cruise to calm his nerves. If he knew you were here I’m certain he’s rush home in an instant.” Della deflates, slouching in her seat.

“I know! I just miss him… Hey wait, you know Donald?” Della perks back up in her seat, interested to know what Uno has to do with her brother.

“Ah yes, I knew him for a couple years, we became friends when he worked at Ducklair tower. Unfortunately, like my father, I myself had disappeared from the public eye…” Uno trails off, mussing up the feathers on the back of his hand. That, and you disappeared… Uno thought. And Donald retired in order to become a parent. “So he’s going to be gone for a month?” Uno says, and he almost aches inside. He worked so hard to impress Donald and he’s out on vacation? Of course he deserves it but… Uno missed him.

“Aye, sorry Mr. Ducklair.” Scrooge answers “Want me to telephone you when he returns?”

“Yes, if you would,” Uno stands from his spot at the table, and the others follow his lead “And please, call me Uno, Mr. Ducklair makes me sound like my father.”

“Uno?” Della says before she could stop herself.

“It’s more of a nickname than anything, but I prefer it.” Uno says, sticking his hand out for Scrooge to shake.

“Alright lad,” Scrooge replies, giving him a short but firm businesslike handshake. “Don’t be a stranger!” And Uno says he won’t. Uno returns to Ducklair tower and he feels. Bad. He feels so bad. He knows it’s silly and even a little selfish for Uno to want Donald, but he does. He looks himself in the mirror. His face was designed specifically to resemble his old display, so Donald would recognize him. He did give himself Ducklair’s black hair, but that was mostly to make himself resemble his “father”. For the first time Uno feels his emotions physically, they sit heavy in his chest. He stares at the face he made for Donald and the body he crafted to hold Donald with. He realizes maybe 10 years too late that he’s in love with him. 

Uno is in love with Donald Duck.

It only took him seconds to locate the cruise ship Donald is on, only to find he’s not actually on it. He tells Donald’s family as soon as he realizes he can’t find him himself. He shuts himself away for the week Donald is missing, searching for him. Where could he have gone?

He’s seconds away from achieving true misery when one of the tower’s alarms goes off. Something has entered the atmosphere. Something made of solid gold. Uno rushes to the site of the crash, somewhere in the fields on the outskirts of the city. Uno is afraid maybe the Evronians have returned, or maybe any of those other pesky aliens Donald somehow got involved with. What he sees, though, is not an alien, or even a stranger.

What he sees is his very own Donald Duck.

Uno scans him for injuries and God, there are so many. He rushes him back to the tower and he treats him with the best medical technology Ducklair has. It reminds him of back then, when Uno would fix Donald up after a mission and Donald would go back and break himself all over again. This is something he doesn’t miss. Seeing the man he loved lie unconscious in a hospital bed. The bandage wrappings are too white against Donald’s singed and dirtied feathers. Uno want nothing more than to scoop Donald up and hold him so tight because God, Donald what’s happened to you? What could you have possibly gotten yourself into? But he holds himself back. The last thing he wants is to hurt Donald, so he waits.

Uno isolates himself for a while, surrounding himself with research once again. He learns of anything and everything that could have happened to Donald Duck. He learns that somehow, Della’s Spear of Selene left Earth only moments after arriving. He learns that this happened on the very day Donald was meant to leave for his cruise.

He’s interrupted by a figure in the doorway. He’s holding it for dear life and his legs tremble as they threaten to give out beneath him. Donald makes a strangled sound as he tries to speak and all of the air leaves Uno in a rush. 

“Donald,” he gasps, rushing to grab hold of his friend before he falls. 

“Uno?” Donald croaks, finally able to find his voice, and he collapses into Uno’s arms. He grabs Uno by the front of his jacket and he presses his forehead into Uno’s sternum, squeezing his eyes closed as his vision swims and a violent ache makes itself a home in his head. He tries to rub the colors out of his eyes, the ones he saw when hurtling towards Earth at deathly speeds. The ones he saw dancing in space despite the fact Lunaris’s capsule didn’t have a front facing view port.

“Look at me” Uno begs him, slowly sinking to his knees so Donald can rest on the floor. “Donald please look at me.”

Donald slowly lifts his head and prys his eyes open to look, and Uno thinks he’ll have to manufacture himself a new heart after this. 

“Uno.” Donald says. “Uno.”

“I’m right here old cape, hey, I’m right here.” Uno whispers, and he wraps his arms around his companion and he holds him. Like he built himself to do. He pulls Donald into his lap and he holds him, and Donald holds him back. He tries over and over to untangle all of the words stuck in his throat but Uno only shushes him.

“I thought I had lost you.” Uno cries into the feathers atop Donald’s head. Donald tucks himself neatly into the space under Uno’s chin. “I thought you were gone forever.”

[buzzedbabe]

@thewolfdragon @richard-madden @maddennfl86 @thenorthremembersalways @thefashionprofessor @robbstarkmademedoit @what-would-wonderwoman-do

story below for those that can’t read it

How much time are you spending thinking about Bodyguard? A lot, I bet. The new BBC thriller, about the relationship between an ambitious and unknowable home secretary and her PTSD-addled protection officer, was written by Jed Mercurio of Line of Duty fame, and was cynically and artfully designed to hook, obsess and fixate an audience into appointment viewing.

Bodyguard is made to steal us away from all newly acquired suit-yourself, binge-watch and content-stream habits, with charismatic heroes who might actually be despicable antiheroes and a succession of frenzied plot twists that simply must be consumed on the night lest someone catch you out with a spoiler on social media. Even if that doesn’t happen, even if your viewing isn’t partly ruined by a stray Facebook comment, watch an episode even a little late and find yourself locked out of all the best conversations, the most detailed post mortems, most frenetic speculations. Bodyguard is, in essence, a middle-aged Love Island, a reason to gather excitedly round the screen at the prescribed hour in a way that hasn’t really happened since the late Nineties.

Bloody hell, it’s good, I tell its star Richard Madden. The 32-year-old Glaswegian actor made his name as Robb Stark in Game of Thrones and consolidated it as Prince Charming in 2015’s Kenneth Branagh-directed Cinderella. Now, after playing Mellors in Mercurio’s 2015 Lady Chatterley’s Lover for the BBC, he trembles on the verge of Poldarking himself into borderline indecent, heavily fetishised glory as Bodyguard’s David Budd, the protection officer at the heart of the story.

“Oh, right,” he says. His accent is broad, non-posh Scottish; unexpected to those who remember it as generically Yorkshire in Game of Thrones. His eyes are intense. He’s arch and funny; he’d probably qualify as dangerously charming if there weren’t also something watchful and cautious about him. “Thanks very much! I enjoyed playing something a bit more adult, less boyish. I’m keen to play more grown-up roles, without actually growing up myself. Pretending to be adult. I’m done playing princes. Princes and royalty and lords. Also, it’s nice not to do an accent.” David Budd is – conveniently – Scottish. “One less thing to think about. Shall we get a drink? It is a Tuesday night, after all.”

It’s a Monday, I point out, but all the same we order a beer and wine from the front desk of the photographic studio in which we sit.

This is not the first time Madden and I have met. Three years ago, he bowled up to me at a friend’s party and demanded to know why I hadn’t featured him in Grazia magazine’s Chart of Lust recently. A placing in the list (which I compile weekly, and does exactly as its title suggests – rates the most fanciable people of that moment’s news), is deeply coveted among those who present themselves as above that kind of vanity, but definitely aren’t. Newscasters, Hollywood A-listers, national treasures, disruptive artists (Grayson Perry once told me he’d pinned his mention up on the wall in his studio), award-winning novelists … I’ve been lobbied by spads chasing mentions for their political charges on more than one occasion. But this was the first time a candidate had ever approached me in the flesh. I was both impressed and amused by his front.

“It does my frail ego good,” he’d elaborated, which, I’d thought, demonstrated a surprising amount of self-awareness in a young actor.

I remind him of our first meeting.

“Oh, God. Great start,” he says. Then, “I’m just trying to work my way up [the chart].”

Well, let’s see how this goes, shall we.

One of the reasons I think Bodyguard resonates so hard with its viewers is that it’s dealing with themes of safety – and so are we all. Terrorist attacks, suicide bombers and rooftop snipers recur from episode to episode; our current nightmares, and most catastrophising daytime fantasies, the ones that flicker through our minds every time we board a plane, go to a concert venue or swipe into a subway system, are played out in high definition on our small screens. Madden’s David Budd thwarts and buffers and foresees and repels; a hero with a fantastically of-the-moment brief. If Poldark is our ultimate historical TV pin-up – manly, tortured, good with his shirt off – then Budd is our ultimate Threat Level: Severe pin-up – manly, tortured, good in a bulletproof vest (“An actual bulletproof vest,” he’ll tell me, “which is so comfortable, for five months”).

I run this theory past Madden. How nervy is he in London right now?

“I don’t feel unsafe. I used to be more panicky, but I’m just less uptight. A few years ago, I’d get off at Tube stations because I’d have a sense of something.”

How much of David Budd’s wariness did Madden inherit through the course of filming?

“You get to a point where you clock everything. That’s what I’m doing for 12 hours a day, so …”

Walk into a room, scope it out for the nearest exit?

“I did that anyway. My dad’s a fireman, so that’s built in. Check into a hotel, first thing I do, find the fire exit.”

Richard Madden was born just outside of Glasgow, an only boy among older and younger sisters. His mother, Pat, is a classroom assistant. There were no other performers in his close family – no pub-singer uncles, no sisters at dance school.

You’re, like, a rogue luvvie.

“Yup!” he says.

How does that happen?

“I don’t know. I was fat. And shy. Crushingly shy, going to what was a fairly tough high school. Aggressive. Masculine. So I thought the best thing to do would be to go and be an actor. Ha ha! Not go and play football. Or get good at boxing. I’ll go and be an actor. They’ll love that.”

Aged 11, Madden joined Paisley Art Centre’s youth theatre programme. “And of course, they did not love that. But then I managed to dodge a couple of years of school, because …”

Because he was good enough to be cast, as a young teenager, in professional roles: in the film adaptation of Iain Banks’ Complicity, and in a kids’ TV show called Barmy Aunt Boomerang.

“So I was like, ‘I’m going to be acting, and not go to school.’ And get paid.”

Did you realise you were good? “I don’t think you ever feel good at it.”

He gave up acting in his mid-teens – “Life got a bit shit, when you’re on telly, among your peers, and you’re 14 years old”. He returned to it when he was 17, “because you have a bunch of teachers going, ‘Right, now you must decide what to do with the rest of your life,’ and 17 is of course the best time to choose.”

In 2004, he began studying at the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama. “I wasn’t allowed to apply for drama school unless I applied for a ‘real’ course as well, which was computing science. I didn’t even know what it was. Had no interest. And then, luckily, the day before my first exams, I received a letter saying you’ve got into drama school, so I went to my exams and just wrote my name.”

At 22, barely out of the RSAMD, he was cast as Robb Stark in HBO’s epic, fantastically successful Game of Thrones. Stark is the noble, brave, integrity-hampered son of Sean Bean’s Ned Stark; a character with a genuine and credible claim on the kingdom’s iron throne, all of which condemned him to a phenomenally gruesome death in an episode entitled The Rains of Castamere, only fans of the show (among whom I count myself, unashamedly) call it “The Red Wedding”, on account of the blood-drenched ceremony during which Madden, his pregnant wife and his mother all die.

Madden says he thinks that early, formative brush with a TV career was both “a head-f***” and, “I was so thankful for it, because, going into the world of Game of Thrones, I’d already learnt so much from doing it as a kid, of feeling isolated, or getting arrogant because you’re on a TV show. I’d kind of done all that. I could deal with it a lot better.”

A lot better than whom, among your co-stars?

He cackles. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Yes! Can I guess? “No.”

Madden went into Game of Thrones knowing he would die within three series – the books on which the shows are based spelled out Robb Stark’s demise long before Madden was cast – which he thinks is a good thing, professionally speaking. “I didn’t just want to be known as that guy from Game of Thrones.” It also meant that his celebrity has, until this point at least, been tinged with pity, partly for the grotesque manner of his fictional death, partly because he was booted out of that juggernaut of a TV sensation early.

That might be about to change with Bodyguard. I am reasonably confident Madden’s fame is about to be tinged with something rather more lecherous. David Budd is in no sense a straightforward romantic hero – physically and emotionally scarred, with an undivorced wife and kids squirrelled away in a safe house – but heavens, he does brooding intensity well. His love affair with Keeley Hawes’ home secretary, Julia Montague, is as intensely sexy as it is quietly subversive, for making no reference to Hawes’ Montague being ten years older than Madden’s Budd. The whole thing is designed to charm the pants off us, and I wonder how prepared Madden is to receive the unbridled lust of thousands of women on social media.

If Twitter erupts with lechery …

“I won’t look.”

Why?

“Because if I do, and if I believe someone going, ‘Oh God, he’s hot,’ then I’ll also have to believe the person that goes, ‘He’s got pumpkin teeth.’ Do you know what I mean?”

Yes, but, you are widely considered handsome, so …

“I don’t see it.”

Truly not?

“Truly not.”

It is form for beautiful young actors to deny their looks, in the interest of seeming more humble and likeable than they really are, but I think, in Madden’s case, he could mean it. He tells me fame has made him feel less attractive, not more. “You chat to a girl at a bar, have a couple of drinks, and shy Richard is slowly going. This is going well. And then it’s, ‘My boyfriend’s a really big fan. Can I get a picture?’ And you go, ‘F***.’ You think they think you’re hot, but it’s because you’re on telly.”

I ask Madden if he thinks he’s irredeemably defined by the chubby, shy child he used to be.

“I feel like I should lie down on that sofa and give you a hundred quid.”

Were you really so scarringly fat?

“Thirty-eight inch waist when I was 12. I didn’t wear denim until I was 19, because denim is really hard to take up. My mum couldn’t take my jeans up.”

Would you say you have body issues?

“Absolutely, yeah.”

Despite all of which, Richard Madden does OK with women. When I originally met him, he’d been in the final stages of a long-term relationship with the actor Jenna Coleman, who stars as Victoria in the ITV show, and who is now in a relationship with her onscreen Albert, Tom Hughes. Since then, Madden has been gossip-column-linked to a succession of beautiful women – model Suki Waterhouse and TV presenter Laura Whitmore among them – none of whom seem notably put off by his pumpkin teeth.

“I think in the last year I was, as far as the tabloids went, dating seven different people. And when you receive a text saying, ‘Are you sleeping with blah blah,’ and you go, ‘No,’ that’s a bit weird.”

Who are you sleeping with?

“I’m not saying.”

But you are sleeping with someone?

“I am sleeping with someone. I am very happy with someone. There are pictures of it on the internet.”

If it’s the one everyone thinks you’re dating, I say – by which I mean the 21-year-old Ellie Bamber, with whom he was pictured most recently at the Serpentine Gallery summer party – then she’s another actor. Is it really a good idea to go out with other actors?

“Yes and no. Yes, because you understand what each other’s going through. No, because, there’s a certain level of self-focus you need, in order to do the job you’re doing. That’s hard on all relationships, because what am I going to talk to you about? I walk up and down for 12 hours a day, dealing with this character’s shit. That’s all I’ve done, every day, for the past three months … I really haven’t got anything to offer you as a friend.”

We return, briefly, to Bodyguard. He says he got on brilliantly with Keeley Hawes. “Love her, love her to pieces. She saved my arse, because it’s not a fun job. It’s not a comedy. But then Keeley and me, me and her, off screen, were just like two kids.”

Were you paid the same?

“No idea. I imagine she earned more. I care less about how much other people are paid, and more what it takes for me to shut up and go and do my job. The equality thing needs to be addressed hugely between male and female co-stars; I know that from friends of mine. But there’s only so much I can do for myself. Agents and lawyers, they do all that stuff. I just kind of deal with what I need to, so I don’t look a producer in the eye and f***ing hate them when they’re talking about their villas, and you’re thinking, shit, I’m getting the bus at the weekend, because I don’t have the money for a cab, you know?”

How rich are you?

“Not very. People think I am, because of Game of Thrones, but you know, when I signed up for that I was 22, with f*** all on my CV, so I was paid f*** all.”

Then, somehow, we end up talking about his body again.

“In between filming, I eat pizza, drink, don’t work out, get fat, then it’s six weeks till you have to be naked again. It’s always six weeks. Actually, that’s if you’re lucky. I have ten days till I take my clothes off again this time.”

What’s the occasion?

“I’m filming Rocketman, the Elton John film, and I play John Reid, his first boyfriend, his manager for 28 years.”

A straight man in a gay role; casting that has become contentious after Disney named comedian Jack Whitehall, who is straight, as the voice of its first openly gay hero.

“Yeah, and Taron Egerton [who is playing Elton John] is a straight man in a gay role,” says Madden, “and I think we’re all f***ed if we start going down the route of you can only play a gay part if you’re a gay actor. Diversity, equality and pay – of course we need to make sure of all that, but at the same time … I read reports that so and so’s pulled out of this role because they’re not transgender, and you go, yeah, but they’re a f***ing actor, and they’re probably really f***ing good in the part, and maybe that is part of the reason why that film’s getting made …”

We wind up with him telling me he isn’t bothered about an Oscar. “Because, who won best actress last year? Best actor? Best supporting actor? What won best musical?”

No idea.

“So what does it matter?” he says.

After which, he is beautifully mocking (off the record) about a very famous actor’s latest endeavour, before hugging me goodbye and pretending – well – he hopes to see me again soon, socially. Richard Madden made it to No 2 in the current issue of Grazia’s Chart of Lust Bodyguard continues tomorrow at 9pm on BBC One. Episodes 1 and 2 are on BBC iPlayer

[thedefinitionofbts]

Red and Gold (M)

Pairings: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Iron Man!Jungkook, Fluff, Scifi, Comedy, Smut

Words: 11K

Description: It’s no secret that genius, billionaire, international playboy, and philanthropist- Jeon Jungkook, better known as the CEO of Jeon Industries-and even better known as Iron Man, is one of the most intelligent, wealthy, and powerful men in the world. There’s nothing that can get to him or his ego, that is, until you happen to show up and give him a run for his money. 

A/N: It was only a matter of time before I put in an attempt to make Jungkook’s dream a reality...kind of....but not really lol.... Enjoy!  

Warnings: Mentions of Violence, Explicit Sexual Content 

 Even before Jeon Jungkook inherited Jeon Industries from his late father, he was notorious for being the spoiled heir of the world’s largest weapons manufacturing conglomerate. People had constantly given him crap for being fed with a silver spoon since the day he was born, that is, until he became Iron Man and shut those fuckers up by saving the world on more occasions than one. Apparently just being a genius inventor-and part time philanthropist-just doesn’t make the cut anymore. And ever since he revealed his identity as the guy in the red and gold metallic suit, things have gotten more interesting so to say.

He had originally thought taking over his dad’s business was going to be a lot of pressure-the sort of responsibility he put off by getting drunk every other night and sleeping around with the beautiful women who would melt in the hands of his wealth and reputation. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the greatest of ideas, but let’s just say he wasn’t quite ready for adulting at the free-spirited age of 18 and wanted to have a little fun while he still had it in him. But now that protecting the world was one of his liabilities, that sort of recklessness had to be put on the backburner. To be honest, it was getting a bit dull for Jungkook anyways, and he can’t say he didn’t like the extra attention he got for being one of the coolest superheroes in the history of superheroes.

Of course life has not been any easier-not that Jungkook ever found life to be difficult, per se-he’s a genius, remember? But there were a lot of people out there who wanted him dead or would go extremes to get their hands on his unrivaled suit of armor, so constant renewing of his self developed technology was a must. And he’s always been able to get what he desired and accomplish what he wanted, whether it was by his own efforts or what he’s been conveniently gifted by the circumstances in which he was brought into this world, for the most part at least.

“Mr. Jeon, your new-“

“Namjoon, how many times have I told you?” Jungkook cards a hand through his tousled hair and proceeds to twirl a pen in his hand. “Ditch the formalities, just call me Jungkook.”

“Right, Jungkook” Namjoon clears his throat, looking back down at his ipad.  “As I was saying, you’re new assistant is due to come in this afternoon.”

Jungkook cocks a brow. “New Assistant?”

“I notified you of the selection process a month in advance, and emailed you the results just last week, surely you didn’t delete that email before reading it again, did you?”

Jungkook has a momentary flashback of the message titled “New Assistant” that was sitting unassumingly in his inbox, the contents of which he was too hungover to actually read at the time. He vaguely recalls requesting for a new helper to provide assistance in designing his next generation of Iron Man suits. This must be that request coming to fruition. 

“No, no. How could I possible forget about my new assistant?” Jungkook says, making a that’s-completely-absurd face, and proceeds to cross his legs and lean back against his leather chair. “What was his name again?”

“Her, Jungkook, she’s a woman.” Namjoon corrects, shaking his head in defeat.

“Ah right, a fan of Iron Man I assume?“ Jungkook’s eyes light up, interest clearly sparked by the thought of a female work assistant. Having been stuck with JARVIS-his artificially intelligent system, for the past few years was getting a bit too lackluster for his taste, not that he didn’t appreciate the irreplaceable assistance of his personally designed AI.  

“She’s not merely a fan, Jungkook. She was the most qualified candidate.” Namjoon declares confidently, feeling rather annoyed at the younger male’s arrogance. Despite being a genius superhero, Jungkook was far from mature. It was always times like these when his 21 year old self would show through the lavish lifestyle and heroic suit.

“Even more so than you?” Jungkook cocks another eyebrow, turning to look at his long time secretary that he had met during his universities days and handpicked from the crowd of similarly qualified classmates. He had first and foremost offered the position the older male, in hopes that the visibly capable man would be thrilled to take his offer, but Namjoon had declined saying that there were more skilled people than he to fill the spot.

“I myself would not be so confident in putting my own credentials up against hers.”

“Oh, she’s that good?”

Namjoon nods. “Even for you.”

Jungkook lets out a laugh as if it were a joke. “In case you’ve forgotten, I graduated from KAIST-the most prestigious engineering university in South Korea, with two master’s degrees in computer and electrical engineering when I was 18.”

Namjoon nods again, fully aware that the boy was a genius, but he also knew that Jungkook was someone who tended to let his ego get to his head. “You’ll see.” He says with a grin.

As cliché as it may sound, Kim Namjoon was the type of person who had the money, the looks, and the brains to start his own company and become just as successful as Jungkook’s father but decided to work at Jeon Industries for the good of human kind. In other words, he is essentially the core reason Jeon Jungkook became Iron Man in the first place, sticking with him through thick and thin and guiding the boy through countless trials. Long story short, he had saw potential in the boy when they had met on the first day of freshman physics, had a flashing thought that with a little help, the lost soul who didn’t have a meaningful purpose in life at the time could actually become a hero, literally.

And since then, Namjoon has considered himself to be the kind of person who had a good eye for people, places, things-you name it-that would help Jungkook grow as a person, and why he had decided to hire you as Jungkook’s new assistant was no exception.  

 …

  After receiving the acceptance email informing that you had been selected to work for Jeon Industries as the CEO’s personal assistant, you had done a little bit of research on the location of your new work place and future home. Jeon Jungkook lives on the outskirts of Seoul, on a mountainside overlooking the bustling metropolis from an elevated reference point. It’s a place you had imagined Beverly Hills or Malibu would look like, but with no other rich houses around. 

His secretary had come to pick you up at 2pm sharp and driven you through the heart of Seoul to the surrounding mountain range that snaked around South Korea’s capital. He was the same man that had interviewed you and explained everything on the job description down to the last detail.

“Do you remember what I told you?” Namjoon queries, eyes still focused on the winding road.

“That I shouldn’t let him feel superior to me?”

“Yes.” He confirms. “I know he’s technically your boss, but the only way to get a man like Jungkook to take you seriously is to treat him as your equal.”

“You sure he won’t end up hating me to the point where he’ll fire me for being disrespectful?”

Namjoon chuckles. “Jungkook won’t hate a woman who has the guts to stand up to him. If anything, he won’t be able to let go of you.”

You wonder what Namjoon means by that last part, but you aren’t given the chance to ask as he pulls into the driveway of a gigantic mansion, minimalistic and modern, with multiple space-craft like layers jutting out from the cliff and glass windows to contrast its smooth white walls.

Momentarily gawking at the impossibly high-tech design and silently estimating the cost of such a large property, you have to remind yourself that Jeon Jungkook is one of the richest men in the world and all of this is probably just the bare minimum for him. It’s going to be something you’ll have to get used to, now that you’ll be staying here permanently. Exciting as it maybe, you’re still a bit nervous about meeting this Jungkook, after all if genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist wasn’t daunting enough, he also held the title of being the world’s most popular superhero- Iron Man. It’s definitely going to take some adjusting, transitioning from your humble graduate student life to having the weight of world peace resting on your shoulders, and you’re not even sure if you’ll ever get used to waking up as a personal assistant to such a powerful man, but you were here now and ready to get things started.

You quietly follow behind Namjoon as you roll your suitcase of clothes and personal items down the cement sidewalk leading up to the front doors. You manage to sneak in a deep, sedative breath before the doors open automatically and a rush of cool, air-conditioned breeze greets you. You were expecting an expensive tailored suit and freshly combed hair, but what you actually come face to face with is a doe-eyed, baby-faced 20 something-year old dressed in a pair of grey sweat pants and an oversized white t-shirt, looking like he just crawled out of bed even though it was almost 4 o’clock in the afternoon.

And it’s not that you’ve never seen him before, like on TV or in the newspaper, but he definitely looked a lot younger- verging on adolescent- in real life, and maybe it was that saying about how make-up does wonders, but the man at this point was looking no different from your average college undergraduate.

But that endearing description of his outer appearance went down the toilet the moment he approaches you and opens his mouth. And it’s safe to say that there are very few things that manage to annoy you upon first impression, but the cocky look plastered on Jungkook’s face when he shakes your hand just so happens to be one of them.

“A pleasure, Miss...” Jungkook snaps his fingers and winces as if he were trying to recall your name, which he probably didn’t even bother to remember in the first place. 

“Y/L/N” You reply.

“Ah, yes, and is that what you prefer to go by or…”

“Y/N, just Y/N”

“Y/N” Jungkook repeats, getting a feel of how the syllables slip off his tongue.

“And it’s Jungkook, I assume?”

“Actually you can just call me Mr. J-” Jungkook stops before realizing you had just called him by his preferred title without him needing to correct you. He clears his throat, catching his near slip-up. “Yes, call me Jungkook.”

Jungkook gives you a brief tour of his huge villa, mainly to get you semi-acquainted with the kitchen-where food will always be available in the event that you get hungry, the multiple bathrooms-self explanatory, and his own master bedroom, probably to show off his overly luxurious sleeping quarters-a spacious room noticeably bigger than your entire apartment back in Seoul- as indicated by his smirking when he sees your wide-eyed reaction. At the end of the tour, he leaves you in the guest room, the place you will actually be staying from now on, and allows you time to get settled in before taking you down to his lab.  

“So this place isn’t even password protected?” You question, mildly shocked that you literally just had to take the elevator down to his “secret” lab.  

“That would be too much of a hassle, wouldn’t you think?” Jungkook smirks, staring at his reflection on the mirror doors of the elevator and fixing his ruffled bangs indifferently.

“You do understand that if this kind of technology gets into the wrong hands we’re all doomed right?” You put your hands on your hips as you watch the elevator doors slide open, growing more and more aware of why Namjoon had specifically warned you to not take his shit.  

“Look sweetie, does it look like that hasn’t happened before?”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Namjoon did say you were a sassy one.” You comment with a sigh.

Jungkook makes a pretend offended face. “Is that what he says about me behind my back?”

“Like you’re actually surprised.” You roll your eyes.

“You’re right. I’m not.”

You had to admit that Jeon Jungkook’s lab is the sort of high-tech haven that puts sci-fi movies to shame. The walls are smooth, metallic, and undoubtedly bulletproof. His waist-high table that projects 3D holographic images of his latest designs is located at the center of the large, relatively empty space, but you know that with just a few simple commands or the press of some random buttons, things will just start popping out from the walls or surface from below the flooring.

There were also prototypes of his old suits that have been battle worn, the same red and gold coating that you’ve seen on the news when he was flying through the air at sonic speed, fighting off nefarious villains with the rest of the Avengers, or captured on video by onlookers and posted online to garner views.

“I know everything looks super cool, but don’t touch anything unless I tell you to.” Jungkook informs, not so subtly treating you like some untrained child.

“Oh don’t worry about me, I would never want to mess up your precious batcave.”

Jungkook whips his head around and narrows his eyes. “Who do you think I am? Batman? This is my personal laboratory where I perfect the newest technology for Iron Man.”

You shrug. “Same thing.”

Jungkook opens his mouth to retort, but decides against it last minute. You can practically feel him trying to contain his annoyance, but Namjoon had told you not to let his ego get too big, so sorry not sorry.  

He presses a few buttons on the main control and an entire display of different Iron Man suits opens from the far wall. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the varying designs, some looking more intimidating than others either because of their dark color scheme or the machine gun-like contraptions attached to the backside. You unquestionably still preferred the original red and gold one, the piece located at the center of the display for obvious reasons.

Jungkook follows as you slowly approach the glass barrier separating you from actually coming into direct contact with the suits on display. He was watching you closely, expecting you to be in complete awe of the famous metal armor that is currently regarded as the most powerful weapon in the world.  

“Impressive right?” You hear Jungkook voice nonchalantly, making you realize you’ve been silent for too long.

“It’s essentially a gold-titanium alloy exoskeleton powered from the electricity generated by that pacer-sized nuclear reactor.” You state, examining the efficiently designed-but far from flawless (in your opinion), chunk of metal encased in the display. “There are a lot of things that can be improved about it.”

Jungkook clears his throat at your blunt and composed response. “I’m not going to deny the accuracy of that description,” Pause. “but I prefer to call it a suit of armor.”

“It’s sleek and aesthetically pleasing, I’ll give you that one.” You add.

“You do realize that it would take 20 engineers several years to build one of these, when I just happened to whip one up in a matter of days, right?” Jungkook smirks, leaning back against his desk with his arms crossed, eyes still trained on you.

You nod, as if you were agreeing with his boastful statement. “Yes, you and your 3-4 AI-enabled robots who process information hundreds of times faster than the human brain. In other words, you and 3-400 other people made a metal suit that flies and shoots lasers in the time it takes for the rest of us to learn the Korean alphabet. Very impressive indeed.”

Jungkook is not one to get angry over people who aren’t blown away by his unparalleled work, but you were definitely a first. Like who isn’t impressed with the suit?! It’s red and gold for crying out loud! And what was that about flying and shooting lasers? How on earth is that not just beyond amazing?

And if he is annoyed or incredulous at this point, Jungkook doesn’t let any of the signs leak out, because 1.) He’s Jeon Jungkook and 2.) He’s Iron Man.

“So as for improvements for the suit, I have some ideas that might be worth considering.” You announce, as you played around with the holographic images projected in mid-air.

“Yeah, me too. I was contemplating putting my initials on my chest, you know, like that star Captain America has.” Jungkook retorts, grabbing his wristband and suiting up. “I’m kind of tired of the whole glowy circle ordeal.”

You ignore his blunt joke. “I’m thinking of adding a feature like instantaneous suit ups or something” You suggest, watching as the pieces of metal fly towards him and begin unraveling in synchronized order to conform to the shape of his body with the press of a button on his wristband. “Sometimes you’re suit ups look like they take too much time, what if-”

“I’m also thinking we can try out black and silver paint to see how it compares to red and gold or adding some… glitter.” Jungkook interrupts before you can finish. You watch in frustration as he stretches out his arms to admire his handiwork and looks down at his feet like he’s just bought a new pair of shoes or something.

“Can you stop joking for one hot second?” You snap, irritated by his childish attitude towards you.  

“What? I’m just getting the priorities straight.” Jungkook says, voice muffled by the suit helmet. Even through the metallic mask you can picture the smug look on his face.

You weren’t planning on being any harsher on him than you already were, but this guy clearly isn’t planning on giving you a break any time soon, is he?

“Are you afraid I’m going to steal your secrets or are you afraid I’m going to see past your genius if you show me all your cards?” You declare outright, finally done with his games.  

Jungkook swallows, glad for once that the metal helmet was hiding the shocked expression broadcasted on his face. He wasn’t expecting you to hit a target so close to the reason he was being so immature. Yes, he was maybe worried that you’ll see past his immodest façade and challenge his intelligence if he didn’t beat around the bush, but Jungkook was confident enough in his own abilities that it wouldn’t be the main reason he was avoiding getting to the real meat of the problem. He’s never had an actual human as a personal assistant, let alone a woman, and he feels like he was thrown a curve ball because he has most certainly never met someone this hard to impress.

“Fine.” Jungkook huffs. “You want to cut to chase? We’ll cut to the chase then.”

You’re relieved to have won the first battle, having made it clear to him that your not just here to gape at his self-proclaimed “awesomeness”. True as it may be, he still needs to come down from his high horse once in a while, and that’s exactly what Namjoon expects you to do as his assistant.

 …

 You spend the next few days analyzing and tweaking virtual mock-ups of upgraded suit parts or in Jungkook’s own words: “Iron Man 2.0”.  

He hasn’t necessarily gotten better about the cocky attitude and obvious air of superiority, but he had at least started taking you quasi-seriously. He had been kind enough to give you some actual work to do, granted it was mostly “innovative brainstorming” of ideas he may or may not use, but baby steps, right? You also figure he’s not going to be too keen on giving you the low down on key information, stuff that would risk putting Iron Man’s clandestine technology at stake in the event that you quite or get captured.

At the moment Jungkook himself was playing around with more suit parts, going through virtual simulations of how he could improve shooting accuracy and motion dynamics. Stationed at the new desk next to his work table, you’re permitted to watch him work his magic from the best angle available, and although it was probably all part of Jungkook’s plan to show off, you still had to admit he looked pretty attractive when he was hard at work, expertly manipulating mechanical parts and designing intricate electrical circuitry. The way he furrows his brows as he scrutinizes the virtual projection hovering mid air and elegantly twirls his fingers as he manipulates the images at light speed, was, simply stated- mesmerizing.  

“Where are we going?” You query as you rush after Jungkook who suddenly asked you to go with him on a “test flight”. You had never been asked to participate in an activity outside of your work with him in his laboratory, so you didn’t really know what to expect, especially not when it involved flying.

“Outside.” Jungkook leads you out to his perfectly groomed lawn, a leveled patch of green surrounding his cliff-side mansion, analogous to a backyard of sorts.

It was midday, and the sun was hanging high in the cerulean sky, warm rays shinning blindingly down on the grassy estate. You take in a breath of fresh air as a gentle breeze blows by, lifting strands of your hair and carrying over the scent of nature and wildlife. The weather was mildly warm, perfect for outdoor activities, although most people didn’t have the luxury of doing what you were about to embark on now.

“You’re going to perform a test outside?”

“Do you need me to state everything explicitly?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m just worried that someone might be…I dunno, watching? Waiting to steal your technology?”

“I own this entire area. There’s literally no one around.” Jungkook says showing maybe just that tiny hint of mild exasperation because he wrongly assumed once again that you’d at least be excited because he’s totally given up on impressing you at this point.

He presses a few buttons on his wristband and waits as the metal pieces of his Iron Man suit immediately fly over.  

“But even governments of entire countries are careful about the leakage of classified technology when doing weapons testing, and your Iron Man suit is the most powerful weapon on the face of the planet. Would it kill you to be more discreet about it?” 

“Just grab on.”

“So much for getting a chance to say goodbye to my family and friends.” You mutter as you climb onto his back.  

Jungkook has time to let out one more long sigh before the mask plate latches on to the helmet and covers his face.

As much as you’ve been too put off by his ego to be amazed so far, you can’t hide how exhilarating it is to fly with Iron Man. It was like living your childhood dream of being a dragon rider but a million times better because it was actually real, and you’d think that being suspended thousands of feet in the air would be terrifying to say the least, but something about knowing Jungkook’s reliability and industrial precision in combination with his heroic duty as Iron Man was enough to provide the utmost assurance that he would not let you fall.  

You momentarily forget to take note that this “flight test” isn’t actually a flight test but rather Jungkook’s personal break from work, because 1.) It was quite obvious that he would never fly this slowly in any serious situation and 2.) He wouldn’t have you on his back if he was actually trying to fine-tune advanced flight dynamics. So instead, you choose to focus on the way the rush of wind feels brushing past your flushed cheeks and how wispy the fluffy white clouds look close up, resembling a dream-like space illuminated by blinding sunlight and cast with chromatic strips of misty veils. As Jungkook adjusted the flight elevation to glide below the clouds, the beauty of the vast landscape below, extending endlessly for miles in each direction gradually comes into view. It was better than any picturesque scene you could witness from mountain tops on a clear day or the observation deck of some of the tallest skyscrapers in world, because everything was in motion and soaring past your senses like a live-action movie.

“I know, I know, the aerodynamics of the joint areas need fixing, the stability needs a bit of adjusting, and the rocket propellers could theoretically be more environmental friendly.” He sighs, waiting for you to nitpick at the flight functions as the suit peels off his body and folds back into inconspicuous metals chunks when he lands back down at the mansion.

“That… was incredible.” You murmur, still calming down from the adrenaline rush.  

“Really?” A surprised look appears on Jungkook’s face just before it vanishes instantly. “I mean, yeah of course, not everyone can say they’ve flown with Iron Man, except weapons of mass destruction from other worlds that have been tossed through dimensional portals and whatnot.”

 …

  “So how has the upgrade been going?” Namjoon asks as he sits across from Jungkook at the dining table, waiting for the food to be served by the humanoid robot maid.

The dining room was a part of the house that was cantilevered into the surrounding environment; an open space connected the area to the living room where his grand piano was situated on a stage-area in the rounded corner. The contemporary color scheme for the walls and flooring was both simplistic and sophisticated, with the entire back wall made of glass, granting a bird’s eye view of the nocturnal skyline of Seoul not too far in the distance.

The sun had already set by the time the two of you finished up in lab after the impromptu flight break, and you had gone back upstairs to freshen up before dinner.  

“It’s going.” He responds, playing around with the fork while his hand rested against the table.

Jungkook is not one to admit he’s been challenged by another person, let alone, impressed by someone else’s idea, especially not when it came to the suit, but you had him questioning a lot of his past designs and suggested some very good improvements that he may or may not be deliberately choosing to ignore for the sake of his ego.

“Care to go in depth?”

“Flight adjustments.”

“You took her on a flight?” The older male raises his eyebrow, a half grin stretching on his lips. 

Jungkook opens his mouth to answer, but sees you walk into the room and silently seat yourself next to Namjoon. You hadn’t heard what they were discussing, but you did think it was strange that they stopped talking upon your entrance.

“I’ll just give you two some privacy.” Namjoon says before standing up and walking out.

“He’s not eating?” You twist your head towards the direction Namjoon had exited.

“Mr. Kim is going to have dinner with his family in Seoul.”

“Mr. Kim? Don’t you just mean Namjoon?” You raise an eyebrow, wondering why he’s acting so weird all of a sudden.

“Yes.” Jungkook quickly blurts, clearly looking mildly uncomfortable, nervous even, if you had to pinpoint the exact way he avoids direct eye contact and purses his lips.

 Dinner, as usual, is a relatively silent one. You don’t know if this is the right time to strike up a conversation and you’re not sure if you even have the right to get more personal with Jungkook, but it seemed rude to not even engage in small talk. The entire place was silent except the occasional sound of metal cutlery against porcelain, and you can’t help but imagine what it’s like to live here alone, to be the hero of the world and yet have no one to share your burdens with.

“So are you and the rest of the Avengers like super close?” The question lingers in the room for an unnaturally long period of time as Jungkook finishes chewing his mouthful of steak.

“You act like we’re some super secret boy band or something.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“We work together, and that’s about as close as it gets.”  

You mull over his standoffish response, reasoning that there probably isn’t that much to say about the group of superheroes he’s a part of other than the fact that they aggregate when the need arises and whatnot. They don’t really have much in common, especially since one of their members is demi-god and another was born back during WWII. You suspect that there must exist some belief disputes and value discrepancies akin to cultural barriers or generation gaps, but of course, that doesn’t take away from just looking super cool when they all jump into action.  

“Do you ever get scared?”

“With every villain out there trying to wipe me off the face of this planet?” Jungkook continues cutting his steak, running through all the answers he’s given to the media, his fans, other acquaintances, and trying to come up with a textbook Iron Man response. “Not really.”

“I mean, of failure and letting those who rely on you down.”

There you go again, hitting targets like some female version of Hawkeye.

Jungkook doesn’t know how to respond. His preliminary reaction is to repeat what he just said-“not really, no”; shrugging it off like the answer to that question didn’t matter. And truthfully, he wishes it were true, that he isn’t afraid of anything because he’s freaking Iron Man, and he’s supposed to be practically invincible. He should be used to the expectations, and he’s more than familiar with performance goals and guaranteed success. Ever since he was young and his father didn’t allow for screw-ups or showing signs of weakness. But Jungkook doesn’t know why he can’t get himself to lie to you, not when your eyes are so round and glassy under the chandelier, and you seem to be the first person to care more about his flaws than his accomplishments.  

Maybe he just thought you were beautiful the moment he laid his eyes on you and maybe your mind was the type of logical eccentric-ness that he could get used to having around because it was somehow a complementary match for his own. As unexpected as it was initially, Jungkook thinks he can learn to appreciate how you don’t just drool over every little thing he does or sit back and take his shit for that matter. And maybe, just maybe, all of this makes him feel like he doesn’t have to put on a mask of perfection all the time, and that you could conceivably accept his vulnerable side too.

“Yeah, I worry about that sometimes.” He murmurs.

 …

 Jeon Jungkook’s greatest invention to date-besides the suit of course, is that glowing ring of regenerating atoms that powers said 900 Newtons of armor. You had learned from Namjoon that the first prototype of the famous device was developed in a cave (with a box of scraps), back when he and Jungkook were captured by a band of terrorists in the Middle East. It was essentially a multi-isotope radioactive decay cell that mashed two isotopes of hydrogen together, aka a ring of charged particles moving within a magnetic field fast enough to allow for high-energy collisions. The impossibly compact device supposedly releases enough energy to power large cities for millennia but was destroyed in some epic battle last year.

Since then Jungkook has invented a new means of powering his suits, one that entailed the creation of a new element, which you couldn’t even begin to fathom how but decide against questioning the legitimacy of such a feat after he shows you the nth permutation of the substance in a vial. You vaguely remember reading about it in an article online at the time he announced it to the world, a new discovery that erupted as breaking news in the scientific community and sparked countless debates between chemists and physicists around the globe, but the details of such an invention were understandably not released to the public, leaving nothing but assumption-based speculation about its exact molecular make up.

“The ultimate goal is size reduction.” Jungkook’s voice echoes through the lab as you trail not too far behind the tall man.

“It’s already hamburger-sized, wouldn’t it be dangerous, if not impossible, to condense that sort of fusion reaction any more than it already is?”

Jungkook chuckles as if your concern was completely ungrounded. “What’s the worse that could happen?”

“It might, I dunno… blow up.”

“It won’t blow up.” He looks at you with a bored expression before proceeding to turn the machine on.

He’s still trying to figure out how to get you to have some faith in him, and as hard as it is to admit, it honestly isn’t even about his ego anymore. He just wants you to know that he knows what he’s doing and that there are some things out there, or more accurately quite a few, that you can rely on him to handle. Like saving the world, protecting you from harm, and not blowing up his own house.

Even with his nonchalant attitude, your skepticism persisted, or maybe it was precisely because he was acting so blasé about the whole thing that fueled your concern evermore and elicited such a perpetual chariness for everything he did. Although you haven’t actually seen him mess up big time in the period you’ve been working with him, you’re not too keen on the way he runs risks like they’re unworthy of precaution or the way he lets his confidence dictate the statistical probability that something could go wrong. You also haven’t personally witnessed any of the heroic deeds he’s done in the past first hand, but from the looks of what’s usually broadcasted in the news, he’s run into his fair share of mishaps.

It was only a couple hours into the day when the unthinkable-or perhaps it’s rather predictable-happens, and you can’t say that you haven’t weighed out the risks of working alongside Iron Man before taking the job, but you also thought you’d at least be given a heads up when trouble decides to pay you a surprise visit. But no, that’s definitely not how things work around here. Just as you were about to examine the old prototypes to make a list of all the upgrades that have yet to be implemented, you feel the room begin to rumble, the metal pieces on the table commence vibrating like you were in a airplane flying through a rough patch of turbulence.

“What the hell is that?” Jungkook mutters, looking around the room in confusion.

Your eyes immediately dart towards the reactor, its beams still glowing brightly in the glass casing connected to the machine.

“So much for it won’t blow up,” You grumble as Jungkook tsks in annoyance.

“Stay here” He shouts as he rushes over to turn the machine off, looking around frantically to identify the cause of the quaking floor but to no avail.  

“Shit” You curse as you hear an explosion from above, eyes widening as panic ensues.  

“Oh boy” Jungkook voices as he dashes to grab his wristband control for his Iron Man suit.

“It’s not coming from the reactor.” You shout, eyes popping and jaw dropping as you stared at fragments of the ceiling cracking and falling in chunks of rock and dirt.  

“What a surprise” Jungkook retorts back as the roof begins collapsing.

“What’s happening?” You scream, coughing violently as your lungs begin to close off due to the plume of debris from the falling building thickening the air. There was another loud boom, shaking the entire room and making you fall to your knees as the ground started to tilt like a seesaw.

“Jungkook!” You shriek again in mid-cough after he doesn’t respond and bits of rubble continued to rain down from the demolished ceiling. You lift your arms to cover your head, curling up into a fetal position as if that would protect you from the dropping hunks of metal and concrete.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” His voice assures, cutting through the static flittering of torn electrical wires from his damaged machines. “Though, I’m still offended that you actually thought I would make such a novice mistake with the reactor.” He shakes his head, disappointed at your lack of trust in him. This was unmistakably an enemy attack, as indicated by the bombs being dropped from some aircraft carrier in the sky.

“Jungkook!” You scream again as another explosion detonates from the left.

“Here catch!” You hear his voice layer over the loud blast and a familiar item slide towards your feet. His wristband suit control. You quickly reach over to grab it, squeezing your eyes shut as the suit begins to cover your body, shielding you from the rapidly disintegrating walls and unrelenting eruptions.

You couldn’t see anything, and your eyes dart around the smoke, mind racing to find where Jungkook is, praying that he’s also protected by another one of his Iron Man suits and unharmed. But to your dismay, he’s not. You spot his unconscious body lying beneath a collapse slab of concrete, blood running from his temple. Fuck. Why didn’t he use the armor himself? Why did he toss it to you before he could shield himself? Is he insane? Just as you make a move towards him, you feel a force sucking you up. It was like you were unable to move, having no control over whatever was dragging you up in the air. The ground was getting further and further away as you ascended in the suit by some outside force not within your control. The upward motion stops at the loud clanking of metal against metal, leaving you suspended above the collapsing mansion. You watch in horror as the entire building begins to breakdown, crumbling down the mountain like an avalanche.

No.

Jungkook.

“Jungkook!!!!” Your scream, but none of it can be heard.

This was bad. Very, very bad.

 …

 There is no way this is actually happening.

You continue to chant the words under your breath, pinching your eyes shut and attempting to wake up from this nightmare.

Lucid dream. It’s just a lucid dream.

It’s the thought that’s stubbornly plastered to the front of your mind, like that white lie you tell yourself in order to stall having to face the impending doom head on, to stall having to watch the disintegration of the last bit of dwindling optimism with open eyes, and to ignore having to acknowledge the wreckage that has already manifested. It’s the only thing that keeps you from sinking into a panic-driven attack, providing a delusional façade to conceal the reality that there’s a possibility that Jungkook might’ve just died and you might just be reaching the cusp of the end of the world. His death is the one thing you don’t want to think about because that would just leave this entire situation void of any hope, any silver lining, but that image of the mansion folding in on itself and tumbling down the mountain is tattooed to the back of your eyes and it won’t go away.

No, this can’t be real. He couldn’t have just died so easily. He was Iron Man.

Repeating the words don’t help at all, not when you’re currently stuck to some massive lump of metal alloy, unable to move, unable to escape. From the looks of it, you were being flown to the North Korean border. You should’ve known some secret organization from there was behind this sneak attack. They had been trying to steel military technology for years now; it was only a matter of time before Iron Man became their next target.

And now, you find yourself in some empty warehouse, stuck on what you suspect to be a giant magnet-the very one that they captured you with and had brought over on their aircraft carrier. It was dark, and the only light source was the subdued daylight filtering through the dusty windows lined on the longitudinal walls. There was a group of men with machine guns surrounding you, and a leader in the center staring intently at you as if he were waiting for you to take the metal helmet off. Well, that wasn’t happening anytime soon. You barely knew how to walk in the suit, let alone work its controls.

“You can go if you hand over the suit.” The leader of the masked men declares, scrutinizing your movements carefully, not that you could even move at this point.

“Hell no.” You spit back, letting them know there was no way they were getting the suit, especially not when the safety of the world was on the line. “Over my dead body.”

You notice the widening of his eyes at the sound of your voice. “Iron Man is a woman?” His is undoubtedly surprised by the unexpected higher pitch.

“I’m not Iron Man.” You snap back, mind racing with thoughts on what to do. There’s no way you can get out of this place without taking the suit off, but would they actually let you go if you surrendered? They’re probably lying, tricking you to give up the suit. You’ve heard of people who have been captured by the North, being tortured to death with the most brutal of techniques, and it was safe to say, you’ve never heard of anyone making it out alive.

“Well if you’re not coming out, we’ll just wait until you die in there then.” He chortles. He turns and signals for the rest of his men to leave with him when a voice from the entrance interrupts.

“Yoo-hoo! I don’t mean to intrude, but Iron Man is over here.” You hear a familiar voice reverberate throughout the warehouse.

Jungkook

“You might want to work on your front line of defense. You know, for future reference.” The relief that washes over you that instant you see him in the classic red and gold suit of armor is like none you’ve ever experienced before, because it just confirmed that Jungkook was alive and he’s come to save you as Iron Man.  

“You?” The leader sneers.

“Yeah, so let her go.” Jungkook’s voice is stern and demanding, but without responding to his request, the masked leader orders his henchmen to begin shooting at Jungkook immediately.

The sound of bullets hitting metal echoes through the warehouse, ricocheting off the walls and ringing in everyone’s ears, a vibration so cacophonous that the men stop shooting to cover their ears. After the gunpowder clears, it’s obvious that his suit remained unscathed, red and gold paint still smooth and glossy, shining like a newly waxed car under the sunlight.  

“What part of bulletproof is hard to understand?” Jungkook comments, still standing tall and un-phased after the series of gunshots that were cast as him.

“You can take the girl in exchange for the suit.” The masked leader growls, acting like he was still in full control of the situation. Could this guy be any denser?

Jungkook only chuckles to that sorry ass of a threat. “In any other scenario I might’ve taken you up of that offer, but you’re not really in the position to bribe me right now are you?”

“Have you lost your ability to attract women? Why is this one so special to you?” The man inquires-a feeble attempt at trying to get into Jungkook’s head-as the rest of his men keep their guns pointed towards him.

“Wow, you guys watch our news too?” Jungkook cocks his head to the left, helmet making a metallic squeak. He was practically in the news everyday back during his playboy days. 

“We monitor our enemies.”

“I don’t want to toot my own horn-aw who am I kidding? I’ll have you know, I’ve never once had trouble pleasuring myself, thank you very much.”

“Enough of the chit-chat, so what’s it going to be Jeon? The woman or your precious suit?” He was getting irritated now, as evident through his brash mandate and raised voice. 

Jungkook sighs, loud enough to hear through the helmet. “And to think I actually thought this would turn out to be more interesting.”

Shaking his head, he fires a series of miniature missile from his shoulder pads straight into the barrels of their guns, making them all explode in their faces, knocking the group of men out without even breaking a sweat.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” He says, running over to you and waiting for you to come down from where you were levitated. “Well? What are you waiting for?”  

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of stuck to the magnet.”

“Use electromagnetic interference.” He instructs.

“What?”

“Again, the disappointment.” Jungkook sighs again. “Y/N, do you seriously think I haven’t already solved the magnet problem? The suit is equipped with multiple electromagnet generators that allows for the manipulation of the surrounding electromagnet field. It’s strong enough to redirect ferrous projectiles in flight. No? Doesn’t even sound remotely like something I would’ve thought of?” He shakes his head; the damaged pride from you looking down upon his genius is practically seeping out of the suit at this point.

You on the other hand, sense your face heating up, almost feeling the need to apologize for your own incompetence. Of course this whole “stuck on the giant magnet” issue was a matter of you not actually knowing how to use the suit and not Jungkook’s elementary mistake or his overlooking of an essential function.

“It’s this button near the chest.” He reaches over and presses it, and the minute it’s activated you fall off the metal wall and land back on the ground.

“T-thanks”

“No problem. All in the days work of Iron Man.” He shrugs, trying to make you feel better about everything that’s happened. You smile even though you're fully aware he can’t see it anyways.

 The two of you begin walking out of the warehouse in hopes of finding a spot where you could fly back to Seoul unnoticed. You walk beside him, almost forgetting about the tragic events that occurred prior to him coming to the rescue and asking about how he managed to escape because you were so caught up in replaying that moment he showed up just in the nick of time to rescue you. You were still pretty unaccustomed to moving in the suit, and it wasn’t too surprising when you accidentally swing your arm and punch Jungkook in the side whilst lost in your dreamy thoughts like some teenage girl who just got asked out by her crush. Such an act normally wouldn’t cause a reaction from him at all, but he suddenly hunches over and grunts in agony.

“Oh my god, you’re still hurt aren’t you?” You gasp, snapping awake and remembering he was still trapped in the collapsing building the last time you saw him.

“Eh, I’ve been through worse.” His metal masks opens up and you can see he’s sweating profusely, whether it was due to the pain or if his wounds have become infected, you don’t know.”

“Jungkook, you’re hurt!”

“Hey, at least I managed to save you. I’d call that a win.”

You feel your eyes swelling with tears triggered by a chaotic mixture of panic, concern, and gratitude.

“Stay with me, Jungkook, you can’t lose consciousness.”

“I think I need a short nap.” 

“No! You’re Jeon Jungkook” You look at him in desperation. “Genius, billionaire, philanthropist, playboy-

“International playboy” Jungkook corrects, before letting out another groan of pain as he tries to lift an arm to caress your helmet covered face.

“Whatever, the point is, you’re Iron Man, one of the coolest superheroes in existence. You can’t give up. The world needs you. I need you.”  

A weak smile forms on Jungkook’s face before his eyelids begin to droop.  

“I’ll take that as a yes to the date I’m about to ask you on.”

It was obviously not the place to be talking about such things, but Jeon Jungkook wouldn’t be Jeon Jungkook if he weren’t being sassy in even the most traumatizing of situations. You smile and let out a sniffle-laced laugh as more tears run down your cheeks.  

 …

 “He’ll be fine in no time.” Namjoon says as he brings you a cup of water. “He’s recovered from injuries ten times worse than this.” He reassures, patting your shoulder as you remained seated next to an unconscious Jungkook lying on his bed.

With the destruction of his luxurious mansion, you had to temporarily stay at the penthouse of Jeon Tower, the tallest high-rise building in Seoul owned by none other than Jeon Jungkook. Luckily he had stayed conscious long enough to fly the both of you back to the city because you had no idea what the plan was after taking down that band of North Korean infiltrators. Namjoon had been waiting at the top of the building, making sure he had a doctor on call to tend to Jungkook’s wounds. They weren’t severe as stated by his personal doctor, Dr. Park, a young medical practitioner who specializes in cardiac surgery, just some cuts and minor internal bleeding.

You had stayed around to take care of Jungkook while he was bedridden for a couple of days. His vegetative state was concerning, but you trusted Dr. Park and Namjoon’s instincts, after all they were used to this stuff happening more often than not. You’ve been keeping yourself awake for the most part, sleeping only when your eyes could not stay open, but never leaving the Jungkook’s side. You technically owe him your life, so it was the least you could do. You allow your eyes to gloss over his features, never having seen him so calm and at peace. His lips were slightly parted as he remained in a deep, unadulterated slumber, feathery bangs resting gently on his forehead. You don’t restrain yourself from tentatively reaching over and cupping his cheek, admiring how such a youthful person can carry the burden of being the unstoppable hero that is Iron Man.  

Jungkook’s eyes flutter slightly as your hand comes into contact with his face, slowly opening and adjusting to the diaphanous light cascading through the open window. His pupils dart around lazily, trying to analyze the situation as his mind gradually returned to reality.

“Hey” He whispers when he sees you by his bedside.

“Oh you’re awake, thank god.” You let out a breath of relief.

“Sounds like I was out for a while.”

“To the point where I thought you wouldn’t wake up.”

He smiles at the way you gaze at him endearingly, sluggish eyes slowly gaining that usual spark you were so used to seeing.

“And miss seeing your beautiful face? No way.”

You roll your eyes. “Your net worth is $12 Billion USD, why did you choose to save me over yourself? Doesn’t seem like a smart move on Iron Man’s part.”

“Half of me wants to say it was just my superhero side kicking in.” He admits, grunting as he tries to move into a sitting position.

“Superheroes don’t spring into action without their suits.” You state, standing up right away and supporting him up.

“Call it instinct, but I-I guess I just didn’t know what I would do if something were to happen to you.” His voice comes out as a whisper, but his statement hits you directly in the heart.

 …

 With you tending to his wounds for the next few days, Jungkook’s recovery happens a lot quicker than either Dr. Park or Namjoon had predicted. You had disinfected all of his cuts on a regular basis, prepared his medication as instructed, and aided him in his daily activities for well over a week now, but it was on one particular night when you thought he had fully recovered that you allowed yourself to let your guard down, which you were soon led to believe might’ve been a mistake.

You hear a groan of pain emanate from the next room over, and without a second thought, you rush over to the bedroom to find a naked Jungkook. Upon seeing his bare back, you immediately turn around, face nearly exploding from the heat rush.

“I-I thought it was your injury.” You stutter, heart beating a mile a minute.

“Nah, I just stubbed my toe as I was trying to take off my pants.” He responds, acting like you didn’t just bust in on him when he was literally butt naked, like no underwear or anything, not that you actually took note.

There’s a moment of silence, one in which your nerves continue to grow because Jungkook had stopped talking and you don’t know why you feel like you’re physically rooted to the spot because you should’ve exited the room by now and Jungkook was probably just waiting for you to leave.

“O-Oh, ok I’ll just go then!” You declare quickly before taking a step forward. But just as you were about to sprint out of the room, you feel an arm grab onto you and flip you around to face him.

He was still naked.

Your eyes immediately squeeze shut and if your heart was beating a mile a minute before, it feels like it’s traveling faster than the speed of light now. What the fuck is he doing? You think, still holding your breath as if you were submerged underwater.

You hear him chuckle lightly.

“Am I finally making you nervous?” His voice is low and seductive, albeit not without that playful hint that it’s always laced with. 

“N-no” You lie, eyes still shut as tightly as you can manage.

“Then are you going to open your eyes anytime soon?”

You mentally scold yourself for acting so childish at seeing a naked man. It’s not like you’ve never seen one before. Doctors and medical students do it all the time, why are you acting like the human body is some forbidden fruit that you’re not allowed to eat?

You take one last long breath and slowly open your eyes. His face is only half a foot away from yours and all you can seem to do is get lost in his huge doe-eyes- dark speckled orbs more ethereal than the view of the cosmic scenery from atop the clouds-making you momentarily forget the actual situation you were in.

“Like what you see?” He whispers, warm breath sweeping against your bare neck as you swallow. 

You feel a rush of tingling need crawl up your spine, heat swelling toward your extremities from your pulsating center.

“Is this how Mr. International Playboy seduces women?”

He huffs a shortened laugh and looks down at the floor before raising his head and peering at you with a mischievous expression. “Only you.” 

He waits for that discernable hint of opposition to taint your eyes, to perhaps be laced in your features, but receives none because all the signs you were showing now-the subtle lip biting, the lustful glint in your irises, the slightly trembling legs-are conveying that you want him-badly, and before you know it, his hands are cupping your face and his luscious lips are crashing against yours.

You feel his hands meander down your body, groping and massaging your flesh as he continues to deepen the kiss, inhaling every bit of you like he’s been waiting for this for an eternity. The instant his hands come to rest at your waist, you wrap your arms around his neck, closing the distance between your clothed chest and his bare body. He lifts you off the ground and you straddle him as he carries you over to his perfectly made king-sized bed. With only the thin, lightweight fabric of your cotton shorts separating your center from his gradually hardening cock, you can’t help but embrace the growing need flooding your core while Jungkook’s lips remain connected to yours, moving in slow but sensual motions.

He breaks away momentarily as he lays you down on your back, the coolness of his silken bed sheets shocking your heated nerves in waves of rushing tides.

“I need to confirm that this is something you want.” Jungkook says, voice reverting back to his businessman tone. “Verbal consent.”

You soak in the anticipation encasing his visage as he awaits your response with a kind of patience and formality that only Jeon Jungkook and Iron Man can whip out at a moment like this.

“And if I don’t give it?” You quirk an eyebrow, teasing him to see how he would react.

“Then it stops here.”

“Jungkook, wait” You snatch onto his arm before he can leave. “I want you to fuck me.”

A smirk stretches across his lips. “You take joy in driving me insane don’t you?” He exhales, before diving back into kissing you, hungrily suckling onto your lips as he slowly slips his arm under your shorts.

“I can say the same about you.” You gasp, between his twirling tongue and dancing fingers.

“Oh, but correction. I’m not going to fuck you.” He says in his composed, explaining-a-scientific-theory voice, pausing yet again and making you groan at the lack of stimulation. “I’m going to make love to you.”

You roll your eyes, but you’d be lying if you his statement wasn’t endearing in its own quirky way.

“Please” You beg, hoping he stops randomly pausing just to prove that his logic is superior.  

You barely catch that mysterious twinkle in his eyes before he’s down on his knees, positioning his head between your legs as he tugs your shorts down, exposing the soft flesh that is already moistened by your juices.

“And so marks the end of you not being impressed by Iron Man” He says, gradually working his way to your opening, leaving a trail of pecks leading up to the fleshy folds. He tentatively teases the flabs, tongue gliding over the entrance making you jolt from the sudden stimulus. He alternates between sucking on your clitoris and eating you out with care, like a man on a mission because you are unlike any other woman he’s tasted before and he wants nothing more than to pleasure you and only you.

You spread your legs wider for him, feeling a flame being lit in the pit of your stomach as he continues to suckle at your already throbbing core. The sound of your emitted moans are driving his senses crazy and prompting him to delve deeper into your opening with his tongue. You know you won’t be able to hold on much longer, and Jungkook senses it too as you arch your back and squirm under his steady grip on both of your thighs.

“C-Come up, I want to ride you.” You manage to voice, sitting up as Jungkook rises from off the ground upon your command.

“Someone’s feisty,” He comments with a smirk before laying flat on the bed, his arousal evident by the precum already dripping down his shaft.  

You cautiously position yourself on top of Jungkook, straddling his waist as you tug your shirt off, unclasping your bra and throwing it off to the side. You closely observe the way his eyes trace down your neck and widen as they land on your exposed breasts. He swallows, chest rising and falling but otherwise remaining motionless as he watches unblinkingly at your every move. You see his Adam’s apple bobble up and down as you lift your body to angle yourself against him, aligning your opening with his cock, and using your fingers to separate your already drenched folds before slowly sinking down on his erection centimeter by centimeter, pausing now and then to adjust to his girth. You let out a series of whimpers as you feel your walls being stretched to their limit, expanding to make room for him as you lowered yourself hilt deep.  

Jungkook lets out a guttural moan once he is completely inside of you. He’s never been in such a compromising position, always preferring to be the one in control, whether he was facing an enemy or fucking some slut to oblivion back in his reckless playboy days, but with you it was different. He took pleasure in the way you rode him, the look on your face as you bit down on your bottom lip, eyes pinched shut as you tried to stall coming entirely undone just to make the moment last.

“That’s it baby-mm, keep going.” He asserts, throwing his head back as you rocked your hips against him.

You keep your hands pressed against his bare chest, stabilizing yourself as you moved your lower half. It wasn’t long before you felt yourself nearing the brink.

“Fuck, J-JungkookI- I-” With your movements staggering as you feel the approach of your oncoming orgasm, Jungkook decides to take matters into his own hands just before your release. He sits up and flips you on your back; your legs still wrapped around his lower half.

“Allow me” He hums, leaning down and pulling you back into a kiss as he begins to thrust in and out of your opening, one arm reaching down and rubbing circles against your clit.

He pumps in and out, smooth and practiced, an art form perfected from past experience and yet something tells you he’s never made love to a woman quite like this before. Maybe it was the way he maintained a stable line of eye contact as he caressed your cheek with his free hand, like he was searching for some answer within your soul that confirmed you were the one and he’s finally found the only person who has the ability to keep him grounded, even when he soaring above the clouds. That person he’s been waiting for whose concern for him is not tied to his duty to protect the planet or dependent upon his continual success in everything he’s expected to excel in. The sincerity in your faint smile and the tender speckles of solace reflected in your irises are more than enough to convey to him that you are, indeed, that person.

You make it an undertaking to memorize every last aspect of this long awaited moment, tracing down his beautiful features as he stared longingly and lovingly into your eyes. You take notice of how he’s trying to calm his breathing and the way he’s keeping his upper body stable just so he can direct his attention towards you, an unspoken validation that you were the only thing that mattered right then and there. The look of concentration and pure focus molding every inch of his face is comparable to the way he looks when he’s designing world changing technology, and it makes you feel extraordinarily special, just like his unmatched suit of armor. The moonlight continues to spill through the large glass walls casting shadows across the room and delivering reminders of the lively city a hundreds floors below. With the pressure growing at an exponential pace, you know you’re close to brink and the falter in Jungkook’s steady breathing gives an indication that he is too.

“F-ffuck” Jungkook moans as he feels your walls clench around him, making him wince and sink his own teeth down on his lower lip as he’s dragged to the edge.

“J-Jungkook, I-I’m-”

You both release at the same time, highs reaching their end in a hot euphoric drowning out of all senses, making the room spin, and leaving both parties desperately gasping for air. All you can feel is the pleasure coursing through every nook and cranny of your being, and the weight of Jungkook’s body falling on top of yours as he continues to whisper your name in between his ragged panting.

“God, I am so in love with you.” He says as he rolls off of you and onto his back, but not without turning back and cradling you in his strong embrace.

“I love you too, Jungkook, or Iron Man, or whatever you want to be referred to as.” You giggle, nuzzling your face into the curve of his neck, placing gentle kisses on his sweat glistening skin.

“Does that mean you’ll stop doubting my abilities?”

“Depends on what abilities we’re talking.” You tease.

“Damn you’re hard to impress.”

You only giggle at that. It’s not your fault he’s shown you so many of his cards.

He closes his eyes, blissfully saturated in the scent of your hair and the warmth of your intertwined bodies, wishing he could stay like this forever. “So what do you say about trying out black and silver for the suit?”

You take a moment to consider his proposal, imaging the suit sporting a new combination of colors. It’ll probably look really cool either way, but you ultimately decide that nothing can compare to his signature look, the one that screams nothing but Iron Man and the awesomeness of one of the coolest superheroes in the history of superheroes.

“Actually, I prefer red and gold.”  

...

[suckitsurveys]

Does anyone know your bank pin number other than you? Who? Mark does.

Have you ever had a boyfriend/girlfriend who was depressed? Yup.

Would you be able to climb out your bedroom window to sneak out? Yeah, but I wouldn’t need to sneak out.

What would you do if you found out the last person you called was pregnant/got someone pregnant? I mean, the last people I called were my coworkers for a meeting this morning, so. Most of them are old white dudes who hate their wives so good luck, buddies.

Can you taste the difference between brand name food and store brand food? With certain foods, yes.

Would you be embarrassed to buy pads/tampons/condoms? Which one more? Why are condoms lumped with pads and tampons? Anyway, no. If a stranger went in your bedroom, would they be able to tell what gender you are from just looking at it? First off, get the hell out of my room. Second off, get the hell out of here with your gender questions. Third off, my husband and I share a bedroom, so. 

Are your parents gullible? Definitely not. My dad invented sarcasm and can spot it from 10 miles away, and he never believes anything he doesn’t know to be true. 

Do you still own a VCR? There is still one at my dad’s house. 

About how much money have you spent on food in the past two weeks? I’m not sure. A lot? We stock up on groceries every two weeks now. If you were in a car accident would the last person you kissed care? Yes.

If you were looking for a new pair of shoes where would you go? Depends. 

How much was the last pair of shoes you bought? They were about $40, I believe. It was just a pair of black low top Converse.

What color is the computer/laptop you’re on? Did you buy it yourself? It’s black. It was actually my mom’s. I did buy my own several years ago but it broke and after my mom passed I just kind of inherited this one. But I definitely need a new one. 

Do you have a second home? My dad’s house, aka my childhood home.

Would you be surprised if you saw the last person you texted smoking? I’d be upset. He does vape, but 

Does the smell of cigarettes, weed and beer repulse you? I can tolerate all of them. Cigarettes remind me of my mom, which sounds bad, but that’s what comes to mind when I smell them. But I don’t go seeking out that smell because it’s gross in general. And weed I don’t mind at all, it just makes me want some, haha. And beer reminds me of Cubs games and summer, so I don’t hate it either. 

Was the last person you kissed younger or older than you? Older.

Do you think people have any misconceptions about you? I’m sure there are TONS.

Have you ever purchased Girl Scout cookies? Yup, my nieces is a GS.

Do you like waffles? LOVE waffles. Especially chicken and waffles. 

Do you watch birthing videos on a day-to-day basis? ...why would I do that?

Do you find piercings/tattoos attractive? I don’t find them unattractive.

Would you talk to someone you don’t know on the internet? Of course.

How often do you drink Monster? Never. 

Have you ever made totally pointless videos with your friends? Yeah. 

Do you like to buy those Warped Tour compilations? I’ve never bought one.

Do you like sitting on the inside or outside of a restaurant booth? Inside. 

Do you own a nightgown? No.

Have you ever made a house out of a giant cardboard box? Yup. Also, in kindergarten, our teacher build us this really elaborate playhouse out of boxes and it was the coolest thing ever. 

Have you ever made a tent out of sheets in your bedroom? Yeah.

Do your grandparents know how to operate a cell phone? Barely. 

Have you ever had sex or something like it? Yes.

Have you ever read a George Orwell book? Did I? I wanna say we did in high school?

Have you ever worn fishnets? Yeah.

How many piercings and tattoos do you have? Five piercings, nine tattoos.

Is someone in your family affected by Asperger’s? I don’t believe so.  

In a hotel do you always nose through all the drawers and cupboards? Nah.

Would you rather go out to eat or be eaten out? Both are nice, but right now we’re not allowed to do one so, ;).

Do you always wear your seat belt? Always. Ya’ll better wear yours, too.

Have you ever liked someone much older than you? Uh huh.

Have you ever been in a play? Yes, a couple in school.

Do you have any secrets that nobody knows about? No.

Is there ice cream in your freezer? Nope.

Have you ever started to laugh but played it off as a cough successfully? Maybe.

Have you ever liked the lyrics of a band but hated the music? Probably but if I didn’t like the music I probably wouldn’t listen to it long enough to hear the lyrics. 

Does your bathroom have a window? Yes.

Do you go somewhere to get your eyebrows done? Nope.

When you were younger did you read the A Series Of Unfortunate Events books? No.

Who was the last band you saw live? Vampire Weekend.

Do you believe prayer really works? No. 

Are you a fan of the band Gym Class Heroes? Eh.

Frosted flakes or frosted mini wheats? Mini wheats. 

Have you been on a date in the park? Yeah.

Ever dated someone you were best friends with first? Not best friends, no. 

Are there any diseases/health problems that run in your family? Yes.

Do you have asthma? No. Are tongue piercings slutty? WTF get out of here.

Is there anybody you think is hot over the age of 40? Will Arnett. Paul Rudd. 

Last person to take off your pants, besides you? I mean, even when things are getting hot and heavy, I still take my pants off myself? I guess Mark has a few times now that I think about it.  Do you remember those cool highlighters that smelled like popcorn? No? I recall scented markers, but not a popcorn smelling highlighter.

Might you enjoy hanging out in the woods for day or two? Yes please.

Have you ever written something on a bathroom stall? I think so.

Least favorite alcoholic drink? Malort.

Have you ever kissed someone named Paul or Luke? Nope.

How did you meet the last male you texted? On 4Chan, hahaha. 

Have you ever had an embarrassing email address? clayperson69, hahaha. 

Do you put shampoo in your left or right hand? Left. Do you have a bull ring through your nose? No. I do have a nostril pierced though.

Do you and your dad get along? Yes, very well. I miss going to eat with him :(.

Can you see your purse right now? I can. It’s on the ottoman in our coat cubby and has been for almost two months. I took my wallet out of it and have just been taking that when I go grocery shopping so I don’t have to sanitize my whole purse.

Are you wearing any perfume? What kind? No.

Are there products in your hair? Is grease a product? I need to shower. 

When you get colds, do you use nasal spray to help get your nose unstuffy? No.

Do you actually like sneezing? No. I hate my sneeze. It also almost always makes cough afterwards so that sucks. 

Have you taken a shower yet today? Not yet, but like I said, I definitely need to.

Do you have one best friend who is always there for you? Mark. Do you wear skirts a lot? Never. They don’t sit right on me.

Do you wear sweatpants a lot? No.

How many pairs of jeans do you think you have? 3. And 5 pairs of jean shorts.

Do you like hoodies? I love hoodies.

Big ones or the form fitting kind? Bigger ones.

Do you wear polo shirts a lot? I don’t wear polo shirts ever.

Did you ever actually have a rubber duck? Yes.

Are you one of those people who claim to live with no regrets? I am. I think of certain things that were cringey or that I wish i handled different, but I don’t call those “regrets” because it doesn’t consume my life thinking about them.

Do you love your computer? No. I need a new one so bad.

Do you drink coffee? Lattes.

Do you basically like all of your clothes? Sure.

Do you shop mostly with your parents, your friends, or by yourself? Mostly myself.

[sorry-to-myself]

Growing Up With An Autistic Parent

Before I go into the main list of pros and cons, I wanna explain the situation. I am officially diagnosed with autism. My dad is not, but when I was diagnosed, he began to admit that he thinks he is. Everyone around him agrees with him on this. He is over 60 years old, so autism was not diagnosed much when he was young and it had a stigma associated around that timeframe. So, he was never (to his knowledge) diagnosed as autistic, but he did have anger issues and other psychological issues he was treated for that may have been related. I am also autistic. No, I do not know if his behaviors influenced mine or if I inherited it or what, and I don’t care either way. I accept my autism and I accept him with his. I am going to be honest about my experiences, though. Another disclaimer, these are my experiences. Every autistic person is different, every family is different, and every parent is unique. Also, for the record, my mother is very much not autistic, but she does have her own set of issues that I am not discussing right now. So, now to get into what it is like…

He will not get hints.

My father does not take hints. This sounds minor, but when you need tampons and just got your period for the first time, you wish you could hint. Also, he doesn’t pick up on hints about when you want to leave a situation or when you are uncomfortable, and it can be difficult to find a way to tell him directly if the situation is social. My dad and I created a code word for this exact reason, which helped a lot when I was younger. Finally, he will not get hints from other people. This is especially hard since I am also autistic, so we both struggle sometimes. This brings me to my next point….

I am often a translator.

My dad has a lot of difficulty with human interaction at times. I tend to have fewer problems in this regard, so I often end up trying to effectively translate for him. When he is sending an email or text, someone often has to help him make sure it isn’t way too curt. He is very honest and also very to-the-point. This can cause problems. Also, he often says the wrong thing at gatherings or in one-on-one interaction. In many cases, he interprets something wrong and never realizes it. Sometimes it is a bit like watching a house burn down, I see it but can’t stop it. I wish I was able to help him more, but I struggle myself, so it is like the blind leading the blind.

He can hurt my feelings.

This is not specific to autistic people, but it is amplified by his autism. For example, if he notices I gained weight, he is likely to just say it in a very matter-of-fact way. The same thing is true with hair, makeup, clothes, work of mine, and a lot of other things. He often thinks he is being helpful or that it is okay to say, but it can be hurtful. I used to think he meant to make me sad, now I realize he legitimately doesn’t realize it. Sometimes I have to remind myself of this.

He has a light switch temper.

I use this analogy because his temper is like a switch. It is either on or off, there is no middle. He will be very calm and then suddenly just have a complete angry meltdown. When he gets angry, it is one of the most terrifying things I have ever seen. When he loses control of his emotions, you wanna be far away. So, as a kid, I became scared of him after seeing that a few times. Sometimes I still have nightmares about that. I do have a similar temper, so I see both sides. But as a kid, that was absolutely terrifying.

Sometimes I end up being the parent in the situation.

He will sometimes not get what to do and lock up. Either that or he begins to exhibit more child-like behaviors and I have to be the one to manage him in the situation. It is easier for me than for most because I understand his mental state and how that feels, but it is also harder since I am challenged myself. Sometimes he refuses to do a necessary thing or freezes up or just doesn’t time things right in his daily life (ex. eating, sleeping, exercise). In that case, I have to watch out for him to make sure it doesn’t get out of control. Also, my mom or I have to pick clothes for him a lot of the time and iron them and prep them and then make sure he has them on right. All of it has forced me to grow up very fast, which I do believe has affected me negatively. It was especially difficult for me to help on my own bad days.

He is a very empathetic person.

My father has a lot of empathy. He doesn’t always handle a situation right, but he does feel empathy. In fact, he cares a lot more than most people. He often goes out of his way to try to demonstrate love. He does hug and say he loves me, but that is more scripted than his other gestures. To him, love is expressed in basic actions. For example, getting a favorite food a lot or playing a game with me. If you can get used to love being shown mostly in that way, it is pretty beautiful.

He is very sensitive.

He gets his feelings hurt easily. He takes comments to heart and gets very upset if someone gets upset with him. This means I have to be careful not to upset him, especially since I struggle with communication as well.

He is one of the smartest people I know.

My dad enjoys learning. He is good at it and he loves it. He remembers things that most people would forget and he thinks in ways that others cannot. He is likely a genius and some of his creations are absolutely amazing.

Special interests become shared.

While I may not love computers or mathematics with the same intensity that my dad does, I am forever getting involved in his special interest. We have learned to code together and programmed robots and disassembled computers. So, although that is not my special interest, it becomes something in my life because I care to know my dad.

I cannot tell when he is yelling.

His voice volume can be very incorrect. Sometimes it sounds like he is yelling even though he has no idea he is. So, it can be a challenge to know when he is upset or when he is actually not trying to be loud. Another downside to this is that I have some sound sensitivity, so it can be painful to me or extremely overwhelming.

He doesn’t try to hint at me.

He does not get hints, so he doesn’t hint at me as often as other people. He also uses fewer metaphors and expressions. This makes it a lot easier for me as an autistic person to communicate with him. Even for people who do not have autism, being around somebody who is honest and clear about his statements can be really refreshing. He is not very sarcastic and he says it like it is, so his advice and comments can be way more helpful than other people’s.

He has illustrated the downsides of autism.

Sometimes his experiences have made me genuinely afraid for myself and my future. Seeing the way that my mother infantilizes him at times and how others treat him when he exhibits autistic behaviors can be really hard for me. I also see how difficult it can be for an autistic person to function on their own. Seeing this example is both good and bad because it did prepare me more for the world and how to get myself and some of my other autistic friends through it, but it also breaks my heart daily to see how he is treated and it scares me.

I often have to repeat things or explain them differently.

Because he processes language more slowly than other people, I often have to say something again or explain it differently. While this isn’t a major problem, it can be frustrating at times or embarrassing. If it is a sensitive topic, it is hard to get the courage to repeat it.

He squeezes too hard.

He never realizes how hard he is squeezing someone. So, he tends to grip too tightly and it kinda hurts. But hey, at least he doesn’t shy away from physical contact.

It is harder to have friends over.

Having friends over can be a challenge. They don’t always understand him very well and can become frustrated or even offended. On the other hand, he also will “borrow” my autistic friends for a while because they are like him. I have very few friends, so this is less of a problem now, but it has been in the past.

He hates change.

This is good and bad. I hate change as well, so a lot of times it helps me that he does not like it. He is less likely to change things suddenly or be spontaneous, unlike my mother. Unfortunately, it can also be a downside. He has a hard time accepting changes in me, like me coming out as lesbian or dying my hair or changing anything else in my life. He is slow to change his ideas and beliefs about the world, which can be hard on me. He also sometimes avoids making changes that he needs to, which can cause problems in everyday life. He is not quick to replace things or modify a schedule.

I feel like he understands me.

He understands my behaviors better than most people. He is often able to give me uniquely helpful guidance about them and make me feel a lot less alone. The fact that he got through his teenage years gives me hope for myself and all the other autistic people I know. I am grateful to have him as my dad and I love him and his autism, and he loves me with mine.

[sevralships]

“Just Because You Can” Part 4 of 7, Chapters 12-16

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7 FIN]

The Pines triplets, Mabel, Dipper, and Jolene, have always been best friends. But lately, there’s been some distance growing between the Mystery Kids, due in part to the forbidden feelings with which they are each struggling. How will they manage to see eye to eye, when torn between wanting each other and craving adventure?

(This is a new AU that I’ve been calling Jolene AU, devised by myself and @handleonthescandal​ after one of us asked the question “What if Mabel and Dipper were triplets but with another sister?”. Although this AU is similar, it is not connected to Double Dippin’ AU, and Jolene is in no way connected to Tyrone.)

Shoutout to @sirwaddlesesquire for being the trustiest squire and an insightful, helpful, and supportive beta.

Mostly SFW, mostly angst with some action/adventure and a little bit of fluff, tw incest

Fic under the cut, enjoy!

Chapter 12: Mystery Twins

Exhausted and ashamed as Jo and Dipper had both been, it had turned out to be a lovely evening with their sister. Wet-haired from showering, they’d sat in the kitchen, gratefully eating the meal Mabel had cooked. Dad had been teaching her over the last year and she’d improved a lot. They’d eaten their food and then moved into the living room and curled up on the couch together. No sooner had they sat down than Jo had fallen asleep with her head on Dipper’s shoulder, snoring softly in his ear. Mabel had played the mom role and shooed them both up the stairs to bed while she cleaned up in the kitchen.

Dipper was bone-tired when he shut his bedroom door. His body ached from the day’s exertions and his bed looked wonderfully inviting. But there was something he had to do first. He turned on his bedside lamp and twisted it so it illuminated his bed brightly, and pulled the twisted blankets aside. He placed the scale from the lake gently on the bed and switched on the camera, quickly taking a few shots. It had been much more beautiful in the natural light, but the photos were adequate.

Almost on autopilot, he’d moved the photos from the camera to his laptop. He’d clicked the bookmark in his browser that took him to ‘mysterymonthlymag.com’ and eyed the featured daily headlines for a sec before clicking the ‘Explain the Unexplained! Contest Submissions’ link. He attached two images of Tessie and one of her scale, an picture Mabel had taken of he and Jo before their search for Scampfires in Gravity Falls last summer, wrote a 250 character blurb in the space provided, and hit ‘Submit’. Normally, he would have read and reread and obsessed over it, but he was tired enough that he couldn’t bring himself to obsess. The pictures are as good as they could be, he reminded himself, better than we could’ve hoped. He wanted to win, but at this point, he wanted nothing more than he wanted to sleep. He shut his laptop, crawled into bed, and fell asleep instantly, forgetting to switch off the lamp.

The following Thursday, the triplets had been sitting in the basement den together. Mabel sat at her crafts table, putting finishing touches on props and accessories for ‘Twelfth Night’, Jo lay on the floor rereading her worn old copy of ‘Journey to the Center of the Earth’ snacking absently on a bowl of chips, while Dipper sat on the ugly pink futon, tapping away on his computer, working on an essay for his Ancient Mythologies class. They were in their Greek Mythology unit and Dipper knew the material so well he hardly had to think to write about it. The pain had been finding sources to cite when none of the information was new to him.

Dipper’s laptop and cell phone pinged in unison, the specific ping he knew to mean he’d received an email. Happy with the distraction, Dip clicked over to the tab in which his email inbox was already open. Probably junk, he thought to himself, watching the page reload. When it loaded, a new email was indeed on top of the list and Dipper’s heart skipped a beat, his eyes training on the subject line ‘CONGRATULATIONS!’

“Holy shit…” Dipper muttered to himself, opening the email and quickly reading the contents, “Hoooly shit…”

“‘Sup, Dip-man?” Jo asked lazily, not taking her eyes from her book.

“We won,” he said softly, disbelieving, reading the email a third time.

“Speak up, Dip-dot,” Mabel chimed in distractedly.

“Holy shit, we won!” Dipper repeated, the excitement in his chest finally catching up with his tone.

Both his sisters dropped what they were doing, echoing ‘holy shit!’ in unison. They scrambled over and hopped onto the futon on either side of him, eager to read the email over his shoulder.

“ ‘Dear Mr. Pines,’ ” Mabel read and chuckled, “Hehe, sounds like they’re talking to dad…”

“ ‘Dear Mr. Pines,’ ” Jo read, impatiently, “ ‘It is with great pleasure that we inform you that your submitted findings on the subject of Tahoe Tessie have been selected to be the featured winner of this year’s ‘Explain the Unexplained!’ contest!’ ” the pitch of her voice rose steadily so that it was a shrill excited squeak by the end of the sentence.

“ ‘Our judges were very impressed by the professional attitude and enthusiasm exemplified in the style and content of your short response as well as the remarkable nature of your findings.’ ” Dipper read on, his tone uncharacteristically confident.

“‘If you wish to accept your spot as winner, we urge you to contact us promptly to set up an interview. Congratulations again!’ ” Mabel chimed in, “ ‘We look forward to getting to know the Mystery... Twins... much... better.” Her voice lost its enthusiasm and stiffened on the last few words.

“ ‘Sincerely, Matthew Michaloff, Manager of Reader-Submitted Content at Mystery Monthly Magazine.’ ” Jo read, still high on cloud nine, “With his number, ooh, I wonder if that’s his personal extension!”

“They misspelled ‘Mystery Kids’...” Mabel grumbled, standing up and walking back to her craft table.

“Yeah, I know,” Dipper said, “Sorry about that, Mabes. I only had 250 characters to tell our story. There wasn’t room to talk about being triplets, they must have figured from our names and picture that Jo and I were twins.”

“It’s fine,” Mabel said stiffly, picking back up what she’d been working on. How appropriate, she thought bitterly, jabbing the needle harder than necessary into the crown of Olivia’s wedding veil for the following night. Maybe I’m Olivia after all, stubborn and grieving and they’re the twins. Suddenly, ‘twins’ was the ugliest word she’d ever heard when for ages it had been her secretly coveted dream. They’re the twins, she thought, the jab prickling, and there’s no room for me in only 250 characters…

A click at the top of the stairs announced the door opening, “Mabel? Scout?” Mom’s voice called, “Are you girls down there?”

“Yes, ma,” Jo called back, her attention still focused on Dipper’s laptop screen.

“Could you two come up here and help me with something?”

Mabel looked over and met Jolene’s eyes, trying not to look angry. Jo had a familiar deer-in-headlights look, the same one she got whenever mom or anyone else required her input on girl matters, “Sure thing, mama, we’d love to,” Mabel called back. Let Jo squirm a little, she thought with sick satisfaction, besides it’ll peel her away from Dipper’s side for a hot second. Dutifully, Jo joined her sister and went up the stairs.

Mom met them with a slightly anxious smile, one that only Dipper had inherited. Of her three children, mom definitely was the most like her son. They were similarly high-strung, in an exceedingly well-meaning way, both dedicated micro-managers. The girls followed their mother up the stairs to their parents bedroom and the matter at hand was instantly apparent. There were clothes strewn all over the bed and dresser, a disarray of garments and accessories. Whenever mom needed help from Jo and Mabel, it usually pertained to this sort of thing, as it was the only area in which Dipper’s similarity to her was no help at all. Dipper shared mom’s usual feeling that clothes were a utilitarian necessity, but were neither important nor interesting beyond that.

“Whoa, did a bomb go off in your closet?” Jo asked sarcastically, and mom reddened a little. Jo grinned, “Finally payback for all the times you said that about my room!”

“What’s the dealio, momsy?” Mabel asked, ever the more sensitive daughter.

“Well,” mom squirmed a little at being on the spot, “You girls know your father and I have been making a point of making time for dating and romance,” Jo looked queasy at the use of the word ‘romance’ in conjunction with her parents, “We’re going on special date tomorrow night--”

“And you don’t know what to wear so you called for backup,” a grin was spreading on Mabel’s face, “You did the right thing.”

“So you’ll help?” her green eyes glittered with gratitude.

“‘Course mama-bear,” Mabel said, “Right, Jo?”

“I think this is more your forte, Miss-Sis--” Jo glanced at the door.

“Nonsense!” Mabel interrupted, “It’ll be fun!”

As their mom started pulling hangers from her closet, Dipper sat in the basement den, listening to the phone ringing, hoping the other line would pick up. And with a click, it did, “Thank you for calling Mystery Monthly Magazine, you’ve reached the office of Matthew Michaloff, Manager of Reader-Submitted Content. My name’s Petra. How may I help you today?”

“H-hi,” Dipper choked, cursing the crack in his voice, “My name’s Dipper Pines. I received an email from Mr. Michaloff saying my sister and I had--”

“Oh! Tahoe Tessie Dipper!” The woman interrupted and Dipper couldn’t help thinking how awesome it would be to work somewhere that even the receptionists were excited about the supernatural, “Congratulations to you and your sister, Mr. Pines! I’ll put you through to Mr. Michaloff at once!”

“Thanks, that’s awesome,” Dipper responded, pleased to be taken so seriously.

There was a click and a couple seconds of silence, followed by another click and a man’s voice, “Matt Michaloff speaking,” he said, “My assistant tells me I have our winner on the line?”

Dipper laughed nervously, “Ha, yes, ha ha, I guess that’s me? My name’s Dipper Pines, my sister Jolene and I investigated Tahoe Tessie?”

“The man of the hour!” Dipper imagined he could hear the man smiling, wondered if he was looking absently at small replicas of Nessie and the Jersey Devil and the Central American Whintosser on his desk, “Congratulations again to you and your sister, Jolene! I trust you’re both well?”

“Um, yes, we’re both well. Thank you, Mr. Micha--”

“Oh, please, call me Matt,” The man interrupted with a laugh, “Mr. Michaloff is my dad!”

“Ha, that’s exactly what Jo said about you calling me Mr. Pines in your email,” Dipper said, loosening up a little. He had the feeling most of the employees at Mystery Monthly were kindred spirits.

“Well, Dipper,” Matt Michaloff said, in a more informal tone, “Would you and Jo be able to do your interview with me tomorrow evening?”

“Tomorrow?” Dipper squeaked.

“Yes, tomorrow, if at all possible,” Matt reiterated, “We’d really like to get the story to our editors as soon as possible. Of course, if you can’t make--”

“Oh, no, we can make tomorrow work!” Dipper interrupted eagerly, “If you wanna do tomorrow night, we can definitely do tomorrow night!”

Matt laughed good-naturedly, “I’m loving your enthusiasm, Dipper Pines,�� he said, “Well, if there isn’t anything else, I’ll talk to you at, say… six o’clock tomorrow?”

“Six is fine,” Dipper agreed, “But there is one other thing actually.”

“I’m listening,” Matt said.

“Well, Jo and I aren’t actually twins like you said in your email,” Dipper corrected, “We’re actually triplets, we have another sister named--”

Matt laughed again, “You know what, Dipper, if it can wait till tomorrow, I’d love to hear whatever you have to tell me then.”

“Oh, uh, okay,” Dipper acquiesced, “Sure, yeah, I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Fantastic,” Matt replied, “Talk to you then, Mr. Pines.”

“Okay, Mr. Michaloff, thanks again.”

“Extend my congratulations to Ms. Jolene Pines, if you will,” Matt said, smoothly, “I look forward to making her acquaintance and hearing all about your experience.” He hung up and Dipper sat in stunned, giddy silence, and took several minutes to lower the silent phone from his ear.

Chapter 13:  Interview Jitters

“Do you think he’s going to ask what kind of gear we had?” Dipper muttered at Jolene, “Should we lie? I mean, we don’t have any freaking gear--”

“We’re not lying,” Jolene said, stuffing a coiled rope into her pack, “Gear doesn’t matter. In fact, doing it without gear is cooler.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s right, you’re right,” Dipper grumbled, flipping through the cue cards he had hastily prepared, “Not lying, duh. But I mean, he’s gonna wanna know how we went about it, if we planned, if we practiced. Dammit, I’m forgetting something but I don’t know what it is! Ugh! Oh man, do most people--”

“Holy moses, Dipper, get a hold of yourself!” Jo exclaimed, shooting him an exasperated look, “We’re gonna be great. We’re charming little shits, remember? Can’t we just do this normal conversation style?”

“Are you serious…?” he could hardly make it through the question, “Like, yeah, we’re great but no, Jo-jo, we are following the cue cards. Man, I really feel like I’m forgetting something… The cards, they’re color-coded to make it easy--”

“No fuuuuucking way,” Jolene laughed, nestling a couple water bottles into her pack, “I am not following your dorky cue cards.”

“No, Jo, seriously, you have to--” he stopped talking abruptly, staring at her, “Hey, what are you doing?”

"Oh, whatever do you mean?" Jo asked, batting her eyelashes at him before shifting her attention back to her pack.

“Your bag. Why are you getting your pack ready?” The pitch of his voice rose anxiously, “I swear to god, Jolene, if you are ditching me to do this interview alone--”

“Pssh, as if,” Jo said, putting her hands on her hips, “I’m not leaving you alone with your boyfriend Matt, who knows if you lovebirds will even use protectio--”

“Well you’re not even paying attention to what’s going on! Why are you getting your pack ready?” Dipper demanded, “Why aren’t you freaking out?”

“Dip-man, I’m not freaking out because you obviously have the panic attack quota covered,” Jo said, putting the last couple things in her pack and pulling the drawstrings to tighten the opening before snapping the flap shut, “Aaaand I’m getting my pack ready for our trip to Lone Pine Mountain.”

Dipper laughed derisively, “You’ve got to be kidding me, Jo.”

“Why would I be kidding?” Jo countered with a shrug, “Operation Tessie went well enough that we freakin’ won, which is awesome, now’s the time to go--”

“Oh, I know you are fucking joking,” Dipper said, the hint of anger in his voice stopping Jo in her tracks, “Operation Tessie went well? I’m sorry but we must be thinking of different fucking days.”

“Dip, I know it wasn’t perfect,” Jo conceded, “I know it was fucked up, but we did win and--”

“Yeah, it was fucked up, Jo,” Dipper agreed, throwing his cue cards down on his desk, where they scattered, “We almost died. And in case you bumped your head, you promised me no more unnecessary risk.” Jo fidgeted uncomfortably under Dipper’s accusatory gaze, of course, he’s right, you did promise. “No Lone Pine Mountain Devils. End of conversation. Now we need to prepare for--”

As if on cue, Dipper’s phone started ringing, playing the iconic ‘Z-Files’ theme song. Both of them stared at if for a second before Jo rolled her eyes and grabbed it, swiping the green ‘accept call’ button, “Hello, Jo Pines speaking, who is this?” she said, and Dipper cringed at her brusque tone, “Oh, thanks. Yeah, Dipper’s here. Gimme one sec and I’ll put you on speaker.” She took the phone from her ear and rested it against her chest, “No flippin’ cards, bro-tective, just be your debonair lil self.” Dipper nodded and Jo nodded back, looking at the phone screen and pressing the speaker button.

Chapter 14: Opening Night

“Hey, uh, Mabel, um, are you, uhh, sure this is gonna fit?”

“Brandon…” Mabel said, wearily, resisting the urge to facepalm, “Yes, it will fit. It fit you at dress rehearsal less than 24 hours ago.”

“Okaaay, if you say so…” Brandon said, sounding unconvinced, walking away testing the elastic waist of the costume in his hands.

The show was set to start in only a few minutes. Mabel stood in the wings, checking on the costumes of the characters in the opening scene. Judging by the noise level, the theater was filling up nicely. Ticket sales had been good and they had every reason to project a successful opening night. And at least two of those seats are filled for my sake, Mabel thought with a smile. She hoped Jo and Dipper had gotten here early enough to nab a spot with a decent view of the stage. Even if they hadn’t, she hoped there would be sufficient sparkliness to shine all the way to the back row.

“It’s show time,” Mr. McMahon said, coming up beside her as the house lights dimmed and the audience obediently applauded. She gave him her patented ‘you-got-this’ million watt smile and he walked on stage to give the standard ‘thanks for coming, a word about the production’ speech. Duke Orsino showed up behind her, ready for his entrance for the opening scene. He was fidgeting with the velvet hat she’d made him, unsure of how it should fall. Mabel adjusted it for him as Mr. McMahon finished up his speech to polite applause.

The first half of the play went off without a hitch. No lines flubbed, no entrances missed, no costume catastrophes. Mabel helped with set changes and preened the actors before they went on. Many of them received a last dusting of glitter for good luck from the container labeled ‘For Emergencies’ that resided perpetually in Mabel’s pocket. In her uncharacteristic stage crew blacks, only her face was easily visible in the dim of backstage, beaming with pride. The costumes glimmered beneath the stage lights and made all the hours of stitching and gluing well worth it.

The house lights came up after the act break to signal intermission, and most of the audience started to file out into the lobby, in search of snacks and bathrooms. Mabel happily skipped out from behind the side curtain and down the small steps at the left corner of the stage. She scanned the crowd for Dipper’s scruffy head. He was tall enough to usually find easily in situations like these. They must be out in the lobby already, she decided after having ascertained that they were no longer in the theatre, That’s a bummer. Only the people with seats in the back are already out there. Well, this would not be the first time her siblings had gotten to something too late to get good seats. With the sufficient sparkles it should be fine.

She made it through the press of bodies into the lobby. Everyone was chattering about the production, and with pleasure she caught a few snippets about the “eye-catching costumes”. Damn skippy, they’ll catch your eye, she smiled inwardly. There was a card table with snacks and drinks for sale over by the entrance, and Mabel knew her Trips enough to know that they’d make a beeline straight to the refreshments. She made her way over to the table. Liz, one of the costume crew drop-outs, was manning the table. Traitor, Mabel thought as she slipped ahead of the line, peering through them. No sign of the sibs. She frowned, “Hey Lizzie?”

“Oh, hey, Mabel!” Liz said, her tone a little too friendly, “Hey, the costumes look awesome! Great job on those!” She handed a couple candy bars and some change to a parent in line, “Like seriously, wicked. Even better than ‘Oklahoma!’!”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Mabel said, unfazed by the buttering-up she was receiving, “Listen do you--”

“Hey, look, I know,” Liz interrupted, her tone a little more serious, “It was really lame of me to quit. I’m sorry I left you with so much to--”

“It’s fine, forget it.” Mabel said impatiently, tensely checking every face in the crowd, but not seeing the two that looked like her, “Have you seen Dipper or Jo?”

“Dipper and Jo?” Liz repeated dumbly, and Mabel resisted the urge to flip a nearby tray of cookies on her.

“Yeah, Dipper and Jo. Jolene. My brother and sister?” Mabel reiterated, “Ya know? One looks like me? One looks like me, but a boy… and like a foot taller? C’mon, we’ve been in school together since we were like lil piglets!”

“Ha, yeah, Mabel,” Liz said, a little snotty at being condescended to, “I know who Dipper and Jo are. But no, I haven’t seen them. I don’t think they’re here.”

“Thanks,” Mabel huffed, turning on her heel and walking away from the concessions. Okay, no way. They’re definitely here. Just cause Liz didn’t see them doesn’t mean squat. She’s not the brightest light on the tree. They were definitely not in the lobby, though. Maybe they went out to Aoshima? Yeah, of course! Of course, they’d gone out to the car. They usually would sneak snacks of their own into this sorta thing, they’d probably just gone out to restock their pocket candy. Mabel could feel a grin spreading on her face as she leaned her weight against the glass door to open it, the cool air of the spring night refreshing. It was a nice night, and both her sibs would rather take in the night air that stand around in a mob of people.

Her feet carried her several feet into the parking lot as her eyes bounced from car to car, looking for the smiley face antenna topper and the outline of a friendly sibling head. No smiley face, Mabel frowned. Well, if they were late, maybe they’re out on the road? She checked the clock on her phone. The next act was starting in only a couple minutes, and there was no time to check.

Mabel went back inside to check the bathroom. No Jolene in the ladies’, and no Jo or Dipper waiting by the door for the other. Maybe they went back in the theater already…? Mabel wondered, deflating by the second. The theater was filling back up and she followed the current of the audience. She automatically kept searching, the pit of doubt in her stomach getting deeper and deeper by the second. Could they really not be here…? It didn’t seem possible. Since they were little tots, all three triplets had had plenty of events like this. Dance recitals, plays, science fairs, art shows, talent shows. Like tonight, every once in a while their parents wouldn’t make it, but they had never ever ever missed each other. Not once. The Trips were each other’s biggest fans. They wouldn’t miss a thing, even if it was boring to them. They know how hard I’ve been working on this…

But do they? Things had been so weird lately. She’d been so wrapped up in working on the play and her stupid pesky feelings clogging up the works. She knew she’d told them it was opening night. It was marked in pink on the calendar on the fridge and the one by her bed and the one by her desk in the den. They were distracted to, though, ever since they’d gone on that mission to find the sea snake thingy they’d been so caught up in adventure stuff. Mabel reached the little steps to the stage and looked back over the audience. The lights were flashing in the lobby to communicate the end of intermission, and the last few stragglers were trickling in. With a clear view of everyone like this, there was no denying it.

They’re not here. They really didn’t come. Mabel tried to banish the tears from her eyes as she hurried back into the wings. She was on autopilot now, straightening collars and flattening out creases. The joy of it had left her. The play was going well, the costumes looked fantastic, but what the hell did it matter? They forgot me.

Chapter 15: A Chat With Mystery Monthly

“Well, let me tell you, that is just incredible!” Matt Michaloff said over speakerphone, “You two sound like quite the young adventurers!”

“Thanks, Mr. Michaloff,” Dipper said, with that starstruck tone he’d had in his voice for the entire interview.

“Please, Dipper, please,” Matt said laughing.

“Right, Matt, sorry,” Dipper said, his cheeks reddening at having his manners corrected yet again.

“Sorry, Matt,” Jo cut in, “My brother’s a bit of a dweeb.”

Matt laughed politely, “Well, he’s a lot cooler than I was in High School, I’ll tell ya that much.”

“Oh, really?” Dipper’s voice cracked slightly, “Ha, thanks, Matt,” Dipper said, with the bashful smile Jo harbored a secret love for, “Did you have any other questions?”

“No, I don’t think so, Dipper,” he said, with the sound of some sheets of paper rustling, “You guys gave me so much great material! Thank you again for making time for the interview so promptly.”

“Yeah, o-of course, no problem!”

“Do you know when this issue’s coming out?” Jo asked eagerly.

“Well, we’re hoping to have it hitting the presses in the next two weeks,” Matt said, “But don’t you fear, you two will be getting a box of advance copies.” Dipper and Jo grinned at each other. Advance copies?! Jo thought excitedly, that sounds so legit! Matt rustled his papers again, “If you two have nothing to add, I think I’ll be saying goodnight to you. I’m eager to get to work on this story.”

“Thanks, Matt!” Jo squeaked, as Dipper said a polite ‘goodnight’ and ended the call.

“Ooooooooooooh my god!” Dipper wailed excitedly, the second the call disconnected, “Oh my god!”

Jo leapt to her feet, full of thrilled nervous energy, “That was so so so freaking cool!” She hopped excitedly from one foot to the other, “That was-- hoh my god!”

“Right?!” Dipper agreed, his eyes gleaming with exhilaration. He hopped to his feet and offered Jo a fist bump with each hand, “Fuckin’ Mystery Kids, man!”

“MysteryKidsMysteryKidsMysteryKiiiiids!” Jo chanted, punching fist bump after fist bump rapidly against her brother’s knuckles.

“You did so good, Jo-jo,” Dipper said, grinning ear to ear, his cheeks still flushed, “You were so cool and casual and like, poised, not a fangirly dork like me.”

“Oh, cram it!” Jo said, directing one of her punches for Dipper’s shoulder instead of his hand, “You were a total boss, bro-tective!  You put the man in Dip-man! You were professional as shit.”

“As shit, huh?” Dipper joked, but she could see his shoulders straighten with a hint of pride.

“Yeah, you and Matt had like this awesome rapport goin’ on,” Jo teased, “Like you were the same species and you recognized each other. I had to interrupt a few times there, ‘cause the sexual tension was just, whoa, through. the. roof.”

Dipper had just wiped the grin from his face when Jo elicited the coy, playful crooked one. He ran a hand through his hair from brow to neck, “Oh yeah? Well, how could ole Matt resist this?”

It was so rare that Jo had a chance to see Dipper exuberant and cocky like this. Normally so reserved and responsible, although there was no end to his dry jokes, he rarely let himself play around quite like this. With me and Mabes in the house, there’s already a surplus of silly, Jo noted, It’s a shame. Silly Dip is the cutest Dip. He was still making a show of some idea of manliness, flexing his flimsy biceps and making some attempt at bedroom eyes. Without warning, he grabbed Jo by the waist and dipped her low, as if he knew the first thing about dance.

It didn’t matter. It worked. It ripped Jo right from her thoughts and into his hands, warm and strong, broad against her lower back. His eyes were gleaming darkly, his hair falling softly over his brow, his cheeks pink, his lips just curled in a crooked smile. His lips were like a magnet, like the tastiest morsel of food hung over her and she was starving. Her heart was bouncing around her chest with the thrill of the interview and every beat seemed to push her closer and closer to the invitation of Dipper’s lips.

What the hell are you doing?? She screamed at herself, tugging herself awkwardly from Dipper’s grip. He gave her a perplexed look and she saw the small crease knit between his brows, concerned that he’d offended her, “Jo?” he asked tentatively.

“I’m gonna, uhh, go wash my face,” Jo muttered, unable to meet his eyes. She scurried from the room and into the bathroom, shutting the door a tad too hard behind her. She leaned her back against it, her eyes tickled by tears, trying desperately to slow her frantic heartbeat. You stupid, selfish freak! You could have ruined everything! Jo covered her face with her hands, That was way too freaking close.

Chapter 16: Confrontation

Mabel parked the music department van by the mailbox, right behind Aoshima. Right where it has been, this whole time, Mabel griped bitterly. She realized she’d been holding her breath and made a point of letting it out. She looked at the house apprehensively. Mom’s car was gone, meaning she and dad were still out on their date. Mabel hoped she’d worn the red sweater she’d suggested. The lights were on in the living room, as well as Dipper’s room upstairs. Her heart twinged. They’re in there.

She opened the door and got out, cutting across the lawn to the front door. It had been a long day and her body was weary, but she didn’t feel it. Anger was coursing hot and livid through her veins, stronger than any amount of sugar or caffeine. Her hand was shaking as she turned the key in the lock and entered her house.

Without slowing down, as if pulled by a magnet, Mabel made her way swiftly up the stairs. She reached the second floor as the bathroom door shut hard, just shy of slamming. Dipper’s head poked out of his bedroom door, looking towards the bathroom, after Jolene, Mabel assumed. Mabel stopped in the hall a few paces away from him and crossed her arms, glaring at the back of her brother’s head. What the hell is so interesting about Jo going in the flipping bathroom?! Impatient for Dipper’s attention, having been denied it when she thought it was guaranteed, Mabel pulled her purse from her shoulder and dropped it loudly on the ground.

Dipper nearly jumped out of his skin at the loud thud behind him. He whirled around to find Mabel standing in the hallway, and the sight of her was scarier than the noise had been. She almost didn’t look like Mabel. She was dressed all in black, from head to toe, a black long-sleeved tee shirt and black leggings, glowering at him. Her cheeks were pink and her brown eyes glittering angrily, accusingly. Dipper felt the blood rush from his face. Did she see that? Did she see Jo almost…? Dipper glanced back towards the bathroom, See what, asshole? She wasn’t gonna kiss you, it was all in your twisted up head.

“What the hell, bro,” Mabel said. Her voice was dangerously low, a tone rarely heard that Dipper knew meant business. He looked back at her at once.

“Uh, hi… Mabes,” He said, uneasy under her glare.

“Don’t ‘hi Mabes’ me,” Mabel shook her head, crossing her arms. It was seriously off-putting to see her dressed in black. He was tempted to ask who’d died, but had the sense that they might be his last words.

“Oookay,” Dipper said cautiously, unsure what he was supposed to say if ‘hi’ was out.

“So,” Mabel urged, raising an eyebrow, “What the heck is your excuse?” Dipper blinked at her, desperately trying to come up with an excuse, and an explanation to himself as to what needed excusing. Mabel raised her voice a little, “What happened tonight?”

What happened tonight? Finally! A question he knew the answer to! He knew what had happened tonight, so long as he left out the almost-kissing-Jo part, “Oh! The interview! It went great! It--”

“The...interview…?” Mabel asked, cocking her head cluelessly.

“Yeah, the interview!” Dipper smiled a little, confused by chasing Mabel’s signals this way and that, “With Mystery Monthly about--”

“The interview?!” Mabel spat at him, cutting him off, her eyes suddenly blazing, “That--that is what you were doing tonight?!”

“Umm,” Dipper fidgeted, “Yes?”

“Of course!” Mabel threw up her hands and gave a derisive laugh, “Of course! Of fucking course that’s what you were doing tonight!” Dipper opened his mouth to ask what was going on as she took a step closer to him, “Of course, your stupid mystery thing was more important than my play!”

Oh, shit.

Dipper’s blood ran cold. The play. Everything suddenly clicked into place, opening up a hole in the pit of his stomach. The play, the play, the play. Oh my god, the play was tonight. He accidentally muttered the last part out loud, “Ohmygod, the play was tonight.”

“Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding!” Mabel verified facetiously, “The play was tonight and, for the record, it was off-the-charts awesome. Not like you care.”

“It was just opening night, though, right?” Dipper supplicated, holding out his palms, trying to find a solution, “We’ll go tomorrow--”

“Oh, gee whiz, Dip,” Mabel rolled her eyes, “Heartwarming as it is to be an afterthought, that’s really not the flippin’ point at all!”

Ouch, Dipper winced, his hands dropping to his sides, “Mabes, you’re not an afterthought…”

“Yeah?” She scoffed, “Because it sure feels that way! This play has been the only stinking thing I talked about for weeks!” She took another step toward him, angry tears sparkling in her eyes, “I have lived and breathed ‘Twelfth Night’! I have sewed and glued until my fingers bled! I have gone to school early and come home late and you,” she scowled and Dipper’s heart ached, seeing the hurt just under the veneer of her anger, “You--you guys were, were happy to have me gone!”

“That’s not fair, Mabes,” Dipper said, how could she say that? He tried to resist the anger blooming inside him, “That is so not fair. Just because we forgot--”

“Ugggh!” Mabel’s hands clenched into fists, “But you didn’t just forget the play!” She took another step, glaring up at him, “You forgot me! Did you even wonder where I was? While I was looking for you in the audience, in the lobby, out in the parking lot, did you once think ‘Hm, where’s Mabel tonight?’ ” She pointed at him, “No! The whereabouts of stupid Nessie is more important to you than your own sister!”

“What the fuck, Mabel!” Dipper’s anger flared, eating up the unfair accusations like kindling, “You can’t compare Tessie to how--”

“Oh excuuuuse me,” Mabel mocked, “Tessie, not Nessie. Of course I would mix that up, silly stupid Mabel can’t even--”

“Shut up!” Dipper interrupted, grabbing Mabel by her shoulders, “You’re not stupid! You--”

“No, Dipper, I am stupid!” Mabel disagreed, the tears welling in her eyes becoming harder and harder to keep at bay, “It was stupid of me to assume you’d be there, it was stupid of me to--”

“Mabel, no,” Dipper’s anger wilted at the sight of Mabel fighting tears, holding onto her anger so hard, turning it back on herself. His voice softened, “I should have been there. I know how important this was to you and it was selfish and careless of me to forget.” His hand moved from her shoulder to soothingly pet her hair, looking into her tear-glazed eyes, “You’re not stupid. You’re so completely not stupid. I’m stupid for getting so caught up in this contest thing. You know I love you.”

“I love you,” Mabel said softly, blinking hard, fat tears squeezing out from under her eyelids and rolling down her cheeks.

“I know, Mabes,” Dipper said, a little relieved that her anger seemed to have been extinguished.

“No,” Mabel shook her head, and met his gaze again. His stomach dropped, confused by the deep sadness in her eyes, “I love you, Dipper. I love you.”

“Mabel, I don’t--” Before DIpper could blink, he was cut off by Mabel’s lips crushed against his own. She had thrown her arms around his neck and wobbled on her tiptoes, and he leaned down his head towards her, allowing her to rest back on her heels as he eagerly met her kiss. To him she tasted like ice cream and apple pie and just like glitter would taste if it was made of candy and her tears were salty but her lips were soft and Dipper’s mind was shutting down as his body was waking up. His arms went around her and hugged her to him and god she was so small and soft and he could feel her trembling as her anger went out of her. A voice in his head was screaming what’s happening? What’s happening? What do you think you’re doing? What the hell is happening? But it was quiet compared to the sound of Mabel’s almost inaudible sigh against him. Her sigh was in his mouth and a stray thought wondered how her voice could taste so good.

The haze of Mabel that enveloped Dipper like a cotton candy dream shattered with the sound of Jolene’s shocked cry.

Continue to Part 5